by Liz Talley
“Acceptable? In Oak Stand?” his mother said.
He closed his eyes and counted to only three. “Yeah, they have some of those around here. Go figure.”
“Don’t get smart. You may be nearing thirty, but—”
“I just turned thirty-two, Mother.”
“Let’s keep that between you and me.”
He felt his lips twitch. His mother sometimes made him want to stab his eyes out with a pin, but he’d forgo the whole Oedipus thing. She was a giant snobby pain in the ass, but she was still his mother…and he loved her.
“I’ll leave you to your acceptable girl and come another weekend. I have swatches of fabric I’d like to test against the walls in the living room. You did call the painter, didn’t you? And that handsome contractor? I’ve already paid him to refinish those floors.”
“Um, no. I like white walls and the floors are fine.”
Her huff of breath was all too familiar. Why did she have to meddle? And try to decorate his life with curtains, paint and women?
“It’s bad enough you’re living in a veritable shack, but to refuse to spruce it up… I don’t understand you, Adam. You settle for the ordinary when you could have the extraordinary.”
“I like ordinary, Mother. It suits me.”
“Does it really? Or have you convinced yourself playing Average Joe will solve all your problems? You’re not average. You’re something pretty damn special, and I’m not talking money here, son. I’m talking about who you are. Why in the world would you desire to fade into the background?”
He studied the refrigerator hunkered against the stove that rattled when he boiled water. Rust formed on the bottom of the appliance, marring the white surface with a spot of undesirable color. “I’m not settling. I like this town and who I am in it. I know you don’t understand, but I’ve always been a Hinton and that’s not easy. Here, I’m the chief. I go to church. I fish. I mow my own grass. I—”
“I understand. But I feel as though you’re searching for something you won’t ever find. Your life as a Hinton wasn’t perfect, but your life as Adam, the chief of police, won’t be, either. You can’t line up your life and expect it to fall into place as pretty as you please. Doesn’t work that way.”
He chewed on her words for a moment. Guilty as charged. Maybe that’s why the idea of taking Sophie to the picnic had never sat right with him. Not only because he’d tumbled into something he didn’t want to put a name to with Scarlet, but because Sophie seemed made to order. Cookie-cutter perfect for him. But not what he wanted to taste. “You’re right, Mom.”
“Lord have mercy! Let’s mark this day on the calendar.”
He chuckled. “I’ll get my pen out.”
“Adam, I love you. And I want the best for you, even if I’m snooty, somewhat oblivious and too concerned with the color of your walls. I’m still planning to visit. With my swatches.”
His mother’s voice had grown soft, sweeter than he’d ever remembered. Was there something wrong with her? A thread of fear squeezed his throat. “Mom? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I simply don’t say that enough to you, and I should.”
Adam twisted a knot into the cord. “I love you, too. And I might even unlock the door if you leave those curtain samples in Houston. I don’t want anyone girling up my bachelor pad.”
“Deal.”
They said their goodbyes, he hung up the receiver and stared at the rust spot. He needed to get some paint to cover the stain or it would spread. Or he could get a new fridge. And maybe he should cancel his date with Sophie. Wasn’t fair to lead her on. Yet to bow out at such a late date would be ungentlemanly. Besides, Sophie was a nice girl. Maybe she’d grow on him.
Because Scarlet couldn’t be the right woman for him. After next week, she’d be gone. Back to New York. Maybe even back with the man she swore she still loved.
Jealousy flooded him, hot and vicious. He had no right to feel envious of a phantom lover. Yet he did. He hated whoever had broken Scarlet’s heart. The man should have his damn head examined to toss her over. She was extraordinary.
His mother’s words floated back to him.
You settle for ordinary.
Maybe he should go for extraordinary. Allow life to fall outside the lines he’d drawn for himself. He could end up hurt. Or fired. But could he be happy sitting between his plain white walls with the knowledge that he settled for ordinary when he might have had a chance with a woman who made his heart pound between his ribs? A woman who made his hands sweat. Made him laugh. Made him want to take a walk in a thunderstorm. Make love beneath the night sky. And paint his front door a vivid crimson to match her hair.
