Saving Scott (Kobo) (3 page)

“Ashley, it’s
Maggie. I know this is last-minute, but can you come to a meeting at the Women’s
Center at seven? A group of us are more than happy to help get your store off
to a spectacular start.”

“You’ve got
it.” Ashley hung up, feeling as if she’d been wrapped in a warm blanket. People
where she came from didn’t go out of their way to help each other. Especially
if they’d never met you.

They’re
doing it for Maggie, not you. Nobody says no to Maggie Cooper.

She thrust
her notes aside. So what if they were rallying to help Maggie. Right now, she’d
take all the help she could get.

And she wasn’t
going to show up at the meeting empty-handed. Not to mention baking was her
therapy. She headed straight for her recipe files. Something new, or stick with
something foolproof?

New, she
decided. If she was going to run a specialty shop, the more weapons in her
arsenal, the better. She thumbed through the red folder of “worth a try”
recipes. Closing her eyes, she plucked one.

Promptly at
six-forty-five, Ashley peeked into the doorway of the meeting room at the Women’s
Center. Pale institutional green walls, vinyl flooring and folding chairs
arranged around six foot tables. Maggie was at the far wall, plugging a coffee
urn into an outlet beneath another table, this one draped in a blue-and-white
checkered tablecloth. She straightened and flashed Ashley a warm smile. “Welcome.”

Ashley held
up the foil-covered tray she was carrying. “I brought some goodies. Cookies and
mini chocolate tarts.”

Maggie
hustled over and took the tray. Peeling back a corner of the foil, she peeked
at the confections Ashley had baked that afternoon. The aroma of chocolate
mingled with freshly brewed coffee. “These look—and smell—fantastic.”

Ashley
helped Maggie arrange the cookies on the table. “I can’t thank you enough for
all this. Your idea of the bakeoff was fantastic, and to pull together an
organizing committee out of the blue like this—it’s too much.” She leaned over
and hugged Maggie’s slender frame.

Maggie’s
face colored to rival her hair. “Don’t be silly. We’re happy to help a
neighbor.”

Ashley
busied herself arranging the napkins next to the cookie platter. “I’m hardly a
neighbor. And these people don’t know me.”

“You live in
Pine Hills. That makes you a neighbor.”

Ashley’s
eyes burned and her throat tightened. Total strangers offering support.
Something she’d never gotten from people close to her, who were supposed to
love her unconditionally. She poured herself a plastic cup of the lemonade
Maggie had added to the table and sipped it until she regained her composure. “You
let them know that any time they need something, all they have to do is ask.”

Maggie’s eyes
twinkled. “Oh, I’m sure they’ll be requesting donations now and again for bake
sales. And you can tell them yourself.”

Heavy
footfalls clunked through the hallway. “That’ll be Penny Foxworth. She’s always
first to arrive.” Maggie lowered her voice to a whisper. “She always wants
first crack at the refreshment table.”

A plump
woman whisked in, wearing a long, floral skirt paired with a long-sleeved
turtleneck in a darker shade of rose than the flowers on her skirt. Strands of
colorful ceramic beads of all shapes and sizes hung around her neck, resting on
her ample chest. A floppy, crocheted hat sat on her head. The wooden clogs on
her feet explained the noisy footsteps. “Am I too early?” she asked.

Maggie threw
a quick wink at Ashley, then turned to Penny. “Penny, this is Ashley. Ashley,
Penny teaches art at the middle school.”

Maybe being
an art teacher explained the woman’s eccentric attire, although to Ashley, it
looked more like Penny shopped at The Second Chance thrift store. Then again,
maybe she did. Teachers didn’t make much money.

Penny edged
toward the platter of desserts. “Oh, my, don’t these look delicious. Where did
you get them?”

“I baked
them,” Ashley said. “Help yourself.”

Penny took a
double chocolate chip cookie. “Oh, my. I’ve died and gone to heaven. If this is
the kind of food you’re going to be selling—well, everyone here’s going to bend
over backward to help you open with a bang.”

Ashley felt
a blush creep up her neck. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Penny
whisked a hand in front of her face, picked up a paper plate and filled it with
two of everything on the tray. “These are plenty of thanks. Of course, instead
of having to lose ten pounds, now I’ll have to lose twenty.”

