She's Gotta Be Mine (19 page)

Her breath stuck in her throat as if she’d swallowed a chicken bone. Cookie’s hand rested on Sheriff Braxton’s arm, her French-manicured nails elegant against his dark suit, the great rock of a ring shimmering in a rainbow of color. Her laughter rose above the chatter like wind chimes tinkling in the wind. Her long, blonde hair glittered in the sunlight. The hem of her chiffon dress fluttered about her perfect calves.
Jimbo
slapped the sheriff’s back, Cookie squeezed the beefcake biceps, and Sheriff Braxton broke into a smile at something the lovely Cookie said.

Yuk. Something burst inside Bobbie’s head, a blood vessel, the biggest one. Red tinged her vision. Her world narrowed to those nails on the sheriff’s arm. A proprietary grip. Confident in her ownership, in her power.

How dare that woman put her hands on the sheriff? She was married. She had Warren. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair. She had everything: a rich husband, gorgeous clothes, long hair, a flat stomach, a butt that hadn’t dropped and probably never would.

Cookie was the enemy. And this was war.

Bobbie stalked, her heels sinking into the deep grass like quicksand. She bounced up on her toes, feeling her dress ride higher on her thighs. She didn’t care. She had good thighs. Nick had liked her thighs. And Mr. Fry thought she had a date tonight with
Brax
.

Cookie tossed her head, her hair gleaming. Smile, beam, laugh. Bobbie wanted to rip those shining locks out by the roots. At that moment, her feelings for Cookie had nothing to do with Warren. This was about woman power.

“Hi,
Jimbo
,
Brax
.” Perfect voice, light, airy, a hint of delight. Though Bobbie did have a uniform thing, the sheriff looked scrumptious in a charcoal suit.

Like the parting of the Red Sea, the two men moved to include her, forcing Cookie to drop her hand from
Brax’s
arm. Good, very good.

Brax
gave her a “hey” and a crooked smile, coming to rest closer to Bobbie than Cookie. The woman’s contact lens-enhanced blue eyes narrowed, crow’s feet clawing at the corners.

Bobbie stuck out her hand. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Roberta Jones Spivey.” She said it for the dig, not caring if
Jimbo
or the sheriff wanted to call her on it. Neither did. “Everyone calls me Bobbie, though.”

Cookie looked at the extended hand, then at the way
Brax’s
eyes shifted down to Bobbie’s chest. Her lips compressed into two thin lines. She took Bobbie’s hand only because she had to. Double points to Bobbie Jones, one for Cookie’s capitulation and one for
Brax’s
scrutiny of her legs and breasts.

“This is my wife, Cookie,”
Jimbo
announced, since Cookie hadn’t introduced herself. Maybe her lips were frozen together.

Bobbie gave
Jimbo
a beam that included everyone in the small, cozy little group. “Your wife. How lovely.
Jimbo
and I met down at The Cooked Goose.”

Cookie finally had to answer or appear rude. Another point to Bobbie. “I’ve told
Jimbo
how bad all that cholesterol is for him, but he just keeps on going down to that...place.” A point to Cookie for the diminishing pause.

“Ah honey, you know Mavis needs me down there every day. It’s good for business.”
Jimbo
put his big arm around Cookie’s fragile-looking frame and almost yanked her off her high heels.

“You aren’t responsible for helping that woman’s business.”

Hmm, something there in the tone. Cookie didn’t like
Jimbo
seeing Mavis, or maybe she just didn’t like Mavis. Bobbie poked whatever little wound festered there. “Mavis has been so sweet and welcoming since I came to town. Don’t you just love her?”

Beam for
Jimbo
, beam for
Brax
. They both nodded agreement, though
Brax
did take a step back, assessing. Cookie’s nostrils flared, then settled. She couldn’t argue unless she wanted to appear churlish.

Peripherally, movement caught Bobbie’s eye. The mayor and his wife, marching to the Beaumont’s group like ants to a picnic.

“Cookie, you darling woman, Wylie just wanted to check how the decorations for the festival were coming.” Eugenia Meade didn’t wait for her husband, leaving him several steps behind. “You did such a wonderful job last year, we just know it’s going to be even better. When’s the committee meeting?” Cookie’s mouth worked like a fish, but Mrs. Meade didn’t take a breath. “Not that we’re checking up on you, dear. But Patsy said she’d hadn’t heard from you.”

Another of Bobbie’s brilliant plans sprouted fully formed. “I’d be glad to help out, Mrs. Meade.”

Cookie sputtered, her blue eyes flinty. “We have quite enough helpers.”

Eugenia squeezed the Cookie Monster’s arm. “Oh, dear, we can always use another hand.”

Bobbie tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Oh, yes, Mrs. Beaumont, I’d love to help. It would be so much...fun.”

Eugenia waved a hand. “Oh, you can call her Cookie, Bobbie, everyone does.”

Cookie slapped the mayor’s wife with a cold look, then hit Bobbie with the same. “I thought you worked down at that diner,” she snapped.

“I do, but for such a momentous event, I’m sure Mavis will let me go for whatever time you need.” Mavis would have a fit, but Bobbie would deal with that later.

“Well, that’s all settled.” Eugenia clapped her hands. “Now, Cookie dear, you just let us all know when the meeting is, and we’ll be there with rings on our fingers and bells on our toes.” The mayor’s wife was off, pulling her husband with her like a tornado sweeping away everything in its path.

Perhaps sensing Cookie’s ire,
Jimbo
soothed his hand down her back. “Isn’t that great,
hon
? Less work for you.”

Cookie merely growled low in her throat.

