Fool for Love (11 page)

Focusing on the moment, she cracked open the door and smiled at her boss. “Wow. Gloves and everything.”
Everything
included a pink pillbox hat that matched her two-inch patent-leather pumps, and short-sleeved silk shantung A-line-style dress. Chloe had studied fashion design for six months, and that part of her brain revved as she assessed Daisy’s retro ensemble. Nineteen-sixties. A cross between Jackie Kennedy and Audrey Hepburn. Trendy chic.

“My Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes.” Daisy sniffed and tugged at the ruffled hems of her dainty gloves. “One old habit I’ve yet to shake.”

She sounded downright miserable, yet Chloe thought she looked fantastic. “Why shed perfection?”

“Keep saying nice things like that and I might start feeling bad about talking you into accompanying me to church.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I don’t believe you, but I’m not going to let you off the hook. I’d appreciate your company.”

“I’ll be down in five minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting in the car.”

She spun away and Chloe held her breath listening to those high heels clattering down the stairs. “Please don’t trip or fall.” Not that Daisy was sickly or fragile, but when her mind wandered, and it did that a lot, mishaps occurred. Last night while helping Chloe clear the dinner table (and pondering a radical change in hair color) Daisy had put the sugar bowl in the fridge and the leftover roasted asparagus in the pantry. Earlier that day, she’d nearly pruned her rosebushes to death while having an imaginary bitch fest with Tasha-the-Pinhead Burke, a woman Chloe had no interest in meeting anytime soon for fear of giving her an earful. She’d called Daisy’s recipe ordinary. Honestly? Chloe had thought the apple brandy drizzle inspired.

Not hearing any shrieks or thuds, she assumed her boss had descended safely. Chloe scrambled to her dresser, desperate to spruce up her daffodil-yellow shift. She pulled on a three-quarters-sleeved black cashmere shrug and accentuated it with a lime-green flower pin, then swept her hair off her face with a matching lime-green headband. Last, she traded her ballet flats for black pointy-toed pumps. She studied her reflection in a full-length mirror and declared herself more Sunday-go-to-meeting suitable.

Still … her stomach fluttered with dread. She hadn’t been to church in a long time. She wasn’t all that crazy about attending now. It conjured memories of her mom and dad and the way things used to be. Sunday had always been their special day. Family day. Church. Dinner. Snacking on bowls of buttered popcorn while watching their favorite TV shows.

Chloe used to love Sundays. But then her mom had died and everything,
everything,
had changed.

Squashing down morbid thoughts, Chloe hurried downstairs. When she reached the garage, Daisy was sitting in the driver’s seat.

Crap.

Rolling back her shoulders, Chloe opened the driver’s door and jerked her thumb. “You know the deal, Daisy.”

The old woman bolstered her own shoulders. “Deal, schmeal.”

“You cannot drive to church,” Chloe said reasonably. “You told me yourself a good portion of your friends and family attend. If you drive and anyone sees you…” She narrowed her eyes. “Do you
want
me to get grief?”

“We’re not going to church.”

“We’re not?” She nearly wilted with relief. “Then where are we going?”

“A Sunday drive,” Daisy said with a smile. “Usually I save that for after. But I’ve decided to buck tradition.”

“What about Sunday dinner?”

“Keeping that part.” She arched an already comically arched penciled brow. “You okay with that, kitten?”

“Sure.” She could handle a couple of hours of Devlin’s company. That’s if he even showed. “But I’m not okay with you driving.”

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll relinquish the wheel, if you promise to let me drive once we’re out of town.”

Chloe raised a brow. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Give me fifteen minutes. Open stretch of road. No potholes. No sharp curves.”

“Sounds … uneventful. What do you get out of it?”

“Fifteen minutes of being in control.”

“What do I get out of it?”

“Fifteen minutes of bliss.”

“Not sure what that means.”

“You’ll have to take a leap of faith. Or … we can go to church.”

The woman was shrewd. Chloe blew out a breath. “Slide over.”

Daisy shimmied to the passenger side, then, as Chloe took the driver’s seat, pointed the remote at the garage door. The door swung open with a slow grind, allowing sunshine to spill in and over the Caddy. “See there,” Daisy said. “Beautiful day for a drive.”