She settled
onto one of the metal folding chairs, set an oversized tapestry tote bag on the
chair next to her, and munched on a cookie.

Ashley
smiled at the next arrival, a familiar face. Kathleen Duncan worked part time
at the Tool Shed, Pine Hills’ small-town version of a do-it-yourself emporium.
As usual, Kathleen wore her silver hair in a perfectly coiffed up-do, a
conservative skirt and sweater duo, along with her trademark string of pearls
around her neck. Kevin, Kathleen’s son, owned the Tool Shed, and Ashley had
spent some time there, choosing paint colors, floor coverings, and a multitude
of other odds and ends.

“I was so
sorry to hear you had another little setback,” Kathleen said. “Some days are
like that.”

Or weeks,
Ashley thought. “Carl assures me we’re going to open on schedule.”

“I’m sure
you will. Kevin’s expediting orders, and Willie can put in some extra time if
need be.”

Kathleen’s
husband, Willie, was a local handyman. Carl had employed his services during
the construction. Unlike many of the Klutz Brigade, Willie did get things done
right the first time, although he seemed more of a plodder than a
home-improvement-show expert.

The door
opened once more, and a petite woman wearing baggy sweatpants and a
long-sleeved sweatshirt shuffled into the room. Head down, she found a seat
near the rear. “Sorry I’m late.” Her words were barely audible. Kathleen and
Penny turned away. Penny pulled a hank of yarn and a crochet hook from her bag
and concentrated on some brown-and-green creation. Kathleen dumped sugar and
creamer into a coffee cup and busied herself stirring.

“Good. Lorna
made it.” Maggie rushed to the woman’s side, taking the chair next to hers. She
wrapped an arm around the woman’s shoulders and whispered something. The woman
wiped her eyes, nodded, and squeezed Maggie’s hand.

Maggie
strode to the front of the room, ignoring Ashley’s questioning glance. “Let’s
get started, everyone.”

Scott
slapped at the alarm, grimacing as his sore shoulder protested the sudden
motion. He lay there, panting, filmed in sweat, waiting for his heart rate to
drop. Slowly, he took in his surroundings. Pine Hills. His new apartment. His
bedroom. Hints of sunlight filtered through the gap between the shades and the
window’s edges. The encroaching daylight chased away the nightmare.

He lay
there, breathing slowly. Staring at the ceiling. Working up the guts to move,
knowing the pain was waiting when he did.

As always,
the need to pee forced the issue. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself to a
half-sitting position. Waiting for his muscles to accept his demands.

At least
you can do this on your own. No calling for a nurse.

He limped to
the john, took care of what had to be done, and leaned against the counter.
More slow deep breaths. He splashed his face with cold water, brushed his teeth
and found the swim trunks he’d laid out last night. He closed the lid on the
toilet and sat there, working his good leg, then his stiff one into the trunks.

Be glad
you can dress yourself. Suck it up.

The gentle
gurgling sound and the aroma of fresh coffee brought a faint smile to his face.
At least he’d had the brains to set the timer on the coffeemaker before going
to bed.

He stood,
yanking the nylon swimsuit over his hips. Limping around the boxes he’d brought
over last night, he made his way to the kitchen and savored that first sip of
that first cup of coffee. Nothing better. He sniffed again. Chocolate? He’d
noticed it last night, too.

He opened
the oven and gave another sniff. Not the source. No matter. As residual smells
went, chocolate sure beat cigarette smoke or
eau de
litter box.

After
setting the cup on the counter, he took a few tentative steps around the
kitchen, loosening up muscles that had stiffened overnight. When he could step
without gnashing his teeth against the pain, he grabbed a towel, slipped his
feet into rubber sandals and headed for the fitness room.

Opening the
door to the fitness center, he smelled the mixture of sweat, disinfectant and
swimming pool chemicals. He shuffled to the hot tub and spent a minute figuring
out the controls. Climbing in took some doing, but at last, he surrendered to
the heat and pulsating water. Head back against the side of the tub, he closed
his eyes.

Damn, he
should have brought his watch or phone and set an alarm. Mornings sucked. He
glancing around the room, noticed a clock on the far wall. That would help, as
long as he stayed awake. His gaze took in someone stepping onto the treadmill
in the far corner. She had the obligatory ear buds in, and seemed oblivious to
anything else in the room.

