Can't Hardly Breathe

by Gena Showalter

  He texted the feisty blonde and, after buying glittery white nail polish for Thea--the new representative for passion--met Jessie Kay at Lazy Susan, an old train car that had been transformed into a Victorian teahouse. The walls were paneled with royal blue velvet and cherry woodwork, and from the ceiling hung a crystal chandelier. Stained glass windows filled the cart with colored prisms of light.

  Lazy Susan wasn't located in Strawberry Valley. None of the patrons cared about what he or Jessie Kay said.

  She sat at a table in back, eating from multiple platters of food. Beside her, two cups of coffee steamed.

  He kissed her cheek and slid into his chair. "Do you know Thea Mathis?" he asked, treading carefully.

  Jessie Kay blinked at him as she buttered a piece of toast, her brow creased. The beautiful blue-eyed blonde had the sassiest mouth in the South--not counting Thea--and had once been touted as Strawberry Valley's wildest wild child. "Who?"

  "Dorothea. Formerly Dottie," he said. "But do not, under any circumstances, call her Dottie. In fact, wipe the nickname from your mind. Call her Dorothea." She hated her childhood nickname, so he would put an immediate end to its use.

  "Why can't I call her Thea? And why do you care what I call--"

  "Because I do." Thea was his nickname for her. His alone. "And because she's...my friend." Not that she would agree. Yet.

  "Whoa." Jessie Kay held out her hand, palm up. "Let's backtrack a little. We're talking about the freckled girl from the inn, yes?"

  He gave a single, curt nod, not liking that she'd reduced Thea to "the freckled girl from the inn."

  As slow as molasses, she set her toast on a plate. "If you're asking 'cause you're planning on nailing her, I'm gonna knock your testicles into your throat. I like her, and I don't want her hurt."

  "For your information, I like her, too." He shook a blueberry muffin over her head, smiling as the crumbs settled in her hair. "Why would you want to hurt my testicles, anyway? You'd deprive everyone of my manly prowess."

  "Manly prowess?" She rolled her eyes. "I've seen the way she looks at you. You date and dump her, and you'll devastate her. And since I'm the patron saint of mending broken hearts and breaking callous MARTS, I will--"

  "Marts?" he interjected, even as he reeled. Other people had noticed the way Thea looked at him? The want and need hadn't been wishful thinking on his part?

  "It's an acronym, and it stands for a Male who is an Asinine, Rotten, Two-timing piece of Shit."

  "In my case, I think you mean Male who is Adorable, Remarkable, Talented and probably a Superhero. Because I've never two-timed anyone, and never will." To cheat, you had to lie. He refused to lie.

  He remembered the one and only time he'd fibbed to his parents. Virgil had smacked his butt and said, "Don't you piss on my leg and tell me it's rainin', boy. I'll lose all respect for you, and you'll prove you've never respected me."

  His mother had remained silent, peering at him with disappointment, cutting him to the quick.

  "Hate to break it to you," Jessie Kay said, "but you're still asinine. You'll hurt her, guaranteed, and I'll be forced to mass produce bronzes of your penis with a designer line of dresses he can wear. And maybe hats. Everyone in Strawberry Valley--heck, the world--can have a Danny Jr. on their mantel."

  "I would never hurt her." He snapped the words, defensive. "Not purposely. But I would like one of those bronzes."

  Wicked pleasure brightened Jessie Kay's features as she leaned back in her chair. "Well, well, well. Daniel Porter is smitten, and not with an imaginary bronze. I might have to help you rather than hurt you." Her Southern drawl thickened when she added, "Now, don't you go gettin' a big head about this, but Miss Dot--Dorothea has had a crush on you since our glory days in high school."

  Thea had wanted him for years? "How do you know this?" If curiosity hadn't run the show, his eagerness would have embarrassed him. He might as well have been a sixteen-year-old girl with a crush and overactive ovaries.

  Laughter rumbled from the merciless Jessie Kay. "Want to come to my slumber party tonight? We can stay up all night gabbing about boys and having pillow fights."

  He drew his cell from his pocket and spoke as he typed. "Dear West. Your woman needs a spanking. Take care of it." Send.

  Smug, she withdrew her cell. "Dear West. I do hope you'll take Daniel's advice and spank me. I look forward to having your palm print on my butt."

