by Lynda Bailey
As she walked, Mic became less emotional about Scott and more philosophical. In spite of the pain splintering her heart, she wouldn’t change a thing about her time with him.
She had been glorious and feminine, if only for a night. She hadn’t been a grease monkey, but a desirable woman. More than she ever could have hoped for. She would always carry the memory of their time together. It wasn’t the same as a flesh and blood person, but in the absence of such a person, she’d take the memory. It was better than never having been with him at all.
Besides did she truly have any other choice?
*
A whistle on his lips, Scott ambled out onto Nonie’s front porch. Mic should arrive any time with the Comet, and his excitement at seeing her burst through his chest. He halted mid-step at the sight of his grandmother’s vintage, maroon sedan parked at the curb.
That’s weird, he thought, his gaze scanning the vacant street. Where’s Mic?
He didn’t like the wisp of worry which funneled up his spine. He shook his head. It’s probably nothing.
That’s when he turned and saw the Comet keys lying on the top weathered porch step. He picked them up, his wispy worry now a full-fledged bonfire raging in his gut. Something was wrong. He didn’t know what, but something was wrong. And he was going to find out what.
Clasping the keys in a tight fist, he leapt down the porch steps. Minutes later, after the only thing racing faster than his heart was the V8 engine of Nonie’s Comet, he stopped in the parking lot of Anderson Automotive. By all appearances, it looked closed.
He got out and glanced at his watch. Only 4:15, the place couldn’t be closed. Just then a young mechanic, his head a bit too large for his shoulders, came out the door. Scott recognized him as one of the mechanics from when he’d been such an ass to Mic. He chewed up the gravel ground in three long strides. “Excuse me. Is Mic around?”
The mechanic squinted at him. The name on his shirt read Boyd.“Nah. She left over an hour ago to return some guy’s car.”
Scott hiked a thumb over his shoulder at the Comet. “That car?”
Boyd turned his squint on the car. “Yep.”
“But you don’t know where she is right now?”
“Nope.”
“Look, can you give me her home address. It’s important that I find her.”
With an eyeballing stare, Boyd turned to lock the door. “I could, but I won’t.”
Scott sighed in exasperation. “Why not?”
Boyd looked back, his gaze narrowing. “I remember you from a couple of days ago. You came into the garage all pissed off about something. Maybe you’re still upset. Wouldn’t be a good idea for me to tell you where to find the boss, now would it? ‘Sides, that sorta thing is against the rules.”
“All right. What about her number? Can you give me that?”
“Nah, uh.”
Another sigh. “I don’t suppose anyone else is around that I could talk to?”
“Nope. It was an easy day so we quit early. Everybody’s gone. It’s my week to clean the bathrooms. That’s why I’m still here.”
Scott could feel his tenuous control over his temper slipping fast. “Look you have to understand, I don’t mean any harm to Mic, but I do need to find her. It’s imperative.”
Finished with the lock, Boyd pocketed the key. “Sorry. Can’t help you.”
The young mechanic sauntered toward a beat-up Ford truck. To keep from bashing in the punk’s skull with his fists, Scott spun on his heel and stalked back to the Comet. He attempted to pull his thoughts together.
What could have made Mic disappear like this? Had he insulted or angered her somehow? Everything had seemed fine between them that morning. He couldn’t figure it.
Scott started the engine and pulled out of the lot. He took the longest way back to Nonie’s house he could, cruising every street in Tatum, his gaze peeled for any sign of Mic. In spite of the fact this town was the size of postage stamp, he realized the chances of finding her like this were nil. But at least he was doing something. After an hour of driving around, he put the gear shift into “park” in front of Nonie’s house and sat there, his heart heavy in his chest.
The one thought, which he’d kept at bay, now dominated his mind, curdling his insides like milk in the summer sun. Mic had changed her mind about him.
*
Mic watched Scott trudge up the porch steps, oblivious to her sitting on the swing. As he unlocked the door, she pushed back and the rusted swing chains squealed in protest. He rifled his gaze to her, his expression joyful at first, then cautious. She pushed again and the chains complained louder.
