“Hey, Junior. What’s up?”
“Oh, you know, I left my toolbox here this afternoon, and I promised LouAnn I’d finish her fancy closet installation tonight. Since I ain’t likely to get any sort of appreciation from her ’til it’s done, I dragged my ass back here to pick up the damn tools. How ’bout you? Come ’round to cool off?”
“Yeah.” Where the hell was Ginny? How long could she hold her breath? “I was driving by, and decided a swim sounded good, so I stopped…”
Junior’s eyes swept over the picnic blanket Ginny had so carefully arranged, and the thermal backpack with the bottle of white wine sticking out the top. His gaze swung back to Shaun. “Spur-of-the-moment, huh?”
“I hit Boone’s for supplies first. In case I got hungry after my swim.”
“Looks real, uh, romantic, with the blanket and wine.”
“I thought it might be nice to”—he winced and forced the words out—“pamper myself.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, but I’ll tell you one thing for sure. I’m tired and sweaty from hauling my sorry self out here, and a swim sounds like just the ticket.” Junior grinned and reached for his work boot. “LouAnn will never know I took a ten-minute break.”
Fingernails dug into his ass at the exact moment he said, “No!” The word came out more forceful than he intended. At least he knew where Ginny was now.
The shorter man straightened. “Why not, man? It’s muggy as hell today. That water’s gotta feel good.”
“I…I’m…” Fuck it. “I’m shy.”
“Dude, were you not in the military for the last ten years?”
“I was, and I never had any privacy. It scars a guy.” Just like fingernails using his ass-cheek as a squeeze toy. “I vowed to myself, when I got out, I’d have privacy I’d never gotten while serving my country.” He’d play the patriot card. He’d play whatever card it took to move Junior along.
“Oh-kaaaay.” Junior held his hands up and rolled his eyes skyward. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way of someone’s personal vow, or…self-pampering…or whatever. But a guy who values his privacy as much as you do probably ought to find himself a swimming hole on his own property.” With that, he turned and started up the slope.
From directly behind him, Shaun felt the water shift and heard Ginny gasp in a breath. He drew in one of his own, to cover. “Whew. Thanks man. I’m relieved you understand.”
“I understand,” Junior called, and continued trudging up the hill. He muttered something else Shaun didn’t hear clearly, but sounded like, “I understand you’re crazier than a shithouse squirrel…which still makes you the sanest Buchanan.”
Ginny sat in the passenger seat, in her soaking wet clothes, staring out the window. She kept her arms crossed tightly in front of her chest, and her mouth firmly closed, but he could sense her silently stewing from a hundred miles away.
He steered the Jeep along Haybarrel Road, taking the back way to her neighborhood. “I’m sorry about your clothes.”
“It’s not your fault,” she snapped. “You did what you had to do.”
“And yet you seem a little pissed off. Just a little,” he added, and held his thumb and index finger an inch apart when her eyes cut into him like twin green lasers.
“I’m pissed at myself. This was a dumb idea. I knew it. I never should have agreed to it, but I did, because I was so desperate to…” She snapped her lips closed and stared out the window again.
“To what?” He asked the question gently, while something moronically close to hope rose in his chest.
She shifted around until she faced him. He felt the weight of her gaze on his profile. “I was desperate to spend more time with you. So I did something stupid and reckless, and endangered an important goal—”
“I wanted to spend more time with you, too. I want more than a handful of stolen hours every night, after Mr. Cranston walks his dog and before Ms. Van Hendler wakes up in the morning.”
The confession earned him an exasperated look. “Well great. We both want the same thing. But you’ve known from day one we have to keep this thing between us under wraps, so instead of driving out to a place where anybody could happen along and see us, why don’t you just… Screw it. Never mind.” She re-folded her arms across her chest. “If I have to ask, then you clearly don’t want it to happen.”
How did he become the bad guy? Her feelings were hurt? Did she have any idea how much it hurt knowing she’d rather pass out from oxygen deprivation and drown than stand up and admit she was sleeping with him? “What don’t I want to happen?”
