Trouble When You Walked In (Contemporary Romance) (24 page)

Her throat was tight with emotions, waiting to be expressed in words she couldn’t form because she didn’t know what was going on.

“You’re right, and I’m sorry,” he said. “You should be watching out for yourself. We have an election coming up. And we both need to shore up and focus on it.”

“You got that right,” she whispered. Because she wanted to cry.

Why?

There was nothing to cry about! She’d seen a little action with this extremely virile man, and he was way better than her fantasies.

So what?

He was right. It was time to move on. A year from now she’d look back fondly upon this short sojourn as Boone’s lover and pat herself on the back for being an adventuress. She’d even wax nostalgic with Laurie.
And then he lifted me up and put me in the truck. Like he was Richard Gere. And he did it because he knew I wanted a hero like that. Just for a little while.

“So what do you say to agreeing to move on past this awkward personal stuff?” he said. “Neither one of us needs it.”

“No, we don’t.” Awkward personal stuff was painful. “Let’s keep it professional.”

“Good idea.”

They pulled into the well-lit parking lot at The Log Cabin, where Anne Silver paced like a sleek leopard waiting for her quarry to show. Sally and Laurie were busy tying the hot-pink ribbons of one of Sally’s “Vote for Cissie” signs onto the branches of a tree with a spotlight at its base, angling upward.

“Nana and I need to move out tomorrow,” Cissie said.

Boone shook his head. “You don’t.”

“We do, and you know it. Too much … sex in the air.”

He turned off the engine and turned to her. “Are you sure you’re a librarian?”

“See?” She ripped off her seat belt. “You’re doing your best to make me forget that I am.”

“Damn. My secret political strategy is revealed.”

She picked up her purse, opened the truck door, and landed on hard-packed gravel. “I’m going to fight harder than ever for the library, I’ll have you know.”

“You do that.” Boone’s eyes glittered. “Let the race begin. For real.”

“For real.” She shut the door with more force than was necessary.

And that was that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Women.

Boone watched Cissie stride off with her purse swinging over her shoulder and took pleasure in imagining himself telling a bunch of sympathetic guys at the bar at The Log Cabin that he desperately wished for his peaceful, boring existence back. No complex feelings. No misunderstandings or feminine glares. They’d all nod and clink beer mugs, and he’d bask in being right that women were a helluva lot of trouble.

It was a great daydream—especially awesome when you’re pissed off—except that he didn’t want that life back at all. He wanted
her
. Not just for the sex, either. He wanted her the same way he had to have his favorite boots or his day wouldn’t go right—but somehow in a much more important way, the difference being the sun might hit the moon or something like that if he didn’t have her. Whereas if he never saw his boots again, the world would still go on. He’d survive.

He had no idea why that was how he saw things, but he did, and he didn’t like it one bit.

Maybe he was finally cracking under the pressure of being a well-loved, popular figure in Kettle Knob. Of having a beautiful home at his disposal, any woman he wanted in North Carolina (except Cissie), and two jobs that brought him a lot of fulfillment. Of having only one bad day a year.

Maybe he’d become soft. It happened in football all the time. Once you got complacent, you were done for, a sitting duck for a tackle, a fumble, or an interception.

It was good and dark, but two distant mountains were still rimmed in a fine line of orange-pink when Boone got out of the truck. Anne Silver’s face lit up beneath one of the TV truck lights, and he knew right then and there he could ask her out, and she’d say yes. He’d take her out to dinner in Asheville and they’d have a great meal, laugh a lot, flirt. She might hint around about staying overnight in Asheville together. At the very least, she’d kiss him good-bye and ask him when he might come up to New York. He’d tell her he’d be up there soon for the annual MoMA gala, and he’d invite her to go with him.

Too bad nothing in that scenario appealed to him. But it was even worse that he knew how it would unfold. Was he that jaded? Smug? Old? What kind of track was he on that he could predict what was coming around every bend, the same way he knew every turn of the Nantahala River?

Cissie’s crazy sign rattled in the light breeze that always blew over the mountain.

