In the Mood for Love (2 page)

“Luke’s late-night presence wouldn’t ensure bigger crowds,” Sam said.

“Yeah. But
we’d
have more fun,” Kane said. “Decker messes with our feng shui.”

“Don’t ask,” Adam said.

“Speaking of
out of place,
” Kane said. “Surprised to see you hanging at the Shack on a weeknight, McCloud.”

“Hanging” at any bar hadn’t meshed with Sam’s lifestyle in years. He spent most of his nights at home with the kids. That’s not to say he was a hermit. His carpentry work kept him out and about, and he spent plenty of time with the Cupcake Lovers. The club gathered every Thursday and participated in several annual events. They’d recently published a recipe book that had led to even more activity. Sam was tired of the growing attention and they had Harper to thank for the budding media frenzy. Not that Sam had seen the bicoastal publicist in weeks.

“Wait a minute,” Nash said. “Why
are
you here?” He angled his head, frowned. “Tell me you had a date tonight and blew her off.”

Sam shrugged. “We had dinner.”

“Who was the girl?” Kane asked.

Sam polished off his beer, bracing for the men’s reaction. After all, tonight’s match-up had been with one of Sugar Creek’s hottest and smartest women. “Jane Dunlap.”

Adam whistled low. “And you’re here drinking suds with Bentley instead of playing doctor with Nurse Dunlap?”

“If you think that’s something,” Nash said, “guess who else he shot down tonight? The Kelly twins.”

“Oh, man.” Adam dragged a hand down his face, stifling a laugh.

“Damn, McCloud,” Kane said, looking half shocked, half amused. “You do know they’re selective, right? And you passed? No wonder there’s a bet—”

Adam nudged his brother.

“Sam knows about the pool,” Nash said.

“Not that we’re part of it,” Kane said. “Although maybe the twins are.”

Adam shifted. “If you want my advice—”

“Pass.” Sam straightened as Willa, the only waitress on duty tonight, approached their table. She smiled. He tensed. He knew that look and he wasn’t interested. She was pretty and sweet, but he didn’t feel a flicker of heat. Instead, he had a vision of Harper, posing in a red silk bra and panties, seductively sucking cupcake icing from her thumb.

Damn.

Quick on the uptake, Willa flushed and turned her attention to Adam and Kane. “The usual?”

“As usual,” Adam said, returning the smile Sam had withheld.

“Do you miss Luke?” Kane asked, stealing Willa’s attention.

“I do. Then again, I mostly work nights and he mostly works days. He comes in awfully early,” she said, “and he pores over the books and inventory, plus tending bar and hosting happy hour. Luke may have cut back on his overall hours but he works even harder than before. All for his wife and baby.” Willa hugged her order pad to her chest and heaved a dreamy sigh. “Oh, to be in love.”

Everyone at the table liked Willa so they bit their tongues. Everyone at the table liked Rae and had been friends with Luke forever. Wisecracks were definitely out. Luke, the town’s former number one Romeo, was a lucky son of a bitch and they all knew it.

“Could we get an order of Nachos Grande with those beers?” Kane asked.

“Sure thing,” Willa said with a bright smile. “Four plates?”

“Not for me,” Sam said.

Nash flashed three fingers.

Willa peeled away and Kane leaned in. “What is it with this town lately? It’s like everyone’s been shot by cupid and bitten by the baby bug.”

Nash nodded. “Dev and Chloe, Luke and Rae, Jayce and Rocky … although Rocky isn’t pregnant. Yet.”

“Yeah, but Monica and Leo are having twins,” Kane said. “All I can say is, I’ll be doubling up on condoms.”

“That’s if you ever get laid again,” Adam said with a ribbing glance toward Sam. “Now that he’s back in the game, all the women have their sights set on McCloud.”

“And he’s casting them off like flies,” Kane said. “All I need to do is stick close and pick up the broken pieces of their pretty shattered hearts.”

Sam gave him the finger.

Nash laughed.

Adam glanced at the plasmas hanging over the bar. “If Luke were here, we’d be watching ESPN.”

“At least it’s not a shopping network,” Kane said. “Although what is it?”

“The Travel Channel. No, wait. He’s switching. The weather.” Nash finished one beer and started on the other. “We need to find a new hang. Not all the time, just once in a while. Something to shake up the monotony.”

“Have you checked out the new bowling alley?” Adam asked.

“Rock ’n’ Roll Lanes,” Kane said. “How cheesy can you get?”