“Oh, come on Shaun. It’s so obvious. You live in the middle of nowhere. You have no neighbors. Unlike at my house, nobody would see me coming or going from your place. We could spend the entire night together, and we wouldn’t have to resort to a covert operation to make it happen.” She sighed and turned away. “Clearly, you don’t want me there.”
The accusation surprised him so much he pulled over. They’d covered this weeks ago. “That’s not true. You know why I come to you. I told you about my sleep problems. Under the circumstances, having an overnight guest is a bad idea.”
“You’re afraid my company will keep you awake? I promise I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”
He shook his head, to clear it rather than to disagree. “No. It’s got nothing to do with you. Virginia…I’m not in control of myself when I sleep. You got a taste of it the night you cut my hair. I have nightmares. Sometimes I sleepwalk. I’d just as soon avoid scaring the shit out of you again, or worse, putting a mark on you. I don’t want to accidentally hurt you again.”
Her hand shot out and she landed a punch squarely in the center of his chest. Apparently she had no similar compunction about leaving marks on him, accidentally or otherwise. “Spare me the guilt and those so-called protective instincts. You didn’t hurt me, you moron. I startled you, you reacted, and then I woke you up. You should be begging me to spend the night. You could finally get some rest without worrying about the consequences. I’d have your back.”
“I had you pressed up against a wall, and I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I have two good lungs, and am fully capable of speaking up. It’s all about intent, in my book, and I know you’d never hurt me. I trust you. You need to trust me.”
He scrubbed his palms over his face. “I don’t trust myself.”
“How many bad dreams have you had since the night in my salon?”
His heart pounded against his ribs. “None.”
“How many times have you sleepwalked?”
“None.”
“Shaun, it’s time to trust yourself.”
Okay. Fine. This was what she wanted? Damn him, he’d try and give it to her, and if he did inadvertently hurt her, he’d never forgive himself. He reached out and took her hand. “Come to my place tomorrow. Spend the night.”
“I can’t tomorrow.” She pulled her hand away, raised her chin, and looked down her straight little nose at him. “I have Josh and Melody’s engagement party tomorrow night, after the debate at the senior center.”
That’s what he got for assuming she’d jump at his invitation. He’d hurt her feelings, even if his reasons were noble, and now she was going to play hard-to-get. “Come afterwards. I don’t care if it’s late. I want to see you.”
Her mouth softened into the slightest of smiles. She reached out and fiddled with the front of his hair. “Only if you really want me to.”
He saw all kinds of uncertainty in her eyes, but absolutely no fear. “Sweet Virginia, I really want you to.”
Chapter Fourteen
Ginny shifted in her seat. Surely she wasn’t the only one suffering from the butt-numbingly uncomfortable folding chairs the senior center had broken out for this afternoon’s debate?
Ms. Van Hendler, the moderator of the only official mayoral debate, presided over a packed house of spectators—mostly seniors—all of whom seemed perfectly comfor
table. Ginny stacked her hands on the cool surface of the narrow, rectangular folding table and glanced down at her opponent seated at the other end. Tom spoke to the crowd, sidestepping a question about city taxes. He’d drawn first response, so she did her best to put her head in the game and listen to his reply. Instead she thought about the rest of her Saturday. Melody and Josh’s engagement party. She’d spend a couple hours at Rawley’s celebrating the happy couple. Maybe sneak out a little early and meet up with Shaun…
A smattering of applause warned Ginny that Tom had reached the end of his long-winded, time-defying, and ultimately unresponsive response. Ms. Van Hendler spoke into her microphone.
“Your rebuttal, Miss Boca?”
She cleared her throat and looked out at the crowd. “Thank you. I’m a small business owner, so the subject of taxes is near and dear to my heart…and my wallet. That said, I know my money supports many programs and services important to Bluelick. The fire department is a perfect example. Through our tax dollars, we’ve invested in top-notch personnel and the equipment they need to do their job safely and efficiently, and they, in return, protect our community and operate consistently within budget. The town benefits from having dedicated, local firefighters responding to emergencies, and the results absolutely justify the cost.”