“Hey,” he said from the spot he seemed rooted to.
“Hey,” she responded, staring at the gnarled wood grain of the swing seat. She traced a curvy line with a stubby fingernail.
He came near, hesitancy in his movements. She understood his reservation. Breaking up was probably messy. She could’ve taken the easy, cowardly road and just stayed away until Scott left Tatum. But she’d never been a fan of cowardly acts. Nor easy ones for that matter.
He sat at the other end of the swing. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Liar! Tears burned the back of her eyes. She kept her gaze diverted. “Found me.”
“I, uh, need to talk to you.”
She nodded as a tear escaped. “Me, too.”
“Um, you wanna go first?”
Did she? Would it be easier to say the words or hear them?
Scott cleared his throat. “Okay. I’ll start.” He paused, staring at his clasped hands. “Things have moved awfully fast between us—”
Mic surged to her feet. Hearing the words was worse. Way worse.
She marched to the railing, her arms wrapped around her middle. Turning back, she saw he’d stood as well, his hands in tight fists at his sides. “We both know this won’t work,” she said in as even a voice as she could muster.
He took a single step forward. “What, exactly, won’t work?”
Her hand sliced the air between them. “This.”
She spun away, raw emotion suffocating her. With a deep breath, she placed a shaky hand to her forehead then coerced herself to look at him. God, she was going to miss him.
“Us. You and me. You should go back to New York. It’s where you belong.” She choked on the air in her lungs. “With Snookie.”
“Who?”
“Snookie. You know, your girlfriend.”
Confusion blanketed his face as he came nearer, his hands outstretched. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Please don’t lie to me.” She dodged his touch. “I came by the house earlier and heard you talking on the phone. To Snookie. You said your obligations here were almost done, that you’d be back in New York tomorrow…You convinced her not to leave you…you said…you loved her.”
Comprehension lit Scott’s face and he threw his head back with a barking laugh. A blinding sheet of rage dropped over her eyes.
She stomped to him and jabbed her finger into his chest. Not satisfied when his ear-to-ear grin remained, she shoved him back, hard. “How dare you?” She shoved him again. “Our time together might not have meant a damn thing to you, but it meant everything to me. Do you hear me? Everything.” Another shove. “I will not have you laugh about it.”
She whirled away, knowing if she didn’t, her right cross would connect with his jaw. Before she could take one step, strong arms wound around her waist, lifting her feet from the wood porch. “Let me go.”
She torqued in his embrace, no match against his strength. He turned her in his arms as she slapped and punched any part of him she could reach. The next thing she knew, his hand was on the back of her head holding her still, and his mouth was on hers.
Mic tried her mightiest to shove him away, but it was useless. With a feeble whimper, she slumped in his arms, his mouth and tongue never ceasing their gentle mugging.
He eased away enough to mutter against her lips. “Now, listen here, Mich
aela Anderson. What you heard was not me talking to my girlfriend, but to my secretary, Beatrice Snooker.”
“But I—”
He reclaimed her mouth for another swooning kiss, then pulled back. “No, buts. The business that bought me back to Tatum is almost done, but not the business which I hope will keep me here for a good, long time. And I did tell Snookie not to leave—the company we work for. A grandmother her age shouldn’t have to worry about finding another job. And for the record, I do love the old girl, but I am not in love with her.” He caressed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “I’m in love with you.”
She hiccupped. “You are?”
He kissed her nose. “Very much so.”
“But that’s not what you said yesterday.”
“That’s because yesterday I didn’t know how it felt to have you gone from my life.” He laid his forehead against hers with an unstable sigh. “When I couldn’t find you, I went crazy thinking you’d changed your mind about us. It made me realize how empty my life truly was, until I found you.”
He guided her back to the swing and sat her on his lap. He held both her hands against his chest, her head tucked to his shoulder. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Back to New York.”
Mic lifted her head. “You said you were staying in Tatum.”
