French Roast
Page 28
“Unbelievable,” Meredith declared, pulling her in for a one-arm hug.
“I told you. It’s PolarFest.”
Memories overwhelmed her. The first year they’d held PolarFest was when they were both twenty-one. The scope and size of the party had continued to grow each year as they planned increasingly more unique events. One year they’d made an ice rink in the vacant pasture and played ice skating bingo. And now PolarFest had a sleigh.
“We missed you at setup, Jill,” someone called out. “Brian’s cooking a shitload of meat. Spit a whole flock of chickens. Jemma would have loved that.”
She waved in the general direction since she couldn’t see who was speaking. She hadn’t been prepared for how many people would talk about Jemma.
“You gonna be all right?” Meredith asked, rubbing her back.
She wiped her nose. “Yeah. Jemma would be happy about this. I need to find Brian.” And see for herself how things were between him and the French chick.
Peggy took Jill’s elbow. “No reason for delay, right?”
“Right,” Jill responded, leading them around the house.
White Chinese lanterns hung along the side of the house and dotted the trees, lending everything a magical glow.
The powerful smell of roasted meat reached her when the wind blew. She caught sight of a huge bonfire, emitting tons of smoke. She wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had been dancing in the middle. Jill spotted Brian basting a whole row of chickens with a kitchen mop. He was standing in the middle of a ring of fire with only a narrow path leading into the circle of four grills and an open pit. All he had on was a long-sleeved T-shirt, and he was sweating at the temples. When Brian cooked, he went all out.
She waved at a few people as they walked deeper into the back, but she kept her eyes peeled for the French chick. “Tell me that’s not the mop Pete and his boys use to clean their kitchen floor,” Jill commented as they reached Brian.
“Like those guys ever clean anything,” he replied with a shudder, dunking the mop back into the gallon bucket of basting sauce before dabbing the glistening birds again. “I’m getting slammed. Can you turn some brats for me?”
Clearly, he was in drill sergeant mode. When she didn’t answer right away, he turned toward her, the roaring fire illuminating the side of his face.
His eyes narrowed, and he pulled her to him, kissing her on the mouth. “I’m glad you’re here. You’ve been crying. You saw the sleigh, didn’t you?”
His comfort helped soothe the ache a little. “Yes.”
His finger stroked her cheek. “Jemma always did have great ideas.”
“Yeah,” she mused, picking up a meat fork the size of her grandpa’s cane.
“Hey guys,” Brian called out to her group of supporters, but even she could detect the tension in his voice. “Glad you came.”
“We’re trying to get into the spirit,” her sister responded.
Jill almost let out a sigh. Good. Everyone needed to put their recent interactions aside. Her family and Brian both meant the world to her, and they’d have to deal with each other.
Meredith linked her arm with Tanner’s. “I need a drink. Peg?”
“I’ll wander around. See if they’re breaking any other ordinances.”
“We’re already breaking the fire code given the number of people inside.” Brian darted over to what looked like fifty hamburgers frying in neat, precise rows. “Tell Pete to announce that the meat’s coming off the grill in five. Hey, we laid the sausages from right to left,” Brian informed her.
“So?” Her eyes watered from the smoke.
“So, turn them from right to left. It’s the cooking order.”
“Order-smoder,” she replied, but fell into a rhythm with the heat on her face, inhaling the scent of the roasted meat, listening to Brian mutter as he darted back and forth between the cooking stations.
“Sorry that took so long, Brian. I see you found yourself another helper.”
Jill turned, grill fork in hand. She wished Simca’s all-red outfit looked like a fire hydrant, so the dogs could all do their business on her. Instead, it accentuated her svelte figure. Simca picked up another fork and opened the grill, turning hot dogs and hamburgers like she was a gold medal winner in the Grilling Olympics. Even her stocking cap made her look like some sleek ski kitten in a Bond film. Suddenly Jill felt like a slob.
