New Leaf (8 page)

He gave a slow shake of his head. “If I were your husband—for real, I mean—I’d expect you to crawl out of bed looking mussed and sleep-deprived because I’d be making love to you half the night.”

He turned to leave her shop. Taffeta knotted one fist. “You’re going to say something like that to me and then just walk out?”

Challenge glinted in his eyes as he opened the door and turned to look at her. “It’s all pretend. Right?” He peeled back his jacket cuff and glanced down at his oversize gold wristwatch. Most young guys wore leather bands nowadays, but Barney seemed to prefer shiny metal. Taffeta scolded herself for it, but she liked that little bit of shimmer on him. “And it’s ten o’clock,” he added. “My bed is calling my name.”

He walked out. She stared after him. Was he attracted to her, or not? Taffeta huffed and vented her irritation by kicking at the cushioned rubber mat on the floor behind the register. Her toe glanced off the edge and caught the small plastic trash receptacle she used for debris. Crumpled paper fanned across the floor.

Dammit
. She swore under her breath as she bent
to pick up the wads.
This whole situation is driving me over the edge already, and we’ve barely started our campaign yet
. She felt for the cell phone in her jeans pocket, tempted to call Barney and tell him her old shirt was
not
baby poop brown. It was camel colored.
Men
. They were horrible at naming colors. Barney would probably call mauve something dumb, like wilted rose pink.

•   •   •

By week’s end, Barney dreaded the trip to Reno. What was it about Taffeta Brown that rattled his chain every time he was near her?
Shit
. He had tried his best all week to play his role, allowing customers to see them cozied up to each other, but whenever he reminded himself that he and Taffeta were only playacting, her face fell as if he’d just kicked her. Did she want the attraction between them to be real? If so, why the hell didn’t she just say so? He was ready. All she had to do was press his “go” button.

Only that wasn’t really true. No matter how much she turned him on, he couldn’t, in good conscience, make love to her, even if she asked him to. She had only ever offered him sex in the first place as a lure to get him to help her regain custody of her daughter, and now she undoubtedly felt obligated to him because he had agreed to marry her. He’d be taking advantage of the situation if he took her to bed, and he wasn’t that kind of man.

•   •   •

As Saturday swiftly approached, Taffeta concluded that in the end her acting ability might not be put to a test when she and Barney returned from Reno as
a married couple. Barney had been in her store every morning and spent the entire two hours of his stay doing everything possible to behave like a man who was deeply in love. Any pedestrian on either side of the street could look in the front windows and see them. Any customer who entered the shop also saw them. Barney made sure that he put on a show for everyone. For that reason alone, she had already lost a big piece of her heart to him, and heaven help her, fondness wasn’t the only emotion that he elicited from within her. With increasing frequency, he still played a starring role in her lonely-night fantasies.

She had to remember that reality seldom measured up to a dream, and she should remind herself countless times a day that Barney probably wouldn’t—or couldn’t—compare to her imaginary, perfect man. So why did she allow a mere glance from him to make her ache with yearning? It was a question for which she had no answer, and that made no sense at all. She had been disappointed once before by a man, deeply disappointed and betrayed. Had she learned nothing from that experience?

She needed to remain focused on her daughter. Barney said that as soon as they established themselves as a blissfully happy couple in Mystic Creek, they could turn their attention to getting Sarah back. His attorney friend was in the process of
compiling the paperwork to file Taffeta’s appeal, and he had mentioned to Barney that he intended to represent Taffeta for only a nominal fee. Taffeta could scarcely believe that a successful lawyer would be so generous, but Barney claimed that Vorch wanted a chance to annihilate Phillip later on charges of perjury. Apparently Phillip’s shady behavior had earned him many enemies in the legal community of Erickson.

On Friday while Taffeta and Barney shared a cream horn in her shop, Barney lifted his coffee cup to her and said, “Tomorrow’s the big day. I’d like to hit the road by about five in the morning so we won’t be rushing to find a chapel after we reach Reno.”

“Would it be safer to make reservations at a chapel now?”

“I called around to see how far out most wedding venues are booked, and I was told that last-minute arrangements can be made at almost all of them. It sounds like marriage at a drive-up window. That being the case, I thought I should wait to choose a chapel with you after we get there. Despite it not being a real marriage, I still thought the chapel should at least appeal to both of us.”

Taffeta appreciated his thoughtfulness. Where they got married didn’t matter in any practical way, but she didn’t want to look back someday and have awful memories of the place. “I’m an early riser. Being ready to leave at five won’t be a problem for me.”

