Trouble When You Walked In (Contemporary Romance) (26 page)

“You do, right?” she yelled. “Well, I’m going to get us that, too. But you’d better stop littering down by the creek. That’s a disgrace.”

The guitar player joined in with the banjo. The fiddle player whispered in her ear.

“But I’m not done—” she said slightly off-mike but loud enough for everyone to hear. She looked straight at Boone, her expression strained.

She was worried about him and the ogler, obviously. This speech was a ploy to get their attention off their brute male instincts.

Smart girl.

Smart even when she’d been drinking. Maybe she could wrack up a few votes at the same time.

A huge wave of lust and something else—something deep and true—swept through him. He smiled at her, even though he doubted she could see.

But then she smiled back, her face flush with drink and maybe a bit of lust herself.

“Everyone, clap for Cissie,” said the lead singer. “She’s been our best dancer all night. If you want a hot mayor who can party, this is the woman to vote for.”

Anne and her crew were lapping this up. One camera was trained on Boone. He ignored it. The fiddler—who was actually a nice guy, it seemed—jumped down to the floor and held out his free hand. Cissie took it and gave a little leap herself.

And with her shoulders thrown back and her shirt unbuttoned to sexy level, she walked toward Boone, weaving through the crowd even when she didn’t need to. She wasn’t one for straight paths, he was coming to find out. She liked to stop and check everything out along the way. Her eyes, locked on his, were bright. She was excited. And maybe a little drunk.

“She’s a handful,” said Boone to the other guy. “No hard feelings.”

“To hell with that,” the other guy said, and threw a punch at him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

When that man threw a punch at Boone, all Cissie’s Girl Scout instincts came to the fore.

She knew what to do without even thinking about it: she ran through the crowd, jumped on the stranger’s back, and held on for dear life. She pretended he was a bucking bronco and that she was going to win the rodeo if she could stay on. It helped her cling harder when she screamed bloody murder in his ear.

Boone, meanwhile, was bleeding from his nose and yelling at her to get down.

“But if I do, he’ll hit you again,” she yelled back.

She was supposed to help people at all times. She’d promised the Girl Scouts. She was supposed to be courageous and strong, too. It was the Girl Scout law.

She wished she could tell everyone that she’d had a sudden, fond remembrance of her time in the Girl Scouts—ever since the bug episode with Janelle in Starla’s diner—but she knew they’d laugh, especially Janelle in her spiked red heels.

She knew she might laugh, too, if she weren’t so busy being sentimental, thanks to the alcohol, and busy hanging on to the crazy man’s back.

“Get outta here!” Boone waved his hand, and his eyes were hard. “I mean it, Cissie.
Now
.”

And so, reluctantly, she half fell, half jumped off the man’s back. Immediately, someone pulled her away by her armpits, and there came the sound of a whack—someone’s fist hitting a jaw. Or a nose.

God, she hoped that wasn’t Boone who got hurt again. Her eyes filled with tears. What was she going to do? She stumbled to her feet, turned to look, and was relieved—and horrified—to see it was the other guy this time. He put his hand up to his nose and winced.

Everyone shouted and backed away. The band stopped playing.

“Calm down, everyone,” said the fiddler into the microphone.

Anne and her crew had the camera trained on Boone and the guy, who were circling each other.

“Walk away,” Boone told him.

“Hell, no,” the other guy said. “You pissed me off.” And then he charged Boone, his head down like a moose.

Boone caught him in the gut, wrapped his arms around his back, and they wrestled their way down to the floor. The guy couldn’t see but he punched Boone on his shoulder—twice in a row—and Boone shoved him away.

Boone sprang to his feet, his arms out wide. “Give up.” He was breathing hard. “I’m holding back here. This is the wrong time and place to cause a scene.”

The guy struggled to his feet. “I was with her. You come over like you’re this big badass—”

“He is! He’s mayor of this town!” yelled Cissie, and saw one of Anne’s camera’s trained on her. She’d forgotten all about that dumb
Morning Coffee
show. “He’s also the football coach at the high school. He’s a good man. And if
you
are, you’ll stop right now.”

But the guy went over to the stage, ripped a cord out of the wall, picked up a black box about the size of a cooler, and lifted it over his head.

A collective gasp came up from the crowd.

“Don’t be stupid,” Boone said.

