Trouble When You Walked In (Contemporary Romance) (6 page)

At the door he ran into wiry Sally Morgan and her handsome fifteen-year-old son Hank Davis, who loomed over his tiny mother. He wore a Steelers jersey, jeans, and extra-large sneakers. Sally had on a black sweatshirt that said “BATMAN IS MY BOYFRIEND,” gray sweatpants, white socks, and black rubber shower shoes.

“Excuse
me
,” she said in a big huff, and pushed by Boone, her hand gripping her son’s. A neat row of pink curlers lined her thin brown hair.

The Morgans were one of the oldest families in the nearby holler. Sally’s clan didn’t favor dentists, and usually quit school after third grade and took up homeschooling, which for their family was more a survival course: learning to shoot squirrels out of trees like nobody’s business, traipsing through the woods and gathering flora and fauna for selling to pharmaceutical companies to make into medicine, and figuring out how to keep fires going in their ramshackle homes through long winters.

She was also a helluva mom to her special-needs boy. Sally made sure Hank Davis got what he needed from the school system, the family custom of shunning traditional education be damned.

“Poop,” said Hank Davis, loud, like a foghorn in the night, to no one in particular, and grinned broadly.

“Hey, Hank Davis.” Boone was glad to get outside, where the stronger-than-usual wind was blowing everything clean, including his head. The library was stuffy—he felt all weird in there, especially because of that fascinating owl-like creature behind the desk who disapproved of him.

Sally held the door open and stared out at him. “Don’t you talk to me, Boone Braddock. Don’t you say a
word
.” She pointed at him with her stubby little finger capped with a neon yellow nail. “You got the devil in you bad.”

Boone stuck his hands in his front pockets, thumbs out. “If you’d like to hold a reasonable discussion about the library—”

“Pooooooop,” said Hank Davis.

“Is that so, Hank Davis?” Sally said. “Are you saying Boone is a piece of poop? He don’t listen real good. Maybe you better say it again.”

“I heard him,” Boone said.

“Humph,” said Sally. And slammed the library door in his face.

Boone sighed. Being mayor of Kettle Knob was manageable most of the time. But suddenly, it wasn’t.

He headed to Starla’s diner. A sign that said “Boone Braddock for Mayor” hung in the front window.

When he walked in, the whole place went silent for a minute. And then he saw the flyer that had arrived at his inbox at school and on his desk at town hall on every booth and table and a few on the counter. Across the top of the paper were big, bold, black capital letters, like the world was about to come to an end or something.

He picked one up, stared at it, his jaw clenched, and tossed it back onto the counter.

Cissie Rogers had a lot of nerve.

“A sit-in at the library tonight?” Starla said when she brought over his usual: a bacon pimiento cheese sandwich with a pickle and a cup of fruit. “Really?”

“I got it under control,” he said. “Did you have to let her leave these here?”

“I believe in free speech,” Starla said, “especially when it’s someone as shy as Cissie Rogers doing the talking. This might be interesting.”

Boone dumped three creamers into his coffee mug and swirled it around with a spoon too hard. “We don’t need interesting, Starla. You know that. We like it simple around here.”

The diner owner put her hand on her hip. “I’ll withhold judgment till I learn more about it.”

“You’re not going?” He speared a strawberry with a dented fork.

“Nope.” She waved a hand at a passing pedestrian. “But I’m bringing them some pies. It’s an event. A town event.”

“Not a town event. It’s a protest, that’s what it is.”

“They’ll need food.” Starla was adamant.

But before she moved on with her coffeepot, she winked. Only three guys in town got the wink, and Boone was one of them. The other two were Hank Davis and Chief Scotty.

He needed that damned wink. Something was about to go down. But hell if he was gonna yell timber.

CHAPTER SIX

Two hours to go to the sit-in. Cissie wasn’t sure who would show, but all afternoon, food had been coming in from her regulars and some not-so-frequent patrons. So that was promising, wasn’t it? None of them had given her a solid answer about whether or not they were attending the actual event, but she was hopeful—and pleasantly full. A too-tempting slice of Starla’s famous rhubarb-raspberry pie had seen to that.