“So,” Anne said, smiling at his approach, “it’s been quite a day. You and Cissie did really well together. We got some terrific quotes from you guys about the mayor’s race. Kettle Knob is gorgeous, and it’s going to be a great segment.”

He stopped a couple feet away, his hands in his back pockets. “So what’s The Log Cabin about?”

“You’re not in the mood for some good music?”

“Anne, let’s cut through the small talk. Is there another angle going on here, or is this just some more feel-good video to pad the story?”

She smiled. “I told you we’re here to cover an entirely entertaining scenario about two people running for mayor of a small town, who also happen to coexist in the same house.”

“Then where are the kitchen shots? Us drinking coffee and eating breakfast together? And how come Nana was never interviewed?”

A squiggle appeared on Anne’s lovely pale brow. “We felt indoor shots would look too contrived. So we stuck with outside shots of the house. And we got the story of the tree without needing to speak to Cissie’s grandmother.”

“Who did you talk to, then?”

“A few locals. Let’s see, the mayor of Campbell, a woman named Janelle Montgomery.”

Boone’s gut twisted.

“The owner of the diner, Starla, was a hoot to interview.” Anne grinned. “And there were a few other people, all of whom spoke highly of you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re not having second thoughts about this, are you?”

“I’m hoping to attract a business or two to our area by cooperating.” He caught a glimpse of a bunch of guys in their midtwenties entering the bar. “But no one had better be hurt in the process. Y’all are taking notes while you’re here. But I’m keeping a few of my own. And I have a fondness for Twitter. It’s short. It’s sweet. It gets the job done.”

“Wow.” Beneath her new wariness—if he could call it that; maybe she thought a small-town guy like him wasn’t anyone to take seriously—he could still see it, the invitation in her eyes. “You don’t mince words, Mr. Mayor. Or should I say you do?”

“I’m the king of a hundred and forty characters or less when I need to be.” He paused a beat. “This isn’t a ratings game for me, Anne. It’s folks. It’s my town.”

He walked away. Let her think he was a country bumpkin for talking like that.

“Mayor Braddock,” she called after him sharply.

At the door, lit from above by a few lights beneath the roof, he stopped and made a quarter turn, only to see she’d followed him. “Yeah?”

“Don’t forget to visit makeup.” She was gorgeous, ambitious, and no doubt used to getting what she wanted. “They’re inside by the bar.”

“Sure thing.” He pulled out his cell phone and snapped a picture of her. Then he tossed the phone in the air, watched it twirl back down, caught it in his palm again—just like the cowboys of old did with their revolvers—and put it away.

Let her wonder why. He didn’t trust her. “See you inside.” He slapped the doorframe with his hand and entered The Log Cabin.

The place was filling up quickly. He got his face patted down by the makeup people. Bought a drink for them when he bought one for himself. Hung out with the guys at the bar, the group of fellas in their midtwenties he’d seen earlier. Just about every one of them had been on the football team or in his PE class when he was still new at the high school.

“Hey, Coach!” they all begged him. “Let us buy you another beer!”

So he let them. Because Miss Cissie Rogers wasn’t interested in even looking at him. She was miles away at the high-top tables, chatting away with Laurie, Sally, and various and sundry visitors—all harmless, except maybe one guy about his age who appeared to be ogling her.

“Another beer?” his young friends asked.

“Sure, why not,” he said.

Anne came over and asked the boys how they felt about him running for mayor again, and every one said they’d vote for him and that he was an excellent leader of the town and the high school’s football team. “What about moving the library?” she asked them. “Are you concerned about that?”

“No.”

“Hell, no.”

“I love that place, but the new place’ll be bigger.”

“Closer to Campbell. They got cute girls in Campbell.”

Lots of laughter.

“What do you think of Boone’s opponent?” Anne asked.

“Someone’s running against him?”

“He doesn’t stand a chance.”

“It’s a she, dummy. Cissie Rogers. The librarian.”

“What does she know about running a town?”

“She’s a smart woman,” Boone finally interjected.

The boys—he still thought of them that way—stopped talking.

Anne turned the mike to him. “So you’re taking up for your opponent.”

“I’m just stating the facts,” he said. “She
is
smart.”

The boys—beer bottles poised beneath their mouths—watched closely.

