Mr. Write (Sweetwater)

by O'Neill, Lisa Clark

  “I know. If I had to, I probably wouldn’t. And besides, you’re not getting my services for free. You have to call Hawbaker first. That’s the deal.”

  He watched her struggle not to argue. “Look, I’m not a particular fan of cops, but this one seems decent enough. Plus, he cares about you. Even if he can’t do more than file a report, he needs to know.”

  “Okay. Okay, you’re right.” Then she sighed, glanced out over the garden. “You didn’t ask.”

  “What?”

  “You didn’t ask why Jonas referred to me… like that.”

  “My guess? Because he’s an asshole. And for a whore, I still say you’re repressed.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled, just a little. “I think.”

  “Get your camera.” He stepped back. “And call Hawbaker. I’ll grab a shirt, meet you back here.”

  “DO you think I’m cynical?”

  Allie paused in the act of stacking the chairs in the cafe, glancing toward Sarah, who waited to sweep the floor.

  “In what way?”

  “Like… suspicious of people, their motivations.”

  “Oh. In that case, yes.”

  Sarah leaned on the broom handle. “Take all the time you need to think about it, Al.”

  Allie laughed, scooped up a discarded napkin. “Not that it’s necessarily a bad thing. When was the last time someone pulled the wool over your eyes?” Unlike Allie, who seemed to have been blindfolded since birth. “I’d say it’s more a matter of you being… aware.”

  “Aware sounds better than misanthropic.”

  Allie tilted her head. “Is this because June Darby wasn’t quite the snob you thought she’d be?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, she was a little intimidating, certainly. That hair helmet she has? I’m pretty sure that’s not hairspray, I think it’s just afraid to move. But anyway, I think she liked me.”

  “Why shouldn’t she like you?” Rainey interjected from where she was wiping down the counter. “You weren’t the one having sex with her husband.”

  “I should hope not.” Allie shuddered. “Have you seen Harold Darby? Anyway Sarah, I don’t know why you act surprised that she signed that check. Our food is ten times better than the stuff they serve at the country club, and – thanks to you – the garden is nearly as spectacular, if not so large, as theirs.”

  “That’s nice of you to say. You know, I used to think I was pretty well-adjusted. But it occurred to me that Jonas might be… targeting me because he perceives that I think I’m better than him.”

  “You are better than him,” Rainey pointed out.

  “I certainly hope so.” Sarah swept crumbs into the dustpan with more force than necessary. “But then I realized that I’m sort of guilty of the same thing.”

  “Murdering rodents?”

  “Ha.” Sarah shot Allie a look. “No, of making assumptions about people based on my own insecurities. Kind of a reverse snob.”

  Allie’s mouth formed a tight line as she plumped the chocolate brown cushions on the loveseat. She was furious that that idiot had come after Sarah in such a cowardly way, even angrier that he’d somehow caused her to question herself.

  “First of all, Jonas is a degenerate who has to blame all of his problems on someone else. There’s no comparison. Secondly, even if you did have some preconceived notions that weren’t quite right, you still gave those people a chance. And since June left here a happy customer, and you’ve been getting naked with Tucker, I’d have to say that you’re secure enough to admit when you’re… oops.”

  She turned away from Sarah’s wince to where broken crockery rattled behind the counter.

  Rainey’s eyes were brown saucers. “I’ll pay for the mug. She’s getting naked with Tucker?” Her gaze shot from Allie toward Sarah. “Tucker Pettigrew? How did I not know this?”

  “Because I forgot to take out an ad in this week’s circular,” Sarah said dryly.

  “Sorry,” Allie murmured, but Sarah waved it away.

  “Wow… that’s… I mean he’s kind of… but anyway, he’s hot.”

  “I thought you were all about Mason,” Allie said.

  “Well sure, he’s combustible. But he’s got a thing for you.”

  What? “Um.” Allie laughed shortly. They were friends. Of sorts. But she hadn’t even seen him since Josie had browbeaten him into taking her car in to be fixed. “I don’t think so.”

