Kiss Me That Way: A Cottonbloom Novel (37 page)

“The shoe’s on the other foot now, isn’t it, Golden Boy, and I hope it’s about three sizes too small. I’ll have you arrested and sent to spend the rest of the night in a jail cell with a man named Bubba who’ll treat you
real
nice. Don’t think I won’t.” She pointed a finger toward Sawyer like she wanted to skewer him.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I had nothing to do with this?” Sawyer ran a hand through his already-rumpled hair, sending pieces sticking straight up. He wasn’t looking much more mayoral than Regan. His cotton pajama pants were covered in LSU emblems, and the Mardi Gras T-shirt he wore was from the year he graduated from high school and a size too small.

“How did you know about it then? Huh? Huh?” Regan jutted her chin in emphasis and propped her hands on her hips. Sawyer’s gaze drifted down. Not only had she not bothered with real shoes; she also hadn’t stopped to put on a bra.

“Same way you found out. I got a call from Chief Thomason.” He gestured toward the police chief, who was making notes in a small notebook.

“Why did you call him?” She shifted toward Keith and thumbed toward Sawyer.

The man took a step back. “Now, Regan-darlin’—”

“Don’t you darling me, Keith Thomason. I’m acting as Cottonbloom mayor. Why did you call him?”

“I usually do if something big happens that could affect both sides of the river. I let Wayne know, too. Common courtesy. If there’s an arsonist running loose—”

“He’s not running loose; he’s right here.” She emphasized the last two words with a jabbing finger toward Sawyer.

“He was sound asleep when I called.” Keith gestured up and down Sawyer in a look-at-him way. Sawyer stood with his arms over his chest and a half smile on his face.

“He could have been faking it. His hair was always ridiculous. I mean look—” Regan stepped forward and finger combed the pieces sticking up. Sawyer didn’t move except to drop his clenched hands to his sides. She froze for a moment with her hands buried in his hair before stepping back and holding her hands behind her back. “See, I fixed it.” Her voice had lost a good amount of its vitriol.

Monroe exchanged a glance with Cade. Without dropping her hand, he stepped forward. His voice was low and commanding, the tone Monroe guessed he used in boardrooms. “Is there any evidence that points to Sawyer?”

Keith shook his head. “None.”

“Except for motive,” Regan interjected.

Cade spared her a brief glance. “Flimsy motive. Will torching the gazebo stop you from putting on the festival?”

“Heck no.”

Sawyer crossed his arms over his chest, the sleeves of his too-small T-shirt riding up his flexing biceps. “You don’t think I know what a muleheaded, crazy woman you can be? This will only galvanize you to make your festival bigger, am I right?”

“Darn tooting it will,” Regan shot back.

“You just blew my motive apart.” He turned back to Keith. “Have you found any evidence at all?”

“Not yet. I’ll get the fire marshal out here once the sun is up. Maybe we’ll find something then.” He already sounded resigned to finding nothing. “No witnesses this time of night, of course.”

“You’ve driven around and checked all the businesses? In case we do have some arsonist on the loose?” Regan narrowed her eyes on Sawyer, obviously not convinced of his innocence.

“Course, Regan. And we’ll keep up extra patrols. Wayne is doing the same on your side of the river, Sawyer. There’s really nothing else either of you can do tonight.”

Regan stepped away to stare at the billowing smoke, chafing her arms. Monroe met Cade’s gaze and chucked her head. He gave her hand one last squeeze and broke away toward his brother.

Monroe put her arm around Regan’s waist. “You okay?”

Regan shot a look over her shoulder. “You don’t think Sawyer had anything to do with it?”

“I don’t.”

“Is that because his brother has brainwashed you with his you-know-what? Or do you really believe it?”

“I really believe it.”

“Then who would do this and why?”

Both sides of town sat quiet and expectant. “It could have been teenagers. A prank that went too far. Who called it in?”

“Wayne noticed the smoke from his side of the river and called our fire department. At that point, there wasn’t anything left to save. Someone doesn’t like me. Or doesn’t like what I’m trying to do, anyway.”

“What are you talking about? You’ve been the best mayor Cottonbloom has ever elected. Look at what you’ve done with downtown.” Monroe waved a hand toward the rows of businesses. A few years earlier, owners were moving out to strip malls closer to the university or to bigger towns. Without Regan’s progressive, aggressive plans, they would be staring at empty storefronts.

