by Gina Wilkins
So there was no reason at all to be disappointed that Riley had shown up when Dan had been expecting Lindsey. After all, if Lindsey moved away, Dan would have to get used to working with other reporters from the local paper.
He would miss her, he realized again, even as he answered Riley’s questions about the arson investigation. Lindsey was practically family to him. So it made perfect sense that the thought of no longer having her in his life left a rather hollow feeling inside him.
“So you’re no closer now to solving these arsons than you were a month ago?” Riley asked, his pen poised over the battered, reporter’s notebook he’d pulled from his jacket pocket. “And have the charges officially been upgraded to murder since Truman Kellogg died in that fire two months ago?”
Deciding he’d better concentrate on his answers before he slipped up and said something stupid, Dan pushed thoughts of Lindsey to the back of his mind and gave his full attention to Riley, reminding him that there was no proof yet that the Kellogg fire was linked to the others. Riley would let him get away with that—Lindsey would have kept pushing. Dan couldn’t help smiling wryly at the thought…and realizing again that he would miss her when—if—she left.
Holding the tip of her tongue between her teeth, Lindsey leaned close to the lit makeup mirror, an eyeliner gripped in her right hand. She swore when her hand twitched, smearing liner across her right cheek. “I can’t do this.”
Connie Peterson laughed and handed Lindsey a moistened makeup-remover pad. “Of course you can do it. It just takes a little practice—something most women do before they reach your age, by the way.”
Lindsey scowled, making it more difficult to remove the smudge. “I haven’t had time to mess with makeup. I’ve just slapped on mascara and blusher and lip gloss, and that always seemed like enough.”
“So why have you decided to change that now?” the makeup consultant, whom Lindsey had known since high school, asked curiously.
“Oh, you know…getting older. Trying not to show it.” Lindsey hoped her answer was suitably vague and believable.
Connie’s laugh came perilously close to a snort. “Yeah, right. You hardly look old enough to drive legally. I bet you still get carded every time you order a drink.”
Keeping her eyes fixed on the mirror, Lindsey painstakingly followed the directions Connie had given her for applying the eyeliner. The effort was a bit more successful this time. “So maybe I’d like to look my age.”
“It’s a guy, isn’t it?”
Lindsey’s hand jerked again, resulting in a matching liner smudge on her other cheek. She reached for the remover again. “Why does everyone assume I’m changing my appearance for a guy?”
“Because we’ve all done it,” Connie replied with a smirk. “You’ve got a great new hairstyle, and now you’re investing in war paint. Definitely a guy.”
“You’ve changed your appearance to try to attract a guy?” Lindsey eyed the brown-haired, brown-eyed woman curiously. Attractive and extroverted, Connie had always seemed so comfortable around men, always having a date for local events, and rumored to have bruised a few hearts during the years. Lately she’d been deeply involved with a man from a neighboring town, and there was broad speculation that this time it was starting to look permanent.
“Oh, sure. Remember when I tried bleaching my hair my senior year in high school? Major mistake—but I did it because Curtis Hooper said he liked blondes.”
Lindsey couldn’t help laughing. “Curtis Hooper? No kidding? I didn’t know you ever had a thing for Curtis.”
“Yeah, well, how was I to know he meant he liked blond men?” Connie shook her head in self-derision. “He really was cute. But maybe I should have gotten a clue, when the only thing he and I really had in common was that we both enjoyed putting on makeup?”
“You think?” The shared humor relaxing her, Lindsey decided Connie’s feminine insight might come in handy, as long as Lindsey was careful about how she worded her questions. “So, have you ever seen it work? A woman changing her appearance to get a man’s attention, I mean.”
“Oh, sure. Lots of times. A guy gets used to seeing someone a certain way, you know? Then when she makes a change, he starts looking at her in a different way—sometimes as if for the first time.”
Which, of course, was exactly what Lindsey was hoping for, though she had no intention of admitting that at the moment. “It doesn’t seem…well, a little desperate to you?”
