Take My Breath Away

by Christie Ridgway

  “Poppy,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Poppy—”

  Then someone shouted “Ryan!” from the entrance to the restaurant. His head swiveled, he cursed, then he backed away from her. “I’ve got to get out of here,” he said, moving faster now. “I’ll...”

  But Poppy didn’t catch the last of the sentence because he turned and dashed for his car. Confused, she stared after him, then looked down at Grimm. The dog had nothing to offer. Shaking her head, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket.

  The device’s screen declared We’re here just as a car pulled up beside her and the back passenger door opened. A smile broke over her face when a little boy leaped from it, a plush Mickey in one hand and his backless booster car seat in the other. With a great surge of love, she gathered him into her arms.

  A car came up behind her cousin’s, tooted its impatience and Poppy waved acknowledgement when her cousin called he would find a parking space. As his vehicle cruised off, she held her son close, breathing him in with her cheek against his hair. All’s right with the world. The cabins didn’t matter, the car didn’t matter, that bewildering, blistering farewell kiss didn’t matter.

  Mason was back, her one, true love.

  She took the booster seat from his hand, dropping it with their other belongings, then kissed him noisily on the top of the head. Yes. All was right with the world.

  For about five seconds. Then suddenly voices were shouting and there was a trio approaching them, three people carrying contraptions—cameras? With Mason pressed close and Grimm at her side, she retreated, taking giant backward steps to avoid the advancing group, which unleashed a barrage of mystifying questions that became a single stream of words aimed in her direction.

  What’s your name? Have you known him long? Is the boy his?

  Her son was hers and hers alone, she thought, a fierce need to protect welling up. “Go away,” she said, her arm keeping Mason pressed to her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” From the corner of her eye, she saw her cousin’s car two aisles off.

  Poppy considered a run for it, but the asylum escapees were between her and safety. Then an SUV pulled alongside her. The escapees became more agitated. The passenger door swung open and Ryan shouted over the crazy people’s din. “Get in the car!”

  Grimm obeyed, jumping onto the passenger seat and then over it to the next row. Before she could think what to do, Ryan had vaulted out and run to get her belongings. He tossed them in the rear then shouted at her again as he raced back to the driver’s side. “Poppy, come on!”

  “I—”

  “Get in the car.”

  The escapees were closing in. Bewildered, heart pounding, she swung Mason into her arms. Should she go with Ryan, a virtual stranger who was supposed to be gone from her life, or face down the curious, clamoring, stranger strangers?

  What’s your name, sweetie? How’d you meet? Are you the pole dancer we’ve heard about?

  Pole dancer? Poppy glanced over her shoulder, ready to shoot down that notion, but the noisy group’s ranks had grown. Bystanders held cell phones that were pointed toward her and Mason.

  She directed her gaze back at Ryan, still unsure. “Mason can’t ride in a car without—”

  “—his car seat,” he finished for her. “I’m on it.”

  He knew about child safety seat laws? She’d think about that later. Now, she watched him make another dash to the rear. In seconds it was installed and as she slid Mason into place realized she’d made her decision. Stomach jumping, she took the seat beside him, not managing to avoid Grimm, who was romping with delight on the cushions as if a threatening horde wasn’t just tinted windows-away.

  The dog nosed the back of Ryan’s head as he edged the SUV through the onlookers, who still held cameras and cell phones and continued to shout questions. As he gathered speed and turned out of the lot, Poppy looked behind. There was a car right on their tail—a small vehicle that was sticking close.

  “Oh, God,” she said, her maternal instincts going on high alert. She put her arm around Mason’s shoulders. “Someone’s following us.”

  “Won’t only be one,” Ryan said, his voice dark. The SUV gained speed.

  Poppy glanced at her son, saw his eyes were saucer-round. “It’ll be okay, honey,” she said, automatically reassuring him though she was completely in the dark.

  She looked at Ryan again, watched as he retrieved his stocking cap from somewhere and jammed it on his head, pulling it low on his brow. Another cap flew over the seat and into her lap. “In case you want a disguise, too.”

  “What? Why—” But she swallowed the rest of her words and nearly her tongue as he made a sudden sharp turn and then another. What had she gotten herself and her son into? “Ryan—”

  “Just let me drive,” he said. “Explanations later.”

  For the next few minutes, she kept her lips buttoned and her arm around Mason. Every few seconds she’d glance behind them, seeing a small parade of cars in their wake. Ryan seemed fiercely concentrated and she didn’t dare interrupt as he took turn after turn on narrow, hairpin roads. After ten minutes of evasive driving, their tail still remained in place.

  “We haven’t lost them,” she said.

  “For the moment,” he muttered, as they wound closer to Blue Arrow Lake. Between the grand homes surrounded by trees situated on its shores, she caught brief glimpses of deep blue water. Ryan took yet another turn, passing a No Outlet sign. Glancing back at their unwelcome entourage, she opened her mouth to warn him of the potential trap when a pair of imposing wrought-iron gates appeared in front of them. Ryan pressed a button on the car’s sun visor and the metal contraptions started to swing inward. As soon as the front bumper of the SUV could squeeze through the opening he was on the accelerator again.

