Crazy Love

by Nicola Marsh

“Hell no.”

  Sierra leapt off the couch and pulled on her jeans in record time. “You’re a sadist.”

  Belle brandished the spatula with a smirk. “That last extra rip was for standing me up tonight.”

  Belle washed her hands at the corner sink, her evil grin reflecting in the mirror above the hand basin. “Hope he’s worth it.”

  Sierra shrugged. “It’s just dinner,” she said, annoyed her stomach danced the Rumba.

  She knew the score. City boy had hinted at a dinner invitation in the hope of getting what he wanted: info on the happy couple. He’d basically said as much when they’d bumped into each other at Aphrodite; probably thought wining and dining her would loosen lips.

  Delusional. She’d string him along, throw a few red herrings his way and get him to leave her favorite couple alone.

  “Just dinner? Riiiight.” Belle tapped her bottom lip, pretending to ponder. “Then what was the wax about?”

  Sierra held up two fingers in the classic Boy Scout sign.

  Belle chuckled and walked her to the salon door. “You’re incorrigible. And I want to hear every last sordid detail.”

  Marc Fairley hated this place.

  From the minute he’d driven under that ridiculous heart-shaped sign “You’re in Love” at the town’s perimeter, he knew he was in trouble.

  Wacky, small-town USA at its best and for the hundredth time since he’d arrived he wondered what his immaculately coiffed, classy mother was doing in a place like this.

  Two words sprang to mind.

  Hank Stevens.

  His mother had fallen for some yokel named Hank. If that wasn’t bad enough she’d emailed him the news. Since when did his computer-illiterate mom learn how to turn on a PC let alone use the Net? Must’ve been around the time she logged onto Sierra Kent’s website and listed her sexual preferences for the world to see.

  Sierra Kent. Another anomaly in a world gone mad. What was a stunning redhead doing running a sleazy dating agency? And holed up in this dead-end town?

  He’d blundered into the offices of Love Byte ready to bully as much info as he could get out of what he’d pictured as a slime-ball proprietor with a pencil-thin moustache for toying with his recently divorced mother at her most vulnerable.

  Instead, he’d been stunned by the sexy babe wearing designer clothes, her sharp wit knocking him flat faster than one of his father’s put-downs. And wishing he’d waited a few more days for Finders-Keepers, the LA investigators he used regularly in business dealings, to come up with info on Love Byte’s owner before barging in unprepared.

  He recognized class when he saw it and Sierra Kent was all that and more, bundled up in one hot little package begging to be unwrapped.

  Despite his intentions to get the lowdown on this Hank character before confronting him, break whatever deal his mother had made with the agency and hightail it back to LA ASAP, deranged mom in tow, he’d somehow arranged to have dinner with the copper-haired harridan. Worse, he was looking forward to it.

  It wouldn’t be all bad. Gleaning the information he wanted would be a hell of a lot more pleasant over dinner than dragging it out of her in that corny office she ran.

  His hit-run-and-save mission had hit a snag. Not only would he now be spending the night in Hicksville, he’d be fraternizing with a local.

  If the guys in LA got wind of this, he’d be laughed out of the next board meeting. He could see the Los Angeles Business Journal headlines now: A-Corp CEO in Love…and loving it.

  He suppressed a shudder, flipped open his cell and hit redial, desperate to speak to Rob, his deputy, for the simple reason to reassure himself A-Corp did in fact exist and LA was real, not some figment of his imagination. For the longer he sat behind his steering wheel and stared at the main street of this town, the harder it was to believe he hadn’t set foot in a time machine and wound up in the fifties.

  The town square was picture perfect, from its immaculately cut bowling green lawn to the pristine sandstone paths leading up to a red brick town hall complete with massive clock like the one from Back to the Future, surrounded by a bunch of antiquated shops that gave quaint new meaning.

  Couples holding hands strolled the main street, peering in shop front glass so sparkly-clear he could shave in it, with antique light posts and giant terracotta pots filled with flowers standing sentinel out front of every shop.

