A Fabulous Wedding

by Dianne Castell

  “Hey,” he said, grabbing for the wheel. “Careful.”

  And that was exactly what she had to be—careful. Nick Romero was some kind of man. So gorgeous, a smile to die for, and this time she almost had—literally. His breath warmed her cheek, and his large hands holding hers felt…good. Really good! This was not part of being a snoop.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She gripped the wheel tighter and focused on the road heading out of town and not on Nick so near. “My parents moved to Florida. They love the warm weather and ocean. Ever been there?”

  “Excuse me?” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He had a confused look on his face. “You want to pull over for a minute?”

  “I’m fine. Terrific.” Sort of, if she could quit obsessing over Nick Romero. Except, he smelled really delicious and had wavy hair she wanted to touch. No touching! “Tell me about your life as a chef.”

  “You sure you don’t want to get a drink or something?”

  “How’d you wind up in Whistlers Bend?”

  Nick sat back in his seat. “A friend of mine came through here last year on his way to Glacier National Park. Knowing how I wanted to open my own place in a small town, he suggested I contact merchants to see if anyone wanted to sell. He said Whistlers Bend had nice people, needed a restaurant. Seemed like a good match for me.”

  “Guess I did hear something about that. But we already have the Purple Sage.”

  “It’s a diner. Now you’ll have Nick’s, and folks won’t have to travel to Billings for dinner.”

  She aimed the car onto a gravel road and they dropped into a pothole that threatened to swallow her front tire. “This road isn’t made for my Camaro. I’ll have to go slow.”

  Nick held on to the dashboard as the car bounced from pothole to pothole. “Is this the only way to the mine?”

  She eased the car forward. “Quickest way from town, but there are other roads to the west that come in along the base of the mountains. They’re closer to the expressways and in better shape.”

  This was good. They were two people talking, and Nick was just a guy. Was that like saying a Humvee was just a car? “I think the roads are the reason the smugglers meet around here. They rendezvous in different places, split up the goods from bigger trucks that drive in from the west coast, then get back on the expressways and take the stuff to the cities. The switch would take minutes and they’d be on their way. In the winter they probably move the operation south because the mountain roads up here would be impossible.”

  He didn’t respond for a moment. “How…how’d you think of that?”

  She shrugged. “A hunch. There’s got to be some reason the smugglers are hiding out here. Whistlers Bend’s proximity to the expressways is something to consider. Heck, if I were a smuggler, remote and accessible to expressways is what I’d look for. And we have the infamous found wallet, big truck sightings, plus nasty guys asking about a little boy. Not usual Whistlers Bend happenings. I think little old Whistlers Bend is smack-dab in the middle of the smuggling ring.”

  He laughed. “You have a great imagination. Maybe you should write fiction.” Nick cinched in his seat belt as another pothole threatened to put his head against the roof. “This is some road.”

  “Once in a while the high schoolers drive up to drag race. The road levels out by the depot, but even that’s pretty grown over. I’ve heard there are shallow caves around the side. No action up here at night. Road’s too bad, and without light it’s easy to drive into a ditch.”

  “So what exactly are we…I mean you…looking for?”

  “Good question.” She dodged a rock that had washed onto the road and pointed out the window to another rutted road. “A mile or so down the way is a good stream for trout, with a lake beyond. Best spot is over the old railroad tracks under the big pines. We have deer, racoons, bears, the usual.”

  She might not fish for trout, but that didn’t mean she didn’t fish for other things. “Maybe you can borrow Jack’s truck and find your way up? You two are friendly.” She glanced at him, gave him a quick look to get his reaction about knowing Jack. Nothing but a blank face.

  “Just met him yesterday when you came in. Tell me about the old mine.”

  Except, he and Jack acted as though they knew each other, and Jack seemed…tense about something. Nick Romero got curiouser and curiouser. Especially since his inquiry felt more like a reason to change subjects than genuine interest.

  “When the mine ran full tilt, the trains took away the silver. Sounded their whistles as they rounded the bend to warn the miners to get off the tracks. A town grew up to provide supplies and ranching caught on. When the mine petered out, the town survived.”