“Why, thank you, Ginny,” Tom spoke into his microphone, all confidence. “I hired our new fire chief and spearheaded the effort to have the city council approve the funds for new equipment. I consider those successes two of the biggest achievements of my current term as mayor.”
“I do too, Tom,” she shot back, because she refused to appear ungracious. “But I wish we got the same bang for our buck from the county sheriff’s department.” She saw his smile slip and turned her attention to the audience. “Our contract with the county costs almost triple what it costs other towns our size to establish and maintain a small, local police department. We pay on par with what the bigger cities in this county pay, and yet we require fewer resources and worse, we get a much lower level of service.”
Murmurs of agreement hummed through the crowd. “If I’m elected mayor, I’ll propose to the city council that we establish a Bluelick police department. We have a successful local fire department and there’s absolutely no reason we couldn’t duplicate the success with a local police department. Doing so would reduce the tax burden while improving the safety and security of our town.”
The rules of the debate didn’t call for a rebuttal, but Tom spoke over the audience’s applause. “Miss Boca oversimplifies a complex issue. Comparing the cost of the fire department to the cost of the county sheriff is not an apples-to-apples comparison. Our contract with the sheriff’s department includes 911 dispatch, and—”
“Mr. Buchanan,” Ms. Van Hendler cut him off, and held up a hand for silence, but Ginny dove into the lull.
“No. You’re wrong. 911 services are provided by the county, but it’s separate from the contract with the sheriff’s department. The 911 calls to our fire department use the same service. All the contracts are available on the city website. I’ve read every word of them. I know what I’m talking about.”
Tom shook his head and gave her a patronizing look. “These are long, complicated contracts, Ginny. You may have read them, but I don’t think you understand them—and frankly, there’s no reason why you would.” He switched his attention to the audience. “I negotiated those deals. The city council and I spent weeks going over every clause with the law firm retained by the city—”
“This brings us to our next question,” Ms. Van Hendler said into her microphone. “Tell us what qualifies you to be mayor of Bluelick. Tom, you have the floor.”
“In a word? Experience,” he answered, fielding the softball in the most predictable way. Ginny looked down at her hands to keep herself from making a face. “My family has always been active in Bluelick politics. I’ve served on the city council more times than I can count, I’ve held the office of mayor twice before, and I’m currently closing in on the end of a very successful term. Unsurprisingly, the citizens of our town have urged me to run for re-election to keep the forward momentum going. I look forward to doing so.”
“And you, Ginny?”
“Sometimes people offer up the word ‘experienced’ when what they really mean is ‘entrenched’, as in, ‘resistant to movement and change’. I’m not entrenched. I’m not loyal to an arrangement simply because it’s what we’ve always done, or because I had a hand in negotiating the deal. All I ask myself is, does it work? When it comes to the sheriff’s contract, the answer is no. I’m proposing a better, more cost effective solution—”
“You have no experience—”
“I know how to read. I know when this city is paying too much and not getting its money’s worth.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Shaun slip into the senior center and stand along the back wall, near the door.
Tom went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “You’re young. Single. You’re bored with warming a barstool at Rawley’s and you’ve decided running for mayor is the way to bring some excitement to your life. But the people of Bluelick expect and deserve more from their leaders than to serve as a momentary distraction from”—he put on a show of searching for a more polite term to use than sleeping around—“a social life lacking in long-term prospects.”
What? She straightened in her chair, numb butt be damned. The part of her accustomed to saying exactly what she thought wanted to shout, “My social life is nowhere near lacking in prospects. In fact, thanks to your son standing back there, I’ve got all the prospects I can handle.” But she couldn’t very well announce to the entire audience that she’d been spending her time with Shaun. She opted to turn the focus to her opponent instead.