No argument there. Clear blue skies. Mild temp and lots of sunshine. “Won’t your family worry when you don’t show for church?”

Daisy opened her pink and white handbag and pulled out a cell phone designed for seniors—big numbers, big buttons. She speed-dialed and a heartbeat later she smiled. “Yes, Rocky, dear, it’s me.… No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just … it’s Chloe’s first Sunday and she’s feeling jittery about dinner. We’re driving to Pixley. Oslow’s didn’t have the fresh herbs she needed for the…” She looked to Chloe.

“Cornish hens.”

“For the Cornish hens.… Mmm. Yes. I know. Well, she did study culinary arts.… Sure thing, sweet pea. See you then.” She snapped shut her phone and looked at Chloe. “Happy now?”

“That your granddaughter thinks I’m some sort of anal herb freak? Delirious.” She keyed the ignition and, after gripping air where the gearshift
should
have been, maneuvered the shift on the steering column and stepped on the gas. “Wish I wouldn’t have traded my flats for heels.”

“If they’re a hindrance, kick ’em off.”

“Drive barefoot? I think that’s against the law.”

“Law, schmaw.”

Chloe pushed on her sunglasses before rolling her eyes. “Where am I headed?” she asked as she pulled out of the garage.

“Same route we took out of town to get to the river. Only when we get to that fork in the road, veer right instead of left.” She donned her own sunglasses, the big black classic Jackie O shades. “I’ve been watching you the past couple of days.”

“Oh?”

“You’re wound tight, kitten.”

“Something I’ve never been accused of.” People typically referred to her as carefree. Reckless even. Depending on who you asked. Although, granted, she hadn’t been the same since Ryan’s betrayal. Maybe even before.

“I’m thinking you need a boyfriend.”

“I had a boyfriend.”

“Was he a rat?”

“A cheating rat.”

“Then you’re better off without him.” She patted Chloe’s arm with her gloved hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you a new one.”

“I don’t want a new one.”

“What about Sam?”

“I’m sure he’s a very nice man, but—”

“He has eyes for Rachel.”

“Well, then—”

“And Luke.” Daisy sighed. “Luke has eyes for every woman over eighteen and under forty. I love that boy, but he’s a Casanova. He won’t do at all.”

“I’m really not interested—”

“Of course, Devlin—”

“No!” Chloe’s body burned with the memory of his four-alarm kiss. “I mean, no, thank you. I’m really not interested in dating right now.”

“Still pining for the rat?”

“No. Yes. I mean … It’s only been a week. I’m just … confused.”

“And frustrated.”

She squeezed the steering wheel, imagining Ryan’s neck. He’d landed her here. In this … moody funk. In this freaking antique car with the ill-placed gearshift and impossibly stiff brake pedal. She sweated bullets every time she had to slow or stop. “Definitely frustrated.”

“What about a sex toy?”

Chloe nearly clipped a mailbox as she turned onto Main Street.
“What?”

“I had a vibrator once. Had two speeds.
Oh, My
and
Oh, God.
Big Al, I called it. Seemed more subtle than Big Dick.”

“For the love of—”

“If you don’t have one, I know a place—”

“Could we not talk about this?”

Daisy shot her a look over the rims of her big shades. “I thought you said you weren’t a prude.”

“I’m not. But you’re…”
Someone’s grandma.
“Jackie-freaking-Kennedy.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is that your way of saying I look antiquated or sophisticated?”

Chloe smiled. “
Très
Retro Chic.”

“
Merci
.” Daisy smiled back, then, after easing back in her seat, adjusted her pillbox hat. “I can’t imagine talking about sex toys with Jackie either.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk at all for a while.” She fumbled with the old-fashioned knob on the radio, trying to dial in a strong station. “Maybe we should crank up some music. Set a tone for our Sunday drive.” She stopped when she got to an easy-listening station. Barry Manilow? Oh, well. At least he was mellow. Mellow music for a mellow drive.

Daisy shook her head. “You’re worse off than I thought.”

Several minutes and five disgustingly sappy songs later, Daisy said, “Pull over.”

“Here?”

“Here.”

