Hot Coco (16 page)

As if a professional artist had been at work, her make-up covered flaws to bring out her most attractive feature: her dark striking eyes. Absolutely breath-taking, her hair was glossy and curly. Her new jeans were designer, to boot. Her silky pink blouse clung in all the right places—specifically, her abundant breasts.

If her father didn’t soon wake up, Kate had a sinking feeling that the rain in Spain would come crashing down on the plains this evening.

“You look lovely tonight, Margie.” She raised her voice. “Doesn’t she, Dad?”

He snapped to attention. “Yes, yes, she does.”

Margie beamed. “Thank you, Eric. Are you ready?” She placed a plate of cinnamon pastries on the coffee table. “I can’t wait to be able to sit and read the paper like you, Eric.” She took a seat close to him. “You’ve got a nice fire there.”

“Yes, it’s very—”

“Cozy,” Margie interjected.

He glanced up at his daughter’s cautionary look. “Thank you, Kate.”

Sucking in her lips, her nostrils flared, Kate did an about-face and marched out of the room with a
You’ve-been-warned, buddy
cadence.

Eric turned to find himself nose-to-nose with Margie, who was wearing a sultry, coquettish smile. The talk he had in the kitchen with Kate suddenly hit him in the face.
She had a point. No, a very big point.

Slowly, he drew away from her glazed-over, puppy-love expression.
“Margie, I’d like to talk with you.” He realized it was much too late for a rehearsed heart-to-heart, let-her-down-easy speech.

“I never got the chance to thank you for defending me against Dan Quaide the other day.” Searching his face and eyes, she moved in closer.

“It was nothing.”

“It was heroic, Eric. Everything you’ve done has been heroic. Teaching me to read and write.” She smoothed her hand over his chest and felt the firmness of his biceps. Never had she even thought to touch a man this way—the way Ava had instructed. It felt so good to touch him. Ava had said it would. He was her mentor and her white knight.

The white knight was at a loss. “Education and self-esteem are—”

“The way you stood up to my father, and told him you wanted to open a new world for me—”

He grabbed her hand. His voice was hoarse. “A mind is a terrible thing to waste.”

“And then that night on the porch—when he told you never to come back, but you did. That’s when I knew—You were too shy or afraid to say anything—” When Eric tried to interrupt, she slipped her fingers over his mouth. “So let me say it for you. I love you, Eric West, and I know you love me.”

He could have sworn he heard the front door slam, but he wasn’t sure. It could have been the slamming inside of his brain. Kate was right. He didn’t see it at all. Margie’d misunderstood the situation at the track with Dan. She misunderstood that he was defending her right to learn to read and write against her father’s ignorance.

“Don’t worry about Jen Fleming, Eric,” she whispered while scooting closer to flip her leg over his lap. It was a shameless display, but it felt so good—so releasing. She had no idea that she could be so forward and frivolous. “We’ll talk to her together. I’m sure she’ll understand—after a while.” With that, she threw her arms around him and crashed her lips onto his to unleash a passion that she had held deep inside for her entire adult life.

Eric’s eyes bulged. His hands flew backward against the sofa before he clutched her waist.

“Oh, excuse us, Dad!” Mike exclaimed when he walked into the study. He grabbed Shane’s arm to quickly leave the room. An epiphany exploded in their heads when they realized who their father was kissing passionately on the sofa.

The phone rang on Eric’s desk.

“Wait!” Eric cried out desperately to his sons while trying to crawl out from underneath the enthralled young woman’s clutches.

In wide-eyed shock at the sight of Margie twisted around their father’s torso, Mike and Shane slowly turned around.

“Dad, Jen’s—” Kate hurried into the room with the phone. “—on the ... phone.”

Margie was glowing with passion oozing from her pores. She grinned at the West children while squeezing Eric with all her might when she said breathlessly, “I know this is a surprise, especially for you, Michael; but your father and I are in love.”

Mike fell against the wall. “There’s a visual that I’ll never forget.”

The color had drained from Eric’s face. He knew what he had to do. He hated himself for not recognizing the signs. He raked a harried hand through his hair. “Guys, I need to talk with Margie—alone.” He turned to Kate, whose arms were crossed. Her jaw set, she tapped her foot. “Kate, tell Jen that I’ll call her in the morning.”

