by Josie Kerr
A Hemlock Creek Novel
Josie Kerr
This is a work of fiction and does not in any way advocate irresponsible behavior. This book contains content that is not suitable for readers 17 and under.
Any resemblance to actual things, events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, places, brands, products, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and ownership of any location names or products mentioned in this book. The author received no compensation for any mention of said trademark.
Edited by Bethany Pennypacker
Cover image:
Photographer: Eric Battershell Photography
Model: Johnney Theuber
Copyright © 2018 Josie Kerr
Published by Hot Words and Cold Coffee, LLC
All rights reserved.
Digital Edition
For all the Square Girls
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Epilogue
Cal and Kat’s Playlist
Excerpt from Sounds and Spirits
Excerpt from Clincher
Acknowledgements
Other Books by Josie Kerr
About the Author
“No, no, no, no, NO. This is unacceptable. Please let me speak with your supervisor.” Kat Fahey channeled her best no-nonsense, ice queen persona, but inside, she was stomping her feet and going into full-on shrieking-harpy mode. “I have been bumped four times today, and that is four times too many.”
“Ma’am, perhaps if you would have made . . . ,” the gate attendant began, but the arching of Kat’s perfect auburn eyebrow, as well as the arrival of a supervisor, deterred the man from suggesting that Kat might plan better. She got it. After all, her work mantra was “Lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine.” But when a perfect storm of late-season strep throat coupled with a rampant case of food poisoning from bad sushi at a company gathering left Kat as the last person standing, she really had no choice but to get on a plane and hope to hell she made it to Dublin in time to provide support for the presentation team. As it stood now, she’d been at the airport for going on nine hours. If she caught this flight, she’d have just enough time to get through customs and from the airport to the hotel in time for what was possibly the most important presentation she’d ever give in her almost-twenty years in risk analysis. Boy, when it rained, it poured.
“Miss Fahey, I will personally make sure you’re on this next flight,” the supervisor assured Kat in a soothing tone that reminded her of someone speaking to either a spooked animal or a deranged shooter. “We should be ready to board in the next twenty minutes or so.”
“Thank you so much, Ms. Marquez. I appreciate your taking care of this matter.” Kat gave the other gate attendee a sharp look and went back to her seat. No sooner had she plopped down than her phone buzzed with a text from her best friend.
Hopefully, you’re not getting this because you’re on the plane, swilling champagne out of plastic glasses like the high roller you are.
Kat texted her friend back to update her and immediately received a call.
“This is a sign, Kat. You sure you have to go?” Bridget sounded worried, and Bridget wasn’t one who got worried.
“Yes, I have to go, and besides, I want to go. I’d suggested that someone from Accounts attend the conference, but I got shot down. Who knows why they finally agreed, but I’m going to take that as a sign and just be happy that I get to go on an all-expenses-paid trip to Ireland.”
Bridget’s voice immediately brightened. “Good! That’s the right attitude to have, Kat. I don’t know what pod person has taken over your body, but make sure they stay put for a while. Maybe you’ll finally be convinced that the glass is half-full.”
Kat rolled her eyes but knew that Bridget had a point. Kat wasn’t exactly an optimistic person, but she’d resolved to have a better attitude, and miraculously, she’d stuck to it since the beginning of the year. She’d heard it took six weeks to change a habit; she was twelve weeks into the New Sunshiny Kat, and so far, so good.
“Oh, they’re calling me. I’ll talk to you when I get back next week, okay?” Kat gathered her bags and set off toward the gate.
“Have a great time, Kat. And while you’re there, why don’t you getcha some strange—I know you like those accents.” Bridget was laughing so hard she could barely get the suggestion out, and Kat just snorted.
“Goodbye, Birdie. I’ll talk to you soon.”
And with that, Kat snapped her phone shut and made her way down the walkway.
´*•.¸(*•.¸ *¸.•*´)¸.•*´
Cal closed one eye and stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth to balance his hand as he poured the last of the tiny bottles of whiskey into the plastic cup that sat on his tray table. Even doing so, he managed to spill half of it, so he sopped up the spillage with his sleeve as he swallowed the contents of the glass.
Cal attempted to shove the bottle into the seat pocket in front of him, but it slipped through his fingers and fell to the floor. As he scrambled to retrieve it, he caught the eye of the fellow sitting in the aisle seat. Cal nodded, and the man clicked his pen at him and returned to his crossword.
Well, excuse the fuck out of me.
He scrabbled for the bottle, which was just out of his reach. He stretched and his fingers caught the errant bottle. He sat up triumphantly, only to whack his head on the tray table. Cal let out a colorful expletive, which came out louder than he meant. That got another click from his row-mate.
“Folks, it looks like we have a full flight to Dublin tonight. Please remove all smaller carry-ons from the overhead bins to make room for those that do not fit under the seat.”
Cal groaned. He was a big guy, and he specifically sought out this row for the leg room. He had originally been assigned the middle seat, but when the window seat ended up not being occupied, he moved and cheerfully manspread across a seat and a half. That was one good thing about coming on this trip alone—he didn’t have to worry about a prissy woman saying he was crowding her.