Maybe, for once in his life, his mother made sense.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SCARLET SHIFTED THE picnic basket into the crook of her elbow and looked for her sister and Henry among the sea of blankets, lawn chairs and tailgate tents.
“Scarlet!” She heard her sister’s voice but could not locate her. She craned her head and felt very un-Scarlet like. Damn. No New Yorker showed up to a tiny park and acted lost. Hell to the no. But she didn’t feel very New York at the moment. She felt pretty much lost.
“Over here. By the zinnias,” Rayne called.
What were zinnias? Scarlet swiveled her head and finally saw her sister waving her arms as if she were guiding in a jumbo jet. Scarlet picked her way through the crowd, very well aware everyone stared at her. In fact, conversations died as she passed by.
Maybe the whole country-girl-with-a-twist look had been a bad idea. The denim shorts were Katy Perry short as was the gingham shirt knotted between her breasts, baring her midriff. She’d parted her hair and braided it, finishing off with grosgrain ribbon. She’d purposely left her shoes at home.
Brent gave her a once-over as she stepped onto her aunt Frances’s quilt. “Did you escape from a country-music video?”
Scarlet scowled. “It’s a festive look.”
Rayne snorted. “If that’s what you want to call looking like a prostitute on Hee Haw.”
Scarlet rolled her eyes and dumped the picnic basket at her sister’s feet. “Aunt Frances said I looked perfect. She sent chicken-salad sandwiches and extra lemonade.”
Rayne glanced at the small table laden with food. “Set it on the table, I guess. And you look…cute?”
Scarlet had been going for hot. Drop-that-sweatered-bitch-because-I-can-rock-your-world hot. But she guessed cute would work. She rifled through the contents of the basket, withdrawing the plastic-wrapped plate of sandwiches from the depths, along with the jug of lemonade. She used the busyness to secretly comb the area for a glimpse of Adam with his little friend.
She didn’t see them.
“So,” she said, pretending to casually survey the gathering, “looks like everyone in town showed up.”
She didn’t see Adam on the right side of the gazebo, either. Maybe he was behind the structure. Next to the bridge. It looked like a romantic spot. A little hideaway, perfect for some privacy.
“Yeah, everyone usually comes. Mostly to see their kids sing or clog. Jasper Boyett will be doing his ventriloquist act in ten minutes. After that, the Dance Factory will perform a tribute to the Beach Boys.” Brent didn’t look overly excited. Henry stuck his finger down his throat and pretended to gag.
“Has Roz’s granddaughter sung yet?”
“I don’t think so,” Rayne muttered, fussing with the lid on a plastic storage dish.
“I think I’ll go look for her. You know, to say hello to little Mary Ellen.”
“Mary Claire,” Rayne corrected her.
Scarlet pulled out cherry lip gloss and swiped it across her lips. “Yeah, whatever.”
She stepped over Henry’s feet, walked around a tent of older ladies playing gin rummy, then skirted the gazebo. A few people waved and one moron gave a wolf whistle. But she focused on finding Roz, which was totally her cover for finding her sexy lawman.
Scarlet spotted Roz near the t
emporary stage, dabbing rouge on a pudgy girl who looked to be about ten years old. But she didn’t see Adam. Where in the world was he? Aunt Fran had said he had a date. Maybe he’d backed out. Maybe after their little adventure in the backyard, he’d realized no other woman compared to her. Maybe he’d canceled.
But then she saw the car.
She stopped right in the middle of Kate and Rick Mendez’s quilt. And stared.
It was bright yellow and gleamed against the green shrubs sitting behind it. A classic muscle car with shiny rims and a fresh coat of wax. And sitting right on the hood was a thin blonde in a strapless sundress and thong sandals. In her hand was a plate holding a piece of pie…and she was feeding it to Adam.
Scarlet felt her heart drop to her toes.
That little bitch. She was feeding pie to her—
To her what? Her man? Not hardly. But it felt that way, as though Sophie had her elegant—and no doubt sanitized—hands all over Scarlet’s man.