Connie laughed. “Heck, no. Sometimes you just gotta hit ’em over the head, girl. Men just don’t get subtlety.”
“I heard that,” Lindsey muttered with a sigh, remembering all the subtle messages she’d sent Dan in past months. Messages that had apparently gone right past his thick male head.
“I don’t suppose you want to tell me who it is you’re trying to catch?”
Lindsey shook her head and answered gruffly. “Never mind about my reasons. Just teach me how to use this war paint, will you?”
“That’s my job.” Connie reached cheerfully for a mascara wand. “By the time I get through with you, you’re going to knock that guy—whoever he is—right off his feet.”
Lindsey was beginning to believe this entire day had been an exercise in humiliation. But she wasn’t a quitter. She’d started this, she might as well finish it. “What color lip liner should I use? And why the heck do my lips need lining, anyway?”
At six o’clock Friday evening Dan was helping two of his officers subdue a couple of angry and belligerent drunks in the parking lot at Gaylord’s, a bar-and-Cajun-food establishment on the seamier side of town. It was earlier than usual for this type of altercation. He’d gotten in on it only because he often dined at Gaylord’s on Fridays, and he had arrived just in time to see a drunk take a swing at one of his officers. His presence signaled a quick end to the commotion, and he watched in satisfaction as the two brawlers were subdued and hauled away.
He was greeted the moment he walked into Gaylord’s by the burly owner who worked behind the bar. “Hey, Chief, how you doing?” Chuck shouted over the manic zydeco music blaring from numerous speakers.
“Fine, thanks, Chuck. How’s the gumbo tonight?”
“Same’s always. Best you ever put in yo’ mouth. Find yourself a chair and I’ll send Gary over with a bowl. You want a beer with that?”
“Better make it water. I’m still on duty.”
“You always on duty, eh, Chief? I’ll send some corn fritters with your gumbo. Save room for dessert now, you hear? Mama’s been baking all afternoon, and I’ll make you a pot of fresh chicory coffee.”
“You don’t have to twist my arm.” Looking forward to the first hot meal he’d taken time for in several days, Dan crossed the scarred hardwood floor to his favorite booth, a small one in the back just big enough for two. He intended to dine there alone, as he usually did.
He certainly didn’t expect to be joined almost immediately by Lindsey Gray.
It took him a moment to realize it was Lindsey. She looked different somehow…and it had little to do with the red glow from the strings of chili-pepper-shaped plastic lights hanging over their heads. She’d changed her hair—it looked softer, a bit curlier. And she was wearing more makeup than usual. She didn’t need it, of course—but he had to admit she looked great.
Only then did he notice what she was wearing. It was a long-sleeved knit dress—unusual in itself for Lindsey—and it was cut up to here and down to there. Not a lot up top to flaunt, but what was showing looked good. And her legs—well, who’d have thought a woman so short could have legs that long?
“Hi, Dan. Fancy meeting you here.” The voice was definitely Lindsey’s—unexpectedly husky for such a little bit of a thing.
“Lindsey. What are you doing here? Do you, uh, have a date or something?”
“No,” she answered, and he wondered why he was glad to hear it. “I’m just in the mood for company and Cajun food tonight.”
“Will my company do?” He motioned towar
d the other side of the booth, managing at the same time to glare at a greasy-looking guy who was checking out Lindsey’s legs from a table nearby.
Lindsey hesitated just long enough to make his scowl deepen. So how come she was taking such a long time to answer? Had she been hoping to hook up with someone else tonight? Was that the reason she’d dressed to thrill? Did she like being ogled by greasy goofballs on the make? “Sit down.”
Lifting a freshly plucked eyebrow in response to his growled command, she slid onto the other bench. “I don’t want to intrude if you want a quiet dinner alone.”
Though he wasn’t entirely sure he bought the excuse, he answered, “I always enjoy visiting with you. You know that.”
Her dimples flashed in a smile that made her look more like B.J.’s gamine little sister than the sexy redhead who’d greeted him a moment earlier. “Very nice. What did you order?”