  Rainey just rolled her eyes. “Okay, so tell me,” she said to Sarah. “Does his butt look as good out of his jeans as it does in them?”

  This time Sarah was the one to laugh. “You’ve been checking out Tucker’s butt?”

  “Hard to miss when the man’s standing on a ladder.”

  “Really?” Sarah moved toward the window.

  “Look at you. Not right now. Earlier, when I ran back to your place to get your doohickey for the computer, I saw him on his back porch. Looked like he was hanging something.”

  “I wonder what he’s up to.” Then she winked at Rainey over her shoulder. “Actually, his butt doesn’t look as good naked. It looks better.”

  Laughing, Allie plopped down on the cushion she’d just plumped. “Speaking as a woman with no hopes of seeing a naked male butt – good-looking or otherwise – in the near future, I’ll just have to take great pleasure in reminding you that it’s your turn to clean the restroom.”

  IT was a small gesture, Sarah thought as she snapped the lid onto the iced coffee. But one she was certain would be appreciated.

  After all, Tucker was a caffeine addict. Handy for him to have his pusher right next door.

  So she’d lead with the coffee, then see if she might be able to entice him away from his keyboard. Or whatever project had him standing on a ladder on his porch. She wanted a light meal, a long shower.

  And some good, sweaty sex. If Tucker was feeling amenable again, she saw no reason why he shouldn’t join her in all three.

  He’d held her while she cried.

  Not a memory she wanted to revisit with any regularity, but over the course of the day it had at least faded from completely humiliating to moderately embarrassing. After all, a woman was entitled to some frustration when her moral character had been libeled on the outside wall of her place of business, and she’d subsequently ruined her best dress.

  And the way he’d handled it, with a sort of uncomfortable forbearance, was actually kind of sweet.

  Tucker was kind of sweet. In his own cranky way.

  It was a combination that, strangely, seemed to work for her. So she was going to drop in on that sweet, cranky man, and talk him into that meal, and that shower.

  She’d yet to have to talk him into sex. And thank God for it.

  Sarah set the alarm, made sure to leave the outside lights burning. She refused to let Jonas’s petty campaign of harassment mar her good mood. She’d had a successful day, business-wise, and she planned to end it on a high note on a personal level.

  Except that when she stepped out onto the porch, watched the light there give way to shadows that shifted stealthily across the garden, her heart gave one hard bump. Her place, she thought again. Her place, and he’d been here at least four times, that she suspected. Possibly more. And there was little to stop him from coming back, at any given time, with God knew what on his agenda.

  She wasn’t going to bother again with wondering why. It was stupid and self-defeating. People like Jonas didn’t need a reason, they simply needed a target. She could only do her best to make herself difficult to hit.

  Maybe she could get a dog. A dog was a good deterrent. They were territorial, barked at strangers.

  And at customers, more than likely. They also needed room to roam, and they dug in gardens. Not to mention that Useless would never forgive her.

  Or she’d end up with one like Bark, who could barely stir himself to scratch.

  “Okay. So, no dog,” she muttered, and shaking off the tiny tingle of apprehension, headed toward Tucker’s. Better to think abo
ut that, about the way his mouth would press hot against hers in greeting. How he’d taste like the coffee she’d brought him and smell, just lightly, of healthy male sweat. How his hands, rougher, and more thrilling than she’d expected, would cruise over her skin, while his voice – that deep voice that was so often cool, so frequently brusque – would turn warm, almost liquid against her ear.

  And then, best of all because he did it so rarely, he’d laugh –

  Sarah stopped short beside the overblown blooms on one of Tucker’s gardenias.

  He’d laugh, she mused, her brows drawing together, almost exactly like that. Only the pitch would be a hell of a lot lower.

  Now that she’d stopped, she heard the voices. The deep rumble that was Tucker’s. And the other, that certainly was not.

  Something ugly rose inside her, causing Sarah to duck back behind the hedge. And – though she wasn’t proud of it – she followed it, hunched over, until she had a better view of the back porch.

  The light had gone heavy, nearly steel gray with dusk, but her eyes confirmed what her ears had told her.

