by Ines Saint
“I like the emerald wood sprite key better, though,” she said as a way to blanket over her prickly thoughts.
“I told Sam you’d love it when he chose it.” Mr. Montgomery smiled.
Cassie’s smile threatened to slide. Sam had chosen the key, not Mr. Montgomery.
Well, so what? It was just a key.
The rest of her week went by in a dizzying but satisfying flash of meetings, phone calls, and business errands. Foot traffic for her listings was great, and a potential buyer had visited one of Sam’s properties more than once, which was always a good sign.
Sam, Dan, and Johnny had gotten every Realtor with a listing on board with Open Town. Cassie and Holly had gotten most businesses to offer a discount or something special to visitors, while Leo’s wife, Emily, worked on an advertisement and Jessica pooled their resources.
The only thing left for Cassie to do was put her sting operation, Poop Op, into motion.
Chapter 8
Sam walked into Huffy’s that night to hear Johnny play with his band and to play one song with his brothers. They usually played an entire set at least once a month, but he and Dan had been too busy to rehearse anything new lately.
He headed to a large table in the center of the room where Dan and some of their friends were seated, and was surprised to see that Cassie was there, too. It made him wonder about her personal life in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to before.
Did she have a boyfriend? A cat? A home of her own that she loved? Not sure he wanted answers, he chose a seat as far away from her as possible and ordered a beer and some wings from Jenny, the waitress. Leo was complaining about the recent drought and the crazy unpredictability of Miami Valley weather with Dan, but a warmer-than-usual spring was the last thing Sam would complain about, not after the colder-than-usual winter that had wreaked havoc on his plans.
When the guitarist began strumming the beginning chords of a familiar song, Sam closed his eyes and made a fist. He opened his eyes in time to see Dan almost spit his beer and laugh.
“That can’t be ‘Throwing It All Away,’ can it?” Emily, Leo’s wife, asked. “That’s not their style.”
Johnny was so going to get his ass handed to him one of these days. Sam hoped for a front-row ticket to that event.
“Hey, don’t knock it. That was one of Sam’s favorite songs way back in the day.” Dan smiled wide, while Sam was busting at the seams with the pent-up negative energy of a wronged man. The song was taking him back to pathetic times. Music had a way of doing that. If he glared at Dan, or kicked his nuts under the table, someone might notice, so he seethed and plotted his revenge in silence.
After a while, he turned to Holly and asked, “So, how’d you like Dan’s surprise? Those sold-out Beauty and the Beast tickets were pretty hard to come by, you know.”
Holly jumped in her seat and turned to Dan, whose eyes had gone dead-fish wide. “No! You didn’t! You managed to get tickets to Beauty and the Beast? Ella’s going to flip!” Ella was Holly’s five-year-old daughter and she was obsessed with princesses and fairy tales. Dan sputtered, but couldn’t get any words out. “You’re the best.” Holly smooched him loudly on the cheek.
Sam donned his most innocent, chagrined look. “Aw, shoot, I’m sorry, bro. I thought Holly already knew.” Dan had no such tickets, and Sam felt a momentary twinge of guilt at how excited Holly looked. Knowing Dan, though, he’d find a way to get ahold of tickets now. They’d probably cost him a bundle. He grinned at his brother and raised his beer.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cassie watching him. She looked away, but a faint smile tugged at her lips, as if she knew he’d just screwed Dan over. Could she still read him so well? His chest felt lighter. Johnny was next. “I’ll be right back,” he mumbled to no one in particular.
Later, when he got back to the table, Dan looked up at him with a gleam in his eye. “Hey, Cassie,” he called. “Have you stopped by to see what Sam’s been doing to Grandma Maddie’s house?”
“Um, well, I’ve been busy, but he seems to know what he’s doing,” Cassie answered.
Sam looked at Dan and gloated.