“Gumbo. Want the same?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Catching Chuck’s eye, Dan held up two fingers. Chuck responded by making a circle with his thumb and forefinger.
Knowing the food would arrive eventually—service here being dependable if not overly speedy— Dan tried to think of a conversation opener. “So…how’s your week been? I haven’t seen you around much.”
“I’ve been busy. And so have you, I hear. Riley said he’s had to practically chase you down whenever he had a question for you.”
“Yeah, what’s with that, anyway? How come Riley’s suddenly covering my office?”
Lindsey shrugged, one shoulder almost emerging from the deep neckline of the black dress. “I’ve been working on a series of features we’re going to run next week. They’re about the town’s oldest five citizens. It’s been fascinating.”
“Did you talk to Marshall Collier?”
“Of course. He’s 102—and still sharp as a tack. He tells great anecdotes.”
“And Nellie Pollard? You couldn’t interview her.”
“That was a bit more challenging,” she admitted. “Poor thing just sits in a chair and rocks and hums all day, when she’s not sleeping.”
“So what did you do?”
“I interviewed her one surviving son. And her grandsons. Then some of the people she gave piano lessons to during her years as a music teacher—her life reflected through the lives she touched.”
“Did you feel you got to know her that way?”
“I sat with her for a while yesterday,” she said. “The song she hums all the time? It was her favorite—one she taught all her students. Her husband sang it to her the night he proposed to her. She hasn’t played piano since I was in diapers, but she still hears that song in her head.”
“That’s pretty sad.”
“I know. She’s been in a steady decline for the past ten years. But for the almost sixty years prior to that, she brought music into the lives of several generations of young people. Now a lot of them are old, too—but they remember her music.”
Dan studied Lindsey’s face in the glow of the chili-pepper lights. She looked…dreamy, he thought. As if she could hear the music playing even now.
He had no doubt that the articles would be good. Better than should be expected from the average small-town newspaper. But then, the Evening Star was better than the average small-town paper, he conceded—especially now that Cameron had become managing editor, and as long as Lindsey and Riley wrote most of the articles. Cameron would stay—after all, he’d married the paper’s owner. But Riley would be leaving eventually, once he decided to get serious about that book he’d been writing for so long.
As for Lindsey—well, she probably should be utilizing her talents in a bigger market—as much as Dan hated to admit it.
Chuck’s son, Gary, appeared then, bearing a heavily loaded tray. Two big bowls of rice, two of spicy seafood-and-vegetable gumbo. A platter of warm corn fritters. Two mason jars filled with ice water.
“You guys don’t want beer with this?” Gary asked, setting the food in front of them.
“No.”
“Yes.”
They’d spoken simultaneously. Dan glared at Lindsey. “No,” he repeated.
She frowned, but shrugged. “No,” she said to Gary.
“Whatever. Give me a sign if you need anything.” Gary shuffled off at his usual speed—a mosey.
“I’m on duty,” Dan said in response to Lindsey’s questioning look.
“I’m not.”
He spooned gumbo over his rice, then added a liberal dash of hot sauce. “Since when do you drink beer?”
“I don’t very often. But sometimes it’s good with Chuck’s gumbo. I am of age, Dan—want to see my ID?” she asked a bit too sweetly.
He knew very well that she was old enough to drink legally—which didn’t mean he had to like it. How often did she show up here like this, anyway—dressed this way and drinking beer?
He was seeing an all new side to B.J.’s little sister—one he wasn’t sure he liked. But then, Dan had never liked change.
They ate in silence for a few minutes—until their meal was interrupted by a big-shouldered young man with a shock of brown hair, his blue eyes focused squarely on Lindsey’s petite, but prime, cleavage. “Hey, Chief,” the intruder said without looking at Dan.
“Hey, Jimmy. What’s up?”
“Not much. How you doing, Lindsey? Haven’t seen you around in a while.”