“The letter told me to stop the festival. Or else.”

With everything going on, Monroe had forgotten about the letter. “Or else what?”

“It was vague on specifics. Probably whoever made it got tired of cutting out the letters and gluing them down.”

“Do you have any culprits in mind?”

“You haven’t been to a town council meeting lately, have you? A few businesses, like the Quilting Bee and McGee’s Hardware, are getting hit harder with the increased taxes. The boom hasn’t done them any favors.”

“I seriously doubt Ms. Martha was out here with gasoline and a match.”

The image of the petite, gray-haired, fiftyish spinster as an arsonist sent them both into giggles, lightening the mood considerably. Regan held her hands out and looked down her body, sticking one foot in the air. “How ridiculous did I look just now going off on Sawyer in fuzzy cow slippers?”

Monroe steered them toward the street where Regan had left her red VW Bug parked, the driver’s door hanging open, the interior light flickering. “I’m not going to lie. Pretty darn ridiculous. Although I swear Sawyer was checking out your boobs at one point.”

“He was not. The man can’t stand me.” Regan tugged at her tank top, a blush racing up her fair skin. Her voice was more breathless than flinty.

“Only reporting what I observed, ma’am.”

Regan slid behind the wheel, one fuzzy slipper in and one out. She grabbed Monroe’s hand. “I know your loyalties are divided now, but thanks for having my back.”

Monroe leaned in and gave her best friend a half hug. Since Monroe had finally confided in her, they’d become closer than ever. “Always, Regan.”

She backed away and watched until Regan’s taillights disappeared. Hands in her pockets, she returned to where Cade and Sawyer talked, their heads close, their difference in coloring more pronounced in the artificial glare of the fire truck. But their bodies were cast from the same mold.

She looped her arm through Cade’s. “Everything okay?”

“Hey, babe.” Cade put his arm around her shoulder, hauled her close, and sighed, as if a missing part had been returned. She pressed her still-sore cheek into his chest and breathed deep. She could smell the love they’d made earlier, slow and deep and uniquely satisfying.

Sawyer shifted to watch the firefighters roll up their hoses. “You don’t really believe I did it, do you, Monroe?”

“Of course I don’t.” And she truly didn’t. The bad blood between Sawyer and Regan might manifest itself in jabs and pranks, but not in something as destructive as arson.

“Regan thinks I did.”

“She’s not a hundred percent convinced you didn’t do it, but she’s also entertaining other motives.”

“Like what?” He swung his head around.

“Like a few of the old-school business owners haven’t been happy that property taxes are on the rise now that everything is worth more.”

With grass sticking to his feet, Sawyer paced, stopping every few steps to rub one foot over the other. “Has she received any direct threats?”

Was it her place to tell Sawyer about the letter? “The city council meetings have been fiery. And you know Regan.…”

Sawyer harrumphed. “That red in her hair is no lie. I can’t argue with the fact she’s done a bang-up job on her side.” He would never have admitted that with Regan in earshot, which cemented her belief Sawyer was innocent. “What if this is a warning shot and some nut job comes after her next? Maybe starts a fire at her house?”

“She got a suspicious letter.”

“When? What did it say?” Sawyer stopped pacing, a restless energy thrumming.

“I haven’t seen it, but she got it earlier this month. She dismissed it as a prank, but now…” Monroe gestured to the smoking remains.

“That is not good.” Sawyer looked toward the heart of Cottonbloom, Mississippi.

“What’re you thinking?” Cade rumbled. “She’s not yours to protect, thank the Lord, and after tonight she probably feels like you’re the one she needs protection from.”

Sawyer kicked at the air. “You’re right. I don’t know why I let her needle me. She’s a big girl and can handle things on her own.”

“Exactly.” Cade’s voice was knife-like, and Monroe narrowed her eyes on him. He cleared his throat and slipped out of her arms. “I’m going to see if we’re free to go.”

Sawyer and Monroe stood in silence for a moment. Things between them were more comfortable than they’d been in a long time, but she still felt a little like she was betraying Regan when they hung out.

“Listen. I know I’m putting you in an awkward position, but…” Sawyer didn’t look over at her and his voice approached a whisper, forcing her to step closer. “If Regan mentions anything else, if she gets another letter, will you let me know?”