“I am, but I need to close my work files and that’ll take a couple of weeks.” He intertwined his fingers with hers. “Have you ever been to New York?”
“No.”
“Then come with me. Let me show you the city. It’ll be a vacation.”
“I just came back from a vacation.”
“Take another one.”
“I can’t afford that.”
“Yes, you can. I’ll pay for everything.”
She jerked upright. “If I didn’t take Ester’s money, what makes you think I’ll take yours?”
He tightened his arms around her. “I meant no offense.” He laid his forehead to hers. “Just say you’ll come with me.”
“Why is this so important?”
“Because I couldn’t stand being away from you for a couple of hours. Being without you for several weeks will kill me.”
She laughed. “I doubt that.”
“Are you willing to take the chance?” he challenged, his eyes dancing. “I might just curl up and die.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because I love you, remember?”
Mic’s smile withered and she dropped her gaze to their folded hands in her lap. How she wanted those words to be true. Her heart twisted around itself. Could she trust him not to hurt her? Mic knew she wasn’t a beauty. She was a car mechanic. Would there come a time when he’d want something more? Something better?
“You know,” he prodded, giving her a gentle shake. “When someone says they love you, the customary response is to say you love them, too.”
She swallowed the emotions jamming her throat, still unable to look at him. “I do love you, Scott. Since high school, I’ve loved you. But…”
His finger tenderly compelled her to meet his eyes. “But?”
Mic stared into Scott’s gorgeous eyes, so sincere, and the truth of his words stopped her heart. Something deep within her soul opened like a flower to the sun.
She could have her happily ever after, with Scott, if she trusted him. Trusted him enough to love her. She cradled his face with her hands and smiled through her tears. “Like you said, no buts. I love you and I’ll go anywhere with you. Tatum, New York, Timbuktu. Anywhere.”
Scott grinned, his mouth hovering near hers. “How about New York for a couple of weeks then back home?”
“Sounds like a plan,” she sighed against his lips.
Mic’s fairy tale on Heartache and Hopeful had finally come true.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I’ve always loved stories. Especially love stories. Growing up in the Midwest, I’d lie awaked at night, making up stories, usually to my favorite TV shows.
As I got older, the stories didn’t relent. They only got stronger, the characters more insistent, until I had no choice but to put it all on paper. It’s become an obsession, one I can imagine living without.
When not sitting at my computer, I spend my time working as a fitness instructor. I live in Reno with my husband of nearly thirty years and our two pampered pooches. Please visit me at www.lyndabailey.net
Here’s a sneak peak at Lily Rede’s upcoming novel, SAFE FROM THE DARK; available October, 2012.
SAFE FROM THE DARK
by
Lily Rede
BLURB:
Nursing a broken heart and a couple of bullet wounds, no-nonsense Evie-Asher leaves her career with the NYPD to move into her grandmother’s old house in a small New England town in the middle of nowhere. She wants nothing more than a new start and a chance to forget the mistakes of the past and get her life back on track, minus the shootouts. Her plans are shattered when her new neighbor, the town’s hunky young mayor, begins receiving death threats from a dangerous stalker. Evie is unwillingly drawn back into a world of peril, and while her bruised heart tries to resist the out-of-control sparks that zing between them, she is forced to stay close to keep him safe as the stalking quickly turns to murder…
Colin Daniels has his hands full running Bright’s Ferry as their popular and busy young mayor. He doesn’t have time for stalkers or threats, much less a lovely gray-eyed cop with control issues who seems determined to get in his way at every turn. When the situation takes a deadly turn, Colin finds that he has no choice but to give up some control himself and rely on Evie to protect him until they can unmask the killer. Passion sizzles between two stubborn hearts as they clash over the best way to handle a dangerous situation, but can they keep each other safe as the dark closes in?
EXCERPT
“SON OF A BITCH!”