Jill walked over to her, her anger flaring like the fire. “I can handle this. Why don’t you go get a drink?”
They shared a look of pure understanding that went all the way back to women in the caveman era. He’s my man, Jill conveyed, while Simca shrugged, try and stop me.
“As you wish,” she replied, turning the last of the meat.
Brian stepped between them. “Sim, why don’t you grab me a Guinness?”
When she left, Jill was aware of the stares, the conversations that halted mid-sentence.
Brian dropped the mop into the bucket, causing marinade to slop out onto the shoveled snow. “I can tell you’re upset about her being here, but we’re only cooking.”
She realized she couldn’t wait to ask him. “Grandpa said she looked at Mr. Wilson’s property for a restaurant? Is she really thinking about staying here?”
His eyes swept between her and the roasting chickens. “I…tried to tell you—”
“The night you moved in,” she finished. “Yes, I remember.”
He turned a chicken and then rushed over to her, gripping her arms. “If the hotel is approved, it’ll open up a market for high-end cuisine in Dare. The guests won’t always eat at the hotel. It’s a good option, Jill. I can stay here with you and do the kind of work I really want, but it’s only an option. We’ll talk about it after the city council vote comes in.”
His reasonable tone made her grind her teeth. “Do you really think you can work with her without getting all tangled up?”
“Yes! I love you, and you need to start trusting me. Look, smoke’s pouring out of your grill. Can we talk about this later?” he asked, picking the mop back up.
Ignoring the smoke, she stood her ground and changed tactics. “I saw you, how you two worked together, how you look together. You’re a team.”
“Jeff’s tapping a keg,” Pete said, coming into the circle and slapping Brian on the back. “Where’s the ever-helpful Simca?”
“Don’t ask,” he responded, nudging him with an elbow.
Pete’s eyes widened when he caught sight of Jill. “Right. What can I do?”
“Turn the burgers,” Brian ordered. “Jill, we’ll talk about this later.”
Both of them turned away from her. Jill finished flipping her meat, even as the rage grew inside her. Pete liked Simca. He had invited her here. It was the last straw. She put her fork down and walked over to him. He didn’t look at her as he arranged the burgers.
“I came here tonight even though it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Jemma’s not here, and tonight makes that even more obvious.”
“Jill,” Brian warned.
“No, I’m not done.” She drilled her finger into Pete’s chest. “I came anyway, and what do you do? You invite Brian’s ex-whatever over to help him and then act like she belongs more than I do. Who in the hell do you think you are?” She stepped back, arms wide.
“She volunteered to help, Jill,” he responded, his eyes narrowing. “You need to calm down.”
A crowd started to gather—either everyone had developed an appetite at once, or they were all listening to her. Suddenly she didn’t care. The words were bursting from her chest. “I’m glad Jemma can’t see what you’ve become.”
Someone pulled on her arm. She realized it was Brian, looking at her with slitted eyes.
“Enough. Go inside.” When she didn’t move, he gave her a nudge. “You’re not thinking straight.”
The only sound in the backyard was the rock music blasting over the speakers, she realized. People passed in a blur as she hurried into the house
. Coming here had to be the stupidest idea she’d ever had. If it weren’t for Mac, she would have taken off.
As she dodged through the throng of people in the kitchen, a few pitying glances were thrown her way. When she caught sight of the French chick popping champagne in clear celebration mode, she wanted to break the bottle.
The party swirled around her, but the coldness of grief grew inside her.
Everything had changed.
***
“Fuck,” Brian muttered as Jill ran inside. He checked the meat, his heart pounding in his chest. His hopes of everything falling into place had gone up in flames.
The wind blew briskly, and the plastic plates he’d weighed down took flight like Frisbees.
“Goddammit,” Pete growled. “When is Jill going to stop this shit? I mean, I hate to say it, but Simca’s growing on me. I think she’s got your best interests at heart. Buying Morty’s place to open a restaurant with you. Now that’s loyalty.”