  Daniel snorted. Incorrigible girl. "Tell me about Thea. Please with a cherry on top."

  "Fine. The first day of my senior year, I said something hateful to her. And don't you dare chastise me for it. I've chastised myself a million times. Harlow had just called me a slut, and I--Never mind. I digress. I planned to apologize to Dorothea at lunch, but she rushed into the band room. I didn't want to interrupt whatever she was doing, so I waited for her. When she rushed out, she had tears in her eyes. I sneaked in to find out what had hurt her...and there you were, making out with Madison Clark."

  Seeing him with another girl had reduced her to tears? Poor, sweet Thea. "I barely remember Madison."

  But he clearly remembered the way Dorothea had once looked at him in the halls of Strawberry Valley High. Of course she'd crushed on him, he thought now; he'd just been too stupid, or too hormonal, to see it.

  He'd been too young and inexperienced to appreciate her then.

  He wasn't too young or inexperienced now.

  A wanton smile kicked up the corners of his mouth.

  "Look at you," Jessie Kay said and tsk-tsked. "You're the cat who just caught the mouse. I never would have guessed plain, ordinary Dorothea Mathis--"

  "Plain? Ordinary?" His voice increased an octave, drawing the notice of their waitress. She stepped toward them, but he waved her back. "Are you kidding me? Thea is gorgeous." The sexiest woman on the freaking planet.

  Jessie Kay gaped at him, as if he were insane. And yet, for the first time in years, he felt...almost at peace. His warrior instincts were fully engaged, the prize incomparable. Thea enraptured and amused him. She tantalized all five of his senses. She challenged him but also soothed him. Soon he would have her.

  "What about your dad?" Jessie Kay asked, dead serious now. "He'll have your wedding planned by the end of date one."

  "I'm going to see Thea in secret. Dad will never know." If he and Thea ever decided to take the next step--

  Whoa! What kind of thought was that? Next step? Him?

  "Oh, Daniel." She flattened a hand over her heart. "You are such an idiot. And I mean that from the bottom of my heart."

  His cell phone rang, saving him from having to offer a reply. The name "Dr. Vandercamp" appeared on the screen. Daniel held up a finger, indicating a need for silence, and answered. "How is Princess?"

  "The dog is doing well. She isn't chipped, so I wasn't able to find the owners. However, I've posted photos online. Miss Princess will be ready for pickup after three. At the clinic, not my house. And I told you I'd have no problem getting your number. I just left Style Me Tender. Your dad was there, and he looked pale." Click.

  Wow. What a conversationalist.

  Jessie Kay fluttered her lashes at him. "High five to whoever put a burr under your saddle blanket."

  He forked a bite of her eggs, despite the food he hadn't eaten on his own plate. "I'm taking off. Got to check on my dad." He'd looked pale? Why?

  "Fine. Abandon me. Tell Dorothea I said hi. Maybe give her a kiss for me." She wiggled her brows. "Use tongue. I would."

  *

  DANIEL PARKED IN the town square, near Style Me Tender. Virgil would be playing checkers with his best friend of forty years, Anthony Rodriguez. Or rather, pretending to play checkers while people-watching and gossiping like an old hen.

  As Daniel strode down the sidewalk, several groups of older women attempted to chat with him, but he never slowed. He was a man on a mission.

  Finally, he spotted his target in front of the shop, seated at a small, square table. As a young man, his dad had been stacke
d with muscle. Now he was far too thin, verging on fragile. Life had weathered his skin, leaving its mark.

  To Daniel, he was still one of the most beautiful people on the planet. Virgil was gruff but kind, always honest, and for too many years he'd worked two jobs in order to give his only child the finer things. Nice clothes, money to take his dates to fancy restaurants in the city and a reliable mode of transportation.

  Now it was Daniel's turn to give back. His mom would expect nothing less.

  Bonnie Porter had been a true Southern belle. She'd cooked every meal from scratch, just like her mother and grandmother before her, and she'd never raised her voice in public. She'd never cussed, even in private. She'd considered wrinkled clothing a sin and sweatpants the devil's invention. Most of all, she'd refused to work or clean on Sundays.

  Even the good Lord rested, she'd liked to say.

  She'd died over ten years ago when a vat exploded at Dairyland, a plant in Blueberry Hill, where half the residents of Strawberry Valley had once worked. Many people in town had lost loved ones in that explosion, not just Daniel and his father.