He watched the people file down the aisle and held his breath every time someone stopped by his row. He knew he was destined to sit next to either a Chatty Cathy who was a nervous flyer or a raving jackass who would claim the window seat, causing Cal to be sandwiched between him and Mr. PenClicker. A huge man stopped and eyed Cal’s seat. The guy was about the size of Cal’s brother, which was approximately the size of a Mack truck. Fuck. But then the guy blinked and mumbled, “Damn. I’m on the wrong side,” and turned around. Cal breathed a sigh of relief.
“Please move all stowable bags to under the seat in front of you,” the intercom voice reminded the passengers on the crowded plane. Cal watched to see if Mr. PenClicker moved his briefcase. He didn’t. Jerk-off.
“Hello—uh, does this briefcase belong to either of yo
u gentlemen?”
A tall, redheaded woman had one hand inside the overhead compartment and the other clutching a garment bag that could not possibly fit in the bin. Mr. PenClicker clicked his pen and frowned but did not claim the briefcase. Red looked expectantly at Cal, who shook his head. She chewed her lips, then seemed to make a decision and proceeded to try to stuff the hanging bag inside the compartment. A glimpse at the tiny strip of pale skin that showed above the waistline of her jeans had Cal quickly averting his eyes and jabbing Mr. PenClicker’s arm with his knuckle when the other man didn’t do the same. People were shoving by Red, further hampering her, and when she got knocked into Mr. PenClicker, she let out a loud, “Jeez, people—really?”
“Ma’am?” Cal ventured.
That earned him a snappish “What?”
“You might see if they can hang it. There’s a closet near the front of the plane.”
She huffed and pulled the bag out of the overhead compartment, but one look at the resulting backlog of passengers behind her made her pretty face fall.
Cal signaled the flight attendant he’d been flirting with for the first leg of the flight. “Miss Adelaide, can you put this lady’s bag in the closet, if there’s room? Thank you, darlin’.”
Adelaide smiled blandly at Red while she scribbled out a claim tag and then shot a brilliant grin and a wink in Cal’s direction before taking the bag to the front of the plane.
Red had plopped down into one of the middle seats, right next to Cal, and gaped at him. She still had a satchel and a laptop bag clutched against her chest, and she looked incredibly overwhelmed. She shook her head, seemingly getting her bearings, and began to stow things under the seat. When she sat back and buckled her seat belt, she had a set of noise-reducing headphones, an e-reader, and a stack of papers in her lap.
She let out a huff and then turned to Cal. “Thank you for taking care of my bag. I appreciate it greatly.” She stuck out her hand. “Kat Fahey.”
Cal grinned. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Fahey. My name is Cal Harper.”
From the smooth way he got Kat’s bag taken care of and the knowing wink he gave the flight attendant when he ordered a Jack and Coke, Kat could tell the man sitting next to her was a smoldering hunk of Southern charisma and he damn well knew it.
“So, Miss Fahey, what is it you do for a living?” Cal was looking at her, his eyelids heavy over piercing blue eyes, and she was quite certain he saw down to her very soul. His deep voice reminded her of a really good bourbon—a little raspy, but ultimately smooth and languid. She’d also figured out that Cal Harper was three sheets to the wind.
“Guess.”
“Ooh, Miss Kat wants to play a game.”
Kat looked over the rim of her cup at him and tried to appear innocent, but inside, she was having some very impure thoughts. The way he sucked on those ice cubes? Holy smokes! She hadn’t flirted with a stranger in years, and to do so with someone who looked and sounded like this man? She wished she had the gumption to video this exchange, because Bridget was never, ever going to believe that this happened. It was like something out of a movie.
“Oh, it takes two to play a game, Cal,” Kat countered, playfully resting her hand on his forearm. Oh my God, Kat, you are touching him! Quit that! It was one thing to flirt; it was quite another to engage in physical contact, no matter how inadvertent.
She didn’t know if it was the touch or the “game” comment, but Cal’s countenance changed. He straightened up in his seat, moving away from Kat, and nodded. “You’re right. It does take two to play a game.”
“I’m a business analyst,” Kat hurriedly answered. “I calculate risk for different ventures.”
Cal chuckled. “Is this where I admit that I failed algebra twice and they put me out of my misery with a seventy percent after a heinous summer-school session?” He relaxed after that, moving the slightest bit into her space again, but not at close as he had been. “Brains and beauty—a fuckin’ exciting combination.”
“And what do you do, Cal Harper?”
“Guess.” Cal arched an eyebrow at her. “What’s good for the goose . . .”
Kat tapped her finger on her lip in false contemplation. “You’re in sales or something outward facing where you can unleash all that sex appeal on the unknowing public.” Kat’s eyes popped when the words came out of her mouth, but then she just sipped on her wine because she was pretty sure she was right.