  As the SUV’s back bumper cleared, the gates closed, leaving the other vehicles behind. Ryan sped toward a spacious courtyard, a massive fountain marking its center. As they rounded it, water suddenly shot from the mouths of five leaping trout cast in bronze.

  Mason made a little sound of wonder. Poppy might have echoed it as they came to a stop in front of the steps leading to an enormous, elegant villa.

  Ryan opened his door and stepped out of the car. He had his cell phone in hand and he tapped on its screen. The door to a stand-alone garage to the right of the courtyard rose. With another tap, one of the house’s pair of heavily carved front doors unlatched.

  Poppy’s own phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, checked the number. A text from her cousin James.

  What’s going on? Y are u with HIM?

  Her gaze went to the ridiculously handsome stranger standing beside the SUV. The breeze disordered his hair but it didn’t soften the harsh expression on his face. He looked pissed.

  Lethal, even.

  She pressed the button to slide down her window. As if feeling her gaze, he glanced over. “What?” he asked warily.

  “Who the heck are you?”

  It was Mason who answered for him, in an awestruck tone. “What a silly question, Mommy. He’s a superspy.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  FROM YOU SEND ME, a screenplay by Linus Hamilton:

  EXT. SCENIC MOUNTAIN VIEWPOINT—DAY

  LINUS and CHARLIE sit side by side on top of a picnic table, a spectacular view spread out before them. A summer breeze ruffles CHARLIE’s hair and catches at the skirt of her sundress, drawing it upward. She yanks it down, but not before LINUS has taken notice of her tanned thigh. A secret smile pulls at the corners of his mouth.

  LINUS

  Did I mention I’m really, really lucky?

  CHARLIE

  No, but I suppose you will now.

  He grins, and turns his head to admire her profile.

  LINUS

  See, you could have bee
n an ogre of a postmistress.

  CHARLIE

  I’m a postal clerk.

  LINUS

  (obligingly)

  You could have been an ogre of a postal clerk.

  CHARLIE

  Then you wouldn’t have begged me to be your personal guide to the local sights and hidden places of interest.

  LINUS

  By the way, yesterday I emailed the photos of that old sawmill to the office. They liked them so much I’ve been awarded Best Film Location Scout of the Year.

  He surveys the view with a little sigh of satisfaction, then looks back at Charlie, admiring again.

  LINUS

  What if I said I wanted to kiss you?

  Charlie stills.

  CHARLIE

  I’d...I’d have to say I’m—(beat goes by)—involved with someone.

  Nonplussed, LINUS begins to scoot away.

  LINUS

  Uh...

  CHARLIE doesn’t let him get far.

  CHARLIE

  But we have an understanding. He’s...out of the country and while he’s gone, I’m at liberty to...

  His trademark charming smile breaks over LINUS’s face.

  LINUS

  Kiss?

  And then he’s doing it, kissing CHARLIE with the ease of experience while his arm draws her to him. His free hand rises as if to spear the hair at the back of her head, but then he flexes his fingers and forces it to drop. He doesn’t want to hold too tight.

  They break apart and stare at each other, bemused.

  LINUS

  You’ll continue showing me around the mountain for the rest of August?

  CHARLIE

  Yes.

  LINUS

  And you’ll continue letting me kiss you?

  CHARLIE

  As long as you don’t forget my situation.

  LINUS grins.

  LINUS

  Besides lucky, I’m a free-and-easy kind of guy. No strings. It will be the thing you like best.

  * * *

  LINUS STROLLED TOWARD the Cold Brook post office near closing time, his body relaxed, his expression easy. Yeah, he had something on his mind, but he wasn’t going to let it show on his face. Not to Miss Unfriendly Charlotte Walker. Just remembering her cool attitude of the other day had him yanking up the zipper of his leather jacket that didn’t provide quite enough protection against the March temperatures.

  Things had been a lot warmer around here in August.

  He pushed open the door and stepped over the threshold. There was a short line of people waiting to be helped at the counter. Linus tamped down his impatience and leaned a shoulder against the wall of post office boxes. They had the old-timey look of props from a spaghetti Western, but last summer Charlie had told him they were the real thing, dating back to the late 1800s.

  Last summer Charlie had told him a lot of things.

  He ran his gaze over her now as she helped an elderly woman place stamps on a handful of letters. Seven months hadn’t dulled the gilt-blondness of her hair. He’d once told her he liked bright and shiny things and last summer Charlie had glowed from the top of her head to her toenails painted a molten gold.

  I love the way you kiss, she’d said. I love the way you hold me with such gentleness and kiss me with such strength.

  The fact was, he’d made it a point not to draw her in too tight.

  I’m a free-and-easy kind of guy. Damn it, those words had been—were!—true.