“I talked with Bryan as I drove over here,” he said. “He says it’s important to file the appeal as
soon as possible. The process can take some time. Just getting all his ducks in a row to file involves a lot of red tape, but once your case is reviewed and deemed worthy of a hearing, he feels almost certain that he can get the conviction overturned. Phillip’s testimony was the only damaging evidence the prosecuting attorney had, and once a judge starts to question whether or not Phillip was telling the truth, he or she will have no choice but to wipe your record clean. To convict, the evidence must show that a person is guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. If Phillip’s testimony is discredited, the physical evidence, of which there is little, won’t hold up in court.”

Barney made it all sound so simple that Taffeta couldn’t help getting her hopes up
—
to be proven innocent was something she hadn’t even let herself hope for
.
She would always remember how devastating it had been when the judge dropped the gavel and delivered the verdict against her.

As if Barney sensed Taffeta’s soaring hopefulness, he made a soft sound deep in his throat and trailed a fingertip along her cheekbone. “It won’t all be easy,” he reminded her.

She rushed to assure him, “I know,” loving the way his touch made her feel. “Nothing worth having comes easily.”

He nodded. “Meeting with your former parents-in-law to ask for their support when you petition the court for a reversal of the custody order may be one of the most difficult things you’ve ever done.”

Taffeta’s heart sank. “Meet with them? Oh, Barney, I’m not sure—”

He cut in with “Grace and Cameron Gentry once liked you, honey. The three of you had a good relationship until Phillip destroyed it. Now that he’s messing up so badly, don’t you think his parents are smart enough to figure out that he probably lied about you?”

Taffeta still dreaded having to meet with the Gentrys. At one time, she had loved them as if they were her own parents, and she believed that they
had loved her in return. The fact that they could believe Phillip’s lies about her still hurt her deeply. “What if they still hate me?”

He leaned in closer. “If it gets ugly, you’ll have me there to run interference.”

“You’ll go with me?”

“Of course. For moral support if nothing else.”

A burning sensation stung Taffeta’s eyes. In all her life, she’d never had anyone who stood beside her.
Never
. “You’re a very special man, Barney Sterling.” Even to her ears, her voice sounded thick. “I’m very lucky to have you as my friend.”

The moment she said those words, Taffeta wished that they could be more than friends. Dumb, dumb, dumb. If she didn’t tread carefully, she was going to get her heart broken, and it wouldn’t be Barney’s fault. He’d made her no promises. Never once had he hinted that their forthcoming marriage would be anything more than a sham to strengthen her chances of getting Sarah back.

She glanced at the wall clock behind him and saw that it was nearly ten, time for him to leave for work. A disturbing thought struck her. “Barney, I thought you said that your day shifts start at ten. Are your visits here this week making you late for work?”

He popped the last bit of his cream horn into his mouth. After swallowing, he said, “Only about five minutes. It’s a short drive to the department from here. No big deal.”

“You’ve been late just to be here so customers might see you? Doesn’t your boss get mad?”

“Blake? Nah. I work extra shifts anytime he
needs me to cover for someone.” He drank what remained of his coffee and put the empty container into the pastry bag. “He knows that he can count on me, so he cuts me some slack when I need some leeway here and there.”

The anxiety that had welled so suddenly within Taffeta began to abate slowly. “So you haven’t gotten in trouble, then.”

“Heck, no. It isn’t like most jobs, where you clock in and out, working an exact number of hours. I practically always work over. At the end of a shift, I have to update the deputy taking over, and then I have to do my shift report. That can take a half hour sometimes. The way I think Blake sees it is that it all evens out.”

Taffeta sighed. “I just don’t want you to jeopardize your job for me.”

“I won’t, so stop fretting about it.” He crumpled a soiled napkin in his hand and hoop-shot it into the sack. “I still haven’t lost my touch.”

“You must have played basketball,” she observed.

“Oh yeah. Football and wrestling, too. My dad believes in encouraging teenage boys to stay busy to keep them out of trouble. With sports and horses, I was a pretty active kid.”

Taffeta looked at the clock again and knew he needed to leave. She didn’t want their time together to end. “Were you good? At sports, I mean?”

“Honestly?” His lips tipped into a sheepish grin. “I was barely good enough at basketball to make the team, and I totally bombed at football, mostly because colliding with guys on a field never made
sense to me. But I kicked ass in wrestling. Placed second in the state my senior year of high school. I hoped to wrestle in college and did for a couple of years until the wrestling program was cut.”