The fire burned Brian’s face. “Look. Keep your mouth shut.”
The last thing he wanted was for that particular gem to start circulating in the town’s gossip mill. Pete had said he’d keep it to himself. Right.
“Seriously, Bri.”
“Look, I haven’t decided on anything yet, so shut it.” And after seeing Jill’s reaction, he knew she would never support it. An angry depression overtook him.
Pete flung out his arms. “Are you crazy? What’s your other option? Stay at The Chop House? You know you hate it. You’ll die of boredom, man.”
The words dug into his skull. He wanted to lash out at the unfairness of it all. Most of all he wanted Pete to stop. It was more than unprofessional to air his feelings about The Chop House in public.
“Jill’s leaving you behind with the potential big new job at the hotel. You know she wants it.”
“I said, ‘shut up, Pete.’”
“Why won’t you take what you want?”
Brian slugged him before he knew what he was doing. Pete fell back, making the crowd gasp.
Brian took a deep breath, reaching for his control. “Shit, man. I’m sorry.”
Pete slipped on the snow, trying to get back up. Brian reached out a hand to help him. His friend flung it aside and stood.
“You just crossed the line,” he announced, brushing at his lip.
“Pete—”
He walked away.
The fire over the birds whooshed. Brian concentrated on pulling the chickens off the spit so he wouldn’t have to meet anyone’s eyes.
God, he’d totally lost it. But why hadn’t Pete just shut the hell up?
When smoke rolled over him, he stabbed the meat with blurred eyes. Flung it on the plate in an odd assortment without a care for presentation.
Lifelong friendship flickered like the flames.
***
Peggy surveyed the guests at the party. College towns really were weird. Gray-haired profs flirted with dewy co-eds like it was completely normal. She’d heard something about a hot tub from an old guy in an ugly green cardigan sweater who looked like he must be part of the English department. A few bleached blonds had shrieked—actually shrieked—and run after him. God, she hoped they weren’t breaking another city ordinance.
She hated busting naked people.
Especially if they were wet and sloshed.
A warm palm squeezed her behind, making her head swivel. A feverish, middle-aged man had his eyes glued to her butt.
“Get your hand off my ass before I break your arm.”
His glassy eyes didn’t so much as blink. She slapped his hand away.
His gaze swung up like he was being pulled on a lever. “You’re intense, like one of the black holes I study. I appreciate that in a woman. Wanna go somewhere and make out?”
Astonishment flashed through her. Who in the hell were these people? “What are you? Some demented prof from the astronomy department? Get lost.”
He made some humming sound like a bee that’d just been diverted from a blooming flower and didn’t intend to be put off. “Make me.”
She took a wide stance. “Look, I’m a cop, so take off.”
His grin made him look even more dopey-eyed drunk. Seriously, what was with this guy?
“I love role play. You’re a cop, and I’m a dangerous criminal. Wanna cuff me?”
“Seriously, I am the deputy sheriff of Eagle County, and you need to back off.”
He reached for her face. A man seized his hand mid-reach.
“Trust me. She really is the deputy sheriff.” Mac Maven leveled the guy a dangerous look. For Peggy, it only confirmed what she knew of him—Mr. Poker wasn’t all charm. “And she told you to back off.”
“She’s only saying that,” the professor mumbled. “She really wants me. I have a PhD. Women like that.”
“I don’t think so,” Maven said, stepping closer.
“I’ve got this,” she interrupted, putting her hands on her hips.
“I said,” Maven uttered in a silky voice. “Leave.”
The guy back peddled. “She doesn’t want you either, man,” he said over his shoulder as he stumbled away.
“I’m well aware of that,” Maven said, turning to face Peggy.
“I was taking care of it,” she ground out.
He lifted his brow. “I didn’t mean to impugn your abilities. I’m sure you could have put him in a deadly Colga hold. My way seemed faster.”