  Even still, a light had been extinguished inside Virgil that day. Daniel, too. He'd learned no matter how much you loved someone, you couldn't stop Death from demanding his due.

  "--take over the receptionist desk," Virgil was saying. "But dang it all to heck and back, she's so poor she couldn't jump over a nickel to save a dime. Who's gonna sign up for long hours and little pay?"

  "She just needs to make do for a few more weeks," Anthony replied. "The spring festival is coming up, don't you know? Those rooms are gonna go like hotcakes at a Sunday brunch, and she'll be sitting pretty on a fat stack of coin."

  The rooms. The inn. Had to be Thea. Daniel's blood flashed white-hot.

  He struggled to maintain a neutral expression. "Hey, Dad. How you feeling?"

  Both men smiled in greeting.

  "Feeling good, son. Feeling good."

  Daniel noted the color in his cheeks and breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever had caused the old man to pale around Vandercamp must not be a problem anymore.

  Since Daniel was here, he might as well work. "I'm going to finish installing the cameras inside." Considering how much time his dad spent at the salon, he'd decided to monitor the shop, free of charge.

  When Daniel had first mentioned putting in a security system, Anthony had said, "In all my years, I've never been robbed."

  Daniel had replied, "You were robbed, you just didn't know it. Every time I visited, I stole the hearts of your customers."

  That had settled that.

  "If you want, I can go buy you guys a box of tampons first," Daniel said now.

  Virgil spewed a drink of iced sweat tea. Anthony snorted and slapped his knee.

  "You calling us women?" Virgil demanded.

  "And insult women? No, sir." Daniel shook his head. "I'm calling you puss--"

  "Hey, hey. Is that any way to talk to your father?" Anthony asked.

  "Pussycats," Daniel finished.

  Virgil snorted. "For your information, we've been detecting."

  Detecting, huh? "What mystery are you trying to solve?"

  "Well, it's like this." Anthony moved a red checker into a new box. "Dottie Mathis--you know her, don't you, boy?"

  Every muscle in his body tensed. Had they heard something?

  No, no. They couldn't have heard anything. After all, there was nothing to tell. They were just playing matchmaker.

  Tread carefully. "I do know her. She's my friend. And she prefers her given name. Dorothea. You hurt her feelings every time you call her Dottie."

  Anthony looked properly horrified. "I never meant to hurt no one's feelings."

  "Why didn't she say nothin' to us?" Virgil tossed up his hands.

  Daniel hiked a shoulder in a shrug.

  Anthony cleared his throat and pulled at his shirt collar. "Dorothea was passing out flyers this morning. A position has opened up at the inn, you see, because she fired her sister."

  "And..." Daniel prompted, doing his best to hide his insatiable curiosity that had nothing to do with her reasons for firing Holly.

  The girl had checked him in on multiple occasions without ever speaking a word to him. She'd merely glared at him, as if he'd threatened to torch the place.

  When he'd asked her, "Have I done something to offend you?" she'd popped a bubble in his face.

  "And she squealed when she spotted me. She even tried to run away." Virgil gave Daniel the stink eye. "I had to clutch my heart and holler for help to get her to come back. Poor thing wouldn't meet my gaze, and it got me to wondering. Did something...maybe...happen between you two?" he asked with a glint of hope in his expression.

  This. This was the very circumstance he'd wanted to avoid. Getting his dad's hopes up, only to watch the old man's features darken with disappointment.

  "Women," he said, as if that one word explained every mystery in the universe. "Nothing happened between us." And that was the absolute truth. Nothing had happened...yet.

  "A good sweet girl, our Dot--Dorothea." Detective Virgil moved a checker across the board, watching Daniel from the corner of his eye. "She'll make someone very happy."

  Tread--carefully. Expression blank, he said, "Yep, she's as sweet as sugar." In more ways than one. "And you're right. She'll make someone very happy." His stomach suddenly clenched with...something he wasn't ready to name. He patted his dad on the shoulder, momentarily taken aback by the seeming brittleness of bone. "I better get to work."

  Jude and Brock arrived a short time later, and as they helped install the cameras, they quietly doled out more deets about Thea's ex. Employees whispered about an upcoming promotion that would launch Jazz Connors, the storm chaser, into a prime-time in-studio position.