That pissed her off and hurt her like nothing else she could recall. Not even when John had tenderly, and almost gentlemanly, revealed he no longer loved her. Unfathomable to think she felt this way about Adam, but it was true.
The waves of pain were followed very swiftly by rage. She clenched her hands and shot darts of poison at Adam, who chewed slowly, then gave a sweet smile to the laughing blonde.
“Scarlet?” Kate said. “Are you okay?”
Scarlet ripped her gaze from Adam and looked at the pregnant woman sitting at her feet. “Hmm?”
Kate wrinkled her nose, probably because Scarlet’s bare foot had pinned down a paper plate holding several cookies. She then turned her head in the direction Scarlet had been staring. “Oh.”
Scarlet didn’t bother answering. She was too busy with the tsunami of emotions washing over her.
That bastard had never looked at her that way. Sweet. Tender. Like a suitor.
She stepped off Kate’s blanket and charged toward the couple. She may have stepped on a few quilts and she was fairly certain she’d knocked a kid’s Nintendo DS from his grasp, but nothing would stop her from giving Adam Hinton a piece of her mind. Nothing. A freight train. Wild horses. And any other stupid euphemism that didn’t make sense in the twenty-first century.
No one.
Except John.
Her former lover stepped right in front of her.
“Scarlet.”
She stopped. Took one step backward. Then another. John. Here in Oak Stand. Adam holding Sophie’s hand. People staring.
Her heart thudded so loud in her ears that she lifted her hands to them.
“Scarlet.” John reached out a hand as if in slow motion. She looked at him. At his hand. Then she saw a swoosh of color. Green. Blue.
Then black.
ADAM HAD NOTICED SCARLET heading his way just after he’d taken a bite of the lemon pie Sophie had made. He caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye and his mind shouted a warning. Because the fireball actress looked incensed. Like pissed off, pissed on and ready to knock his teeth out.
Part of him had been secretly pleased she was jealous. And part of him had him reaching down to protect his balls.
But then a man had stepped in front of her, and her expression had Adam pushing the plate Sophie held aside and sliding off the car. Scarlet looked scared. Stunned. Lost.
“Scarlet!” he called, his exclamation mixing with that of the older gentleman who had also said her name.
She stepped away from the man. Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she went down like a lightweight riding a knockout punch.
Someone screamed amid several shrieks of dismay. Adam ran, but the older man reached for her first.
“Move back,” Adam said, pushing against the man’s shoulder. But the man didn’t budge. Adam shifted to her other side and crouched. She had landed in the middle of Kitty Lou Monk’s floral quilt, and her face had collided with a plate of potato salad.
He rolled her over. “Scarlet?”
She didn’t move.
“Let’s get her feet up,” he said, relieved to see her chest rising steadily. He turned to the older gentleman who clutched Scarlet’s hand. “Take her feet and lift them up.”
“Huh?”
“Her feet. We need to elevate them.”
“Do you want me to call 911?” Kate said, pushing people back from where they’d started gathering around Scarlet’s inert form.
“I am 911,” Adam said, turning Scarlet’s face toward him. He wiped a glob of potato salad from her cheek. Damn, she was pretty. Didn’t matter what she was covered in. A warm, protective feeling stole over him. He tenderly tapped her cheek. “Scarlet?”
“I know you’re the police chief,” Kate said. Adam almost smiled because he had the feeling she had almost tacked on dumbass, but smiling was hard because Scarlet had him terrified. “I meant, an ambulance.”
“Find Phillip Patterson,” he said, “I saw him with his wife near the stage a few minutes ago.” Though he had basic life-saving certification, having a doctor around would be best. He looked at the older man, who had propped Scarlet’s long, smooth legs on his shoulder. Something about that made Adam want to pop the man right in his patrician nose. He looked at the woman who had made him so crazy he needed a straitjacket. He slapped her cheeks a bit harder. “Scarlet? Wake up.”
She didn’t respond. He placed his hand where he’d so longed to place it for the past two weeks. Right between her breasts. She had a strong, steady heartbeat. He looked up at the circle of people who’d formed around the quilt.
Then he slapped Scarlet hard.
Her eyes flew open.