“A sit-in is a form of civil disobedience, which is when you stand up to your government,” Cissie explained to a pair of sweet, soft-spoken teenage girls who’d brought in a dozen Krispy Kreme doughnuts and a plate of chicken salad sandwiches from their mamas. The girls loved the library’s dystopian near-future young-adult fiction collection (Cissie still couldn’t say that in one breath).

“Oh. My. God,” said one of the teens. “Civil disobedience is what happens in
Fracture the Universe
. So this sit-in should be cool!”

“Maybe sabers will be involved,” said the second one.

“Or hoes.” The first one’s eyes gleamed. “I just wish we had viscous radiometric gel to help out. Too bad it hasn’t been invented yet. An ounce of it can take out whole armies.”

Cissie turned her wince into a helpful smile. “No, tonight’s gathering is a peaceful protest. We stay here after hours and say we don’t like the library being moved.”

“Oh,” they replied in unison, their shoulders drooping.

Cissie felt like a failure of a rebel at that moment, but she was quickly distracted when Frank and Becky Lee Braddock walked in.

She immediately noted that Boone’s face was the perfect blend of his parents’. He had his father’s square jaw, dark brown hair color, and brown eyes, along with his mother’s prominent cheekbones, thick lashes, and straight nose. If he got his mouth from either one of them, Cissie couldn’t tell. Becky Lee’s was thinned out. Frank’s was scrunched up.

Boone’s lips were wide and sculpted. Sensitive. Maybe even soft. But that was just Cissie’s guess. She’d hardly been near him for years. Yesterday, she’d noticed how expressive his mouth was as he’d listened to her. If she hadn’t been so angry and upset, she might have been flattered that everything she’d said he’d reacted to without even having to use words.

Kind of like when she poked Dexter’s belly, and the cat turned to grab her finger. There was something charming about two separate beings who really had no place together joining up for a moment.

Yes, she hadn’t cared for Boone’s opinions about the library, but at least she didn’t feel invisible around him. She felt connected. She wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, but it came from the same space as that sharp-clawed paw with its soft pads, curled possessively around her finger. Maybe that was why she craved him coming back.…

Would he tonight?

Or would he stay away?

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Frank’s burly chest visibly expand beneath his navy blue golf shirt with fancy gold embroidery on the chest pocket. He was a tall man, even taller than Boone—maybe six-four, and he wore his tan slacks well. No gut hanging over his fine leather belt, and his arms were well muscled.

Becky Lee’s dainty chin came up a fraction of an inch, and her hands grasped her chic ivory handbag even closer. She was dressed for the country club in her silk emerald blouse, pearls, straight skirt, buttery pale ivory boots, and the fluffy ivory wool shawl draped around her shoulders.

Uh oh.

They weren’t here to browse the bookshelves. And they certainly hadn’t brought food.

“So will I see you tonight?” Cissie asked the two girls. Her heart pounded, but she managed a warm smile.

One of the teenagers shook her head. “
Project Runway
’s holding a marathon, and I have algebra.” She inhaled a gulp of air. “But about
Fracture the Universe
, Miss Rogers, didn’t you love when Penday stabs World Leader Number Four through the heart with a poisoned barb she pulls out of her metal corset?”

“Oh, yes,” said Cissie, nodding. “That … that was splendid.” She did love reading the books her teen readers read.

The girl beamed. “I can’t wait for the next one in the series.”

“I know, right?” said the other one shyly, then looked at Cissie. “If my mother will let me, I’ll try to come. How long will this sit-in run?”

“I don’t know,” said Cissie. “Maybe all night.”

“I wish tomorrow weren’t a school day,” the second girl said, her braces glinting.

“Yes, my timing wasn’t great.” But Cissie didn’t know when timing would be good. You couldn’t hold a sit-in during business hours, or it wasn’t a sit-in. Friday nights were football nights. Saturday night was date night, not that she had a clue about that. But the bowling alley, movie theater, and the few restaurants were buzzing. And a lot of Kettle Knobbers went to church the next morning.

She said her good-byes to the girls and mentally shook herself out. This was her space. She knew who she was at the library. She had to approach the Braddocks and find out why they were here, not run and hide behind the shelves.

Becky Lee, whose auburn hair was straight and cut in a long, shiny bob, approached. “Miz Rogers?”

Her twang was a little like a banjo string strung too tight, but Cissie focused on not letting herself be scared. She had no reason to be.

