by Beth Ciotta
Our first collaboration.
Carson, damn him, the thought of him loomed over her head like a dark cloud, ruining the moment by distracting Bella with a sense of urgency.
As if knowing her thoughts, Chrissy interceded, smiling at her daughter and telling her, “Later,” then nodding toward Savage.
Picking up on her mom’s meaning, Melody hugged the drawing to her heart then looked up and Savage and signed: Thank you.
Chrissy translated for Savage then answered his obvious but unspoken question by demonstrating how to sign: You’re welcome.
He mimicked the simple hand gesture and Bella fell head over heels over heart for—as Chrissy had called him—the hard-ass ex-cop with the big-ass chip on his shoulder.
She would have been giddy if not for her crisis.
She had to set Carson straight once and for all. He had to move on. Bella was in love with an avenging angel.
She glanced toward the sound of music. The band appearing before the Cougars. She swiped her sweaty palms down the rear of her jeans. “I have to go.”
Savage swung off his bike. “I’ll walk you over.”
Chapter Thirteen
Bella found Carson backstage.
She wanted to puke. She was that nervous. Not about ruining his dazzling to-do. But about digging deep and being brutally honest. Or maybe coldly blunt would work better. She had no experience with stubborn suitors. She’d never had an ugly break-up. Past relationships had either fizzled or ended quickly. Either way, parting had been mutual and friendly.
Carson was like a dog with a bone.
Bella was done being dogged.
“You’ve had this conversation with him before, right?” Savage said close to her ear.
Bella leaned in and even though she was practically shouting, she was certain no one, other than Savage heard. The decibel level of the performing group was off the charts. “I expressed myself in an honest and thoughtful way. That wasn’t easy for me. I didn’t talk tough, as Chrissy said, but I was clear about not loving him and wanting to end the relationship. He’s not listening to me.”
“Remember when you gave me hell? Channel that ferocity, Bella. He’ll get the message.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Call in reinforcements.” He palmed the small of her back. “Go get him, Tiger.”
She’d never thought of herself as fierce, but it pleased her that Savage did. It felt like a compliment. It boosted her confidence. She mentally chanted a new mantra—I’m fierce!—followed by a dozen of her mom’s clichés pertaining to strength and courage.
Bella excused herself as she squeezed past stagehands and sidestepped audio equipment. By the time she reached Carson—who was in deep discussion with Helen Lupine, the lead fiddler of the Country Cougars—she’d worked herself into righteous ball of fury. She tapped him on the shoulder.
He turned, clearly stunned by her presence. “Bella. What are you doing back here, honey? What… What happened to your forehead?” He frowned. “And your hands?”
“A biking mishap. It’s nothing. I’m fine. I need to speak with you.”
“You’re supposed to be out front.”
“So you can manipulate me in front of hundreds of people?” She looked past his business-clad body—who wore a suit and tie to an outdoor festival, for goodness sake?—to the stymied Cougar. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Ms. Lupine, but I need to speak with Carson in private. I’m a huge fan, by the way,” she said before tugging her stubborn ex aside.
She glanced back as she led him down the steps. Savage had her in sight. She trusted he’d keep it that way as she led Carson toward a more secluded spot. It wasn’t quiet exactly, but at least she could hear herself think.
Before she could speak, he swept aside her bangs. “Did you see a doctor? Are there stitches?”
“No stitches.” She nudged aside his hand, unsettled by his concern. Not a bad guy, just the wrong guy, she reminded herself. For months Carson’s touch offered comfort and distraction. Now all she felt was numb. That she’d cooled to him so fast and so completely was further proof that their relationship had never been an affair of the heart. She’d used him and it shamed her. Then again he’d taken advantage of her vulnerable state, fully committed to wooing a woman his father would’ve approved of. A woman with a stellar reputation—respected and adored by most everyone in town. Just thinking about the calculated seduction made her blood boil. “Please don’t touch me.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Carson asked. “You look as mad as a hornet.”
“More like a whole nest of hornets. I thought you were a nice man.”
“I am a nice man.”
“Nice men walk away from a relationship—gracefully, I might add—when a nice woman—me, in this instance—says she’s no longer interested. Which I did. At length once, and briefly during subsequent discussions.” Tough talk. “I don’t love you, Carson. Right now, I don’t even like you.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“I’m making perfect sense!” Bella balled her fists at her side so as not to punch him. She’d never punched anyone in her life, but Carson was testing her limits. “I don’t want to be with you. I don’t want to marry you. I’m pretty sure, no, no, definitely sure that I made that clear! Yet you arranged an extravagant show. You intended to propose to me on stage, over a microphone, in front of hundreds of people. Friends, acquaintances, strangers. You thought if you put me on the spot I wouldn’t have the guts or insensitivity to say, no.”
“Why would you say, no?”
Bella threw up her hands with a strangled scream. I’m fierce! I’m fierce! I’m fierce!
“I’m the best thing that ever happened to you, Bella Mooney.”
“So you keep saying.”
“We’re good together.”
“No, we’re not.”
“We could be good together.”
“Wrong.”
He reached out and pulled her into his arms.
