Hot Coco (19 page)

Enough was enough.
Eric had had his fill of the mysterious room. Tucking Jen and Margie under each arm, he dashed around the panicked women into the now crowded lobby. He set the infuriated women down only to realize that he was surrounded by a mass of shocked, wide eyed on-lookers.

A familiar voice ran
g out. “Whoa, Eric. What have you been up to?” Dan could barely get the words out for his laughter.

Followed by Kate, Holden, and Tanya, who was suddenly speechless; Mike pushed through the crowd.

Mouth gaping open, Scott pushed to the front to take in the sight of the trodden women.

Jen ripped away from Eric’s grip. “I’m going home.”

“I’ll take you,” he insisted.

Her face was flushed beyond embarrassment. “No, I can find my own way home, thank you very much.” She brushed back a lock of hair from her eyes. With one shoe missing, she limped through the crowd.

When Margie turned to leave in the other direction, Scott grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed hard. His voice was thick with guilt. “This is my fault.” He turned to Eric. “I slashed Ms. Fleming’s tires. I threw the brick through her window.”

Once again, Margie’s face filled with hurt. Tears came to her dark eyes. “Why, Scott? Why would you do such an awful thing and let them blame me?”

His mouth moved but no words came out. He didn’t know what he expected
.

I never expected it to go this far. I just wanted to put a huge wedge between Margie and the Wests. I never thought anyone would get arrested or charged. Then again, I’ve never done anything like vandalism before. Maybe I didn’t think it through enough. I just wanted Margie back at the dances with me. Truth be told, I just wanted Margie to be with me, period. But how can I tell her that now? I damned well can’t.

Shrugging his shoulders, he dropped his gaze to the floor.

Astounded that he had no explanation, no reason, and no words, Margie took a step back. The lobby was caving in on her. She felt the weight of betrayal waging down upon her. Eric didn’t love her. Mike wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole; and now Scott was nothing more than a coward, a liar, and a dirty vandal.

Eric’s rumpled appearance broke Kate’s heart, but Margie’s broken soul was more than she could bear. Her father was strong. He could get himself home. She wasn’t so sure about Margie.

She took Holden’s arm and stepped forward. “C’mon, Margie, we’ll drive you home,” she whispered while taking her by the shoulders.

“Wait.” Colette stepped from the crowd. “I’ll take her home, Kate. Margie and I are old friends.”

Colette’s eyes were filled with a watery compassion that took Kate aback. She stepped aside so that Colette could lead Margie away from the humiliating situation. Margie willingly went with her shoulders sagging and the top of her dress torn to hang below her bra. Pulling his car keys from his jacket, Tom Mason followed.

As they made their exit, Kate glanced over her shoulder. Lugowski had approached Scott to inform him that he was under arrest.

It was almost midnight when Tom drove up to a stop in front of the O’Conner’s farm. His eyes popped at the unkempt conditions. When Colette grasped the door latch to get out, he touched her arm firmly and whispered, “Are you sure you want to go in there? Is it safe for me to leave my car here?”

Colette’s half smile was definite. She patted his hand. “It will be fine, Tom.” She wasn’t as confident as she was putting on. While they madetheir way up the sidewalk, Colette could see Doug, peering out the front window from behind the threadbare curtains.

As if he expected a werewolf or a chainsaw murderer to jump out from the twisted, overgrown trees in the chicken-scratched yard, Tom searched the entire area.

Margie was a mess. Her dress was torn, her hair was askew, and her mascara had dried in long black streaks where her tears had fallen down her swollen cheeks.

Even that rat-bastard father of hers could see that she needed a heavy dose of TLC from a woman who understood. When he opened the door to see Colette and Tom standing there with Margie, Doug stepped aside to let Colette enter the house and take Margie to her bedroom.

Colette was relieved that he didn’t say a word.

In the bedroom, Colette reached for the light switch inside the door.

“Leave it,” Margie muttered in a morbid tone while peeling the ruined dress from her shoulders and dropping it to the floor. She yanked back the blanket from her bed and plunked down. She wrapped her arms around her legs and dropped her face into her knees.

Colette glanced around the room.