  Throw in the soda fountain, the old-fashioned corner store, the striped pole outside the barber’s, the drive-in and little wonder his head was spinning. Was this place for real? What happened to Martini bars, day spas and digital technology? And where would he get his morning Ristretto fix? Flat white didn’t do it for him anymore. Though he could always head back to that café where he’d bumped into Sierra in the hope he’d run into her again.

  Crazy. Being away from the smog was getting to him all ready.

  “A-Corp, Rob Alden speaking.”

  Marc rubbed a weary hand over his eyes in the vain hope all this would disappear; when he reopened them, it hadn’t.

  “Rob, it’s me.”

  “Where the hell are you? Things are frantic around here.”

  “I’m in Love,” he replied without thinking. It sounded more ludicrous verbalized than it did in his head.

  “Are you doing drugs?”

  “You know me better than that.”

  “Yeah, and that’s why I reckon you’re snorting something. The Marc Fairley I know chases skirt but never falls in love.”

  Marc leaned his head against the car headrest, shut his eyes, blocking out the Happy Days vista in front of him.

  “Ever heard of the town Love?”

  “Nope. Sure you’re not doing drugs?”

  “That’s where I am. Family business. Should be back Monday if everything works out.”

  He didn’t mean to say if. He’d make it when if it killed him. Bad enough spending one night here, two nights would render him catatonic and any longer…he couldn’t think beyond that.

  “Sounds serious. Anything I can help with?”

  The thought of telling Rob, the epitome of LA’s slick movers-and-shakers, about his mother flipping out for a guy named Hank after dabbling in Internet dating and him spending the night at a motel called the Love Inn in his quest to save her from becoming Mrs. Hank, made him want to slam his hand against the dash, hard.

  “Hold the fort ‘til I get back.”

  “Sure thing, big guy. Stay cool.”

  An image of Sierra staring at him with fire in her blue eyes flashed into his mind, eradicating cool from his memory banks in an instant.

  She’d pushed all his buttons, including the one that responded on a subliminal horn-dog level, and he wondered what would happen if he pushed back over dinner tonight.

  “How’s the Tech file panning out?”

  He should be in LA handling the biggest coup this century, not holed up here fantasizing about a woman who would be a distant memory come Monday.

  “I’m waiting to confirm the final list of top five local Net companies, then we’re ready to strike. Once we buy them out, we hit the big time. Numero uno.”

  At last. The position he’d coveted since the first day he’d started the company. Making A-Corp the biggest acquisitions company in California would be all the sweeter for knocking the old man’s mob off the top rung of the corporate ladder.

  If anyone deserved to be taken down, it was George Fairley. The callous bastard would pay for what he’d done to his mom.

  “Keep me posted. I want those names as soon as you have them. And email me the updated file, okay?”

  The rundown motel better have Internet access. He’d been in such a hurry to hotfoot it out of LA and get to his mom he’d left his laptop behind. Another bad sign. Since when did he forget anything associated with business?

  When he wasn’t behind his desk he was on his cell or had his laptop chained to his wrist, absorbed in work twenty-four-seven, just the way he liked it. He could understand busines
s, could control it, which is more than he could say for the rest of his life.

  “Sure thing, boss. And get this. One of those top five companies is an online dating agency. Crazy, huh? Who knew peddling crap to desperadoes could be so lucrative?”

  Dread crawled under Marc’s skin. Nah…couldn’t be…must be loads of successful Web dating sites based in California.

  “Check out this for a name.” Rob’s phony laugh, half-snort, half-guffaw, increased his trepidation. “Love Byte. Corny, huh? Should be a cinch carving up that little relic from the nineties.”

  Marc clenched the phone to his ear, wishing he didn’t know, wishing he could replay the last five minutes and erase Sierra’s company off his hit list.

  So much for his fabled ruthlessness. The instant he’d heard that loony name his stomach had roiled with the knowledge he’d have to take down the sassy redhead’s company.

