Carson steps aside to let Penny pass and dips his hat at her again as she skips by.
* * *
“Come in, honey.” I rest on the door jamb and realize I’m weighing him up in a too obvious way before snapping away and murmuring, “Sorry.”
“Auditioning?” Carson wraps his large hand around the crown of his hat and plucks it from his head. “You moving on from the Green Parrot?”
“Maybe,” I say with a faraway voice, unable to swipe away the thoughts of Carson in a new light and how everyone but me knows this.
He clears his throat and comes through to the kitchen, placing his hat on the back of the sofa on the way past. His hair is cropped, more than most men around here and his jaw is always shaven, which is probably why there’s always a delectable smell of aftershave when he’s near. I snap my thoughts away from his appearance to the paper bag on the table. “Penny brought caramel thingies from Alma’s. Do you want one?” I push the bag toward him while I distract myself and make more coffee.
“No. Thanks.”
“Are you sure? Because she said they’re a new line and apparently pretty nice.”
He shakes his head and his lips part. I home in on them; they’re like everything else about Carson Perrins, healthy looking and attractively shaped.
“Absolutely sure.” He pats his stomach. “Tryin’ to stay fit.”
“Oh.” I nibble on my bottom lip as I take in his obviously built body. He reminds me of an action figure—good postured and shaped like he’s been made in a precision mold.
I pass over his coffee and his mouth kicks up at one side into a knowing smile. He noticed me checking him out. I grab the bag of caramel cups and deal with the coffee machine, breaking his intimidating stare, and I breathe deep to calm my racing heart.
“So, any news on the case?” I have to stop fiddling with the Keurig and glance back to him when he doesn’t answer straight away.
“Not yet. From what I understand, they’re still interviewing and following up leads. No real progress, unfortunately. But don’t worry, they’ll find him.”
“Oh.” I turn to him, intending to probe more on the investigation, but I can’t push down the comment Penny made. He has the hots for me. For several heart beats our eyes lock and the air between us is choked. So, as is my way, I blurt out. “Look Carson, I’m gonna come right out with this, because… I don’t like leaving stuff unsaid.” He lifts his chin like he’s ready for me. “There’re rumors going around town about you and me, and I’d like to know where they came from.”
“Rumors?” His face is calm.
I rest my backside on the counter and fold my arms. “Uhuh.” I’m not backing down and now I’m interested in his view. “About us getting it on, which is not true.” For a long moment we stare at each other, like opponents in a poker game. But it seems I’m no good at poker or any activity that requires me to keep my thoughts to myself and my mouth shut. “Is that something you…want?” My voice fades to a whisper.
He gulps and his Adam’s apple bobs deep in the column of his throat. And there’s his answer.
Sweat prickles under my arms. Oh shit, Lemon Gillespie. Why the hell do you do this to yourself? Ask a forthright question and then can’t deal with the answer.
“I don’t know about any rumors, Lemon, but seein’ as you’re raisin’ this.” I’m sucked into the intensity of his stare. “Yes. I’m attracted to you.”
My usual knock back for any unwanted advances is not available to me. At the Green Parrot or any other social venue, I’d raise my left hand and waggle my wedding band finger in the air. But I’m no longer married, and Carson knows it. Anyway, this is not the Green Parrot and Carson Perrins is not the usual kinda guy I would have this dilemma over.
He’s respectable. And not drunk.
And honestly, I’m not sure I would knock him back.
“But you’re running for sheriff. You can’t be linked with someone like me.”
“Someone like you?” He shakes his head. “I’m not sure why you have a permanent downer on yourself.”
I huff out a breath through my nostrils. He’s right. I do have a permanent downer and I need to stop it.
“Sometimes you have to believe there is someone who will shine a light in the darkness for you.”
His line is deep and catches me off guard.
“And is that you?” My heart races erratically waiting on his answer.
“Darn right it is,” he says in a measured and steely way.
