Chapter 19
T hey were about to leave the hardware store when they were waylaid by a stranger. Or at least Celeste thought she was a stranger, but she had her doubts when the woman greeted her by name with a cheerful smile, dimples pushing deep into soft, round cheeks.
“Oh, Celeste, hi. I’m so glad to see you.”
She was that type of woman who made everything sound like it ended in exclamation points and Celeste was more certain they’d never met. That made it all the more confusing that the stranger was now speaking as if they were friends. “You are?”
“Yes, I was so worried. I plagued Elliot until he checked on you but the signal is spotty, per usual, and I haven’t heard how you fared during the storm. But here you are.”
“Ta-da,” Celeste said, her bland tone a contrast to the woman’s bright one. “You must be his wife, Missy.”
“I am.” She glanced at the bags of Montana Munch they were holding. “I see Tony convinced you to get the stuff. Careful, it’s highly addictive. I can feel my pants getting tight from standing this close to it.” Her voice dropped to a loud whisper as she confessed, “I have a bit of a weight problem.”
“You look perfect to me,” Celeste said sincerely. She was one of those people who tended toward being underweight. She’d always admired women who had curves. They looked so soft and feminine. Missy was one of those people, pleasantly rounded in all the right places.
She beamed at Celeste, making the dimples pop. “I knew I would love you, from all the descriptions, and I was right.”
“All the descriptions?” Celeste asked, feeling a bit ill. What exactly were people saying about her?
“Oh, yeah,” Missy said, nodding. “Fletcher’s been raving. Apparently you’re his white whale, and I quote, ‘the one person in the world who has no idea who I am.’”
“That’s…weird,” Celeste said, recalling the odd conversation with Fletcher Reed.
“That’s Fletcher. He’s good people, though. The best, really, and I’m not just saying that because he’s my boss and I’m trying to suck up. Who’s the boy?” Her eyes flicked curiously to Sam who was quiet only because he was trying to sneak a bite of the munch in his grasp.
Celeste yanked it away. “That’s for the power outage. We agreed.”
“But I’m hungry. We can get more. Also pie.”
“Oh, you got the pie,” Missy said, face lighting again. Celeste wondered if she was ever sad and, if so, what her face was like. It probably crumpled pleasantly with tears that made her long lashes sparkle and stand out. Whereas Celeste looked like she was having a seizure if she ever gave in to tears, which she never did. Not anymore. “I’m so glad I put that on the list.”
“Did you bake it?” Celeste asked. “It was amazing.”
“It is amazing, and no, I did not bake it. I’m a connoisseur who has been trying to help Mrs. Hickman’s home bakery take off. And, I don’t know, it seems like a power outage deserves special food.”
“It totally does,” Sam said, trying to steal a bite of munch from the bag Celeste now held. She turned her back to him.
“Stop or I’ll bite you,” she threatened.
“Maybe I like that,” he returned, causing her cheeks to heat and Missy to beam approvingly.
“Anyway,” Celeste said, trying to regain some decorum, though she was certain her cheeks were staining red. You were a soldier and trained assassin. You do not blush because a cute boy lobs innuendo at you, not anymore. Get it together. “It was really nice to meet you. Thank you for sending Elliot to check on us.”
“Sure, and if you need any more food recommendations, I’m your Huckleberry. Probably literally by now because I’ve eaten so many huckleberry-themed foods since arriving in paradise. Coincidentally I also haven’t had a virus since then. Lots of vitamin C in huckleberries.” She gave them a little wave and continued on her way while they stepped outside, blinking against the glare of sun on snow.
“Where to next, tour guide to the Paradise stars?” Sam asked, shading his eyes, which was rather a ridiculous thing to do when it was five degrees outside, but the snow/sun combo was that bright.
“The diner. But first I need to stop at the bank,” Celeste said.
“Okay, but I’m already regretting not cleaning out the Moose Munch shelf. I’m going back for seconds and I’ll meet you when I’m done.”
“Don’t let him talk you into buying anything else.”
“I’ll try, but if I come out with a boomerang that smells like huckleberry and has a picture of a grizzly on it, do not judge me. He’s very persuasive,” Sam said, spinning to go back inside the store.