  She pointed ahead. “There’s the old train depot, or what’s left of it. We can eat on the porch and you can tell me all about yourself.” Did that sound nonchalant enough? Like two people on a picnic, talking to pass the time?

  “Not much left to tell.”

  Right! “Everyone’s got a story. Everyone keeps secrets.”

  He shrugged and gazed into the distance. “Not boring cooks from Denver who move to Montana to dish up manicotti and lasagna.”

  DAMN, DIXIE CARMICHAEL was one inquisitive woman. And smart! How’d she put together all that smuggling stuff? Her hunch was right on the money! She was a real reporter. Nose in everywhere it didn’t belong, driving law enforcement nuts, putting herself in the middle of a dangerous situation for a story!

  And even worse…she smelled of vanilla and sunshine, and had a hint of devilment in her eyes. She made him…edgy, dammit, and after all those years with the bureau and on more cases than he could count, that was saying one hell of a lot. He had to get a lead on these smugglers, close them down, make sure Dixie was safe, then get the hell out of Dodge…or in this case, Whistlers Bend…and get on with his quiet life.

  She pulled the Camaro next to the depot and killed the engine. Silence fell around them as he got out and took in his surroundings. They were so alone he might as well be on Mars, except that Mars had never looked like this. “This sky—it’s so…”

  “Blue?” She stuck her elbow out the open window and rested her chin on her arm as she gazed at him. She appeared to like what she saw, and he sure as hell liked looking at her.

  “And big.” He swiped his forehead. “It’s starting to bake out here. Is August always like this? Thought it would be getting colder.”

  “The nights are, and in another two weeks summer will give way to autumn. The aspen turn gold and the Canada geese take off south, honking their way across the sky.” Dixie stepped from the car and snagged the basket and blanket from the back, along with a baseball cap. She handed the cap to him. “Not exactly a Stetson, but it’ll keep the sun out of your eyes.”

  He took the navy blue hat. “What’s with Hope written under the bill? New fad? Put the logo under the brim instead of on top?”

  She walked to the depot. Insects buzzed; the wind swished through the weeds. “To support women with breast cancer. Hope’s written underneath because breast cancer makes a woman’s life upside down. I’m thinking about setting up a 5-K run-walk-stroll-whatever in the Bend. Make folks more aware, hand out literature, raise money for research.”

  He slipped the hat on. “I’ll handle the food.”

  She stopped, making him stop, too. Her eyebrows drew together. “That’s a huge job.”

  He shrugged. “My grandmother’s a breast cancer survivor. She had a mastectomy ten years ago. Scared the hell out of me.” He gave Dixie a quick nod. “I’ve done this before, in…Denver. Pizza works well with a crowd. My mushroom pizza is the best. Old family recipe.”

  “Where’s your grandmother now?”

  “Living in Italy with her new husband.” Nick grinned. “Alonzo is a great guy.”

  Dixie bumped against him on purpose, one of those friendly bumps between two people who share something unique. “Good for grandmother.” Dixie peered up at him. “You surprise the h
eck out of me, Nick Romero. I think I have you pegged and then I don’t. You’re a man of mystery.” She flashed the smile that made his toes curl and drove the air right out of his lungs.

  She wasn’t just a beautiful snoop: she was a compassionate, understanding, proactive beautiful snoop. The kind that could suck him right in. Holy crap!

  “Something wrong?”

  Hell, yes! He was attracted to her more and more. “Nope, not a thing.”

  Dammit all! He had to get his mind off Dixie. Being distracted could too easily end with him and her on a cold, stainless-steel slab with tags on their big toes. “Hey, I’m starved. Can’t wait to get to that chicken. Just smelling it drove me crazy all the way up here.”

  He snapped the basket from her hand and stepped onto the porch, the rotting boards sagging under his weight, the drooping roof blocking out the sun.