  Just then her soft laugh rang out. His attention transferred back to the present and he frowned, noting her latest customer was a dark-haired man, thirtyish, who had his hips against the counter and his gaze on Charlie as if he’d settled in for a lifetime with her.

  A tide of green-tinged emotion rose from Linus’s gut. Was this him? Setting his teeth, he took a step forward.

  Only to fall back as the man swung around and headed for the door. “I’ll give Audra your best,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Tell her I’m crocheting you guys the cutest baby blanket for the new arrival. I only hope it can be done by her due date.”

  “She’s ready to pop,” the man warned. He put his hand on the doorknob—a wedding band on his left ring finger—then paused, frowning as he caught sight of Linus. His fingers slid off the metal and he cast a quick glance back at Charlie.

  “Are you lost?” he asked Linus, giving him a suspicious once-over with his eyes.

  Why did everyone around here ask him that? And he didn’t need to explain himself to some dude-friend of Charlie’s. “Are you telling me this isn’t Oz?”

  The man appeared baffled. “What?”

  “I’m looking for the Great and Powerful. The Scarecrow will do. Too damp for the Tin Man, though, and the Cowardly Lion always gets on my nerves.”

  The dark-haired guy sent another protective glance in the direction of the postal worker Linus had come to see. “Uh...”

  “He’s pulling your leg,” Charlie said, ducking under the opening in the counter. “Don’t bother phoning the sheriff, Clint. I know this man.”

  “I was thinking of calling County Mental Health,” he grumbled, then held out his hand. “Clint Owen.”

  “Linus Hamilton.”

  “Oh. Oooh.” An amused smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Linus Hamilton? Weren’t you the voice of—”

  “Squeaky McPhee,” Linus finished for him. “Please cut me some slack. I started voicing that cartoon when I was five. I was lured by promises of LEGOs and kiwis.”

  “Kiwis?” Charlie echoed, round-eyed.

  “I had a thing for the fuzzy fruit in my formative years.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “By the time my voice changed I’d gotten a fat bank account and a dirt bike out of the deal as well as a ration of shit from people for the rest of my life.”

  “They still air the reruns. I can’t wait to tell my wife,” Clint said. “I met Squeaky McPhee. Hey, maybe I can get your auto—” He broke off when Linus redirected his glare. “Okay. Yeah. Sorry. Good meeting you.”

  The man chuckled all the way out the post office door.

  “Honest to God,” Linus said in disgust, “I’m going to go into therapy and send my parents the bills. They let me play a mouse with an incontinence problem.”

  “Only when scared by the family cat,” Charlie pointed out. “Though that did happen with great regularity.”

  Linus glared at her. “Yeah, which was why my brother called me Squeaky McPee.”

  The embarrassing admission made Charlie break into laughter. He decided it was worth the humiliation to hear that sound. He could listen to it all day, all month, the rest of the damn year.

  “Squeaky McPee,” she repeated, her big blues glinting with humor. “How I’ve missed you, Linus.”

  At the words, his chest spasmed, his breath painfully caught.

  Charlie’s hand came up to cover her mouth, her expression revealing obvious dismay. Clearly she hadn’t intended for that to slip out.

  But he wouldn’t pretend he hadn’t heard it. Stepping close, he traced her cheek with his forefinger. “I’ve missed you, too. Now that I’m here, we should—”

  “Let’s not go there,” she said, moving back.

  “Why not?”

  She shook her head.

  Linus lost his cool. He strode close again and grabbed her hand so she couldn’t get away. “Is this about Steven Parker?” The man with whom she had an “understanding” that allowed her to date while he was out of the country. “Is he back then?”

  “No.” Charlie wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “So what’s the problem?” Bitterness edged Linus’s voice. “I thought Saint Steven gave you a pass to date while he’s away
.”

  “I don’t want to date you again, Linus.”

  But the fact was, they’d done more than date. They’d laughed and played and made love and...shit. He didn’t want to think about it, but it was all he could think about. “Did you ever tell him about us?”

  Guilty color suffused her face. “That’s none of your business.”

  He made a mental grab for his usual free-and-easy attitude, but everything inside him felt tied up in knots of those “no strings” that he’d claimed as a hallmark of his character. Shit, shit, shit. “It is my business. It’s my business because—”

  “Don’t.”

  The one cool word set Linus back on his heels. Her hand slipped from his. He stared at her, noting the obstinate expression, the steeliness in her blue eyes.

  And he felt like a fool.

  “So if that’s what you came to talk about—”

  “I didn’t.” Linus scrambled to regain some of his pride. “It wasn’t about you or us or—” that fucking “—Saint Steven that I came at all.”

  “Oh?” She raised a brow.

  “I’m looking for my brother. I’m looking for Ryan. He’s in the mountains somewhere, but not picking up his cell. I thought maybe you’d know something—”

  “No maybe about it,” Charlie said, pulling her phone from her pocket. “I’ve even got video.”