You’d need an ax to chop through the silence that hangs between us. It’s that thick.
“So, what now?” I fold my arms across my chest, protecting myself from whatever he might say.
“The last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable but… now you’ve raised it… I would like to go on a date with you. If you would consider it?”
Shit, this conversation has suddenly leapt clear over the Sierra Nevadas.
“A date?” My mouth dries and I could easily reach in the cabinet for that bottle of bourbon I stashed the other day.
“Yeah, although if you don’t want to, that’s absolutely fine. I’m not pushing it.” He holds up his hands in an honest way as he backtracks.
“I don’t know, Carson. This is all kinda sudden. I’m not sure how I feel about you. Well, in that way.” I cock my head to one side, wincing at my honesty and remembering the accusation Penny made. “Is that why you gave my case to the sheriff?”
He grasps the back of his neck. “No. There’s protocol around this stuff and the sheriff’s department took control. There was no giving it away or anything like that.”
“Thought not.” I chew on an acrylic fingernail. Carson never was a rash type of guy. That’s why he’s got to where he is in life and is not a loser like me with a failed marriage and a questionable livelihood.
“So?” he asks quietly and I run over the possibility of his invitation. A date with the town police officer. Carson Perrins. My once best friend.
Salty blood trickles to the back of my throat, as I catch my teeth on the still healing scratch on my tongue. “Can I think on it?”
“Sure,” he fires out as if he’s relieved to have the conversation draw to a close. “And to be clear, that’s not why I came here, and I wouldn’t have asked, not just yet anyhow, but you raised it.”
I nod. The air between us is fractured. I fix onto his face, taking in the adult Carson, trying to see him differently to my childhood friend. But my mouth falls apart with the image that percolates of kissing those flawless lips as my hands run over his buzzed hair. And my back goes lax as I imagine him wrapping his strong arms around me; protecting me from all that this life is throwing at me right now.
I straighten my spine.
I need to pull myself up, not rely on another man.
“Honestly Carson, right now, I’m not sure I’m ready for a date.”
He nods with almost imperceptible shakes of his head. Like it’s the response he expected. His gaze drops to the coffee cup in front of him.
While his head hangs, I stare hard at him. It’s tough because his face and everything about him is so familiar, but with this door now open I’m seeing him in a new light. I know all about Carson. His love of peanut butter or jelly sandwiches but not both combined, his obsession over rodeo but resistance to ride a horse, and how he looked up to his father—Sheriff Perrins.
I tap my fingernails on my teeth as I mull over those thoughts.
Actually, all of that identifies with the young Carson Perrins and not the adult version. When Blue became my obsession, Carson drifted from my life. He attended college, somewhere I can’t even remember, and when he came back as a local police officer, I barely noticed him. Yeah, there’s a whole seven years where I know shit about Carson Perrins.
He slaps his flat palms on the table. “Thanks for the coffee.” He slowly stands. “Oh, and sorry for making you feel uncomfortable, but I had to be honest with you.”
With a polite nod, he pushes his ha
t back on his head and paces toward the door. I’m rooted to the spot, wondering how to reconcile this; knowing there’s a limited opportunity for me to react and how a date with Carson may not be the worst idea. But to accept, I need to stop beating myself up and let something positive into my life.
“If I don’t see you at the picnic, drop by again?” I call out as his hand reaches for the doorknob.
He looks back at me quizzically.
“The picnic. Remember, you said it was this weekend.”
He jerks his chin. “Oh yeah, the picnic.”
“If you want to, that is.” I add, making sure my tone is light and not needy.
“Okay.”
I hang onto the door frame and watch him stride off to his pickup. I take in his bold walk and the confident way he dips into his squad car. I may have just pushed him away with my non-committal response. And now he has declared how he feels, I’m not sure we can go back to the way we were.
“Oh.” I raise my hand in a wave. “You didn’t say why you came.” I murmur as he pulls away.
I close the door and worry the tip of my tongue against my teeth. It’s obvious where my thoughts will be for the next few hours.