The crowd backed up even farther—everyone but the cameramen. Cissie saw Anne’s eyes widen and her cheeks pale. This was Southern drama at its redneck finest.

“You break my amp, and you owe me five hundred bucks,” the banjo player yelled.

“This is ridiculous,” Cissie said. “You can’t hurt his amp!”

She stalked over to her former dance partner, who was looking like a dazed, dumb giant at this point—like the Abominable Snowman on her favorite Christmas special—and pointed to the ground. “Put that amp down right now,” she said in her best librarian’s voice.

“Cissie.”
Boone’s voice was cold. Scary. “Back away before I pick you up and carry you out of here.”

“Do it,” she told the man. “Or that TV camera will catch you committing a heinous crime on national television. You’ll land in jail faster than a cat can chase its tail, but worse, you’ll be on YouTube forever. People can be so cruel in the comments. Have you noticed?”

“Shit.” The man put down the amp.

“That’s better,” she said.

“
Now
, little lady, I think you owe me a dance.” He grabbed her arm.

“I don’t think so.” Cissie noticed his grip wasn’t at all gentle. “Not after—”

Boone socked him in the jaw, and the guy went straight down.

There were screams, one of them from Cissie, then everyone was quiet.

Boone marched over to a table, grabbed a pitcher of beer, and poured it on the prone man’s face.

He groaned. “What the—?”

“He’s okay!” Cissie called out to Sally, who was moaning, “Lawd save us,” from the floor, where she’d flung herself because of all the drama.

“Get the cameras out of here,” Boone said to Anne Silver, then to the band: “Start playing.”

They struck up an old Ralph Stanley tune.

“You okay?” Boone asked Cissie, his tone clipped.

She felt small and fragile all of a sudden. “I’m fine. What about you?”

“Fine.”

She wanted to hold his hand and thank him. But embarrassment held her back. Plus, there was a tender feeling very deep that made her look away from him.

Chief Scotty approached, his expression wary. “Just what the hell is going on? I got a call that the mayor was involved in a fight.”

“It was his fault—” Cissie pointed at the guy spread-eagled on the ground. He was wide-awake now, and she got the feeling he just didn’t feel like moving. Maybe because a Florence Nightingale had appeared from behind the bar, a girl in Daisy Dukes with a rag filled with ice.

“I can explain,” Boone told the chief.

“Who hit first?” Scotty asked.

“He did.” Boone was so damned good-looking, even with a fleck of blood beneath his nose.

Cissie wished everyone would go away. This little feeling deep inside her needed protecting.… She wanted to be somewhere quiet, like lying on her bed, her cheek on the pillow, her gaze on something simple and sweet, like a flower in a Mason jar.

Scotty’s mouth thinned inside his big jowls. “Did you hit him back?”

“Yes.” Boone stuck his palms in his front pockets. Thumbs stayed out. “But I had to.”

He was adorable. Cissie wanted to sigh. And jump his bones.

“Did you provoke him?” Scotty wouldn’t let up.

Boone arched a brow. “He was dancing with Cissie, and when I tried to cut in—”

“Why’d you do that?” Scotty’s jaw jutted out.

“The reason anyone cuts in,” Boone replied patiently. “Because
I
wanted to dance with her.”

OMG, he wanted to dance with her! She almost bit her thumb and twirled. Thank God she didn’t. She would have twirled right into Janelle, who stood behind her with her arms crossed.

“That was outrageous,” Janelle said.

“Yeah. It kinda was.” A trembly smile formed on Cissie’s mouth, but she shut it down fast.

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Janelle’s glossy upper lip curled a fraction. “Chalk this one up to too much beer and testosterone on the dance floor.” She stalked off in her red high heels before Cissie could say anything back.

She turned around to hear Scotty say, “You couldn’t wait your turn? You had to be disruptive?”

“Come on.” Boone frowned. “I wouldn’t call cutting in disruptive.”

“Aggressive, then.” Scotty’s gaze roamed over his face. “Have you been drinking, Mr. Mayor?”

“Yes.” Boone’s big, brown eyes glinted with challenge. “But not to excess.”

“I don’t know about that.” Scotty slipped his little notebook in his pocket.

“It’s not Boone’s fault.” Cissie felt compelled to defend him. “I was the one drinking to excess. I got onstage, and I got off. I danced alone, and then I danced with a stranger. I think Boone was a little worried about me. And when that man hit him, I had to jump on his back.”