“Definitely,” Dan agreed. “He’s been complaining for ages that for all this vintage and retro rage going on now, none of his clients have let him bring the eighties back. Now he has his chance. He’s been going on about bisque appliances, pastel trims, and popcorn ceilings done right—”
“There’s no such thing as popcorn ceilings done right! Sam?” Cassie turned to Sam, alarmed. Sam just shook his head, and Cassie looked back at Dan and laughed. “Don’t do that to me. I’m hoping that will be among the houses I get to sell.”
Johnny joined them then, and the conversation ebbed and flowed in different directions. Sam sat back, listened, and waited. About half an hour later, a loud “Happy birthday, Johnny!” came from the door. Johnny turned and was nearly toppled over when a woman threw her arms around him in an exuberant embrace. Before he could react, another squeal, calling, “Hey, birthday boy!” came from the entrance.
“Hey, it’s, uh, good to see you, but it’s, er, not my birthday.”
“Sure, it is.” One of the girls pouted. “I got this text from you a while back saying you were celebrating here.” She shoved her phone in his face.
“No, my phone was backstage, I was—who—”
“There’s the birthday boy!” Another shout came from the front door. A few people at their table began to laugh at Johnny’s dazed look. The girls were now eyeing each other.
Johnny’s head snapped toward Sam. Dan guffawed. Sam shrugged. “You mess with the bull . . .”
Johnny’s eyes gleamed. “A bull? This is the work of a calf, you’ll see the work of a bull—”
“Johnny!” Another woman waved from the door.
“Okay . . . let’s get a booth and order a round of drinks.” Johnny shot Sam one last venomous look before leading the women to a booth. “Linda, you know Brianna, right? And Jackie . . .”
The moment Johnny and the women left, the table erupted in laughter. Sam wouldn’t look at her, but Cassie’s laughter reached his ears, making him feel satisfied and happy.
“How many women did you text?” Holly tried to look disappointed in him, but she was biting her bottom lip and her eyes were sparkling.
“Just ten. I thought maybe only three would show up.”
“What did he do to you? You never strike first,” Marty asked from the other side of the table.
Sam’s and Dan’s eyes met. “He’s been abusing classified information,” Dan explained.
There was a crackle of mischievous energy between Sam and Dan, and Cassie wished she was in on their secret. She laughed, watched, and listened, but didn’t say anything because it involved Sam and she’d told him they couldn’t be friends, even though the one thing that didn’t feel right about the past week was keeping Sam at arm’s length.
When they were alone, he was a person who’d hurt her deeply, and she couldn’t ever go to that place again, not after coming so far. But when they were in a group, he was just Sam. And though she’d come a long way, she’d ended up exactly where she’d started off. Home.
And Sam was part of home.
“I thought you guys would have grown up by now,” she said to Dan.
“Growing up means being accountable, and I think the three of us have spent our entire lives being accountable,” Dan replied. He smiled, but the moment his eyes met Cassie’s, he nodded toward Sam with a pointed look. What was he trying to say?
“Are you worried about how he’s going to get back at you?” Emily asked.
Sam flashed a devilish grin, and Cassie’s heart clenched in her chest. He was so good-looking, damn him. “I’m looking forward to it,” he said.
“I think it’s wrong to go through someone’s phone,” Cassie said to Sam, without looking at him.
“There’s a precedent,” Holly and Dan said in unison, before smiling and leaning in for another kiss.
“Get a room,” Leo muttered.
Emily rolled her eyes at him before turning to the group. “Johnny changed almost everyone’s number in Dan’s contact list to his soon-to-be father-in-law’s number. Dan called Doug three times before he realized something was up.”
“And Holly’s dad isn’t exactly crazy about me, yet. He told me to quit calling him and pretending it was an accident.”
Everyone laughed again and Cassie wished every Friday evening could be spent like this, among friends, relaxing. Sam and Dan left to get ready to play with Johnny, and Cassie couldn’t wait to hear them again. It had been a while.