  Victoria. That bitch.

  And there was Tucker, drinking a beer, his tool belt slung low on narrow, denim-clad hips while he leaned against the porch rail. He looked like some kind of handyman Hunk of the Month.

  Sarah allowed a moment for pure female appreciation.

  When the moment was over, she narrowed her gaze. Appreciation aside, the man was talking to Torie, who sat comfortable as you please on Tucker’s newly installed swinging daybed. Imagine that.

  The mattress was bare, but that didn’t stop Torie from stroking and cooing over it, then reclining like Cleopatra on her litter.

  She laughed again, then got up and sashayed toward him. Close enough to lay her palm against Tucker’s hunky chest.

  The ugly thing inside Sarah grew fangs.

  But because she was a woman of maturity, and not some jealous, territorial harpy, Sarah resisted the urge to go over there and throw Victoria out on her perfectly sculpted ass. She’d warned Tucker about her, after all. If he was too stupid, too male to see past her outward appearance, he could just –

  Good Lord. She sounded like a jealous, territorial harpy. Even if it was only in her head.

  Disgusted with herself, Sarah decided to simply go home. Have that meal, and that shower.

  And likely end up stewing in her own juices the rest of the night.

  No, she should take Tucker the coffee – which was rapidly growing warm – as a considerate, appreciative gesture. Throw Victoria out on her ass. And then go home.

  Okay, probably she should just take a couple deep breaths, and…

  Fall into the bushes.

  “Ow. Shit.” Sarah tried to keep her cursing as quiet as possible. But dammit, she’d scraped her arm, and there was a branch tangled in her hair. She reached back, groping blindly, trying to free herself so that she could slink away.

  “Evening, Red.”

  Sarah paused. Too bad he wasn’t a T-Rex, or she could just hold still in the hope that he wouldn’t see her.

  “Hi.”

  “What the hell are you doing in the bushes?”

  “I…” Think, think. “Was looking for Useless.”

  There was a pause. Then: “Looks to me like he’s sitting on your screened porch.”

  Of course he was. Contrary animal. Why couldn’t he have picked this night to hide beneath the hedge? “Huh. I guess he must have slipped by me.” Thank God Tucker couldn’t see her face. She’d never been able to lie with any kind of conviction. “Do you think you could unhook my hair?”

  Another pause. “I don’t know. This view is kind of entertaining.”

  “Unhook my hair, Tucker.”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “I won’t smother you in your sleep.”

  He moved, and though he didn’t say anything else, she could feel his amusement. Jerk. Sarah reached for dignity even as her eyes watered when he pulled on her hair.

  “Sorry.”

  “No problem.” Finally free, she backed out of the bush, smoothed her skirt.

  She chanced a look at his face, and immediately wished she hadn’t. He wasn’t even trying to hide his grin.

  “Skulking around like that, you’re fortunate I didn’t mistake you for Linville.”

  “I would hope,” she told him evenly “that the dress would give you a clue.”

  “Nearly dark,” he answered just as smoothly. “My eyes are a little gritty from staring at my monitor. I might have tackled you, knocked you to the ground. Although” he considered the gardenia “the bush seems to have beaten me to it.”

  “Tucker?” The sound of Victoria’s voice was like a manicured nail on the chalkboard of life. “Tucker, where are you, sugar?”

  Sugar? Sarah thought darkly.

  “I’ll be right there,” he called back, then muttered “Hold your horses. Are you alright?” he said to Sarah.

  “Couldn’t be better.”

  He tucked his tongue in his cheek. “There are leaves in your hair.”

  “Just part of my garden motif. You have a nice night now.” She turned, on legs that wanted to tremble, only to have Tucker’s hand land on her shoulder.

  “You dropped this.”

  He extended the coffee. The ice had melted, but miraculously the contents were intact.

  “Thanks.” Although she had absolutely no intention of drinking it. Even if it hadn’t been meant for him, she seemed to have lost her appetite.