  This was good. Keep things light, fun, not personal. No more reasons to like her. Heaven knows he had enough already. He continued. “You realize there aren’t going to be any clues around here. This place is too out in the open for smugglers. I’m not the sheriff, but I can’t see smugglers meeting here. Too risky. Doesn’t make sense. We should eat and go.”

  She fluffed the blanket out and they sat down as he went on. “Give up the smugglers and concentrate on the 5-K event. That could be a really fine story.”

  She popped open containers of chicken and potato salad and handed him a plate. “The smugglers were here, Nick. Not here as by the depot, but by the mine.” She picked up a chicken leg and pointed it at the side of a mountain. “The cave where Drew found the wallet is behind those trees. Great place to park a truck and hide out till whatever or whoever you’re waiting for shows up.”

  “You’ve been watching too much CSI.” He sank his teeth into the terrific fried chicken. “Oh, this is incredible. Give me the recipe.”

  “Takeout at the Purple Sage.”

  “Then I’ve got some serious competition.” He wolfed down the chicken and started on the potato salad. A hawk circled overhead; another breeze rolled across the porch. “It’s like we’re the only two people on earth up here. How can you give this up for a city?” He aimed for small talk, and suddenly realized he truly liked it here. “This place is great, Dixie. It’s near perfect.”

  “Being a reporter is something I have to do.” She wiped her hands on a napkin and passed him an apple. “Let’s check out the mine.”

  He held up a forkful of potato salad and said around a mouthful, “Hey, I’m not finished eating.”

  “Rain’s coming in.” She nodded at the horizon. “I dread facing that road in my Camaro if we get a downpour.”

  Rain was good. Put an end to their time and he’d get back here tomorrow alone and search around without her. “We should leave now to avoid the storm.”

  She gave him a long, thoughtful look. “You don’t like this snooping around at all, do you?”

  You have no idea is what he thought, then said, “It’s a waste of time, since you have a capable sheriff. You can ask him for any information he finds and get your story that way.”

  She pursed her lips…her very kissable lips. “Jack’s a great sheriff, but if he finds something he’s sure not going to share it with me. He’ll go running to the FBI. Some guy in a blue suit will fumble his way around here because he’s unfamiliar with the territory, tip off the big newspapers, and there goes my chance at a scoop. The plans for my dream and the rest of my life go right down the drain.”

  She snapped the lids back on the food, leaving him with the apple and a drumstick. “But I’m hungry.”

  She stood and winked at him. He nearly swallowed the drumstick whole. “You’re a cook. Deal. Let’s get going. We’re running out of time, and we can’t have the rain washing away any clues that might be around.”

  Slowly, Nick got up, dusted off his hands and stretched, trying to waste time. He needed to get her away from the old depot and possibly finding clues that could involve her in the smuggling case, leading her right into more danger.

  “Good grief. Get a move on,” Dixie said as she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward trees and shrubs at the foot of the mountain. He stumbled after her. She might be only five-three, but there was nothing weak about Dixie Carmichael once she made up her mind.

  Blue sky faded to gray, and she led him into the thicket of pines and weeds, where it was darker still. Dried needles formed a crunchy carpet; long thin pinecones lay here and there. “Storm’s rolling in faster than I thought.” She stopped for a minute. “Listen.” She smiled as a strong gust blew around them. “I love the wind whistling in the pines. It’s like God talking. You’ll have to drive up here after a snowfall. It’s so beautiful, spiritual. An out-of-body experience.”

  “Ever consider that God might be saying right now for us to get the hell out of here, that it’s not safe?”

  She yanked him on. “Nah, God wouldn’t say hell. Besides, nothing’s going to happen. It’s broad daylight.”

  Nick wondered how many times that line had been uttered just before all hell broke loose.

  They emerged from the cluster of trees and shrubs, facing a wall of rocks, low brush and bare ground. She pointed left. “Cave’s that way. The mine’s around the bend we just walked from.”

  “Okay, Lewis and Clark, then why’d we tramp our way through the trees?”