A few people gasped. Kitty Lou said, “Well, good lord, Chief.”
Scarlet blinked once. Twice. “Adam?”
“Yeah, I’m here. You okay?” He smoothed a few stray hairs from her eyes. He knew it looked more tender than it should, but he didn’t care what everyone thought at the moment. All he cared about was Scarlet.
“What…what happened?” she asked, trying to lift her head.
“No, no. Lie back.” He gently pressed her shoulder. “You fainted.”
“What?” She looked confused. “I don’t faint. I’ve never—”
Then she stopped talking, and her beautiful hazel eyes widened. “John.”
“I’m here, Scarlet,” the older man said, patting her calf. Adam glared at the man. Was this the man she’d been in love with? This old dude? He looked vaguely familiar. Perhaps Adam had seen him in a movie or two. A commercial maybe?
Scarlet struggled against his hand. “Let me up.”
“Kate went to get a doctor. Lie still,” he said, pushing her back. But she wouldn’t comply. Why was he not surprised? Had she ever complied with anything he’d asked her to do over the time he’d known her?
She sat up and stared at the man patting her leg. She pulled her feet from his shoulders and tucked them beneath her bottom, moving closer to Adam.
John gave her a crooked smile. “Wasn’t quite the greeting I’d hoped for.”
“Oh, really?” Scarlet asked, narrowing her eyes.
“My Scarlet. Always making a—”
But he didn’t finish his sentence because Scarlet’s fist collided with his cheek. The older man wobbled, grasping the air as he fell back. He sat down hard and looked absolutely stunned. He didn’t say a word. Just cradled his cheek with one hand.
Scarlet looked taken aback that she’d decked the man. She stared at her fist, then at Adam.
“And you.” The piercing glare she gave him made him wish he’d received the right hook she’d given to Daddy Warbucks instead. “You, you—”
Her gaze locked on Sophie standing on the perimeter, still holding the plate. Scarlet’s eyes filled with tears and Adam felt knocked down and out of the fight.
He’d hurt her.
“You men need to stop staring at that girl and get her out of this heat.” Kitty Lou’s bright blue eyes gave him that snap-to-it-quick look moms had pe
rfected around the dawn of time. Of course. He needed to get Scarlet out of the heat to await the doctor.
“We’re going to take you to Tucker House. It will be cool there. You need to see a doctor.”
“No, I—”
“Yes, you do,” John said, struggling to his feet.
Adam didn’t wait for any further protest or agreement. He scooped Scarlet into his arms and pushed through the gathering crowd, toward the senior center housed in the antebellum mansion across the street.
Scarlet didn’t say anything. For once. It was as if all her fire had been extinguished, which bothered the hell out of him. He ignored John, who tagged along, and said to Kitty Lou, “Send the doc over.”
The sun was hot and Adam tried to avoid Sophie’s eyes. She gave him a halfhearted smile as he strode past. Well, hell, if she wanted to be in the running for his wife, she would have to learn to step aside when his job called.
Not that she had even indicated she wanted to run for the position of the chief’s wife.
He climbed the steps to Tucker House and knocked once before entering the cool parlor. He set Scarlet on the sofa that seemed more decorative than comfortable.
“Okay?” he asked, settling her against the flowered pillow.
“Fine.”
John lowered himself onto an armchair. A bright red spot marred his left cheekbone. Scarlet’s punch wouldn’t even leave a mark.
“How could you?” she muttered, staring at the white ceiling above her.
Was she talking to Adam? Or the older guy? Or the ceiling?
“What?” Adam said.
“How could you look at her that way? Like you could fall in love with her.”
He took a step back. “Fall in love?”
Her eyes shimmered, and he saw it within the depths. Something elusive and precious. It both warmed and terrified him.
For most of the time he’d known Scarlet, he’d assumed she’d been playing with him. The way Angi had. A little fun. No harm. No foul. But this didn’t feel that way. Scarlet looked heartbroken. “Scar—”
“No.” She waved her hands frantically. “No, don’t say anything. Don’t.” She eased back and closed her eyes. Tears leaked from the corners and dripped into her braids. A soft sob heaved in her chest.