Eight
Lemon
It’s another dry day and I linger on my doorstep to heat my skin against the easterly morning sun. All my neighbors are packing their cars to go to the picnic at the community field near the chapel. It will be quiet around here today, which is good because I intend to crack on with studying the materials from my beauticians course.
Crouching down, I pick up the Saturday newspaper. The smell of ink and warm paper hits my nostrils as I unfurl it and step inside.
My fingers tips clench the gray paper. I’ve made the front page.
Skimming over the text, the reporter has made me out to be a hussy who got what was coming to her by working at the Green Parrot. “Assholes.” And they refer to me as Ms. Corrigan as if I have no identity of my own. When the reporter collared me outside the police station, I told her I wasn’t Lemon Corrigan anymore, but I guess keeping the Corrigans at the center of every controversy suits the press. I might have known they would put me in a bad light, although it’s disappointing a female reporter would choose to do that. I shake my head. I suppose I haven’t done myself any favors with my big mouth and brazen attitude. I’ve never sought to do anyone any harm, but speaking my mind and dressing how I want hasn’t gone down so well with the narrow minded in these parts. And that, no doubt, is what the editor wanted to pull out. That this wholesome community deserves better than the Corrigans and the trouble they bring. The second page is a piece on their motion to close the Green Parrot, spearheaded by Mrs. Mulligan; it shows an image of her standing in front of her car brandishing a voting slip. A copy of the slip is printed on the second page, edged with scissor motifs for readers to cut out and lodge at the Mayor’s office. So, I guess that’s it. The club will not reopen.
I slump on the couch to read the article in depth, leaving the study papers strewn across the floor. The reporter knows less than me and there’s nothing of any substance written in the article. In fact, she hardly covers the actual attack or police investigation. And her actual description of me isn’t as scathing as I initially thought. I’m just sensitive right now. The accompanying photo is of me walking to the police station with Carson. His hand rests on my back, my leading foot is on the stairs and the split in my skirt reveals the top of my thigh. Under any other circumstance I would say it’s flattering. But the newspaper editor obviously chose that photo because it looks like I’m being pushed up the stairs for questioning, and, of course, there’s too much flesh on show.
But there’s another message in this picture. And I cock my head while I consider it.
Carson and I look good together.
I stare at the photo for a long time. Taking in Carson’s long, sturdy legs and trim waist cinched with a thick police issue utility belt. The way his fingers splay out protectively across the small of my back at the end of muscular arms. His wide shoulders strain the fabric of his black uniform shirt.
I reflect on our conversation yesterday where I called him out. And the way he calmly admitted he was attracted to me. I’ve been blind to Carson Perrins. And shouldn’t readily dismiss whatever may come our way, but, then again, after that article he’s gonna back off like a bull in a castration line.
There’s an update further in the paper on the Dark Angel’s case and the latest supposition on when the trial will begin and what the likely course of events will be. Poor Lacey, her ordeal is likely to go on for months yet. And for a second I wonder if there is a link between my attack and what happened at the Corrigan ranch. As bizarre as it seems, it’s odd in this sleepy town where excitement is limited to a cow wandering down Main Street or the size of Mr. Turner’s pumpkin that two violent incidents occur within weeks of each other.
I flap the pages together and consider once again the photo of Carson and I.
Cherish.
That’s the word I was searching for when I first looked at this photo. He’s cherishing me. Like Blue promised to do when we married, yet Carson is doing that without committing to any vows.
At least that’s one relief, there were no photos of Blue and Josie’s wedding. No doubt that will be in a future edition. I should cancel my subscription.
I lean my head back and stare at the ceiling until my mind quiets to a blank and I’m able to toss the newspaper onto the cushion and slide down to the course papers. Swiftly, I organize them and punch holes so they fit into the binders I bought. But that’s as much as I’m able to do. The words jumble when I try to take them in. It’s funny how words seem to do that while numbers don’t. I lick my dry lips, knowing that my body is trying to trick me into reaching for that bottle of bourbon.