“Second in state? You must have been something!”

“I still am. Knowing how to take a man down and pin him is helpful in my line of work. I practice with my little brother Jonas whenever he’s home. He’s better on the mat than I am, but I still hold my own.” He pushed back his hat, leaned forward, and startled her with a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’ll show you some of my best moves sometime.”

Taffeta’s heart was still racing as he strode out the door. She rested her fingertips over the spot where his lips had touched.

•   •   •

Five o’clock on Saturday morning came early for Taffeta. She dozed through her alarm, and when Barney rapped on her apartment door, she still had sleep in her eyes and was washed but not dressed. She threw on her robe to let him in, and when he saw her, he rocked back on his heels, grinned, and touched the brim of his hat.

“Top of the morning to you,” he said with a fair rendition of an Irish brogue. “I thought you were an early riser.”

“I normally am, but I had trouble sleeping and then didn’t hear my alarm.”

“Troubling thoughts? That’s usually what keeps me awake.”

Taffeta had been thinking about Barney showing
her some of his best moves, but never in a million years would she tell him that. “I normally stay open on Saturday, and I got to worrying about being closed today.” She hurried back to her room. Two stuffed suitcases and a large box sat at the foot of her bed. They held clothing she intended to take with her to Barney’s house. She bypassed the containers and went to stand in front of her closet again. What did a bride wear to a Reno chapel wedding? “Oh
God
,” she muttered. “This is going to be a disaster.”

“What is?”

Barney’s voice came from the doorway behind her and startled her half out of her wits. “Excuse me,” she said with strained patience, “but I’m about to dress.”

“The latch didn’t catch, so the door swung back open.” He leaned a shoulder against the jamb. “I have two sisters. When a female stands in front of her closet, whispering about disaster, it normally means she doesn’t know what the hell to wear.”

Taffeta folded her arms at her waist and turned to face him. “It’s not just any old day. Even if it’s only for show, we’re getting married. I’ve never had to pick a proper outfit for a wedding.”

“What did you wear the first time, nothing?”

Taffeta realized that he was enjoying her discomfiture. “My mother-in-law and a dressmaker chose everything I wore. In Erickson, Phillip’s marriage was a big event.”

“Ah, well, think along more casual lines than
that. Look at me. I’m not dressed up. It’ll be a Reno wedding. People gamble in a casino, suddenly decide to tie the knot, and go get married. I don’t think there’s a dress code.”

She took in his attire. He wore a tan Stetson instead of the usual chocolate brown one, and he looked wonderful in fresh Wrangler jeans that skimmed his muscular legs, polished brown riding boots, and a blue western-cut shirt with pearled snaps instead of buttons.

She resumed staring helplessly at the few remaining clothes that hung on the rod. “Nothing I haven’t packed is appropriate.”

He chuckled, and she felt the vibrations of his footfalls crossing the ratty old carpet. He stood behind her, bent his knees to be at her eye level, and said, “The brown shirt is definitely out. What’s that flowery thing, a sundress? That won’t work. You’ll freeze your ass off.” He reached past her to finger the pink knit top she’d worn to the dumpy Italian restaurant. “This will work. It looks awesome on you, especially with that itty-bitty black skirt you paired with it.”

“The skirt is packed to go to your house.”

“Oh. Well, do you have a pair of jeans that fit?”

“Of course. I wear jeans a lot down in the shop.”

“No, I don’t mean denim tents. I mean jeans that actually
fit
.”

She gnawed the inside of her cheek. “Tight ones, you mean?”

“Not
tight
, just snug.”

“I have a few pairs that I wore in Erickson. They were snug at the time, but I’ve gained a little weight since moving here. They may be skintight now.”

“Perfect,” he said. “Squeeze into them, add the top, find some sensible walking shoes, and meet me in the kitchen. I’ll have coffee waiting.” He moved toward the door. Before exiting into the living room, he added, “And today, can you ditch the schoolmarm hairdo? Pretty please, with sugar on top? Wear it down, or I’ll be afraid to say
ain’t
all the way to Reno in case you reprimand me for poor grammar.”

“In all the times we’ve talked, I’ve never once heard you say that word.” She cast him a blistering glance. “You’re telling me how to dress, and we’re not even married yet.”

“Oops. Can I deduce from the resentment I hear in your voice that Phillip told you how to dress?”