Their conversation had the feel of a clandestine meeting between two spies, passing information that could get them killed. Monroe’s mouth opened and closed. “Why?”

“I know she has you, but you know her parents are useless. If she needs help, I can be there. For old times’ sake. At least until whoever did this is caught.”

Pieces of the past shifted and realigned. Whatever Regan thought, Sawyer still cared about her in some fashion. “Sure. I’ll let you know. Might be a good idea to drop by a Cottonbloom, Mississippi, town meeting.”

He rubbed his jaw, still not making eye contact with her. “Maybe so.”

Cade returned, clapping his hands together once. “We’re free to go. Thomason doesn’t think you’re at all involved, Sawyer, so rest easy.”

Her gaze crossed Sawyer’s. He wouldn’t be resting easy tonight, but it wouldn’t be himself he was worried about. Sawyer and Cade exchanged a brotherly hug and promises to talk in the morning. Sawyer strolled toward the footbridge, his truck sitting on the Louisiana side of the river.

“You ready?” Cade grabbed her up in a loose embrace, his hands roving over her hips. She hummed, and they walked arm in arm toward the old truck.

“I’m not sure I’m going to be able to go back to sleep. I’m too keyed up. Too much to think about,” she said, her mind on Sawyer and Regan and the fire.

“Good, because I wasn’t planning for us to go back to sleep.” The naughty rumble of his voice turned her blood to molasses. “How do you feel about driving around?”

Suddenly the fire seemed inconsequential in the big scheme of things. All that mattered was the man whose smile was brighter than the coming dawn. The man who had filled in all the missing pieces of her life. The man who loved her and, by the look in his eyes, planned to love her the rest of the night.

“Race you to the truck.” With joy and love and lust battling inside of her, she grabbed his hand and pulled him along, his laughter weaving with hers.

Read on for an excerpt from
Laura Trentham
’s next book

Then He Kissed Me

Available in July 2016 from St. Martin’s Paperbacks

Tallulah Fournette sat at the bar of the Rivershack Tavern, debating whether to head home. Three episodes of
The Bachelor
waited on her DVR. Even under the threat of torture, she’d never admit to watching the show, but the desperation oozing from the contestants fascinated her.

Her phone beeped and she glanced at the incoming text, muttering a curse that would have her mother clutching her pearls in heaven. A small amount of fear shaded the edges of her frustration, and she flipped her phone facedown as if that could shut her ex-boyfriend up.

She nursed her beer, feeling a little in limbo, not wanting to stay, but not wanting to go home to an empty apartment, either. Cade and Monroe were probably somewhere making googly eyes at each other, and Sawyer was so busy getting the newly named Fournette Brothers Designs set up and planning the Labor Day crayfish festival, he didn’t have time to hang out with her.

She swiveled on the bar stool and exchanged smiles and waves with several men and women who were members of her gym. It was Friday night and all she had waiting for her at home was accounting work for the gym and episodes of
The Bachelor
. She might as well adopt a litter of cats.

The heavy wooden front door opened as she was turning back to the bar. From the corner of her eye, she saw a man enter. She glanced over her shoulder and whipped her head back around to stare down at the scarred bar top. It was Nash Hawthorne. Her heart skipped like a third-grader seeing her crush. Under the guise of taking a sip of her beer, she stole another glance.

She’d seen him at Cade’s welcome-home party a couple of weeks earlier, and the same shock and zing of awareness stripped away the restlessness that had plagued her all evening. She’d beat a hasty retreat from Cade’s party, the reasons as murky as the river.

When he’d moved to Mississippi when they were young, it was like he’d hopped into a different river that had taken him in the opposite direction from her. While she’d barely squeaked through high school, he’d gotten a Ph.D. and would be teaching history at Cottonbloom College come fall.

Unable to help herself, she looked in his direction again. He still stood inside the door. Calls from a pool table in the back went up, and he smiled and waved. Not only was she surprised to see him at the Tavern at all, apparently he’d become a regular. Tonight he fit right in with his olive-green cargo pants and black T-shirt.

If she’d known professors like Nash existed, she might have attempted college after all. He had an old-school Indiana Jones vibe. Although scholarly with his black-rimmed glasses and perpetually rumpled brown hair, danger permeated the air around him nonetheless, like he would risk his life to save some ancient scroll or might rappel into a tomb seeking the Holy Grail.