Bella stiffened.
She’d been here before. In Carson’s arms. She’d been in his bed. They’d been a couple. He still thought they were a couple. He was set to propose. Of course he believed he had every right to touch her like a lover. Only they hadn’t been intimate in weeks and Bella did not want to be touched.
“You’ve been out of sorts since your mother’s death,” he said when she struggled to break free. “You’re frustrated with your writing. Worried about your job. Worried about your dad. You don’t have to be. You have me.”
“Except she doesn’t want you.” Savage appeared out of nowhere—ominous shades and bad-ass-itude in place. “Let her go.”
Although his tone and expression were calm, in that moment, Bella knew she’d fallen for a man capable of great violence. That made sense. Undercover cop. Of course he’d carried a gun. Maybe he’d even had to use it. Surely, he’d been in more than a few tussles and he didn’t look like a man who lost a fight. The question was: How great was his restraint?
Desperate to defuse the tense situation, Bella slipped out of Carson’s grip and backed into Savage, positioning herself between both men.
Carson hitched back his jacket and slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “Who are you?”
“Joe Savage.”
“My neighbor,” Bella clarified.
Carson narrowed his eyes. “I’ve heard about you.”
“Likewise.”
“You took advantage of Mr. Mooney.”
“Matter of perspective.”
“They worked that out,” Bella said. “I told you—”
“Why are you here?” Carson asked Savage.
“I’m with Bella.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Savage said while finessing her to his side, “I’m with Bella.”
She flushed head to toe. Okay. That was exciting and romantic and, hoo-boy, super awkward.
Carson gaped at Bella, angled his head. “You’re seeing this guy
?”
“She’s moving in with me,” Savage said, saving Bella from answering and knocking her for a loop.
Carson stared, speechless. A rarity.
“Look, Anderson. When Bella learned of this unwanted proposal, she could have taken off and left you twisting in the wind. Instead, she rushed over to save you from making an ass of yourself. If I were you, I’d catch the Cougars before they go on, back out of this ego-fueled display, and save face.”
Jaw clenched, Carson flicked his gaze to Bella. “You’ll regret this. Him. I can’t promise I’ll be waiting whenever you work out whatever this is in your system.”
Bella suppressed a frustrated sigh and forced a smile. Pride was forcing him to back off, but it also negated a graceful, and speedy, exit. “I hope we can still be friends, Carson.”
“Sure.” He slid a menacing look at Savage. “That doesn’t extend to you and me.”
“Naturally.”
Carson stalked toward the backstage mania.
Overwhelmed by the intensity of the showdown, Bella gripped Savage’s arm as her knees wobbled and her stomach churned. It was the first time two men had fought over her and there was nothing sexy about it. Not to mention, the adrenaline that had pumped through her blood when she’d given Carson hell whooshed from her body the moment he walked away.
She wasn’t feeling so fierce now.
Savage cupped the back of her neck and placed a kiss to her bandaged forehead. “Way to go, Tiger.”
Too bad she ruined the affectionate gesture by breaking off and hurling into the bushes.
* * *
Joe had looked into the eyes of murders, thieves, rapists, and ten-thousand varieties of asshole. Carson Anderson didn’t intimidate Joe. Nor did he think the man would ever physically hurt Bella, but he couldn’t be sure. People sometimes acted out of character when pushed to the extreme.
Best case scenario, the guy would sulk for a while then lick his wounds and accept defeat. Joe chose not to dwell on the worst scenario. The last thing he needed was to borrow trouble. Still, he didn’t like the guy. When he’d seen him touch Bella, Joe liked him even less.
Jealousy flared. Fury burned. Memories influenced his imagination, tempting the beast locked within. The rage lingered even after Anderson left. He’d walked away, but he hadn’t given up. That also rattled Joe’s chains. He struggled with disproportionate anger, determined to shield Bella from that hell. Then she’d puked in the bushes and, damn, if his world didn’t right.
Pulling her hair from her face, Joe passed her his bandana. “Nerves?”
“I guess. Yes. I’m not good with confrontation.”
“You did fine.”
Still hunched over she pressed the folded cloth to her mouth. “First I bled on this—”
“Actually, this is a fresh one.”
“And now…ick.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Joe pulled a roll of mints out of his pocket. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
When she straightened, he asked, “Feel better?”
“I don’t think I’ll ever recover from throwing up in front of you.”
“I’ve lost count of the times I’ve seen people hurl. Trust me. I’m not offended. Or impressed.”
She raised a brow at that while popping a mint.
“I had a rookie partner once. Lost it on a gruesome crime scene after devouring three chili dogs less than a half hour before.”
She “ewed”, but she laughed. “Sorry. That wasn’t funny.”
“Yeah. It was. A timely tension breaker. Becker did us a favor, the poor schmuck.”
Her grin widened. “You have a sense of humor. What else are you hiding from me?”
“Only everything. You’ll like me better that way.”
“I don’t believe that.”
He studied her sweet face, knowing he was in trouble, but at the moment, not caring. “When do you want to move in?”
“I thought you were set against a boarder.”
“I’m more set against Carson.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I believe you. This is temporary.”