No one was moving.

Trying to calm the nausea that was whirling in his stomach, Mike remained stationary against the wall. Kate’s agitated expression held steadfast. Shane was trying to decide whether to laugh or run like hell from the room. It was a toss-up.

Finally, Eric waved his hands to shoo them from the room and closed the French doors behind them. He turned to her.

Margie was still grinning like a lovelorn schoolgirl. “I knew they’d be surprised.”

He clapped his hand to the nape of his neck. “Yeah, so was I. Margie, please … sit down.”

Folding her arms around him again, she pulled him close and kissed the base of his neck. “I know it’s sudden, but they’ll get used to it. And don’t be worried about our age difference. Lots of men marry younger women—especially when they feel needed.” She laid her head against his chest and breathed in his cologne. Savoring his warmth, she listened to the thrum of his heart. “And I need you so very much, Eric.”

Jesus.

His heart felt heavy for her. This time, it wasn’t her father’s suppression he regretted, but the heartbreak that he was about to inflict. He gave her a quick hug, and then gently he took her by the shoulders and lifted her from his chest while lowering her onto the sofa. He could barely stand the longing look in her dark eyes.

“I’m so very sorry, Margie.” The words choked in his throat. “You’ve misinterpreted my intensions. I regret any wrong signals I may have sent you—”

She jumped up from the sofa. “Wrong signals? Oh, no, you’ve sent all the right ones, Eric. Defending me, teaching me—”

“Margie, I’m sorry, I don’t have romantic feelings for you,” he said.

She stepped back. Her lips quivered. Her dark eyes filled with anguish. “You don’t?” she whispered. Tears trickled down her flushed cheeks.

“I like you, Margie, really I do—”

“
Like
me? Good God, my
cats
like me.” She wiped her wet cheeks while breathing in. Rancor replaced the pain. “I should’a listened. Dad tried to warn me. ‘Don’t trust them Wests,’ he said. ‘You just ain’t good enough for the likes of them.’ Boy, oh boy, he hit the nail right on the head!”

“That’s not true, Margie.”

“Yeah, it is!” she shouted. “You high and mighty Wests, with your big Westwood Farm. How could I be so damned stupid?” She marched toward the doors.

He grabbed her by the arm. “Margie, I wanted you to learn those things so you’d have a better chance in this world. I’m too old for you. You need someone young to go through life with.”

She yanked her arm from his grip. “No, Eric, I need someone to love me.” She ran to the doors and grasped the knobs. She fumbled and twisted them in frustration.

“Don’t throw away everything you’ve gained over a terrible misunderstanding.”

She glared at him through her tears before flinging open the doors and bolting into the foyer where she came face-to-face with Mike, Kate, and Shane.

“This was all a big joke to you, wasn’t it?” she yelped before darting out the front door.

They didn’t move. They stared at the floor while listening to her old pickup starting. Spitting gravel, it ripped up the driveway. They exchanged regret-filled glances before turning toward the study. Leaningagainst the threshold, Eric watched the headlights twist furiously up the driveway.

Kate could see the dark remorse in his eyes. The talk hadn’t enlightened him, but the physical evidence had punched him in the face. Her heart broke for him. “Dad ...”

Looking whiplashed, he shook his head, backed into the study, and closed the doors.

Part Four

An Awkward Position

Fifteen

What the hell was going on?

In a tailspin, Jen looked at her condo’s shattered living room window. Shards of glass covered the carpeting and the furniture. A brown brick lay in the middle of the room. A crumbled note was tied to it. The message was the same as that had found on her car only hours ago: STAY AWAY FROM ERIC. The scrawled handwriting was identical to the other warning.

Scott had insisted that the notepaper wasn’t anything like the kind Margie used, but why wouldn’t he deny it?
Margie was his close friend and Doug his employer.
After accepting her thanks for changing her tire, he scurried to his pickup while evading any more questions about it.

Jen wanted Eric to hold her in his strong arms and give her some kind of explanation—if he had one. Kate sounded upset when she had called Westwood to talk to him.
Maybe something similar is going on there. I hope not.