“Mrs. Braddock. Welcome to the library.”

“Thank you.” Becky Lee flashed a polite smile.

“I’m Frank Braddock.”
Boone’s father’s introduced himself in a booming voice.

Cissie curled her left shushing finger into her palm. “Hello. Cecilia Rogers. Please call me Cissie.”

He pumped her hand once, his rings digging painfully into her flesh, but she refused to flinch.

“How can I help you?” She really wanted to help the two of them out the door, if she was being perfectly honest. “Are you looking for a specific book?”

“No, sirree.” Frank’s voice dipped so low, Cissie felt her rib cage vibrate. “We’re here to talk about this proposed sit-in.”

Becky Lee gave a slow shake of her head. “That’s not the way we do things around here.” Her words and deceptively soft tone could have come from
The Godfather
.

“There’s a first time for everything, right?” Cissie didn’t sound very convincing, much to her chagrin.

The couple exchanged a meaningful look.

“I’m just trying to make a point,” said Cissie, wishing she could channel the dystopian female heroes her teen friends loved. “We don’t need to move the library. We shouldn’t. It’s not a good idea for a lot of reasons. I’d love to sit with you and talk about them. Or you could join us this evening at the sit-in for an in-depth conversation.”

Then Becky Lee adjusted her purse. “Miz Rogers—”

“Please call me Cissie.”

Becky Lee hesitated. “Cissie,” she finally said, “our son Boone is mayor here.”
Well, duh!
“And when he makes a decision, it’s in the town’s best interests.”

Was Cissie supposed to nod happily and agree to everything they said? What kind of world did they live in?

And why was she nodding happily at everything they said?

What was
her
problem?

She stopped nodding. “Maybe Boone thinks it’s right to move the library,” she ventured, “but I don’t.”

There. Finally.

She hadn’t been exactly forceful. But it was better than nothing.

The Braddocks merely stared at her.

“Now let me tell you about mine and Frank’s dedication to this area,” Becky Lee started up again.

She went on and on about how beautifully and carefully they’d developed different mountain properties. Two more patrons came in while Becky Lee spoke. Cissie was dying to get to her customers, but Becky Lee kept going. Frank grunted his approval every now and then when his wife used phrases like
quality of life
and
impeccable taste
and or words like
family
,
resources
, and
dedication
.

Finally, Becky Lee was quiet.

“Thank you for coming in.” Cissie had no idea what that speech had to do with the library, but she refrained from saying so.

“It was our pleasure.” Becky Lee didn’t look pleased.

Frank outright glowered at Cissie. “Let’s keep Kettle Knob a happy place where nothing goes wrong. Have you ever noticed that about this town?”

“Yes, it
is
a happy place,” said Becky Lee with a fake smile.

“I, um … I’m sorry.” Cissie stuck out her thumb in the direction of the front desk. “I have to go. Someone wants to check out a book.”

She couldn’t wait to get busy helping that person, to get back to the safety of her big desk and those manila cards with the blue lines. When she looked up again, Frank and Becky Lee were gone.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Cissie waved good-bye to her last library patron at 4:55 p.m., and then she remembered: She wasn’t going to lock up. She was staying there. In protest. To express her outrage.

Too bad it was so quiet.

But then Sally and Hank Davis showed up with a little boy in tow, three sleeping bags, and three pillows.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” She took their stuff and stashed it behind the desk. Then they had a four-way hug.

“Boom,” Hank Davis shouted. “Boom!”

“Exactly,” said Cissie, knowing in her heart that per capita she had the loudest library on the East Coast.

“Dow Jones industrial average,” Hank Davis added to show off.

“He’s gonna watch
Frozen
with Charles,” said Sally. “Remember him? My sister’s kid.”

“Of course I do,” said Cissie. “Welcome, Charles.”

Charles stuck his thumb in his mouth and glared at her. He was the most surly five-year-old she’d ever met. He even had a five o’clock shadow, unless that was a bunch of Oreo cookie crumbs.

Yes, she saw a pack of them sticking out of his pocket.

“Maybe the legend will work and somebody sexy will come over the threshold tonight.” Sally wiggled her eyebrows. “If so, I’m ready for him.” She leaned over and whispered in Cissie’s ear, “I got me a special nightie in my purse.”