Her brunette
ponytail bounced as she ran. Her ass was hidden beneath baggy sweats. After
about ten minutes, she shrugged out of her hoodie, revealing the sports bra she
wore underneath. Not bad. She had some meat on her. Not one of those twig-thin
numbers you were afraid you’d break if you got too close. Not that he had any
intention of getting close to anyone in Pine Hills. But he could look.

Maybe living
here wouldn’t be so bad. He dozed off and on, the buzz of the jets and bubbles
blocking out any extraneous noise. When he’d gone well into prune territory, he
hauled himself out of the tub, pleased with his increased mobility. Treadmill
woman had already left. Her replacement had a bit too much meat on her for his
taste. He avoided eye contact, although she, too, was engrossed in whatever
came through her ear buds.

Drying off,
then wrapping the towel around his hips, he left the fitness center, barely
limping. As he approached the door to his apartment, the smell of chocolate
intensified. Curiosity aroused, he followed the aroma past his apartment. It
definitely emanated from the unit next to his. His stomach growled, reminding
him he hadn’t eaten since his early pizza dinner yesterday, and he turned back
to his own place.

He showered,
shaved, and put on the plush robe his sister had sent when he’d been in the
hospital. Pulling on his customary sweats still hurt too much to be worth it.
Wearing a robe made him feel old as his grandfather, although his grandfather
probably wouldn’t have gone for the handcuff print. But Scott didn’t want to
risk spattering bacon grease on his work clothes. Or bare skin. Been there,
done that.

Enough
with this pity party. Cook, eat, and face your first real day on the job.

He was
washing the dishes when someone gave a gentle knock on the door. Who knew he
was here?

He dried his
hands and checked the peephole. A distorted image of a brunette woman appeared.
Belting his robe a little tighter, he opened the door. “Yes?”

“Hi. I’m
Ashley. I live next door. I thought I’d … um … welcome you to the building.”
She extended a platter covered in foil.

As he tried
to process all the possibilities—she had a bomb under the foil; she was a
reporter wanting yet another story; she was scoping out his apartment for a
future burglary—he accepted the obvious. She was a neighbor being friendly. He
found the wherewithal to attempt the same.

The platter
was warm to the touch. “Thanks, I’m Scott.” He lifted the foil and discovered
the source of the chocolate smells. “These must be what I’ve been smelling
since yesterday.”

She nodded,
keeping her eyes on his, backing away. “I should let you go. I have to get to
work.”

“Wait. There’s
no way I can eat all these.”

“Share them.
I’m opening a new bake shop, and I’m testing recipes. I already eat too many of
them. Thank goodness for the fitness center downstairs, or I’d be a total
blimp. I have to go, really.”

His brain
kicked into gear. She was the woman who’d crashed into him yesterday, and the first
one he’d seen on the treadmill this morning. “Thanks. I can take them to the
station.”

“Please do.”
Stepping away, she spoke over her shoulder. “And if they like them, you can
tell them my shop, Confections by Ashley, will have a lot more.” She paused, as
if what he’d said had reached her brain. “The station? Where do you work, if
you don’t mind my asking?”

“At the
police station.”

Her gaze
moved from his face downward, then back up. He realized she was looking at his
robe. What had she thought? That he was into bondage games?

“You’re a
cop?” she asked.

Not any
more.
“No, a civilian. I do administrative stuff, which lets the cops deal
with cop stuff.”

“But you
know cops, right?”

He almost
told her he used to be a cop. Almost. That part of his life was over, and the
sooner he buried it, the easier it would be.

Which is
why you took a job at a police station? Get real. You can’t give it up. It’s
been your life for so long.

He shrugged.
“Actually today is my first day.”

She nodded. “So,
you’re new to Pine Hills?”

Although he
could tell she wanted to know where he was from, he ignored the implied
question. “Yes. Just moved to town.”

When she
smiled, his first impression that she was a drab, basic brown—hair, eyes, and a
bronze tan to her skin—disappeared. Her eyes brightened, and there was a sudden
prettiness radiating from her face. All the pieces worked together. Her
straight nose fit perfectly between her deep brown eyes and her full lips.