“I don’t know,” Nash said. “Music, bowling, and beer. What’s not to like?”

“Took Ben and Mina on opening day,” Sam said, happy to talk about anything other than his train-wreck dating spree. “They’re especially kid friendly Saturday and Sunday afternoon. Nice atmosphere. Decent staff. Heard they cater mostly to adults after eight.”

“Come summer,” Adam said, “that place will be jammed with tourists.”

“So maybe we should feel it out now,” Nash said. “During slow season. Bowling night. Once a week. A couple of hours of sports and beer.”

“What the hell,” Kane said. “I’m in.”

“I’ll bite,” Adam said. “What about you, Sam?”

“At the rate you’re going,” Nash teased, “it’s not like you’re going to hook up with Mrs. Right any time soon.”

“We’ll try not to corrupt you,” Kane ribbed.

Someone beat you to it,
Sam thought. If they only knew about his racy fling with Harper. But he wouldn’t tell. Hell, he was trying to forget. Maybe he needed to shake things up, hang with the guys. Between his five-year-old daughter’s obsession with tiaras, boas, and Miss Kitty, coupled with all the recent baby talk, matchmaking efforts, and additional baking tasks within the Cupcakes Lovers, Sam was OD’ing on women. And not in a good way. “Yeah, sure. Pick a night.”

“Any night but Thursday,” Nash said as Willa served up spicy nachos and cold brews. “That’s Sam’s night with the Cupcake Lovers.”

Whereas Sam used to take solace in the camaraderie of the club, lately he’d been feeling like a fifth wheel. Not to mention, even though Harper didn’t live in Sugar Creek full-time, she’d become the Cupcake Lovers’ official publicist. Even though they’d cooled their secret affair, Sam still burned for that irritating woman. Which had pretty much crippled his efforts to find new love and the best mother for his kids.

“Actually,” Sam said, suddenly desperate to escape all things cupcake, “Thursdays are perfect.”

TWO

Harper Day greeted the morning with an obstinate smile and an optimistic attitude. Wednesday had sucked, almost as bad as Tuesday and twice as bad as Monday. She didn’t even want to think about Sunday. But today, Thursday, would be the flip side of suckville.

This morning, she would conquer her anxiety enough to walk across her massive backyard to the edge of the small pond. She’d sit on the pier and dangle her toes in the water. She’d breathe in the fresh mountain air. Later, she’d venture to her rented car and drive to the end of the lane. Surely she could make it that far without freaking. She’d idle and breathe and think good thoughts. Maybe she’d conduct business via texts and e-mail. A phone call or two. Anything to detour morbid thoughts.

If that went well (and it would), she’d drive a little farther. She’d think happy thoughts, tune in to a sugary pop station and crank the volume. She would
not
obsess on the numerous possibilities of a horrible violent end while driving her car into town. Chances of being rammed by a suicidal driver or blown to bits by some terrorist missile were slim to none. She would
not
obsess on that “slim” percentage.

Harper stared up at the ceiling of her almost-but-not-quite-wholly-renovated getaway, garnering the courage to roll out of bed and seize the day, still smiling even though her optimism had slipped a notch. She wasn’t alone in her misery.

Local legend Mary Rothwell, a long-ago previous owner of this house and an original Cupcake Lover, had stared up at this ceiling hundreds of times. Granted, that had been back in the 1940s, but this was the same ceiling and this had been Mary’s bedroom. Even though Harper had never seen the ghost of the woman who supposedly haunted this house, she definitely
felt
Mary. Or at least, commiserated with her restless soul. That’s why Harper had specifically bought this farm. To fill a void in Mary’s life, to connect with a kindred spirit. Harper had a lot in common with Mary. She would not, however, meet the same end. Harper was made of sterner stuff. She’d get through this rough patch and get on with life.

Today.

Motivated, Harper shot out of bed. She grabbed a remote and turned on the wall-mounted plasma screen while padding to her desk to fire up her laptop. She’d had a wall knocked out in order to create a combo bedroom/office—a comfortable, functional living space while the rest of the rooms were under renovation. Multitasking as always, she used one hand to tune in VH1 while the other keyed up CNN. She nabbed her phone and quickly checked for texts, e-mails, and PMs on her Twitter and Facebook accounts. No urgent pleas from any of her clients. No fires to put out.
That
was disappointing. Harper thrived on snuffing fiascoes and solving problems. Then again, kudos to her tribe for staying out of trouble for at least one night.