Instead, I pick up my phone, pace the carpet and chew on my nails until Carson answers. “I just wanted to ask what you came for yesterday. You never said.” I squidge my lips to one side at my gawky and overly direct opening line.
He clears his throat. “Yeah, just to bring the gun license form. I’ve been thinking on that and with the investigation and all, I didn’t want you to get into trouble.”
“Oh.” That darn gun. I have no clue why Blue even bought me it.
“I can drop it off today, if you want? I’m not on duty… but I’m in town.”
“Sure. Drop by whenever you want. I’m not going anywhere.”
* * *
Even though this isn’t a date, I hastily roll some lip gloss over my lips, slip on a bra under my tank and tidy the living room.
Less than an hour later, I watch Carson climb out of his truck, relieved I don’t have a police car parked outside my house again. He’s wearing blue jeans, a gray checkered shirt, and tan cowboy boots. He may be a police officer but he’s a local boy first and foremost.
I give him a warm smile as he strides up the driveway. He looks nervous and a sheen of sweat shimmers on his upper lip as he falters a smile back.
“Come on in, honey.” I step aside to let him in, closing the door softly behind him.
“I noticed you wasn’t at the picnic today.” He cups his hand around the crown of his cowboy hat and removes it to his chest. “So, I brought the picnic to you.” He reveals a paper sack hidden behind his back.
“Oh, that’s sweet.”
His smile teeters a little but the green flecks in his hazel eyes burn bright.
“And the form,” he adds, brandishing the paperwork in the air.
“Okay, thanks.” I move it to a windowsill with other invoices and letters I put off answering most days of the week. “Shall we go out back? I cleaned up the yard recently.”
“Sure. It’s turning out to be a pleasant day for it.”
“Sure is.” My words have a double meaning that don’t just refer to the weather, I’m also pleased Carson is visiting. I want to test my feelings and with him standing before me, it’s obvious—I like his company. He’s easy go
ing and his presence has a calming effect, like being swaddled as a young child. And anyway, a little flirting never did anyone any harm.
“Do you want a beer?” I ask as he follows me through to the kitchen, eying up the cooler I stocked for whenever Blue came around.
“Nah, I’m good thanks.” He lifts the sack again. “I’ve got root beer in here.”
“Do you still not drink alcohol?”
He laughs. “Sure I do. Just rarely.”
I grab a koozie from the drawer for his can.
“I suppose it’s tough being the town police officer.”
In recognition of my obvious statement, he raises his thick eyebrows and I turn away.
He seems nervous and I wish he would have a beer, just to loosen up a little. It would also mean I could have one, because honestly, I’m feeling unnerved too.
I grab a rug, folded on the armchair, and take it out to the yard, shaking it out so it catches on the breeze and floats onto the parched grass.
He sets the picnic down on the rug. I kneel and peek inside the sack and it’s stuffed full of goodies—pastries, pickles, and sandwiches. He sits with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle and his back rests against the leg of a deck chair that has seen better days. I’m just glad he didn’t sit in it as I’m sure it would collapse under any weight. And those solid muscles don’t look light. At all.
“You’re looking much better today.” He stuffs his can into the koozie.
I squint against the sun at him. “Meaning?”
He chuckles. “Meaning… you’re looking much better today.”
I squidge my nose but don’t push him as he probably means nothing by it. Men say what they mean. I get that. Blue certainly did. It’s only as his love for me waned that I became paranoid and sensitive about people’s comments.
“So how was the picnic?”
He shrugs, popping the ring on the can and sucking up the fizz. “Good, I suppose, you would have enjoyed it.”
I smile tightly. “We both know I wouldn’t. With everything I’ve brought on myself, I’m the talk of the town and being there would have only fueled their conversations.”
Broken in Love (Studs in Stetsons Book 2) Page 7