Cal chuckled. “Well, I don’t know about the sex appeal part, but you’re pretty close otherwise. I’m a professional bartender. Or, if you want to be snooty, a mixologist, but I don’t like that term. It’s too . . . clinical, you know?”
“Of course you are. It makes complete sense.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No, not at all. Some of my best friends are bartenders,” she said, thinking about Bridget, whom she met while making rounds in dive bars, trying to convince their owners to buy overpriced small batch whiskey that wasn’t really that small batch. No, she was a terrible salesperson; she belonged back behind the computer screen.
After they talked for a while longer, filling each other in with basic information about themselves, Kat began thinking about the presentation that was happening in a few short hours, and it made her anxiety ramp up. “And on that note, I need to try to get some shut-eye. But it was nice talking to you, Cal.”
He inclined his head. “It was nice talking to you, too. Sweet dreams, Miss Fahey.”
“You too, Mr. Harper.”
“Oh, don’t call me Mr. Harper. That’s my ol’ man, and I haven’t pissed you off enough to warrant that sort of bone-deep ugliness.”
“Okay, good night, Cal.”
“That’s better. Night, darlin’.”
Kat put her noise-reducing headphones on and pretended to sleep, but really, she was thinking about the fellow sitting in the seat next to her who had gotten yet another Jack and Coke and who seemed to be the most melancholy man in the universe.
´*•.¸(*•.¸ *¸.•*´)¸.•*´
Cal sipped on a cup of terrible black coffee and watched Red as she slowly roused herself. He’d napped off and on during the night, but mostly he paid attention to the woman next to him. She was sound asleep and looked adorable with her clunky headphones and sleep mask.
Creepy much, Calhoun?
Kat’s body jerked and she bolted upright, knocking against Cal and sloshing the coffee all over his shirt and pants. She looked around wildly, her mask and headphones still firmly in place. Even though she covered him in coffee, Cal couldn’t help but snicker at her. Kat ripped the mask and headphones off and gulped the airplane air like she’d been drowning. Three more deep breaths, and she sank back into the seat.
“Good mornin’, Miss Kat” sent her into another paroxysm until she seemed to remember that she was on a plane to Ireland.
“Morning.” Kat’s cheeks were flushed, and her mouth hung open just a smidgen. “Wow, I don’t even sleep that hard at home. Maybe I need to take more transatlantic flights.”
“Maybe,” he murmured.
“Granola bar?” Kat thrust a breakfast bar in his face. “I have peanut butter and crunchy oats.”
When Cal declined, she shrugged and tore off a corner of the package with her teeth. Cal pretended to snooze, but in reality, he watched her study her raft of papers while she snacked on the granola bar.
“Where is the orange juice service?” Kat asked through a mouthful of peanut butter granola. She glanced over at his now-stained shirt. “Sorry about your coffee.”
He chuckled. “No worries. It was shitty coffee anyway.”
“You were playing possum, you sneak.” Kat hid her grin with her hand, her eyes dancing with merriment.
Cal laughed. “ ‘Playing possum’? For some reason, I don’t think you encounter many possums in Boston.”
“No, you got me there.” She was still grinning at him, but Cal noticed her picking at the edge of the stack of papers in her lap.
<
br /> Kat opened her mouth and Cal leaned forward, closing the space between them. The air was heavy with expectation, and Cal got the feeling that he needed to remember this moment.
“Um, Cal—” Kat began, only to be interrupted by the morning beverage service. She got her sought-after orange juice and Cal secured another cup of coffee, and they returned to their respective silences. Cal glanced over several times, hoping she would finish her sentence, but she remained consumed with her stack of papers.
It wasn’t too long before the pilot announced their descent into Dublin, and Kat and Cal spent the rest of the flight staring out the window and remarking about the brilliant green countryside, though Kat seemed to grow more and more agitated as time passed. She continually checked her watch, and when the plane finally stopped taxiing and the Fasten Seat Belt light turned off, she shot out of her seat and practically ran up the aisle to the closet. Cal stayed put until the plane was almost empty, kicking himself for not asking where she was staying or even how long she was staying.
Mr. PenClicker clicked his pen one last time and slid it into an inside pocket of his suit. “Guess you missed your chance. Too bad, buddy. She was a hot little number.”
Cal had never wanted to punch someone so hard in his life.
Kat sank into the back seat of the car hired to take her to the luxurious hotel where the conference was being held and tried not to fret about her luggage, which no one seemed to be able to locate. Thank goodness she’d had the foresight to bring a garment bag for her suit and, thanks to Cal, it had been hanging in a closet—who knew airlines had closets?—instead of crunched in an overhead bin.
Cal. She was kicking herself for chickening out in asking for his phone number or where he was staying. It dawned on her that as much as they’d talked, she didn’t know why he was in Ireland. Business? Pleasure? A bit of both? Kat chuckled to herself, remembering Bridget’s suggestion right before she hung up the phone. A strong Southern accent wasn’t exactly what her friend had in mind, but, hell, Cal Harper could read the tax code and Kat’s panties would probably still catch fire.