“Until I find solo lodging.
“Until Carson gets a clue.”
She glanced at the stage. “Maybe I should move in pronto.”
“That would be my vote.” A day ago, he’d been adamant about maintaining his privacy. That obsession crumbled the moment he’d witnessed Anderson laying hands on Bella. Joe’s mind had exploded with twisted memories and projections. Claiming Bella as a housemate—under his watch and protection—had been instinctual.
Her phone chimed and after apologizing for the interruption she quickly scanned a text. “It’s Chrissy. They want to know if I’m okay.” She thumbed a message then glanced at Joe. “I told them everything’s fine. Proposal voided. Enjoy the concert. I’m leaving with biker dude. More later.”
“Biker dude?”
She flushed and focused back on her phone. “I need to call Dad.”
Joe gave her space, eyeing the stage and the bleachers beyond. He found the chaos invigorating after several days of solitude. He hadn’t expected that. The music—bluegrass—though not his style, was smokin’ good. He tried to focus on the upbeat song instead of Bella’s conversation with Archie. Banjo, guitar, fiddle, upright bass. He was enough of a musical fan to recognize the instruments if not the melody. Infectious as it was, Bella’s voice, her presence and essence, proved far more addictive. Instead of losing himself in the song’s lyrics, he marveled at her ability to bring her dad up to date without revealing tense details or the extent of her upset. She glossed over moving out of the Mooney home and in with Joe with stunning ease. No wonder Archie was ignorant of Bella’s innermost feelings. She gave nothing up.
“Good to go,” she said, and Joe realized she was talking to him.
He turned as she slipped her purple phone into that bright pink messenger bag. Princess Rainbow—the perpetual ruler of optimism and cheer.
“Dad respects my decision to move out. He says you’re not so bad and could use a friend.”
“Huh.”
“I told him it was strictly platonic, of course. Temporary. Convenient. It helps that you were a cop. Dad fiercely respects soldiers and lawmen. If you can’t trust a man who swore to serve and protect…”
“Don’t put me on that pedestal.”
“But—”
“I am that bad.”
“I don’t believe it.”
Joe’s heart kicked. “Blind optimism is dangerous, Bella.”
She squinted, needling those bright eyes into his dark soul. “I’m safe with you.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Not blind optimism. Fact.”
“A crème puff with a dragon’s heart.” Joe cupped her cheek, losing himself in her guileless, blue gaze. “You’re an enigma, Bella Mooney.”
Her cheeks flushed. “That makes us a good match, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“That’s probably for the best. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re sort of jaded.”
“Just a little.”
“Are you thinking about kissing me?”
“I’m thinking about more than that.”
“Oh.”
“Not interested?”
“You’re kidding, right? I’m guessing my attraction to you is embarrassingly obvious. But I just, you know…” She gestured to the defiled bushes and popped another mint. “My forehead and hands are bandaged and I’m sort of sweaty from the sun and showdown and… You’re right. I ramble when I’m nervous. You were great with Melody by the way,” she said, jumping tracks. “A cartoonish fairy.” She grinned. “You said you didn’t draw stuff like that.”
Now it was Joe’s turn to color. “Yeah, well.” He dragged a hand through his hair feeling like a bumbling jackass. Melody had pushed a lot of panic buttons, but she’d also stirred his crippled heart. “I was inspired.”
> Bella hugged him. It was the second time she’d blown him away with that simple gesture of affection. It felt awkward and so damned good, he wanted to bottle the sensation for future comfort. Instead, he kissed the top of her head. “Ready to blow this place?”
“Yes. No.” She sighed against his chest. “There’s something I need to do first.”
* * *
I’m fierce. I’m fierce. I’m fierce.
If Bella had her druthers, she would have skipped visiting the quilting club booth. But that would have been cowardly. Not to mention rude to her Aunt Eva and the other members of the group. So she’d swung by for a quick, but cordial hello. Savage hung back as she’d made small talk while complimenting the various quilting projects. Blankets, pillows, purses, hats, and cozies. Although her mom had been a genius with fabric and a needle, it had never been one of Bella’s talents—which made her appreciate the stitched crafts all the more.
She’d held up well until she spied the quirky, vibrant one-of-a-kind, pieced-quilt hand-stitched by her mom. Laura Mooney’s last completed project. Months ago, Eva had offered to return the blanket to Bella, but Bella knew her mom had stitched that intricate quilt as a fundraiser for the club’s favorite charity. Aside from the exemplary craftsmanship, this colorful piece held sentimental value to anyone who had known Laura Mooney. That meant everyone in Nowhere and the majority of Dawes County. Keeping it for herself would have been selfish and it wasn’t as if Bella didn’t own several other items created by her mom. She’d been fine with letting the blanket go for the greater good. Even now she was fine with that decision. However, seeing it on grand display—a recipient of four silent bids thus far—intensified her sentimental attachment, making the noble gesture less easy.
Her mom would never stitch another craft. She’d never showcase her wares alongside her friends at the Arts and Fiddlers Festival. Or any other festival.
If nothing ever changed, there’d be no butterflies.
