by Stacy Finz
Win had disappeared and Delaney assumed he’d gone to do what he could. But she had no idea what. They were too far away. Even the fish, who was closest, appeared powerless.
That was when the person holding the paddle jumped into the water. As Delaney watched, she realized it was Colt. He swam against the current, his strokes sure and forceful while the spectators roared with approval. When he finally reached Chip, he tugged the bear mask off his face. Able to breathe, Chip shook his head from side to side, like a hair model in a shampoo commercial, and attempted a fist pump for his fans, only to go under again. Colt hoisted him up by his shoulders—no easy feat, given that all that wet fur had to weigh a ton—put him in a lifeguard hold, and towed him toward shore. When they got a few feet from the bank, bystanders rushed in and helped get Chip onto dry land and out of the bulky bear suit. Jack, in the meantime, got the fish to safety.
“It’s Valerie,” Carrie Jo said as they watched Chip’s wife waddle in her fin to her husband. “Get it? Fish and Game.”
A couple more good Samaritans helped pulled the kayak out of the water while a crew from the fire station rushed in and took over. The whole rescue lasted less than eight minutes. Yet, the drama of it whipped up the crowd, especially Colt. Undeterred by the time he’d lost, he swam back to his and Jack’s kayak and they resumed the race to shouts of encouragement.
“Go! Go! Go!” the crowd chanted, some jumping up and down.
Others chanted for Team Morning Glory. Deb and Felix, wearing menu boards and chef hats from the diner, rounded the clubhouse turn, and the race for second place was on.
Delaney noticed that Colt and Jack had gone all out for the occasion, wearing ratty police department polo shirts and faded tactical shorts. What drew her attention more was Colt’s bulging biceps as he furiously paddled to claim the advantage over Team Morning Glory. He was ripped, no doubt about it. Delaney stood on the sidelines, enjoying the view of Colt’s muscles bunching every time he rowed. As with his heroic rescue, the man meant business. With his dark hair glinting in the sun, his brows knitted in determination, and the breadth of his chest outlined by his soaking wet T-shirt, he reminded her of a professional athlete. So fit and lithe. So sexy. The picture of outdoorsy ruggedness, which before now had never been her thing. She’d always been drawn to the debonair, well-coiffed type in a designer suit.
Not anymore. Compared to Colt they all looked like dandies. As she glanced around the crowd it occurred to her that so much had changed in the nine months she’d lived full-time in Glory Junction. Here she was in jeans and flats, her hair tied back in a careless ponytail, wearing very little makeup, and no one cared. Not one single person. Here, no one was judging her or expecting her to outdo her last collection, or pressuring her to be someone she didn’t want to be. Here, she could just be herself. And that was enough.
The realization was heady and a little bit scary. A person could grow complacent in a small, accepting town like this.
The cheers pulled her back to the race. As the kayaks got closer to the finish line, everyone on the sidelines amped up the cheering, spurring Colt to paddle like crazy.
“Go Colt! You can do it!” she yelled, drawing raised brows from Hannah, Foster, and Carrie Jo. “What?”
“You should’ve brought your pom-poms, girl,” Foster said, then whispered in her ear, “You’re totally into him.”
“He’s my neighbor.” But arguing was futile. They were laughing at her.
Colt and Jack crossed the finish line in a dead heat with Deb and Felix. Colt didn’t look too thrilled about it, but it didn’t stop him from lifting Deb out of her kayak and giving her a big kiss, which as silly as it was, made Delaney jealous.
Hannah rushed down to Josh, who sat on the landing, icing his leg. TJ wore a giant grin while pumping Felix’s hand. Some of the crowd started to disperse but most waited for the Tart Me Up crew to paddle in dead last. Rachel and one of the teenagers who worked behind the bakery counter looked ready to pass out. As far as Delaney was concerned, they should win for best costumes. Carrie Jo was wrong about their cupcake suits. Adorable.
