Read Mr. Write (Sweetwater) Online
Authors: Lisa Clark O'Neill
Mr. Write (Sweetwater) (14 page)
L
aw-abiding citizens treated him like a buddy. And the not-so-law-abiding citizens underestimated him.
Their mistake.
“I come over to help you pass out drinks, publicly display affection, and what do you do? Insult me, that’s what.”
“
Why did you?” Sarah wondered, as she took a mint julep for herself. After all, they were getting warm. “Display affection, that is.”
“I’m not allowed to?”
“You are, of course. But since you are a cop, and not a drama queen, I figure you have a reason.”
Will gestured with
his cup toward his sister. She and Mason had been joined by Carolann – big surprise – and Allie was making the introductions. “Allie looks better. Healthier. Not so damn frail. Bran coming home helped – it was really hard on her, having both of you gone these past several years. But this place.” He nodded at the building behind them. “It’s given her a little more… I guess purpose, would be the word. So thank you.” This time he lifted his cup toward her in salute. “For coming back. I’m sure it wasn’t an easy decision.”
Sarah glanced up in surprise. Guys were generally oblivious to subtle social nuances
, especially when it came to their little sister’s friends.
But – par for the course of people underestimating him – Will was shrewd. He might seem like he was just hanging out, sipping his drink, when in reality he was noticing every damn thing.
“If I’m that transparent, I should probably install blinds.”
“
Smart ass.” He tugged one of her escaped curls just as he had when she’d been eight to his far superior eleven. “I know Bran wasn’t exactly thrilled about coming home either. Most people who get out, stay gone.”
“You didn’t.”
“Yeah, well I’m a glutton.”
“Sp
eaking of Bran: where is he? I thought he’d be here by now.”
Will jingled the
keys in his pocket. “Bran’s with Dad.”
“That’s right.” They could no longer leave their father unattended. Allie didn’t make a big deal out of it, but Sarah knew it was difficult
to arrange schedules given the demands of Will’s job and the amount of time Allie had been putting in on the store. And it wasn’t like they could really rely on Harlan, considering he was passed out or MIA half the time. There was a nurse, but private home health care was expensive. Bran’s return really had been a huge relief, in more ways than one.
“Looks like he’s about the only one not here,” Will commented, and Sarah realized how packed
the garden had become. What cars that weren’t lined like dominoes along the street were parked willy-nilly in their small lot. A few had even taken advantage of the nice, flat space next door where Tucker had wanted to put his ugly Dumpster.
“
Damn. Allie must have invited half the… well. Isn’t that interesting.”
“What?”
“Looks like you’ve got trouble.”
Sarah followed the direction of Will’s sharp gaze. Tucker Pettigrew stood, glowering at the cars
parked on his property.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TUCKER
stared through the windshield of a powder blue Volkswagen Beetle, failing to be charmed by the fresh daisy in its little glass container.
He’d been working. Despite the fact that he’d really just used it as a
convenient excuse to avoid the neighbor’s shindig, he’d sat at his computer, and actually gotten in the groove. It had been… hell,
months
since he’d been able to maintain that kind of focus. Ever since his mom died, his thoughts bounced around like a pinball in a machine.
It had scared him. He hadn’t been willing to admit that before.
The fear, niggling but undeniably there,
that he’d somehow lost that part of himself along with his mom.
But for the past – hour? Two?
Dusk had fallen, he realized, so it had to have been at least that. Anyway, for the past little while, he’d been cruising. Until he’d made the mistake of glancing out the window. And noticed that he must have forgotten to put up his LOT FULL sign.
He frowned at the Beetle again.
He couldn’t have cars – daisy-bearing or otherwise – parked on his lawn. On his… pine straw, he corrected, nudging the covering of reddish brown needles with the toe of his boot. He didn’t actually have much of a lawn to speak of.
“
Um, hi.”
Tucker looked up. The
now familiar little snap in his blood didn’t do anything to lighten his mood.
She’d piled her hair up, he noticed immediately, into one of those arrangements women did that managed to look both stylish and messy. It showed off her neck. A long neck, Tucker noted
, to go with the rest of her, which, given those insanely high heels, put her nearly eyeball-to-eyeball with him. He’d always gone for the petite types, but all those extra inches sure didn’t detract from her femininity. Not with that pale green dress flowing like water over her very generous curves.
And Mason had been right, damn him. The woman had legs up to her ears.
She smiled at him politely.
“Seriously?” he said,
shelving the unwanted attraction, and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Okay.
” Still with the smile. “I know some people parked here without your permission. But the party will be over in another hour or two. So even if you’re not planning on coming by yourself, maybe you could –”
“No.”
“– overlook it just this… did you say
no?”
“I did.”
“No
you’re not planning on coming by, or
no
you won’t overlook the cars.”
“Either. Both.”
The polite thing crumbled like a dry cracker as she fisted a hand on her hip. “Is this some sort of payback because I asked you not to park your dumpster here?”
He hadn’t even considered that. “No.” He looked around. “Though
without the dumpster here, this does make handy overflow parking, doesn’t it.”
“That wasn’t my intention. I would never suggest that our customers park outside our lot.”
“Good, because they can’t park here.”
She took a deep breath, straining the seams of her dress.
She was all swelling curves and fluid motion, like a wave rolling, cresting.
“… in the future. But as I said, if you could overlook it just this
once –”
Tucker shook his head, realizing he’d lost the thread of the conversation.
“Look,” he said, annoyed with himself, the situation. He couldn’t afford either distraction right now. “I need you to get these cars off my property.”