“Tonight we’ll be covering ‘Secrets,’ by Van Halen,” Dan said into the microphone a short time later. Silence suddenly swept over the crowd and Cassie wondered if most people felt the way she did about their combined presence. There was something hidden and hard to get to behind the eyes of each one and the force of it was haunting. But they’d always been at their most free and unguarded when playing, and Cassie had always felt that if she watched them closely enough, she’d get to see through their walls.
She remembered how giddy she’d felt when Sam had asked her to go steady ten minutes after she’d innocently asked him to teach her to kiss. There had always been an attraction there, but neither had anticipated how strong and overwhelming it could become until their lips had met. That one soft touch had made her feel as if her heart were melting into her soul while her body caught fire. An overwhelming combination.
They’d been so wrapped up in each other. Whenever the brothers played, Cassie felt a misplaced sense of pride at being Sam’s girl. As if it defined her, somehow. If they hadn’t broken up, she had no doubt she would’ve gotten lost in him.
She hadn’t known it, but her self-esteem was shaky at the time. Inside, she’d felt like the girl who caused trouble without meaning to and who never lived up to her potential, while Sam knew exactly where he was going and how he was going to get there.
Sam sang the next lines and she looked up. His voice was husky, but not as deep as Dan’s. He sounded raspier and less smooth when singing. He and Dan sounded good together.
Her eyes met his. He’d been watching her. The feeling of being “gotten”—being understood—swept through her, challenging her.
She wasn’t into rock music the way they were and she didn’t know the song, but she listened carefully to the lyrics. Something about a girl making tracks and basically running away.
It was what she’d done. And thank God for that. Sam smiled a little then, as if he understood, but she knew it was probably all in her head. She blinked and looked away.
The song ended and they left the stage. It was nearly ten o’clock. “I’ve got to go,” she said, and left before they got back to the table. It was time to put her plan into action. She’d already spoken to Marty about leaving her car at Huffy’s, and she had a sleeping bag and overnight duffel stashed in the office.
Sam left nearly an hour after Cassie and was surprised to see her car still in the parking lot. Worried, he went back in to see if she’d been sitting elsewhere.
She wasn’t there. What if something had happened to her in the parking lot? His mouth went dry. He went over to the bar where Marty was wiping down the countertop. “Do you have a camera trained on the parking lot? Cassie left, but her car’s still there.”
Marty shot him an assessing look. “Relax, dude. She’s fine. She asked if she could leave her car here overnight. Something about a sting operation.”
“A sting—” Sam shook his head, positive he didn’t want to know.
He took a detour on his way home to Cassie’s office, hoping, for his peace of mind, that she was there working late. The lights were all off, but one of the front windows was open one third of the way.
Sam parked across the street and got out of his car. Where was she? Was she inside? Where the hell was her sting operation taking place? He decided to send her a text. Spinning Hills wasn’t immune to crime and she should know better.
He sent his text, and something beeped just inside the office window. Sam frowned. “Cassie?” he called. “Are you in there?”
“Sam!” A mass of messy, red hair popped up in the window in front of him. He jumped. “What are you doing here? You’re ruining everything,” she hissed.
“Ruining what?”
“Poop Op. Wait. Get in. They’ll see you.”
“Poop . . . ?” Sam scrubbed his face.
The door opened and Sam walked over to it. Cassie pulled him in and quickly shut the door. “Someone’s been leaving dog poop on my lawn every single day this week. I’m going to catch the culprit. Holly said they’d been doing it to her for nearly a year, but must have moved over here. It stops with me.”
Sam glanced toward the window and saw a sleeping bag and a pooper-scooper right in front of it. “How were you planning to catch them if you were asleep?”
“I’m a little more tired than usual and I dozed, but I got up fast enough. If you were them, I would’ve gotten up in time to catch you,” she said with her usual logic. “I’m a light sleeper and I only need about five to six hours to be at full power.”
He remembered. They shared an awkward look before they both looked away. “So, what’s your plan?”
“Every time I hear someone walk past, I’ll get up and watch.”