The rest of the kayaks were loaded onto the trailer, which was towed by an all-terrain vehicle that could handle the shale and dirt road back to the trailhead. Chip and Valerie, both in one piece but exhausted, caught a ride out with a few of the firefighters. Everyone else hiked, dragging their coolers and gear behind them. Delaney walked with Carrie Jo and Foster, reluctant to make the first overture to Colt, who’d hung back with Jack and a couple of other police officers. Presumably to make sure that the area had been properly cleared. Carrie Jo and Foster had driven their own cars so at the lot they all went their separate ways.
Delaney decided that it would be better to drive home and walk to town for more of the festivities, instead of dealing with parking. She pulled the Tesla into the garage, went inside and grabbed a lightweight jacket in case it got cool, then headed to the boardwalk for the pie-eating contest. Boden said he would save them a couple of tables for Colt’s show, which had sold out.
People jammed the river walk and Delaney could barely see the competitors’ table. Rita Tucker sidled next to her and let out a beleaguered huff.
“I told them to hold the pie eating at the VFW hall this year. More room in there. This is ridiculous.”
“It’s a little tight,” Delaney agreed. “But it’s nice to be outside.”
“I suppose,” Rita said. “But it would’ve been better at the hall or in the theater, which reminds me: how are those costumes coming?”
A shout went up and Delaney stood on tiptoes to see what was happening. All five of the contestants were covered in berry filling. One of them had moved on to his next pie, causing all the hoopla.
“They’re done,” she told Rita. “I’ve been meaning to deliver them to the theater.”
“Done? Wow, you’re fast.”
No, the costumes had just been a nice distraction from her real job. “I’ll bring them over next week.”
“Great,” Rita said, and ran off to talk to one of her friends.
“What are you doing?” a familiar voice buzzed in her ear.
It should’ve seemed obvious. “What everyone else is doing, watching the pie-eating contest.”
“You can’t see back here.”
Colt took her hand and led her through the crowd. He didn’t have to push or shove; people voluntarily separated for him.
“This doesn’t seem right,” she whispered.
“I Figure I May as well use my clout as chief while I still can.” He grinned, and she nearly melted in a puddle at his feet. How did he manage to do that, especially when he hadn’t talked to her in a week?
“Congratulations.”
He fixed her with a what-are-you-talking-about stare. “For what?”
“The kayak race. Second place—a pretty good showing for someone who thought he would lose . . . and stopped to save a life.”
“We were disqualified.”
She looked at him, dumbfounded. “What do you mean disqualified?”
“You go in the water, you get disqualified.”
“But you went into the water for Chip.”
He shrugged. “Those are the rules.”
“Did you know that before you came in second?”
“Of course I did.”
Then why the heck did you kill yourself to get to the finish line? Did she really need to ask?
“Anyway, we only tied for second. Not a good showing—a joke.”
“Are you a sore loser, Colt Garner?” She stared up at his rugged face and thought the man was too handsome for his own good. He hadn’t shaved and dark bristle covered that square jaw of his. So much masculinity in one package.... It woke up parts of her she hadn’t remembered having.
“I’ve gotta get back to work,” he said, without answering her question, and started to back away.
She noticed he’d changed out of the polo and shorts he’d worn for the kayak races into a Glory Junction tee, a pair of
jeans, and his gun belt, signifying he was back on duty.
“Tonight?” He did that chin bob thing he was so fond of.
“I’ll be there.” She couldn’t wait to see him perform. Even if it turned out that he wasn’t much on the ears, he was easy on the eyes. So easy.
* * *
Colt got to Old Glory early. A couple of friends of the bass player had volunteered to set up their equipment and Colt wanted to do a sound check while the bar was relatively quiet. Most of the town was still at the talent show.
“You good to go?” Boden asked as he set up rows of glasses on the back-bar shelves. The night would be busy. It always was for the End-of-Summer.
Colt sat at one of the stools. “I think so. As soon as the guys get here we’ll test things out. What happened to you and Ingrid on the river?” For a while he’d been tied with Boden. Then, boom, he looked up and Boden was gone.
“We were taking on water and I couldn’t find the leak.” Boden lifted his shoulders. “At least we didn’t nearly drown.”