Evie Asher swerved to avoid the fallen tree, only to feel the sedan jerk as the front tires sank six inches into the mud off the side of what only the most charitable of lunatics would call a road. It was only mid-afternoon, but the thunderclouds and sheets of rain had darkened the October day to twilight and turned the dirt road into sludge. Ten minutes and spinning wheels confirmed her rotten bad luck – stuck fast.
Fucking perfect, Evie thought, and slammed her hand against the steering wheel, instantly regretting it as splinters of pain shot up her aching arm to the newly healed scar tissue in her shoulder and side. She had ignored the sling for the trip from New York, finding it awkward to drive one-handed, but after ten hours, even Evie’s legendary stamina was giving out and her whole left side was one big, burning ache.
She squinted through the rain-slicked windshield at the split road ahead and considered her options. If memory served, her grandmother’s cabin was about a mile up the right fork. The nearest neighbors were the Daniels, a half mile down the opposite fork. Evie had a vague recollection of her grandmother taking her to visit Martha Daniels, who smelled of lemon and clean linen, cooing over her and wishing she’d had a little girl of her own. It was a nice memory, one of Evie’s last good ones before her life went to hell. She wondered if Mrs. Daniels would remember her fondly or if disapproval would fill her eyes when she opened the door. If Evie were lucky, she wouldn’t remember her at all. Evie had changed, grown up miraculously in one piece, and remade her life as a tough and capable member of the NYPD, until a month ago, when two bullets knocked her out of commission and her monumentally bad relationship decision had blown up in her face. Apparently the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
The discovery that her grandmother had left her the property in Bright’s Ferry, despite everything, had been a welcome surprise. There was a chance the gossip hadn’t spread this far. Bright’s Ferry was about as rural as one could get, tucked against a secluded New England bay, quiet, a good spot to start over. Unless, of course, your parents were at the center of the biggest town scandal in decades. Still, it had been twenty years, an
d Evie had nowhere else to go.
Maybe this time it will stick, she thought with a sigh.
At the very least, Martha and Hank Daniels would let her use the phone to call the town’s lone garage. It was the good human thing to do, regardless of whatever news about her might have made it back to them.
Evie checked her cell phone, unsurprised at the lack of bars, and shoved it into her backpack. There was no way around it, she was going to get soaked. Evie Asher had never waited around to be rescued, and she wasn’t about to start now. She took a quick glance around the car, reached for the door handle, and then stopped.
You don’t need the gun, she reminded her inner cop, who grumbled.
A brief hesitation and Evie opened the glove compartment, grabbed her 9mm, and awkwardly shrugged into her shoulder holster, gasping in pain. She immediately felt better when the weight of the weapon settled into its customary place, and cautiously eased her hoodie on.
One more hour, she promised herself, One more hour and you’ll be soaking in a hot bath, drinking a nice pinot, and reading about the dark-eyed Sabatino doing deliciously illicit things to his Contessa on the library floor.
She hefted the backpack onto her good side and stepped out into the rain.
SHIVERING AND COMPLETELY DRENCHED, Evie dropped her backpack on the Daniels’ porch. It was a beautiful hundred-year-old farmhouse that was obviously in the process of being restored - scaffolding protected what looked like a new wing off the side of the two-story structure. Evie spared a quick glance around, but her teeth were starting to chatter.
Fingers tight with cold, Evie raised a hand to knock.
Nothing.
Come on, come on.
Someone had to be home, judging from the sporty little SUV in the driveway sitting behind a more utilitarian truck. The lights blazed with beckoning warmth and the smoky scent of a fireplace teased her with promises of heat and comfort.
She knocked harder, kicking the door for good measure, stumbling back as it jerked open.
“What the hell, Tom? Can’t a guy take one Sunday afternoon – ”
He broke off abruptly, hazel eyes widening.
Evie tried to form words, but her brain inconveniently chose that moment to shut down, obviously overloaded by impending hypothermia and the sight of six plus feet of bare, tanned muscle standing in the doorway, clutching a blanket around his waist with lean, elegant hands. His skin had a light sheen of sweat and his dark hair was ruffled over those bright hazel eyes.