  No accounting for taste.

  Jazz's relationship with his coworker had, by all accounts, started while he was married and ended roughly two weeks ago.

  The affair had most likely wounded Thea's feminine pride. She'd probably come to Daniel--whom she'd wanted since high school, thank you very much--for a self-esteem boost. Instead, he'd knocked her down another couple of pegs.

  Despite his apology, a fresh tide of guilt eroded his newfound confidence. What if he'd hurt her too deeply? What if he couldn't win her?

  No. No! He would show her how much he wanted her. With his mouth and his hands. Words would never be enough.

  "What's this?" Jude snatched up a piece of paper next to a hair dryer. "Our little Dorothea is in need of a receptionist?"

  My Dorothea, he almost snapped. Mine. All mine.

  Brock snickered. "A second job could do me some good, teach me a few hard lessons about responsibility. Maybe I'll apply at the inn. And by 'maybe' I mean definitely."

  "You'll do no such thing," Daniel grated.

  His friends looked at him, then each other, then Brock laughed and Jude snorted. A second later, the bastards raced out of the shop. Jude's prosthetic gave him a slight limp, but it didn't slow him.

  "Assholes," Daniel muttered and gave chase. "I'll be back, Dad."

  The pair blazed down the sidewalk, pushing and shoving each other before rounding the corner and soaring into the inn. Daniel remained close on their heels.

  Thankfully, school was in session and there was no sign of Holly. "Hello?" Brock called.

  Silence. No sign of Dorothea, either. And no sign of Mrs. Hathaway, who usually slept behind the desk whenever she was on duty.

  Daniel looked around. The spacious lobby was clean but worn. The laminate countertop blocking patrons from the desk had a crack in the center. The carpet had several threadbare spots. However, the chandeliers were new and probably worth thousands. Did Thea know Daniel had helped Jessie Kay pick them out?

  Jessie Kay had wanted to say thank you for hosting her then-boyfriend's company Christmas party last minute but hadn't known what to buy.

  Thea needed a camera in here STAT. Multiple cameras, actually, to monitor the entire area a
nd deter thieves.

  He could connect the feed to her cell phone, allowing the cameras to act as a secondary receptionist. That way, she could use the new employee to help her clean all those rooms, rather than manning the desk with a snoring Mrs. Hathaway, freeing up precious time.

  Time she could spend with Daniel.

  Whenever the front door opened or someone entered the lobby, her phone would beep or buzz, and she could send the employee to take care of things.

  Yes. He liked this idea. It might take a week or two to get the parts. Until then, Daniel could help her out...

  "Dorothea," Brock bellowed. "Someone? Anyone?"

  "I'm here, I'm here." A harried Thea raced into the lobby.

  Daniel experienced a swift gut punch of lust. Multiple curls had slipped from the knot on top of her head and now framed her face. Perspiration caused her skin to glisten as if she'd taken a dip in a glitter-filled hot tub. Her shirt pulled tight over plush breasts he longed to palm.

  Her shamrock eyes found Daniel, and a little gasp left her.

  How is she more beautiful every time I see her?

  "I'm, uh, sorry for the wait," she said. "How can I help you?"

  He made the introductions and said, "They'd each like a room." Then he glared at both men. "Wouldn't you?"

  Brock smiled an unrepentant smile.

  Jude pursed his lips before giving a clipped nod.

  "Really?" Thea brightened. "I mean, of course. Let me check to make sure we have vacancies."

  As she typed, Brock propped his elbows on the counter and leaned forward. "So you're the infamous Dorothea Mathis. Daniel has mentioned you a time or twenty. Now I understand why."

  The color drained from her cheeks, making her freckles stand out. As she focused on Daniel, she radiated anger and incredulity. "How could you!"

  Confused, he spread his arms, all innocence. "How could I what?"

  "Tell them about...about... Oh!" She type, type, typed, jamming her fingers into the keys. "They can stay. You can go."

  "I didn't tell them that. I wouldn't. I won't." The memory belonged to him, and him alone.

  "And so the plot thickens." Brock canted his head. "Tell us what, exactly?"

  Daniel punched him in the arm and said to Thea, "Before you sign them in under the names Shithead and Dickhead, I'd like to speak with you privately."

  Brock nonchalantly replied, "Shithead is actually pronounced Sha-thead."