She responded with her usual friendliness. “Hi, Jimmy. How are things at the muffler shop?”
“Lot better now that Delbert Farley’s behind bars. I always hated working with that as—that jerk.”
Dan found it extremely irritating that Jimmy’s gaze had hardly wavered from Lindsey’s neckline. “It was good to see you, Jimmy,” he said abruptly, not caring if he sounded rude. “Enjoy your dinner.”
“Oh, uh…yeah. See ya, Chief. You, too, Lindsey.”
“See you, Jimmy.” Lindsey waited until Jimmy was out of hearing distance before commenting to Dan, “You’re in a mood tonight.”
“What do you mean?” he asked a bit too sharply.
“See? You’re snappy. And I’m not even hassling you for a story.”
He shrugged. “Sorry. Guess I’m just hungry.”
She smiled a little and nudged the platter of corn fritters toward him. “So eat.”
Their hands brushed when he reached for one. Even as he reacted to the contact—not quite a static shock, but a similar feeling—he noticed that she’d had a manicure, her usually unvarnished nails now sporting a dark polish.
For some reason the observation made him frown again.
Chapter Three
Her makeover had been a massive waste of time, Lindsey decided glumly. The primping, the fussing, the shopping—all for nothing. Dan hadn’t even noticed.
Trying to feign enthusiasm for the food, she finished her meal.
“Do you want anything else?” Dan asked.
She shook her head. “Thanks, but I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“I’ll see if I can get the check, then.” Dan lifted a hand, trying to catch the young man’s attention. “Seems like Gary’s moving slower than usual tonight.”
“I’ve noticed that, myself. I wonder if he needs vitamins.”
Chuckling, Dan shook his head. “I think he’s just slow.”
“I’ll pay for my own meal, of course.”
Shooting her a glance over his coffee cup, Dan replied flatly, “You will not.”
“Look, I didn’t join you so you could buy my food.”
“Lindsey—I’m buying. Now drop it.”
She hated it when Dan used the same voice her brother used when he was annoyed with her. Dan wasn’t her brother, damn it. But it seemed as though there was nothing she could do to change his perception of her—which meant she’d blown a few hundred dollars worth of hairstyling aids, cosmetics and a great new dress.
“Hi, Lindsey. Looking good tonight.” A lean cowboy in a flashy red shirt and sprayed-on jeans strolled
past the booth, tipping the Western hat he hadn’t bothered to remove as he sent Lindsey a slow smile.
Her feminine ego had needed that boost. She smiled back at him. “Thanks, Bo. How’s it going?”
“Can’t complain. Save me a dance later?”
“Maybe.”
The vague response seemed to satisfy him. He touched his hat again, nodded a greeting to Dan, then sauntered on.
Dan was wearing another frown. “Someone you know?”
She was tempted to point out how silly the question was, since she’d spoken to Bo by name, but considering that Dan wasn’t in the best mood, she merely replied, “We went to school together.”
“Were you expecting to see him here tonight?”
Lifting her eyebrows in response to the inquisition, she answered a bit coolly, “No.”
“This isn’t really a great place for a single young woman to hang out on a Friday night. Especially later in the evening when the booze has been flowing for a few hours. We get a lot of calls out here on weekends.”
Drumming her painted nails on the scarred table-top, she replied, “Perhaps I should remind you again that I am an adult? And this is one of the few places around here for single young adults to hang out.”
He held up a hand, a peacekeeping gesture that did little to appease her. “Just making a comment.”
Nothing about this evening had gone the way Lindsey would have liked. She might as well have stayed home in her T-shirt, shorts and fuzzy slippers. She could have crashed in front of the TV and dined on chips and dip. That would have spared her the humiliation of having Dan sitting right across the table, totally oblivious to the changes she’d made during the past week, lecturing her as if she were a naive high school student.
Sure, Jimmy and Bo seemed to find her attractive—but face it, those two were attracted to anything with breasts. It was Dan’s interest she’d hoped to catch tonight—but not like this.