On the other hand, there was also the chance that they’d taken their crisis to someone else. Harper hadn’t been the most hands-on publicist these last few weeks. Although she’d worked hard to meet her clients’ needs via telecommunications, she’d bailed on several premieres and luncheons. Crowds weren’t her thing just now. Wide-open spaces, public places weren’t her thing just now. A liability given her line of work. A glitch she was striving to overcome. As a last resort, she’d flown from her home base in Los Angeles to the home she’d created in Sugar Creek. Her retreat. Her safe haven. A relatively isolated nonworking farm on the fringes of a small town in northern Vermont. Far away from her needy clients and demanding PR firm. Yes, they could still contact her, and she was counting on it, but they weren’t likely to show up on her doorstep or insist they meet at a trendy restaurant or popular bar to discuss business. She needed private time to pull it together. A week or two. Maybe three, depending. Not that she didn’t deserve a holiday. Harper had a reputation for working 24/7. No matter what time of day someone needed her, she was there.

Until recently.

Satisfied none of her clients were presently drowning in scandal, Harper peeled off her satin cami and boxers and pulled on a sports bra and capris. A health-and-fitness junkie, she worked out religiously. Exercise also helped to reduce stress. On any normal day, Harper was wound tight. She couldn’t forget the tragedy and the threats that had inspired her to flee Canada three years back, but she could stem the guilt and worry by keeping insanely busy and spinning other people’s lives for the better. In her case, that meant saving reckless or screwed-up celebrities from countless missteps and fiascoes. Taking control of their crises helped her to manage her own sense of helplessness. She’d been episode-free for almost a year. Partly because the man who’d sworn to “never let her forget” had finally given up. Or at least Harper had finally managed to block him from every aspect of her life.

Until last month.

Until the spa shooting.

Soon after, he’d crawled out of his hole long enough to hack his way into her work e-mail.

“Not going there.”

Heart thudding, Harper stonewalled the memory of the recent senseless crime and the subsequent cruel taunt issued by the father of her former fiancé. Edward Wilson hadn’t given up on making Harper’s life hell. He’d just allowed her a false sense of hope.

“Bastard.”

She hadn’t heard from Edward again since that one e-mail three weeks ago, and she couldn’t help hoping—again—that that had been his final jab. She understood his grief, but how would he ever heal if he clutched so tightly to the past? She’d asked herself that same question a million times and that’s why she worked so hard to press on. Rather than wallow, she’d kicked into high gear. She’d donned invisible armor and a virtual cape. Harper Day to save the day.

Shoving Edward Wilson from her mind, she focused on a VH1 news bite featuring the celebrity troubled kid of the month.
Not
Rae Monroe, formerly Rae Deveraux. Thank God. Harper had worked magic to free the young heiress from the Hollywood gossip mill. Not an easy feat when the girl had a wacko, self-absorbed, attention-hungry former starlet for a mother. Tabloid sensation Olivia Deveraux. Just
one
thorn in Harper’s side.

No longer smiling but channeling zippety-do-dah positivity, she twisted her long, thick hair into a high ponytail, snagged the water bottle off her nightstand and hydrated. She’d prefer a mug of java, but she’d nixed caffeine from her daily routine until her debilitating anxiety was more manageable. Alcohol was out, too. In her present mental state, a glass of wine induced melancholy instead of a mellow buzz.

No caffeine. No alcohol. Plenty of exercise and sleep. She was beginning to feel like a freaking nun in addition to a freaked-out shut-in.

Sex would take off the edge.

Sex with Sam McCloud, the first man she’d slept with since Andrew, would be the ultimate.

Sex with Sam would obliterate every thought in Harper’s head. She couldn’t stress if she couldn’t think. Too bad she’d sworn off the hunky carpenter along with caffeine. She’d kill for a dose of his electrifying heart-melting machismo. A Boy Scout and a bad boy rolled into one. The bad came out in bed. The best kind of bad. The kind of bad that whipped Harper into an orgasmic frenzy.

VH1 news segued into a music video, a sexy grind of a song that made her think about the way Sam rocked her body … in bed … against the wall … on the counter …

Desperate for distraction, Harper skimmed channels, landing on
Good Morning America,
hoping for a cooking or health segment and instead catching an interview with actor Dylan McDermott—who looked a lot like Sam McCloud. Only Sam was broader. Definitely more ripped. His eyes were a deeper blue and his hair, the same dark brown in need of a trim or taming. Ruggedly handsome, not pretty handsome. Mark Wahlberg/Jason Statham charismatic. Action-star hot. And he wondered why she called him “Rambo.”