“Do you think she’d make a great mayor, Coach?” Anne asked.

“Sure, she would,” he said. “But I want to be mayor again.” As one, the boys hooted and hollered, and he had to wait for them to pipe down. “I’m running on a winning record, and Kettle Knob operates in the black. We’re growing. It’s exciting. And I have lots of things left to do.”

There the guys went, cheering for him again. It was awesome having his own fan club, but the truth was, Cissie was like a little car going the wrong way on a big interstate filled with a convoy of eighteen-wheelers, and he was the head truck.

The band walked onto a small stage with pink and blue lights aimed at the mikes, to much applause and whistling. Boone wondered how the musicians felt about
Morning Coffee
messing with their act—but one of his old students at the bar was the brother-in-law of the banjo player, and the kid said they were stoked. National exposure! You couldn’t beat that.

So to celebrate, they all had another round.

The band started playing a tribute to Earl Scruggs—“Pike County Breakdown”—and were they ever good. Boone was mesmerized by the fiddle player’s bow one second and the next by the banjo player’s fingers, which were a blur as they plucked the strings. They followed that fast number by an Alison Krauss and Union Station hit.

Everyone whooped and clapped.

“You can forget all your troubles when you listen to bluegrass!” Laurie yelled in his ear and wrapped an arm around his waist. “Ah, Boone. It’s good to see you having fun. I don’t remember the last time, really. Yeah, you go to all the right parties, but you’re never really into it, you know? You’re too responsible. You’re the mayor. And the coach.”

She was right. He hadn’t had legitimate fun just hanging out with people in a long time—honestly, since high school.

“We’ve missed your happy face,” Laurie said. “The real one. Not the one you put on for your adoring fans at school or town hall.”

What she said hit him in the gut.

Your happy face. The real one.

“It’s in the yearbook,” Laurie said. “That fabulous picture of you and the other football players after the game we won against Taylorville senior year. Remember?”

“Sure, I do. Taylorville was the team to beat.” But he couldn’t go back to that guy.

He got another beer.

Laurie declined his offer to buy her a drink. “You need to dance with Cissie tonight.”

“I knew you had something on your mind besides just saying hello. Cissie and I are running a race against each other. Don’t try to get us together.”

“I just wanted to tell you how much she likes you,” Laurie said.

“Sure, she does.”

“No, she really does. But she’s stubborn.”

“I’d say she’s cautious. With good reason.”

“She doesn’t have to be worried about
you
. You’re one of the good guys.”

“I appreciate the show of support, but that’s enough matchmaking. Cissie and I are two adults. We can figure out our own love lives.”

Laurie shot him a dubious look. “I don’t know—I get the feeling you’re both too stubborn for your own good.” She kissed his cheek and walked away.

In the midst of the noisy crowd, Boone had a few seconds of alone time to reflect on what she’d said. It was a prudent choice, the not-dancing-with-Cissie decision. There’d be no relief from his wanting her, but on the other hand, no letdown, either.

Fantasies, he was discovering, came in handy when a man was trapped in a jail of his own making.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Cissie did her best to pretend to have fun when she first got into The Log Cabin, while the woman with the powder puff hovered around her. She was actually miserable and in a huff, all at once.

That man
, she thought, after the makeup lady finished. She ordered a short plastic cup of white wine. When a nudge of pain pushed through, she drank it down, ordered another cup, and went right back to stewing about the fact that Boone had been cocky and amused at home and in his truck when he should have been penitent and sensitive.

She wanted a thoughtful, sympathetic man, one who was sorry when he acted like a child.

At least, she thought she did until she saw him at the other end of the room, looking so hot that her underpants practically melted off. She knew she’d take him any way she could get him. She looked around and caught a lot of other women looking, too, including Anne.

“Famous reporters should stick to their own kind up in New York City, not come south and try to poach the hottest guys from the local girls,” Cissie told Mrs. Hattlebury a few minutes later at the high-top table they snagged by the stage between a speaker and a smaller bar with a huge crowd around it. It was way too hard for the camera crew to get to her there, which was a good thing. She needed a place of respite from them and the sight of Boone.