Meanwhile Celeste crossed the street and yanked the bank door, stumbling when it didn’t open.
“It’s locked,” a voice said. “They close for lunch on account of there’s only one teller.”
She turned to face the speaker, a cowboy who loomed large and unseen in the shadow. Celeste felt a prickle of apprehension that only increased when he stepped into view. Automatically her gaze fell to his teeth. She saw they were black and took a step back. He took a step forward.
“I’ve seen you around,” the man said.
“Strange, I haven’t noticed you at all,” she said, which was true. He blended in with all the other cowboys she’d seen. They’d become Paradise’s background noise. With so many ranches nearby, they were a ubiquitous part of the landscape.
He chuckled, the sound harsh and foreboding like a rattler’s rasp.
This is not going to go well for me, she thought. She’d met too many bad men not to immediately read the signs. Whoever this guy was, he was mean, nasty, possibly even dangerous.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, trying to step around him. Her attempt failed when he pivoted, putting himself in front of her, using his hulking size as an intimidating advantage. Celeste was nearly impossible to intimidate, however.
“You’re a cute little thing,” he tried.
She didn’t reply. Once upon a time she would have, even if only to snark at him. But one lesson time and maturity taught her was that her words were hers to bestow. Other people didn’t deserve them by virtue of being alive. They were hers alone to unleash, when she wanted to or not. The Colonel had taught her that, an actual lecture he delivered once when she was a newbie and eagerly trying to impress him with her nonstop flow of chatter. Silence is almost always more powerful; use it wisely.
“Why don’t you let me buy you lunch,” the man said, making it sound like a command more than a request.
“No, thanks,” Celeste said. She attempted to take another step and he grabbed her arm in a painful grip that pinned her in place and would no doubt leave bruises. Celeste considered her options. She could break free, certainly. She could incapacitate him. For that matter, she could kill him. But it was the middle of the street and broad daylight and half the town was probably watching. If she put her skills on display in such a public manner, there would be talk about her, more than there already was. Anonymity was more important than saving face.
All the thoughts blazed through her mind with lightning speed, but before she could come to a resolution Sam was beside her.
“You’re going to want to let her go, and don’t ever touch her again,” he said, but it didn’t sound like him. Gone was the warm and friendly tone. Instead he sounded cold, imperious, and deadly. As Celeste studied him, he even loomed larger somehow, as if he were equal to the hulking cowboy. Only a moment ago she would have said he was smaller.
The cowboy dropped her arm and smiled at Sam. “Well, what do we have here? Welcome to Paradise, Osama.”
“Your lack of originality speaks well of your intellect,” Sam replied.
The man lost his smile. “Here’s a friendly warning, fella. We don’t like your type around here. Best not get too comfortable and be on your way, sooner rather than later.”
“Actually, I plan to stay for the long haul. And I’ve found people to be quite friendly and helpful, people who matter, that is,” Sam said.
The man took a small step closer. “I’m going to give you one warning: clear out and go away.”
“I’m going to tell you what my cousin Osama used to say: Don’t push me; I always push back.”
It was that tense moment before someone took a swing and Celeste decided to intervene and break the tension. “All right, let’s all take a breath here. Mister, I want nothing to do with you, and you know everyone in town is watching. Be on your way before this gets any uglier.”
The man studied her for a moment, glanced at Sam, then pursed his lips and walked away with a swagger.
“Do you think he walks like that because something in his apparel is too tight?” Sam mused.
“I think he walks like that because something in his head is too small,” Celeste returned.
He snorted. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Was Osama bin Laden really your cousin?” she asked.
“No, I was quoting my cousin Osama Robinson. He has a job at a butcher, biting the heads off chickens. He gets an extra dime for every beak that remains intact.”
She did the giggle-laugh thing that inexplicably made him smile.
“Do you think we have time to get lunch before the pinhead cowboy returns with reinforcements?” Sam asked hopefully.
“Maybe, but if we have to take down the reinforcements, we’re definitely going to need extra calories,” she said, leading the way to her SUV.