  He shouldn’t care. But he did. Somewhere between scoring a dinner invitation and getting drenched in ice coffee he decided he liked her quick wit, her acerbic tongue and the rest of her; particularly the rest of her, with those hot curves and long legs and perky breasts.

  Damn.

  “Boss? You still there?”

  “Yeah.” Marc barked into the phone before swiping a hand across his eyes and refocusing. “What do you have on the company so far?”

  “Not much. The file’s being compiled as we speak. I’ll get it to you once it’s complete.”

  “Fine.”

  Though it wasn’t, as an image of bold blue eyes and a lush mouth curved into a challenging smile flashed into his conscience, yelling ‘shame on you.’

  Mentally letting fly a string of creative curses, he blinked, wiped the image, and slammed his misplaced sentimentality.

  He didn’t know the woman, didn’t owe her anything and he’d be damned if he let the opportunity to beat George once and for all slip.

  “Anything else, boss?”

  “Make this deal happen.”

  Marc snapped the phone shut, watching a couple of tourists take photos in front of the diner, their cheesy grins grating on him as much as the cozy scene.

  Everything about this place irritated him and he knew why. It reminded him of Annie and what she’d done to escape a small town like this.

  Not that he’d been blameless in their disastrous, short lived marriage but the less he had to think about it, the better.

  For now, he had more important things to focus on, like having dinner with a woman whose company was on his hit list while wrestling his gnawing guilt under control, and stopping his mom from making a monstrous mistake.

  Frigging great. His day just got better and better.

  Olivia Fairley had made lousy choices her entire life: the wrong husband, tolerating his abuse, ignoring his infidelities, solace in a bottle.

  Not any more. These days, she chose a simple life, in a simple town, with a simple man.

  She sank into rose-scented warm water lapping the top of the claw foot bath and leaned back against solid, male flesh, wondering why she’d waited this long to experience the thrill of bathing with a man.

  Probably because she’d been married to a cold, ruthless bastard for forty years.

  She thanked the good Lord every day she’d had the smarts to enroll in a course for the first time in her life after divorcing George Fairley a year ago, learned how to use a computer and ultimately ended up in love in more ways than one.

  “You’re so tense,” Hank said, his large, calloused hands kneading her shoulders, the pressure just right.

  She sighed as her head lolled back. “Lot on my mind.”

  As much as she hated George he’d given her a wonderful son in Marc, the only high point in her lack luster marriage.

  Marc, who had helped her through the divorce, through her battle with alcohol and who she saw more of now than when they’d lived in the same house.

  She’d been a lousy mother, too wrapped up in her own misery to care about her child, yet when she’d needed him Marc had been there. He’d supported her, encouraged her and set her on the path to a new life.

  Late at night, when Hank’s steady, rhythmic snoring lulled her toward sleep, she wondered what would’ve happened if Marc hadn’t been around to pull her through.

  Would she have been compos when Aunt Maggie died and left her twenty million, making her a rich woman in her own right and not needing a penny of George’s measly settlement of the mausoleum she abhorred? Would she have had the guts to get smart, get sober, get out and divorce George?

  Probably not, reason enough why she owed her son and had every intention of making up for the wasted years.

  “Liv?”

  “Sorry, darling. Just thinking about Marc.”

  “Worried about how he’ll react to the news?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Her newfound courage had deserted her when it came to telling Marc about her pending nuptials so she’d taken the easy way out. Smitten by technology these days, she’d emailed him, kept her announcement brief, stuck to the bare facts: she was in love with a wonderful farmer, was happier than she’d ever been in her life and was planning on becoming Mrs. Hank Stevens before the year was out.

  His scathing reply demanding facts hadn’t fazed her so she’d laid it out in another email, explaining how they’d met, knowing he’d burst a blood vessel but finding it easier than dealing with his interrogation over the phone or worse, face to face.

  She could imagine his reaction and hadn’t had a response yet. She’d sent the email Wednesday, today was Friday; in this case maybe silence was truly golden?