The moonlight filtered through a pair of white sheers with purple butterflies. The wall beside the bed was cracked diagonally from the top corner of the ceiling to the far corner of the floor. Without more than three or four-feet of space between them, an old dresser rested against the wall across from her bed. Almost barren, the room was null and void of décor or even personal belongings. No indeed, Margie was not accustomed to any frills.

She ran her fingers lightly through Margie’s hair. “It’s going to be okay,” she soothed. “I know how you feel.”

Margie’s head jerked up. “How’s that possible? How could someone like you even begin to know how I feel?” Her tears had begun to flow again. Her voice was ripped with frustration. “Look at you. You’re freaking gorgeous. Men fall all over you. So don’t tell me that you know how I feel, Coco.”

Colette let out a thin snort. “You’re right. Men do react to me, but for all the wrong reasons. Beauty isn’t always a gift, and neither is wealth. Men love my looks, but they fall
in love
with my money.”

“Even Mike West?”

“Mmmm, he liked my looks … hated my horses.” She giggled. To her surprise and delight, Margie managed a giggle through her tears.

Colette picked up her purse from the floor and pulled out a wet-nap. She washed the mascara from under Margie’s eyes and cheeks. “You’re eyes are naturally beautiful, Margie. You don’t need all that gunk on them. You’re lucky.”

Not feeling very lucky, Margie lay back onto the pillow. Colette pulled the blanket over her. She was most grateful to Coco for bringing her home; but she felt the need to be alone, to sort things out and, yeah, to wallow in self-pity.

“You don’t have to stay. I’ll be okay. Thanks for everything.”

“Hey, you took care of me not long ago, remember? That’s what friends are for.”

Tugging the blanket over her shoulder, Margie stared into the darkness of her room. The exhaustion of heartbreak consumed her to lull her to sleep.

It had been over an hour since Colette disappeared into the ramshackle house. Tom waited patiently. God bless him, he sat among the sleeping cats on the steps of the O’Conner’s porch with his allergies in full smack-down. His eyes watered. Sniffing and sneezing, wheezing and snorting while praying that his throat didn’t close, he sucked desperately on his inhaler. Spitting tobacco juice over the railing while rocking in his chair, Doug’s severe scowl bore into his spine.

There were two places in the world that Tom didn’t want to die: a Walmart parking lot and this God-forsaken place.

Despite the awkward unpleasant company, and the tightening in his throat, Tom waited for Colette to emerge from the house. Finally, the moment arrived. The screen door screeched open and she stepped onto the porch.

Doug rocked forward in his chair. “Marge okay?”

Colette tossed him a steely glance. “No ... but she will be.”

She was shocked at Tom’s decayed condition. Using his silk tie as a handkerchief, he tossed her the keys to his Mercedes. “You drive,” he managed in a breathless, sandpaper voice.

“Poor baby.” She took him by the shoulders and guided him toward the car with several cats following along.

Seventeen

Kate wasn’t sure if she should be worried or annoyed.
Where the hell is Shane?
She thought as she drove along the road toward Keystone Downs.

The testosterone terror hadn’t shown up at the dance last night, nor was he in the kitchen pouring coffee into his travel mug for breakfast before she left for the track.

Maybe this Rachel-girl had him tied to a bed post somewhere.
She chuckled.
It would serve him right.
Hmmm, how would that telephone conversation go? “Hey Mike, I’m a little tied-up right now, could you cover my chores, like all day?”
The thought made her laugh out loud. Try as she might, she couldn’t quite come up with what Mike’s exact reaction would be.

She sighed. Her date with Holden Reese had gone perfectly. They danced. They talked. They flirted. He looked so damned hot in his western-style suit. He smelled all musky and manly and sexy as hell.
No problem picturing myself in the throws of passion with him. No sirree. No sweat ... or yes, sweat, lots and lots of sweat. Mmmm, Mmmm, Mmmm.

Yep, everything was going great until all hell broke loose in the lobby with her father smack-dab in the middle of it. She hoped that Holden wasn’t terrified that all dates with Kate West were like that.

Promising that he’d call, he kissed her tenderly, not passionately, at the front door in his haste to leave.
Red flag.

Needing a fresh cup of coffee, she rolled her new, new Mustang into a parking spot in front of the Stop-N-Shop convenience store, next to Shane’s Jeep Wrangler.