“Tom Buchanan, are you seriously going to challenge my moral character or my ability to keep a commitment? How many times have I stood before church and state and taken vows I ultimately failed to keep? That would be none. You’ve done it…let’s see”—she made a show of counting on her fingers, because he wasn’t the only one who knew how to draw out a nasty implication—“twice now, if I’m counting right. As far as distracting personal lives, I can’t think of a bigger distraction from the duties of office than extricating myself from a seventeen-year marriage after my wife discovered I was cheating on her with a cocktail waitress young enough to be my daughter.”
Someone called out, “True dat,” and the room dissolved into laughter.
An angry red flush stained Tom’s cheeks. “My personal life has never interfered with my duties. My path to true love has been bumpy at times, but I’ve never been ashamed of the company I kept. Unlike my opponent, I’m an open book.”
An invisible band tightened across her chest. He knew about her and Shaun—or he suspected based on whatever innuendos Justin had provided. He wouldn’t dare call her out on it. Not here. “I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.” It was perhaps a cautious reply, but technically true. Too bad she didn’t succeed in keeping her eyes from straying to Shaun. He still stood at the back of the room, arms crossed, his attention locked on her.
“Really? Well, then, since you’ve seen fit to drag my personal life into this debate, and you’re not ashamed of your own, why not tell everyone who you’ve been spending time with lately?”
“You’re the one who introduced the topic of personal lives, Tom, not me.” The room grew restless. Yes, she was evading the question, and no, he wasn’t going to let her get away with it.
“I understand you’re involved with someone…how should I put it?” He absently tapped his chin. “Someone very close to home?”
The room went pin-drop silent, and every eye in the place swung to her. Her heartbeat stopped, and then kicked in again with a slow, heavy thud. “I-I refuse to dignify such a ridiculously inappropriate question with an answer.”
“Goodness, that’s all our time,” Ms. Van Hendler said into her microphone. “Please join me in thanking our candidates for an informative and i
mpassioned debate!”
The audience applauded. Ginny got to her feet and risked a glance to the back of the room, but found only an empty space where Shaun had been standing. Quickly, she scanned the room, hoping he’d simply shifted positions, but before she could locate him, Tom was in her face to offer a perfunctory handshake. After that, she fielded questions and congratulations from a number of attendees.
Ms. Van Hendler bustled over—as much as an eighty-something woman with brittle bones could bustle—and handed her a bottle of water. “That was the best debate I’ve seen since Nixon sweated all over Kennedy in 1960. To think, when I booked you and Tom for today, all these old fogies complained about interrupting afternoon Bridge for a boring political dog-and-pony show, but when Tom called you a round-heel, and you fired back with what a faithless hound dog he is, believe me, not a soul in this room wished they’d spent the afternoon bidding on tricks.”
Now she didn’t have to wonder how the highlights of the debate would be recounted on the local grapevine. “Well, you know, I don’t think I used those exact words…”
“No, you were very civilized, but you got your point across nonetheless. A fair point considering he went there first, criticizing your personal life. Well played, Virginia dear.”
“Thank you, Ms. V.” What the heck is a round-heel? She took a gulp of water as possibilities—none of them flattering—floated through her mind. She could almost hear Grandma saying, “Her heels are so round, any man gives her the least little push and she ends up flat on her back.”
“Speaking of your personal life, have you got a new beau?”
She swallowed and exhaled at the same time, and nearly sprayed water out her nose. “What? Good Lord, Ms. V, you can’t believe the desperate accusations of a man like Tom.”
“Oh, I know that dear. But I believe my own eyes. I usually get up at least once a night to let Rocky in or out.” She shrugged. “The cat refuses to give up his nocturnal ways. Just lately I’ve noticed a car parked at the end of the street. Now, my vision isn’t what it used to be, especially in the dark, so I don’t recognize the vehicle from my distance, and it’s always gone by morning, but I started wondering if you had a new boyfriend. And then I thought about the strapping young man I met a while back at your salon. Heaven knows, when I was your age, I wouldn’t have let a specimen like him pass my way without trying for…how do you young people phrase it these days? A booty call?”
Falling for the Enemy Page 13