  Hank’s hands drifted lower, massaging her upper arms with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes. Where had this man been all her life?

  Tending his farm, watching classic old movies and devouring Western novels while she’d been holed up in her Beverly Hills mansion playing society hostess in an empty shell of a marriage, tolerating George’s daily put-downs, turning a blind eye to his numerous affairs and hating every minute of it.

  “Why don’t you invite him here? We can get to know each other before the wedding?”

  Her career-driven, self-made millionaire son in Love? He rarely set foot outside his skyscraper glass office let alone LA unless it involved business or one of those plastic floozies he dated on a regular basis following the bust-up with Annie seven years ago. Unfortunately, when it came to women, her son followed in his father’s footsteps, chasing after unsuitable women. She’d hoped Marc’s taste would develop into discerning as the years passed but so far he’d disappointed.

  Why couldn’t he find someone classy, someone who could match him, rather than settle for the fake arm candy he paraded around the city with? He needed a woman with intelligence, panache, and class, his equal in every way.

  This town was brimming with savvy women and in that instant Hank’s suggestion didn’t sound so ludicrous. A glimmer of an idea took root and grew…to matrimonial proportions.

  All she had to do was get Marc here, orchestrate a few meetings and let the sparks fly.

  “You darling man, you’re a genius.” She tilted her head back and nuzzled under Hank’s chin. “I’ll invite Marc to stay first thing in the morning. For now, I have some bits that need scrubbing…”

  Marc slid into a back booth at the Love Shack, feeling more like the Fonz with every tick of the ancient kitchen clock hanging askew from the faded candy-striped walls of the old diner. Any minute Ritchie, Potsie and Ralph-Malph would join him, completing the bizarre scenario.

  He’d never seen anything like this: a long, marble counter with stainless steel stools beneath it, high back booths in red Naugahyde, black and white tiled floor, and an authentic 1956 Warlitzer jukebox in the far corner.

  Throw in the framed posters of Marilyn Monroe, the vintage cookie tins and soda bottles perched precariously on rickety wooden shelves lining one wall, the rotary dial telephones and the peppy fifties music making his head ache, and he knew he�
�d stepped into a sitcom.

  He should find his mom pronto rather than waste time having dinner with a woman, no matter how beautiful, he wouldn’t see after tonight.

  Barging in on his mom unannounced had seemed like a good idea back in LA, now he was here he knew it would be smarter to calm down, get a good night’s sleep and confront the senile pair in the morning.

  Senility was the only reason he could think of for his mom’s whacko behavior. Dementia had set in early. He couldn’t fault her for finally leaving his father and their loveless marriage but to shack up with some country hick barely twelve months after the ink on the divorce papers was dry? Not to mention the stranger phenomenon of wanting to get hitched to a farmer she’d met on the Internet?

  No, something wasn’t right. This whole scenario screamed scam. Hopefully Eric Grayson, the local PI he’d hired an hour ago to get the dirt on this Hank character would come through ASAP and he’d have proof.

  And if he found out this no-good son of a bitch was using his mom as a one way ticket out of Dullsville before throwing her away like yesterday’s trash, he’d whisk her out of this godforsaken town so fast her head would spin.

  He had to protect her, considering he’d done such a lousy job all these years.

  “Your shirt cleaned up okay.”

  Marc glanced up as Sierra slid onto the worn bench seat opposite and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he struggled not to gawk like a hormonal teenager on a first date

  She eyeballed him. “What? Do I have a smudge on my nose or something?”

  “Or something.”

  He grabbed a menu in an attempt to do something with his hands other than make a grab for the gorgeous redhead.

  Copper. Burnished copper threaded with gold. He’d dated redheads before but none had come close to having hair the color of this woman, hair that made his fingers itch to tangle in the silky waves as it danced around her face in fiery ripples before falling to below her shoulders.

  She stood out like a bright beacon, a siren that could shipwreck the entire US Fleet and he couldn’t fathom why a woman like her was holed up in a dead-end town like this.