Well, well, the golden boy cometh.
She chuckled when she pressed through the door and spotted him filling his travel mug in the back corner of the store. He didn’t look any worse for the wear. He was wearing a fresh pair of Levi’s and a clean T-shirt. Lordy, he never fails to amaze her. He must keep a go-bag in his Jeep among other things that she didn’t want to know about.
Smooth operator, indeed.
He was pouring the columbian coffee so she took a spot at the next dispenser to fill her cup with hazelnut coffee.

“Rachel wasn’t up to coming to the dance?” she asked with a drummed-up tone of concern.

A devilish playboy grin formed on his lips. “She liked my suit.”

“Really?” she asked wryly.

“What can I say? I’m freaking irresistible.”

“And humble. Don’t forget humble.”

He twisted his mug closed. “On my way to the track.” He glanced at his watch. “Doc Spears is gonna be pissed if you’re late.” He tossed the cashier two bills and hurried out the door.

He was right, the old track veterinarian that she worked for as a vet assistant was a real stickler for starting his rounds by seven o’clock.

She poured creamer into her coffee, but the aroma of hazelnut wasn’t nearly as strong as the musky men’s cologne wafting through the air.
It smells just like … Holden.
Expecting her tall, hot cowboy, she turned.

Wrong.

Carl Lugowski wore that same boyish grin he had displayed outside the police station the week before. Surprisingly, she still found it cute, homicidal cute anyway.

“I saw your new Mustang parked outside. Nice,” he said.

“I’m not double parked or anything, am I? I mean, you’re not going to give me a ticket, are you?” Accompanied with plenty of snarky attitude, she planted her hands on her little sexy hips.

Lugowski liked it.
Not only is she a keeper, this girl has sass.
“Let’s review. I’m homicide and you still owe me.” He tossed his own brand of snarky in her direction, just for the shit of it.

She hitched her chin. “Still awkward.”

“Still don’t care.”

How did everything get so screwed up?
Two short months ago, Margie’s whole life revolved around her barn chores.
It was simple. Dad and me and the horses and Old Country Gold playing on the radio. Simple. Now? Not so much. Now, I have feelings I don’t know what do with. Now, I have so much heartache that I’ll never be the same. I’ll never trust another man, other than Dad, ever again.

Raking her fingers through her hair, Margie sank onto a bale of straw and buried her face in her hands. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. Funny, she had cried so much last night into her pillow that she thought surely there could be no more tears left. Sniffling, she wiped her face on her old faded oversized flannel shirt.

“Hey, Margie.” Mike’s voice startled her, which instantly pissed her off. Not her usual reaction, to say the least. Things were different now—much different.

“What do you want?” There was no excitement in her voice. There was no glazed-over, puppy love look in her eyes. Rancor ... that’s what Mike was facing now.

“I just want to talk.” He sat down onto the bale next to her.

Glaring, she scooted to the other end of the bale and folded her arms over her chest. “Careful, you ain’t got your ten-foot pole with you.”

Okay, I deserve that.
Leaning forward, Mike rested his elbows on his knees and shoved a piece of straw between his teeth. “My dad’s feeling pretty bad about what happened.”

“He should.”

He looked her in the eye. “Really? Why? The man took time to teach you something that you will use for the rest of your life. Okay, he didn’t have feelings for you. So what? You owe him more than a cold shoulder, Margie. Don’t you think?”

“He thought I did those terrible things to Jen Fleming.”

“No, he didn’t. He defended you, believed in you. The least you could do is give him what he needs now ... peace of mind. Or maybe, if you can find it in yourself, a simple thank you.”

She fell forward and hid her face in her hands. “You’re right, Mike,” she wept. “He was wonderful. I’m just so messed-up right now.”

His heart felt heavy for her. He bit his lip. Fingers spread wide; he gently caressed her back with the palm of his hand. He could feel the tremors of her weeping.

Tears streaming from her dark eyes, she sat up. “I’ll talk to him, Mike. I promise.” She wiped her nose again on her shirt. “What do I do with Scott?”

Wow, tough question.
He remembered the look in Scott’s eyes the day he had bumped into him at O’Conner’s stable. He didn’t recognize it then, but he saw the same look on Scott’s face at the dance when Margie asked him why he had framed and humiliated her. It was becoming all too clear to Mike what Scott Carter was feeling.