She heard a car crunch to a stop in front of her condo. Through the jagged vestige of her front window, she could see it was the police. They were going to have questions, and she had a lead to give them.

It was Thursday morning, but Eric wasn’t sitting atop his old quarter horse, Ike, at the far end of Westwood’s training track. No, this morning he was at Keystone Downs in hopes of finding Margie watching a workout. Wandering through the early morning haze, he was searching and waiting for her to appear.

No luck. I’m going to have to face it. I’m going to have to walk into the O’Conner stable, and deal with Doug. Damn it.

Bracing himself for the inevitable confrontation, he turned the corner; but, instead of Doug, he came upon a police officer leading Margie, handcuffed, to a cruiser.

At the barn door, Doug was beside himself with angst. “I’ll get my lawyer.” He shook his fist. “You got no proof. My Marge is a good girl. I’m gonna sue the Rosemount Police Department!”

The officer didn’t care about his idle threats. He helped Margie into the backseat of the cruiser, slid into the driver’s seat, and then drove away.

Doug watched with a vacant expression.

Scott shouldered past Eric with a what-the-hell look on his face.

Doug turned to Scott with tears welling in the old codger’s eyes. “They’re taking Marge in for questioning. They think she slashed Ms. Fleming’s tires and broke her windows last night.”

Scott struggled. The words slowly stammered out. “Who told them that?”

“I dunno,” Doug wailed while wiping his nose on his sleeve. “They took her clipboard and her tablet.” His eyes fell on Eric. Instantly, they filled with rage. “This is all your doing!” He pointed an arthritic finger in his direction.

Scott grabbed him by the shoulders. “C’mon, Doug. I’ll give ya a ride to the police station. I’m sure it’s a big mistake.” Furtively glancing over his shoulder at Eric, he guided him toward his pickup.

Eric felt a twist of guilt in his gut.
Maybe the old crow’s right. Maybe this whole debacle is my fault.
He could see in Doug’s troubled eyes that he truly loved and cared about his only daughter.
He wielded subjugation, but maybe that wasn’t his intention. Maybe he tried to shield his daughter from the true harm that life can impose. He’s been raising a daughter without the help of a wife. It’s the only way he knew how to keep the ducks in a row. It’s the only way this rough-cut man knows how to help his daughter avoid the pain that he’d endured all those years ago after her mother walked out. The only way he knows how to guard her from the pain that she had experienced in these last sixteen hours.

Yep, Doug’s right. It is my fault, and I don’t know what the hell to do about it.

Strong black coffee, that’s what Lieutenant Carl Lugowski needed. After running his fingers over his weary eyes, he poured the dark syrupy substance into the old chipped mug that used to be his father’s.
Like father, like son.

This mug had seen a lot of action on mornings, especially those following a long tiring night of surveillance that had amounted to squat—like this one. The only good thing about sitting in the car all night while waiting for nothing to happen was that he had a lot of time to talk with Ava. She was very good at keeping him awake. She was very good at keeping him worked up. This weekend, he was going to be very good at returning the favor.

After taking a swig, he ran the palm of his hand over his mouth, across his ear, and down the back of his neck.
Yeah, it was a long-ass night. It’ll be an even longer day. No sleep. Eh, sleep is overrated, anyway.
He had a shitload of paperwork waiting at his desk, and the phones would soon be ringing off the hook.
Better get to it.

He saw Kate West walk through the squad-room door.

He hadn’t seen Kate for many months. He hadn’t looked into those crystal blue eyes of hers. He hadn’t had to think about the way she stirred him since he last spoke to her on the steps of the farmhouse porch at Westwood.

From the coffee machine in the break room, Lugowski watched her speak to one of the detectives. Her blonde locks drifted across her shoulders. The blue tank top she wore clung to her torso, and her jeans fit like a soft glove over her curves.
Shit. What’s Mike West’s little sister, Ava’s ex-sister-in-law, doing here?
He was absolutely sure she had brought those mesmerizing blue eyes with her. His attraction to her was surprising, stimulating, and bothersome.
The detective showed Kate to Lugowski’s paper-laden desk, and had her sit in the chair next to it.

He breathed in, took another gulp of the coffee, and strolled toward her.