A second fist joined the first. “Are you
always so difficult?”
Probably. Though he had
a damn good reason this time. “To borrow your phrase from a few days ago, I’m not trying to be unreasonable.”
“Right.”
“Hey. I moved the damn dumpster, didn’t I?”
She threw up one of her hands. “So what’s the big deal about letting these cars stay here for another hour? It’s not like they’re killing
the grass or –”
“What happened to your arm?”
“What?” The look she gave him was blank.
“Your arm.” All that gesticulating had caused her sleeve to slide up, revealing a
nasty bruise.
Without thinking
, he reached out to grasp her arm so he could examine it.
The bruise was
roughly the size and shape of a man’s hand.
A large man.
“It’s nothing.” She jerked her arm back. And when Tucker glanced up, the flush of the battle had drained from her face.
The eyes that had been snapping green fire at him looked away.
“Problem?”
Tucker looked past her, toward the cop – Hawbaker – who was heading their way.
“Mr. Pettigrew would like these cars moved.” She surreptitiously pushed the sleeve back down.
Hawbaker’s gaze swept the Beetle, the other cars, and – Tucker wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been watching for it –
settled briefly on Sarah’s arm. His eyes, cool and appraising, flicked up to clash briefly with Tucker’s.
“Well, that is his right, seein’ as how they’re parked on his property.”
The easygoing tone no longer fooled Tucker. “I can’t have them here.” He almost added “I’m sorry,” but he wasn’t going to apologize for something that wasn’t his fault. And he’d be damned if he discussed his legal issues, or the terms of that stupid trust. Tucker wasn’t one hundred percent sure that the overflow parking was a violation, but considering it was his grandfather with whom he was dealing, he wasn’t about to take the chance.
“Alright, then. Sarah, if you’d like me to talk to… let’s see.
Mrs. Burgess, Dr. Hicks and Rainey, I’d be happy to ask them to move their cars.”
“No.”
Some of her fire rekindled, Sarah scowled at Tucker. “I’ll do it.”
She stalked off, head held high
, one long, lonely curl trailing like a lick of flame down her back. The back, Tucker noted with an indrawn breath, that was bare except for thin strips of green fabric crossing over it.
When he managed to drag his gaze away, it clashed again with Hawbaker’s.
“Took a hard line there, son.”
“My property. My line. And I’m damn sure not your son.”
The corner of Hawbaker’s mouth quirked, as if he found Tucker’s attitude vaguely amusing. “Tough guy, aren’t you.”
That really didn’t warrant a response. “Thanks for enforcing the law.” Asshole. “Have a nice night.”
But when Tucker turned to go back into the house, Hawbaker’s low murmur stopped him. “You had a pop. Assault and battery.”
No, he hadn’t. “Those charges were dropped,” Tucker said softly, though his eyes were cold steel.
Hawbaker shrugged. “Amazing what you can turn up, if you know the right places to look.”
That the cop had been digging around in his past put Tucker’s
back straight up. “Is there a point to this conversation?”
“I noticed the mark on Sarah’s arm.”
Insult raged. “And you think I put it there?”
“Well,” he tugged his ear. “Given that it seemed to be a fully developed bruise that was already edging into yellow, we’d have to be caught in some kind of weird time warp for that to be the case.”
Tucker’s temper pulled back enough that it was no longer straining at the leash. And because the cop had brought it up, felt compelled to comment. “Looked like somebody grabbed her pretty hard.”
The other man nodded.
Jingled his keys.
Tucker reminded himself that it wasn’t any of his business.
Really
not any of his business. He’d already stuck his nose in once, and nearly gotten it punched for his trouble. Besides, Sarah didn’t seem like the type who needed looking out for. More the kind to serve a guy’s balls up on a platter if he stepped out of line.
Hadn’t she said it was
nothing? Maybe she’d stepped into the street when a truck was coming, and somebody yanked her back. Maybe she’d been playing a really vicious game of Red Rover. Maybe she and her boyfriend had been swinging from the damn chandelier.
Maybe some asshole needed his hand broken.
Screw it. “So?”
“
So what?”
The temper he’d just throttled back gave another sharp tug.
“Gee, Barney, I don’t know. I thought the fact that a woman you’re supposedly friends with looks like she’s been manhandled recently might elicit some kind of response other than
so what,
but then I’m not a cop. Maybe I missed some evidence.”
“
Was that a Deputy Fife joke?” The man rocked back on his heels. “I haven’t had one of those in at least a week. Though to be accurate, since I’m acting Chief of Police, you probably should have called me Andy. Of course, Andy was a sheriff, which makes the whole analogy a little shaky. Easy.” The man’s jovial tone turned to one of warning when Tucker nearly snarled. Then he shook his head. “I see Jessa was right about you.”
Jessa?
“The waitress down at McGruder’s,” he clarified, recognizing Tucker’s confusion. “She said you came in the other day, made a beeline for Allie. Dodged Harlan’s fist – thank you for that by the way – and overpaid for a beer you didn’t drink.”
Tucker could only stare. “Don’t people
in this town have anything better to do than gossip?”
“Well, there’s always sex. ‘Course, given some folks’ tendency to do that with someone other than their spouse, that usually just leads to more gossip.”
Damned if Tucker didn’t find himself almost liking the cop.
“
The way I see it, you didn’t go in to that bar for a drink. Just like you didn’t go into that alley eight years ago simply because you were taking a shortcut home. No, I read the report,” he said when Tucker started to protest. “The charges might have been dropped, but there’s still paperwork that gets done. Believe me, there’s always paperwork.”