Taffeta stiffened her shoulders, unwilling to answer that question. He might never understand the pressure that she’d been under during her marriage to measure up to the standards set for her. The wives of the attorneys in such a classy law firm dressed to the nines, and Taffeta hadn’t known what to wear then, either. Phillip never hesitated to criticize when her choice in attire failed to please him. “Out. I can’t squeeze into jeans with you watching.”

He left and closed the door. She had showered already, so all she had to do was dress, wash her face, and brush her hair.
Easy,
she assured herself.
Only when she stood in front of the dresser mirror, she didn’t like what she saw and spent twenty minutes with makeup and a curling iron.

When she appeared in the front room, Barney rewarded her with an appreciative whistle.

•   •   •

Barney had gotten coffees and pastry to go from the Jake ’n’ Bake. Jake hit the deck early every morning to make pastries, and he’d opened up for Barney as a special favor. Taffeta sipped from her sugar-enriched java as Barney’s truck rumbled from Mystic Creek on an eastward highway. Her jeans hugged her belly and thighs like a girdle and were so tight around her waist that she could barely take a deep breath. All she could think about as she consumed more calories was how much weight she’d gained since moving to Mystic Creek.
Too much comfort food
. All those grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner had taken a toll.

Needing to fill the silence between herself and her soon-to-be husband because she felt unaccountably nervous, Taffeta asked, “Was it a hassle getting the weekend off?”

He chuckled. “Adams looked shocked, not because I ask all the time, but because I seldom do. I’m a believer in building up my sick days and vacation so I can have important times of the year off to spend them with my family. I work a lot of weekends, covering for people who want off, to add to my cache.” He lifted his hands briefly from the steering
wheel to shrug. “Why not cover for them? I’ve got no family, so it works for me.”

“Having long stretches off, even if you had a family, might be lovely,” she suggested. “Trips to Disneyland or somewhere else would be nice for a wife and kids.”

“Careful, there. Trips to Disneyland are expensive, and I’m existing on a deputy’s wages.”

“Don’t you get paid by the hour and make more money for the extra time you put in?”

“Nope. I get a salary. But when I work an extra shift, I earn another vacation day, and saving them up is, in my opinion, better than putting money in the bank. I enjoy doing simple things that don’t cost very much—long horseback rides into wilderness areas to camp at high-mountain lakes to fish. I also like to work on my house. It was dilapidated when I bought it. I save up to make improvements and then try to do most of the work myself when I take vacation.”

Taffeta relaxed in the bucket seat, trying to picture Barney’s life. She decided that she was much like him. Expensive vacations didn’t matter to her. She would have loved to have a family like his, large and close-knit, and to know that they loved her enough to always be there. Barney might not make a lot of money being a deputy, but he loved his work, he owned a house, and, far more important, he could spend time with people he loved whenever he wanted. On Sundays, Taffeta watched television, read, or studied online to become a licensed
herbalist. She missed having human contact and could barely wait for Monday morning.

As if Barney sensed that the silence between them made her edgy, he turned on the stereo and tuned in to a station that featured a variety of music genres. The instant that Tony Bennett’s voice filled the cab, crooning about San Francisco, Barney started singing along. He had a deep, rich voice, and he could carry a tune, which was more than Taffeta could boast.

He glanced over at her. “Come
on
. Get into it with me.”

“I can’t sing,” she confessed. “I sound like a bullfrog and only do it in the shower.”

He leaned his head back and laughed. Then he turned the music up. “
Sing!
Who cares if you sound like a bullfrog? With it this loud, who’ll hear you?”

Taffeta tentatively joined in, and when he didn’t cringe, she raised her voice. Soon she was belting out lyrics as if she were a rock star, with Barney harmonizing with her. Or at least trying. She wasn’t very good at carrying a tune. He didn’t seem to care.

Then, to her mortification, the Rolling Stones came over the airway, and she was confronted with “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction.” Barney winked at her. Then he started shouting the lyrics.

She couldn’t help laughing because if any man on earth could find satisfaction, it had to be this incredibly handsome deputy with those seductive and intoxicating amber eyes.

She couldn’t resist joining in, yelling the words at the top of her lungs. Pretty soon they were laughing
so hard that they had beads of sweat on their foreheads. And then “She Loves You” by the Beatles burst from the speakers. Who could resist that?

They sang for over an hour. Taffeta was slightly hoarse when Barney turned off the stereo so they could talk. He told her funny stories about his childhood. She particularly loved the one about him and his brothers painting their black Lab yellow. Taffeta had no funny tales to tell about her childhood. Maybe lots of kids had good experiences in foster homes, but she hadn’t been so lucky.