“And what exactly are you planning to do when you catch them?” He tried hard not to noticeably clench his jaw, but it was hardening of its own volition.
“I’ll run out, hand them the scooper, tell them how rude they are, and warn them to pick up after their dog.”
Sam looked down and blew out a breath.
“What?” she asked through gritted teeth. “There’s a town ordinance, you know. I looked it up and printed it out.” She turned the pooper-scooper around to show him how she had laminated it and pasted it onto the back.
“You said yourself the person was rude! We’ve got some rotten people in town, like any other town. What if you end up pissing off some creep in the middle of the night when there’s no one else around?”
Cassie folded her arms. “I’ll handle it. The police station is right up the street, you know.”
“And who’s gonna run up or call them and tell them if someone hurts you? Go home, Cass.”
“No! You’re being ridiculous. You go home. And get some sleep. You look like you could use some. Oh, and pretend you’re on the phone with me when you leave. Say, ‘Don’t worry, you locked up,’ or something like that, loudly, so they think I sent you here to check.”
Sam responded by glaring at her a long moment before shaking his head and lowering himself onto the carpet with a sigh. “There’s no talking sense to you. There never was and there never will be. But you’re right. I do need some sleep, and I should be able to get some here. You’re the most exhausting person I know.” He folded his hands on top of his stomach and closed his eyes.
Cassie glowered at him, wondering how she could get him to leave without causing a ruckus and ruining her plan. There was no way.
“It’s good seeing your hair wild again, by the way,” he added, without opening his eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, you rock that bun, it really brings out your big blue eyes and makes you look sane, but that fiery halo suits you better.”
Seething, she got back into her sleeping bag, her back to him, but she was too mad to rest. Did a fiery halo belong on an angel or a demon? Was he flirting with her or insulting her?
Ten minutes later, she was listening to Sam’s snores, no longer angry. A small part of her was relieved he was getting some sleep. His snores were awakening a tenderness she didn’t want to feel. He was a hardworking man. A good dad. And there he was, sleeping on the floor next to her to make sure she was safe.
Two hours later, a noise outside caught her attention. She was up in a heartbeat. Sam’s snores stopped. She got up on her elbows and perked her ears. Sam lifted his head and she put her hand on his arm and a finger to her lips before
getting on her knees and crawling to the window. Her eyes widened and she looked over at Sam, excited. She then crawled over to where the pooper-scooper was, picked it up, ran to the door, turned on the porch light, and yelled, “Gotcha!” before Sam could reach out and stop her.
Sam stepped outside, just as poor, hunchbacked Mrs. Ritty screamed and began to topple over. Sam leaped over the steps and caught her just in time.
“Mrs. Ritty, are you okay?” he asked. The elderly woman put a hand to her heart and began to cry, her terrier began barking up a storm, and his car alarm went off.
Sam didn’t consider himself a coldhearted person—quite the opposite, in fact—but somehow he wanted to laugh. It was unconscionable, when a poor old woman was crying in front of him, but with Cassie standing under the porch light, eyes wide, the pooper-scooper in her limp hands, the dog barking, and the alarm going off, the situation was too absurd. He managed to reach his key and shut his alarm off without letting go of Mrs. Ritty. “Let’s sit you down a moment. Cassie, get her some water.”
“What’s going on out there?” someone yelled from an upstairs window across the street.
“Nothing! It’s under control!” he yelled back, the need to laugh making his voice crack in the end. Cassie soon ran out and handed Mrs. Ritty a glass of water.
“I’m so sorry. I thought—I thought—I didn’t think—”
“I’m so ashamed.” Mrs. Ritty hung her head, her hands shaky, and Sam lost all will to laugh.
“It’s okay,” he soothed as he smoothed her wrinkled hand and tried to calm the older woman’s nerves.
Cassie looked about ready to cry, too. “No, I’m ashamed. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I should’ve checked the situation out first,” she said, her lower lip trembling.