Bobbie gave her a truly magnificent smile. “Won’t this be great, Cookie?” She’d make the woman’s life hell for the two weeks before the Accordion Festival.

Cookie shrugged off her husband’s touch, then, with a malignant glower for Bobbie, she said, “Sweetie”—all saccharine and yucky—“we better leave if we don’t want to be late for brunch.
Brax
, are you coming?”

Bobbie was clearly not invited.

So she put her hand on
Brax’s
arm and held him. Cookie’s turn to glare at
her
fingers clutching the lawman’s biceps. “Oh
Brax
, before you go, I have to ask about a rumor I’ve heard.”

He raised a sandy brow.

“Mr. Fry said you and I had a date tonight. But gee,” she mocked, putting a finger to her non-existent dimple, “I haven’t heard a thing about it.”

Big gambit here. Sheriff Braxton could shoot her down out of the sky, and the Cookie Monster would win a jillion points. Bobbie didn’t care. In battle, you had to take major risks.

Brax
moved only his eyes, from Cookie and back to Bobbie. “Seems I do recall mentioning to someone, can’t remember who, that I thought you’d like the steaks out at the Rowdy Tavern.”

Jimbo
tucked Cookie under his arm and whispered in her ear, causing the horse-like nostril flare again. Wonder if she knows how bad that looks? Not. Another point to Bobbie.

“Well, isn’t that sweet of you.” Bobbie batted her lashes. “The Rowdy Tavern. You people really do have a way with restaurant names around here.”

“
Brax
, we’re going to be late. They won’t hold our reservation, you know.” Cookie clutched his other arm, and Bobbie immediately let go of the sheriff, not wanting the tug of war over him to get physical. She’d lose all her points with that.

“Honey, they’ll hold our reservation until I call and tell ’
em
not to.
Brax
can meet us there. Bobbie, how about you? There’s always room for one more.
Brax
can drive you.”

Bobbie smiled at
Jimbo
and his wonderful little invitation. She could hang all over
Brax
and send Cookie into orbit. Cookie, however, was shooting acid-tipped bullets, if that look meant anything. The longer she spent under that glare, the greater the chance Bobbie could lose her momentum.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” She spread her hands in the air. “Tons of errands, you know.”

“Too bad.”
Jimbo
started guiding his wife around the rhododendron bush. “Honey, sweetie pie, let’s leave them to work out that rumor.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bobbie called. Ooh, bonus points for getting the last word. Her mind was a jumble of points. Had she won? She needed her calculator badly.

“What the hell was that all about?”

Oh, yes, the sheriff. “I don’t think she likes me.”

“I don’t think
you
like
her
. Question is why?”

Uh-oh. The only way out of this was to bait him with something else. Besides, she really wouldn’t win the skirmish if she didn’t get the sheriff to confirm a date. Even if Cookie wasn’t there to bear witness, she’d hear about it. This wasn’t about a contest between the sheriff and the serial killer. It was about riling the Cookie Monster.

“Actually the question is whether
you
want to take me to the Rowdy Tavern for steaks or if you just thought I should try them on my own.”

He gave a soft almost-snort, then smiled. “You know I’m going to figure out what you’re up to one way or the other.”

Suddenly, she didn’t care. Cookie was Warren’s secret to keep. If
Brax
figured it out, so be it. And she liked being bold, even if it did scare the
bejeesus
out of her. “Over dinner?”

He shook his head at her, still smiling. He had a nice smile, not overly toothy, just a little cheeky. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Hmm, there was the matter of juggling the sheriff and the serial killer. She didn’t want to pit them one against the other. Bold she could be for a few minutes at a time, but confident for the long haul? She wasn’t so sure about that. “I’ll meet you at the tavern at seven.”

One brow quirked, then he backed away, turned, and finally shot back over his shoulder with, “You will tell all.”

“Sounds like a challenge, Sheriff. Don’t take any bets against me.” She was flirting, so was he. A little ooh-la-la quiver jumbled her tummy. “Don’t be late for brunch.”

He gave her a thumbs up, then, still shaking his head, crossed the parking lot to a big black SUV.

Ah, woman power. She’d won, yes, she had. She’d confirmed something extremely valuable, too, in the process.

Cookie lied to Warren about
Jimbo
. That lovable guy didn’t punch her around, not with all those honeys and sweeties flying out of his mouth. Cookie Beaumont was no frightened, battered wife. She was a woman who had her husband wrapped around her little finger like a big red bow. Bobbie would bet a lifetime supply of the best mochas on that.

Cookie had secrets. Bobbie was going to expose every one of them for the whole town to see. No matter what Warren wanted.

Chapter Eight

“Warren, you’ve got to stop her.”

Cookie shivered in his arms even as he stroked her shoulders soothingly. She shouldn’t have risked coming to his office. She should have met him at the fishing lodge like usual. Damn Roberta for scaring Cookie this much. “I’ll take care of it.”

“That’s what you said before. But she—” Cookie sucked in a breath, then
hiccuped
after her recent tears.

“I won’t let anything bad happen to you, I swear it.” He raised her face, her makeup still flawless despite her weeping. Kissing her cheeks dry, he couldn’t help himself from moving on to her lips. Just a taste, one taste.

“What if someone comes?” she whispered.

He should have worried, but with her in his arms, nothing else mattered. “The door’s locked. I’ve closed the blinds. And no one’s coming to my office on a Sunday afternoon.”

He didn’t follow that up with the fact that he didn’t have any clients yet. His lack of clientele would only scare Cookie more. Security was important to her. She’d already been frightened enough to sneak in through his back door.