Chloe pulled onto the shoulder of the two-lane concrete highway. No potholes. No sharp curves. As far as she could see. Just open road yawning toward beautiful mountains and endless trees—their random colorful foliage bursting with the first hints of fall. She got out and, as agreed, traded places with Daisy, who, after popping a couple of latches, started retracting the convertible’s roof. Chloe lent a hand, following the other woman’s lead, since she had no clue as to how to “pop the top.” “Hope it doesn’t start raining.”

“Or hailing,” Daisy quipped in a tone that made Chloe feel like an uptight worrywart.

A few minutes later the roof was folded away and secured. Daisy kicked off her heels and threw them in the backseat. Sliding behind the wheel, she adjusted the pillow beneath her butt, buckled her seat belt, and dialed the radio to a rock station. She cranked the volume and yelled, “Fasten your seat belt!”

Oh no. Oh, God.

Daisy floored the Cadillac and Chloe held her breath.
Please don’t let me die.
No potholes. No hairpin turns. But the passing landscape blurred. Her loose hair whipped fast and furious about her face as they raced along the open highway. Buckled in, she couldn’t lean far enough over to see the speedometer, but they had to be going … seventy? With the top down.

“Feel the wind, the sun, the surge of adrenaline!” Daisy yelled.

She felt it. How could she not? Senses reeling, Chloe glanced over at the silver-haired hellion behind the wheel. “How in the world is your hat still on your head?”

“Hairpins!”

Naturally.

Chloe busted out laughing. She threw her head back and reveled in the perfect fall day and the rush of adrenaline.

“Just like Thelma and Louise!” Daisy shouted as she deftly steered the Caddy around a wide curve.

Chloe’s heart pounded. “Except for the driving off the cliff part, right?”

“Pa-leeze. I’ve got a lot of living to do!”

Something clicked inside Chloe’s heart and mind. Something that had once burned bright but had been snuffed and contained for several months.

The desire to live in the moment.

Inspired by Daisy and a burst of spontaneity, Chloe toed off her heels and unbuckled her seat belt. Pulse racing, she maneuvered herself to her knees and gripped the edges of the windshield with all her might, her face taking the full force of the wind. Fear and excitement pulsed through her veins, making her giddy. She felt like Rose in
Titanic,
dangerously perched at the tip of the ship, soaring, only without stretching her arms wide. The rock music blared and her injured heart sang. She closed her eyes and screamed, “Woo-hooooooo!”

Almost in tandem with the
woot-woot
of a police siren.

ELEVEN

Devlin had spent the past two days meeting with the store’s employees who planned to jump ship. He’d asked point-blank what it would take to keep them on board; then he’d listed those needs in a succinct report to his dad. Presently, they weren’t in a position to match the perks of a chain supercenter, but they could be.
If
the old man gave up his old ways, which entailed taking some financial leaps.

While waiting yet again to hear back on yet another report, Devlin tempered his frustrations by studying materials he’d checked out of the library the day before. Luke had been dead-on about the wealth of historical material stored in the archives, and Monica had pointed out the few books available for circulation.

Devlin had found the local research fascinating, taking special interest in the Monroes’ contribution to the town’s growth. His dad had always preached about the family’s role in developing Sugar Creek, but it had always come across as arrogant and exaggerated. The Burkes had also played a central role. The two families had been at odds for decades, and now Randall Burke, Devlin’s dad’s contemporary and longtime foe, was the town mayor. Devlin suspected the election had nudged his dad into relocating to Florida for the better part of the year. It was that or suffer a heart attack. He got
that
worked up about Randall and his sudden seat of power.

Devlin on the other hand had always practiced discretion where Randall was concerned. Considering Devlin’s multiple business interests and his plans to expand J.T.’s, it wasn’t wise to alienate someone who could stonewall his efforts. Even before he’d been elected mayor, Randall, a former practicing attorney and member of the town council, had been a powerful force in Sugar Creek. So, unlike his dad, Devlin had taken a diplomatic approach whenever dealing with the man. Given Devlin’s new plans for the store and the fact that he’d have to get approval from the town council, he was glad to be on decent terms with the mayor. The less hassle the better, especially since Devlin still had to win over his dad.

Devlin had been consulting old photos and revising the floor plans when he’d gotten the call from Sheriff Stone. Gram and her, companion, Chloe Madison, had been hauled in for various traffic violations and, most troubling, assault.

What the hell?