Chapter 22 #2
“Oh, Birdie, I told you…” His voice does that gravelly thing again as he takes a step into my personal space.
All my parts stand at attention, and trust me, I did not know they could do that.
“I’m a very” —he leans close— “very” —his breath ghosts over my neck— “very patient man.” He leans back with a smug smile on his face as I turn into a puddle of the woman I once was.
How did he even accomplish this?
I am a goner when it comes to this man.
“You won’t make me walk like this, will you?”
“Naw.” He grabs my hand, tugging me to the backdoor. “The town already knows what you did.”
“No!” I whine, following him out to the parking lot past that dreaded black fence. “How can they know?”
“Davis,” he replies smoothly.
“That demon deputy.”
“Oh, I guarantee he did not want to tell anyone, but someone probably drew it out of that poor boy.”
“Poor boy?” I scoff. “I’m not buying it. He knew what he was doing.”
“Go easy on the kid. His position is a hand-me-down kind of thing.”
“That is not how the sheriff’s department works, Arlo.” Finding his truck, I practically sprint for it, hoping my wrist doesn’t snap with how tightly I’m holding that drawstring.
“At eighteen, he ran off to the police academy down in Concord, and after graduation, he came home just like every single male in his family. He and his three brothers run the entire department.” He unlocks the truck as I bounce around in the cold, scanning the streets, hoping no one sees me.
Though I just know as I walk through that door to the B&B, they will all know my shame because of one moment of weakness.
Thanksgiving should be fun.
“I’ve never seen the other three.”
“The twins patrol at night, while his older brother runs everything in the office.”
“This disturbs me.”
“It’s how their parents raised them.” The rumble of the engine eases, but a flicker of anxiety rushes through me once more, and I’m not at all afraid to admit I slink down in his seat. “That won’t work,” Arlo mutters.
I choose to ignore his snarky butt. “That’s kind of sad.”
Arlo hits a bump as he pulls out onto the street, jostling me. “You did that on purpose.”
He smiles down at me like I’m the crazy one. “It isn’t like their dad forces them to be deputies. Spock is their cousin.”
“Again with this infamous Spock. I’m thinking he’s actually your imaginary friend.”
“Well, if you came around to the shop more, you’d meet him.” He looks down at me, sparing those precious seconds to watch me with his penetrating gaze. “That doesn’t include climbing my fence, which I still can’t believe you did.”
“Moment of mental weakness.” I’m still hiding on the floorboards, though I peek up to watch through the windows as the scenery changes just enough for me to pop up after we go under the covered bridge.
“Birdie.” Oh no, that’s a serious tone. “I get it, you know, but I think you should just give the town a chance.”
I can read between those lines, and I thought I was giving him a chance. “Third date?” I ask, my stomach fluttering with nerves as I blink up at him.
He taps the steering wheel with his thumb as he stares down at me. “All right.”
“Don’t sound so happy.”
“No more climbing fences.”
“I cannot promise that.”
“Birdie.” The sound of my name on his lips is a plea to behave.
“You never know when the situation will call for a good climb.”
“Please name one scenario.”
“Umm, what if…” I sort through the insanity that is my brain. “What if I’m kidnapped and my kidnappers rush me off somewhere unknown, and I narrowly escape my captor, only to find myself surrounded by a ten-foot fence with wolves on the other side?”
“That’s it.” Arlo throws the truck in park, then sits back in the cushion of his seat and points at me. “You should reconsider the amount of coffee you drink and the number of books you read.” The smile that stretches across his face tells me otherwise.
“Never.” I glance around, sighing in relief that the coast is clear. For now. But I know better. It could all just be a ruse. “I feel like this is a walk of shame.”
“Oh, it is.”
“I don’t see anyone.”
He chuckles and turns toward me with a devil-may-care grin on his handsome bearded face. “That is because you aren’t looking hard enough. Give it a minute.”
“I hate this.” Muttering, I push open the door and slide down from his truck. Two seconds after I land on my feet and slam the door, Saffron stands in front of the door with her hands on her ample hips and her little foot tapping on the wooden slats.
Each one is like a gunshot.
“Wren Finnley, what in the world were you thinking?” she scolds me.
For a moment, I’m thrown back fifteen years when I was just starting to like boys and I had a teensy-weensy problem of saying no. I mean, not in a bad way, but because my then boyfriend wanted to go for a drive.
Yeah, that kind of drive.
There we were, two couples driving to a mountain range to hike because parking wasn’t enough.
My na?ve little mind was like, Oh, this is a fun date idea, until the other couple ran off to, well…
satisfy those teenage urges. I learned a lot that night.
At least then, I could keep things at just kissing, but that became addicting as well.
When I arrived home, my gram was there waiting on the porch, her foot tapping the wood slats just like Saffron’s, with a mean scowl on her face.
Luckily, Saffron’s lips twitch, giving her away. My gram, though, she would have yelled at me, wondering what all the girls at the bingo hall would have to say about my little faux pas.
I mean teens, am I right?
“I swear there was a witch.” She squints at me. She isn’t buying that story. I pause right on that darn moose stepping-stone and stare at her while the drawstring does its very best to slice my wrist off. I don’t need it anyway.
Saffron just shakes her head at me. “Go in now and get dressed. Y ou are helping me prep for tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I lay on the Southern accent as thick as I dare.
“That won’t work on me, Wren,” Saffron states as I pass her, the hair on my neck sticking up because I know I’m in trouble.
I’m a thirty-year-old woman, and I’m in trouble.
Why does that make me feel loved?