“That headlock is no longer used by police officers. And your way wasn’t faster. You just didn’t give me the chance to deal with it,” she commented, knocking into him when someone pushed her from behind.
He caught her shoulders with his hands. They felt big and warm on her body, and the woman inside her was awakened by the touch. His brown leather jacket called to mind old war pilots. Add in a V-neck gray sweater with the hint of a white T-shirt underneath, and he looked relaxed and casual—more so than she’d ever seen him. The jeans hugged his thighs, making her wonder how it showcased his nice butt.
He didn’t let go. “Your hair looks lovely tonight, and is that color in your cheeks?”
His face took up her whole field of vision, like a microscope zoomed in on a prized specimen. God, he was gorgeous. Why did she have to feel this jolt with him? And why wasn’t he giving her the cold shoulder after that quote was published in the paper?
“Have you found Jill?” she asked in an effort to divert his attention from her brushed hair. He’d noticed. Part of her sighed.
“Not yet. Let’s get some air. We have something to discuss.” He took her elbow, leading her through the crowd and down a hallway. They stepped onto the wrap-around porch, his efficacy and speed indicating he’d been at the party for a while. He must have taken the time to scope the place out. A few people stood smoking, chatting in low voices near the tiki torches.
Maven swung his jacket off and had it on her shoulders before she could protest. She wished she hadn’t shed her coat. His actions made her edgy. If he thought he could convince her to back off, he had another think coming.
Her chin went up. “I don’t need your jacket.”
When she reached to take it off, he laid his hand over hers. “If I asked you what you think you have on me, would you tell me?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” He raked a hand through his hair. “So, it’s going to be a shoot out then. You and me at the city council meeting.”
Her mind conjured up a dusty street in the old west at high noon. He would make a good adversary. “If you like.”
“Peg, whatever you think you have, let me warn you it’s not going to play out like you expect.”
She stiffened. “Don’t warn me off. Your charm won’t work on me.”
“I know you’re tough. You don’t have to prove that to me.”
His eyes could have been spotlights into her soul. His intense stare made her want sunglasses, which was stupid since it was pitch black out. “Glad you picked that up.”
A door slammed somewhere, startling her, or was it her imagination? His deep voice was as mesmerizing as the cadence of her gun shooting at the range. It held her in place like she was his personal target.
“Mother and cop vie for first place, but mother always wins. You can be tough, yes, but you’re also incredibly loving, gentle. Even playful, I’ll bet. Being a good friend is important to you as well. I would bet you’re intensely loyal. But it’s the side of you that’s hidden best that has me thinking about you more than I’d like.”
Her throat might have turned to sand because she couldn’t breathe or swallow. She gave herself an internal shake like she did sometimes when she heard dark, nasty details about a crime. No intimidation. No fear. No reaction.
“Oh, yeah?” she replied in her most flippant voice. “What’s that?”
He cocked his head, those jade eyes wandered over her face. “Don’t you know? It’s the woman.” His hand smoothed a tendril behind her ear. “She’s buried deep, but she’s still there.”
His touch burned her skin. Made her lips tremble slightly. For the first time in many years, Peggy had to reach deep for imperviousness. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course I’m a woman.” She gestured towards her chest as if to say duh.
Those bow-shaped lips curved, accentuating his dimple. “Yes, there’s no denying nature’s finest trappings.” His gaze dipped lower and then rose to her face. “But you don’t let yourself act like a woman anymore. It’s like you consider it a weakness. I wonder about that.”
The pressure in her chest came out of nowhere. Suddenly she couldn’t fill her lungs. “Well, don’t overtax your pea-sized brain. Keep it focused on how you can swindle more people out of their money at cards.”
“I already know how to do that. I won’t take exception to your use of ‘swindle’ since I know what I am.”
Well, she didn’t have a clue. He was a threat to her system. Intoxicating and interesting, but unnerving all the same.