“Chip.” Colt shook his head. “Man, what was he thinking wearing that bear thing? Now, the lederhosen . . .” Colt leaned his head back and laughed his ass off.
Boden had changed into his regular uniform. Jeans and a flannel shirt. Ingrid had kept on her St. Pauli Girl dress, which showed a great deal of cleavage. Colt figured the outfit would ring in a heap of tips.
“You drinking tonight?” Boden grabbed a pint glass from under the bar.
“Yep. Jack’s on call.”
“But he’ll be here, right?” Boden proceeded to fill the glass with a local lager that Colt particularly liked.
“As long as nothing big goes down.” He’d have to keep his eye on his phone all night, though. They really needed another person to handle call duty, someone with supervisory experience.
“I reserved the two big tables by the stage for your posse.”
“Thanks, Boden.”
A couple of members of the band trickled in and Colt went over to the stage to discuss their set list. When the rest of the group showed up they tested their mics and equipment until he was satisfied with the sound quality. Not that a bar band required much.
They sat around shooting the breeze in a small room behind the stage where Boden stored his extra liquor. Colt hadn’t seen some of the guys for a while and took the opportunity to catch up before they had to perform. Boden or one of the bar’s staff would let them know when it was time to go on. It wouldn’t be long. Even with the door closed, Colt could hear the place filling up.
At nine they got the cue. Without a warm-up band, they were scheduled to do four sets. They walked out on stage with the floor packed so tight that Boden had to open all the doors so people could watch from the street. Colt figured it was just a matter of time before the fire marshal showed up.
There was a lot of hooting and hollering and requests for songs. Some the band regularly played, others Colt had never heard of. They launched into a raucous rendition of Credence Clearwater Revival’s “Travelin’ Band.” Before Lisa left, they’d played a lot more often and could rip through a set like it was rote. He’d worried that without much rehearsal they’d be sloppy tonight. But the band felt tight, falling into a familiar rhythm that came with years of playing together.
He scanned the crowd, looking for Delaney, and saw her sitting at one of the reserved tables with Hannah and his brother. A smile played on her lips and he got so caught up looking at her that he stumbled over a chord.
He quickly looked away so he could finish the song. Throughout the night, he continued to sneak peeks at her, taking in the way her hair shimmered in the dusky lights and how her face shined with animation every time he sang a tune.
Since Josh’s dinner and his idiotic phone call, he’d been avoiding her. She was too tempting and he only had so much willpower. He was hoping that the whole out-of-sight, out-of-mind thing would work. That’s why during the band’s first three breaks he went outside with the drummer, who smoked, and circulated among people he hadn’t seen for a while.
Evasion wasn’t having the desired effect, unfortunately. Because he couldn’t stop glancing her way every now and again—or constantly—to see whom she was talking to or what she was doing. God, she was killing him.
For the last set, he climbed the stage, trying to keep his mind on the music. The audience grew even noisier than before—their last chance to yell out requests for favorites that the band hadn’t yet played. For the most part, Colt tried to be accommodating, but when the crowd began chanting, “‘Crazy about You,’” he felt the blood rush from his face. The rhythm guitarist gave him a pointed look. Are we doing this?
Hell, no, they weren’t doing it. The room grew louder. More impatient. “‘Crazy about You’!” they yelled over and over again, clapping their hands and stomping their feet. “‘Crazy about You’!”
Colt stared out at the sea of faces and held TJ’s gaze. His brother gave him an emphatic nod, urging him to do the song. The crowd made such a ruckus, Colt couldn’t concentrate over the din. For a minute, he stood there paralyzed, then his attention fell on Delaney. Her black hair, her blue eyes, and it hit him like a lightning bolt.
“ ‘Galway Girl,’ ” he told the band. They’d never played it together before but they muddled through the first quarter. By the second, they were feeling the groove, laying it down like it was one of their standards.
Colt locked eyes with Delaney as he belted out the lyrics and saw the moment when recognition washed over her face. He was singing about her. About how he wanted her ... a night together.