  BY the time he’d finally gotten rid of Victoria, night gripped Sweetwater in a close, dark fist. Rain scented the air from the brief, pop-up storm that had held him hostage with her for the past half hour. He heard the whirr of the fan as he passed Mason’s room, where his friend had retreated with a script when the Hawbaker woman showed up.

  Coward.

  Of course, he was one to talk. He’d had the information from his mother’s lock box for several days, but had yet to do more than track down the address of the old library, see if his grandfather still owned the land. Which, according to public record, he did.

  And according to Mason – who’d learned to pluck fruit from the town grapevine with an alacrity that was alarming – remained empty, save for the ghost of the dead janitor, who appeared with some regularity to drunken teenagers and eager tourists.

  Tucker wasn’t sure what, if anything, that did to his theory. Wasn’t sure what, if anything, he could do about his theory, even if it was right.

  Confront his grandfather? Because that had gone so well for his dad. Or hey, maybe he could tell Hawbaker he suspected the man’s boss – currently recovering from open heart surgery – may possibly have been complicit in covering up a thirty-year-old crime. And by the way, here’s a few old newspaper clippings and a note from my dead father as evidence.

  As much as Hawbaker seemed to dislike Tucker’s grandfather, Tucker thought that either of those options might get him run out of town on a rail.

  He stepped into his bathroom to grab a towel, rubbed it over the hair he’d gotten wet when he’d run out to roll up the windows on his truck.

  Tucker started to hang the towel back on the rack, noticed the sheet over the window had come loose. He went ahead and yanked it down. It had served its purpose. Maybe tomorrow he’d measure, see about installing some actual blinds. Although he couldn’t say it bothered him any longer if Sarah happened to catch sight of him in the shower.

  His thoughts tracked straight to lust, then swerved toward amusement.

  Looking for Useless, his ass. He wasn’t exactly sure who she’d thought she was kidding, but she’d looked damn cute all flushed and mussed and indignant.

  He looked out the window, where a few stray raindrops slid down the glass. Light flickered in Sarah’s kitchen. Candles? He wondered if she’d blown a circuit in the storm. Amusement turned into vague concern.

  He went to his bedroom, picked up his cell phone, and headed toward that window while he dia
led.

  “Are your lights not working?” he said when she answered.

  “What? Who is this?”

  Insult raised its head. “You frequently have people with New York accents calling to check if you’ve lost power? Come to your kitchen window.”

  “My lights are working just fine.”

  “Then you should have no trouble finding your way into the kitchen.”

  After a few moments she came into view, and insult circled right back around to lust. “You showered.”

  “As you so astutely pointed out, there were leaves in my hair.”

  Now her hair hung loose, the damp ends just curling. In the candlelight, it glowed like burnished copper.

  “Nice pajamas.”

  She looked down at the skimpy yellow tank and plaid bottoms she was wearing. “You like it?” She eased one of the thin straps down her arm.

  “I’ll like it a lot better if you keep going.”

  “Like this?” The other strap came down to mirror the first. The fabric clung to her generous breasts just above her nipples. Tucker remembered vividly what they tasted like in his mouth.

  “That’s a start.”

  She paused to consider. “Why don’t you take something off for me?”

  “Why don’t you come over here and take it off yourself?”

  “I don’t know. I think I need to see the merchandise again before I go to all that trouble.”

  An illicit thrill shot through him. “You want me to strip?”

  “You want me to leave the comfort of my home?”

  Feeling stupid, and really turned on, Tucker sat the phone on the nightstand and put it on speaker. He hesitated. Then thought fuck it, and went back to the window and inched the shirt he’d just donned up his chest. “How’s this?”

  “Not bad. Maybe you could sing a little.”

  What? “Not in a million years.”

  “Oh, come on, Tucker. We both know you’ve got skills.”

  He glared at her. She raised a brow.

  Grinding his teeth, but distracted by the way Sarah had begun to rub her hand across her stomach as she watched him, Tucker reluctantly hummed a few bars as he ripped the shirt over his head.

  “Very, very nice,” Sarah breathed into the phone, biting her lip. “Now put some hip action into it.”