“You jumped on his back?” Scotty arched both eyebrows.

“Yes,” said Cissie. “He was out of control.”

“And jumping on his back isn’t?” Scotty’s tone was dry.

“I guess it is.” Cissie bit her lip. “If you don’t have a reason. But
I
did.”

Scotty looked between them both. “Can you pass a sobriety test?”

“Just give me another half hour,” Cissie said.

“Why?” Scotty put his hands on his hips.

“Because”—misery engulfed her, and she looked at the floor—“I-I drank too much.”

She’d been so stupid.

“I’m ninety-nine percent sure I can pass,” said Boone. “But I drank more than usual, I’ll admit. I wasn’t planning on driving for a couple hours yet.”

Scotty let out a gusty sigh. “How do you think Kettle Knob will look on national TV now?”

Speaking of the TV crew, they were still there, getting drinks at the bar.

“I hope they’ll minimize what happened here.” Cissie felt guilty. “Maybe Boone can talk to Anne. She likes him way better than she does me.”

“I’m not talking to Anne,” said Boone. “We have nothing to apologize for. Let America see what they see. Kettle Knob can hold its own.”

Scotty’s expression was severe. “You’re both coming with me in the squad car under protective custody for disorderly conduct while under the influence. Normally, I’m required to drive you home, but you’ve pissed me off, calling me away from town when you should know better. You’ll have to contact someone to come get you at the station.”

“You’re not serious, are you?” Cissie couldn’t believe it.

“Let this go, Scotty. The other guy started it.” Boone’s tone was calm, cool. Even so,
cranky
was the word Cissie would use to describe him at that moment.
Seriously cranky
.

“And he got his punishment.” Scotty wasn’t backing down. “But you two? Let me just say I’m disappointed in you both. Now you come quietly with me. I don’t want to miss the rest of the Steelers-Titans game.”

Boone’s expression was inscrutable as they left the bar. He walked quietly, with casual assurance, his boots slapping the hardwood floor.

Anne followed them with a cameraman to the squad car. “Boone! Cissie!”

Boone inhaled and turned to face her. “What is it, Anne?”

“I just want to know if you’d have done anything differently in there.” She held out her microphone.

“No,” said Boone. “And that’s my final word to the audience of
Morning Coffee
.” He got in the back of the car.

Anne angled the mike toward Cissie. “How about you, Cissie?”

“Yes,” Cissie said instantly. She would have kissed Boone. She would have thanked him for making her feel alive, and … and hot.

“Can you tell us a little more?” Anne asked.

Cissie shook her head. “Sorry.” No way would she divulge those feelings to the world.

She got in the backseat with Boone. Scotty took off, and thank God, he didn’t put on the lights.

Boone’s shirt gaped open at the neck, and he slouched low, those massive denim-clad thighs parted wide. The heat at Cissie’s collarbone made her suddenly aware of her own subtle gardenia perfume. Every girl part of her jingle-jangled. Their thighs touched, and he didn’t move away.

“Scotty should have taped the game,” she whispered, hoping to make Boone laugh.

But he didn’t. All he did was look at her, his eyes that dark, dark brown. She wanted to look away because he was so quiet, but she couldn’t. She looked back. And she vowed that when they got home, she was going to tend to his bruises.

Scotty wouldn’t let them call anyone until they got to the station.

“That’ll be Nana,” Cissie said to Boone. “Not your parents. Not Laurie. Nor any of your friends from school or work. Nana’s the one.”

“We’ll owe her,” said Boone.

“I hope she’s good and angry.” Scotty clicked on a TV set. “I just saw her an hour ago leaving the theater. You two can go sit in the cell until she gets here. It’s open. I’ll bring her back. I want her to see you suffering in there.”

“Scotty?”

“What, Mr. Mayor?”

“Remind me not to give you a Christmas present this year. Or budget for a new police car for the department.”

Scotty laughed—not nicely, either—and shook his head. “If you win. I can’t believe we have an election coming up, and I have both mayoral candidates in protective custody. What’s this world coming to?” He pointed at both of them. “Y’all better be on your best behavior from here on out. The citizens of Kettle Knob deserve candidates who
care
. Not someone who’s going to throw the town’s reputation to the wolves.”