Red stained her cheeks but she never turned away, holding eye contact with him as he sang the chorus. The words resonated through the hall as if they were the only two people in the bar. And a shot of desire arced through him like shock waves.
At the end of the song, concertgoers jumped to their feet and shouted for an encore, shaking him out of the moment. Their moment.
Boden climbed the stage and yelled, “Last call for alcohol, and according to city ordinance, the music was supposed to end fifteen minutes ago.”
A collective, “You suck” went out.
“Don’t blame me,” Boden said. “I don’t make the rules. Take it up with city hall.”
“One more song!” the patrons yelled. “One more song!”
Colt laughed. “You want the police chief to break city ordinance?” For fun, he played a riff of “I Fought the Law” on his Stratocaster, then quickly put it down. “Thanks for coming out, everyone. Drive safely, and if you’ve had one too many, don’t drive at all.”
Colt started to get off the stage but was ambushed by a combination of old friends and folks he’d never met before who told him and the rest of the band how much they’d enjoyed the show. Jack and Carrie Jo joined the queue. Colt couldn’t tell if they’d come together. Dumb-ass Carrie Jo probably didn’t even realize that Jack had the hots for her.
He schmoozed while keeping one eye on Delaney, who’d hung back with Josh, Hannah, TJ, Win, and Deb. The six of them were polishing off the last of the beer when Colt finally managed to break away.
“Your adoring fans.” TJ lifted an eyebrow and Colt flipped him the bird. “What happened on ‘Crazy about You’?”
Colt gave what he hoped was a nonchalant lift of his shoulders. “Didn’t feel like doing it.”
“Bullshit.”
Josh grabbed TJ’s arm. “Leave it alone.”
“Yeah,” TJ said, “let’s not rock the boat. We wouldn’t want Colt to actually stand up for himself.”
“That’s enough, TJ,” Colt said. “If you can’t hold your booze, you shouldn’t drink. I’m going home. Thanks for coming,” he said to the group, and headed for the stage to collect his guitars and amplifier.
“You think I could get a ride with you?” Delaney came up behind him. “I walked.”
“Sure.” He’d wondered if she’d need a ride. He certainly didn’t want her walking home alone in the dark.
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br /> She waited while he packed everything up and helped him carry it to his truck.
“Thanks for coming tonight,” Colt said. For being my inspiration. “You like the show?”
“You were amazing,” she said as he hefted two of the guitar cases into the bed and opened the passenger side door for her. “It wasn’t what I expected.”
“No? What did you expect?” he asked, after sitting behind the wheel and starting the engine.
Her expression turned sheepish. “Truthfully, a garage band. I thought you’d do a lot of covers. ‘Stairway to Heaven,’ that sort of thing.”
He released the emergency brake. “We did plenty of covers.”
“But you did them in your own style ... and the originals. . . you’re extremely talented, Colt. I’m serious. You could be a professional songwriter. That one about the old man who dies of a broken heart made me tear up. Somehow I didn’t see you as the ballad type.”
“I’m just full of surprises.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t look good on you, Colt. Now I know that all that gruffness is a big act. You’re squishy as a marshmallow. Sentimental too.” She paused. “Is music how you met Lisa?”
“Yeah. She saw us play at Old Glory one night. During the break, she came over, complimented the set and mentioned she was a singer. We invited her to do a song with us, not expecting much. Turned out she blew us away.”
“You asked her to join the band after that?”
“We’re pretty good musicians. Vocals, though, not so much. It made sense. Having her front the band also got us more gigs.” Lisa not only rocked a song, she rocked a miniskirt. Sad to say, for some that was enough.
Colt pulled out of the small parking lot behind the bar and nosed onto Main Street. It only took a few minutes to get home, but he didn’t want her to leave. He let the engine idle in front of her house and tried to make small talk. Tomorrow was his day off, so even though it was past two in the morning, he didn’t need to rush.
“How come you didn’t want to play ‘Crazy about You’? I don’t listen to country music but I know it’s Lisa Laredo’s big hit.”
You’d have to live under a rock not to know that, he nearly responded.