  “Drew found the wallet around here somewhere and I want to cover all the bases. I’m sure Jack and his deputy, Roy, canvassed the area, but there’s always a wind kicking up, blowing who knows what where. See if you find anything suspicious. I got a feeling…”

  “What was Drew doing up here? Making out with his girlfriend?”

  Dixie laughed while walking and searching, staring at the ground. “Drew’s seven, and he was running away because he thought no one wanted him. Then BJ and Flynn adopted him and his brother, Petey. Cute kids. A handful, since Petey has diabetes and Drew’s hell on wheels. Now BJ’s pregnant. She’s also the town doctor. She’ll have to get some help or clone herself.”

  Nick kicked at a pile of leaves to unearth anything trapped in them. “Where I’m from, runaway kids wind up in foster care or live on the street.” Unless they have a sainted grandmother to save their ass.

  She stopped and stared at him wide-eyed. “Denver’s like that?”

  Ah, hell! What a slip-up. This was supposed to be an easy cover for him, but when he was with Dixie, he let his guard down. Spending time close to the earth—in the earth, if they did the caves—got to him. “Just some parts of Denver. The tougher parts.”

  Did Denver have tougher parts? He had no idea. He’d never been. Now, Detroit…he knew all about growing up in the inner city. Till Nonna Celest—his Italian guardian angel who cooked like a dream, managed her own decorating business and sent him to a private school run like bootcamp—all but kidnapped him from his drunken mother and dragged him to Boston’s north end. Grandma probably paid off his mother so she could adopt him outright—at least, that was what he’d always suspected. That sounded like Celest; certainly sounded like his mother! How could two women in the same family be so different?

  Enough! He held Dixie’s hand because he suddenly wanted—needed—a connection to someone he cared about. He did care about Dixie, and not just her hair and eyes and sexy ways. She was a good person; he could tell. He’d sure as hell met enough of the not-so-good types in his life.

  “I see the entrance up ahead,” he said. “We should investigate.” Not that he wanted to right now, but he didn’t want to answer any more freaking questions that could get him into trouble or send him back down Memory Lane.

  “Wait,” Dixie said as she pointed to a thorny-looking bush. She took her hand from his, pulled back a prickly branch and gingerly reached into the middle. She plucked out a piece of white paper he hadn’t even noticed.

  She held it up and he said, “A postcard?”

  She studied it. “It’s from Kate Spade.”

  “I’m th
inking that’s not a person in town, right?” He knew who Kate Spade was from the hours of instruction that representatives from that designer and others had drummed into his head. But most men didn’t know squat about that stuff and he had to sound like a regular guy.

  “Kate Spade is a designer for purses, wallets, clothes and the like. This is the card you’d find inside a purse or piece of luggage or whatever to register it with the company. But this one’s for a knockoff. Look here.” She pointed to the printing. “The last line is smudged. Designers who charge two-hundred-plus dollars for a purse do not smudge their registration cards. I learned that from BJ’s mother. She’s a whiz at knockoffs because she buys the real deal.”

  He slipped the card from her fingers and studied it. “Damn, you have good eyes. I didn’t even see it.” And that part was the truth.

  She rolled her shoulders. “I’m shorter. I get a different angle from down here.” Then she did a little dance, totally happy now and making him happy just watching her. “This is so great, Nick. I’m onto something big—I can feel it. Yee-haa!”

  “Hey, it’s only a card.” He had to calm her down, discourage her so she wouldn’t return. Yeah, like that was going to happen!

  “The wallet and card didn’t just fall out of the sky. This is huge, Nick. It really is.”

  She laughed again, the sound pure joy. “I love being a reporter.”

  Chapter Three

  Oh, great, Nick thought. Dixie in a state of reporter euphoria was not what he wanted at all. Then she turned and threw her arms around his neck, surprising the hell out of him. Now, this he did want, even if he shouldn’t.

  Her chest touched his; her eyes sparkled with excitement, then suddenly sparkled with something more. They darkened to amber, then antique gold. She looked happy, so innocent, so damn pretty. He didn’t need happy, innocent or pretty, but here they were, in one fascinating, dazzling woman who set him right on his ear in the middle of the mountains.