The Trouble With Love (25 page)

“Don’t worry,” Monica said to Tasha. “We’ll make sure everyone knows”—she hooked her fingers in quotes—“
the deal.
”

“No drama,” Ethel said.

“Models of Americana perfection,” Chloe added.

“Stepford wives with a cupcake fetish.” Monica snorted. “Having a hard time imagining Sam in a vintage dress, apron, and heels.”

Ping!

“Dammit,” Tasha grumbled.

“At least set your phone to vibrate,” Chloe said.

“My phone vibrates?” Gram asked, digging into her purse. “That could be fun.”

Chloe rolled her eyes.

“I have to go,” Tasha said, making a beeline for the door.

The other attending members gawked in her wake.

“She didn’t give us any insight into Highlife’s plans for that video,” Ethel said.

“Do we get to see the finished product before Highlife takes it public?” Monica asked. “What if they edit it in a way that makes us seem ridiculous?”

“Yeah,” Gram said. “I don’t want to come off like a goofball.”

This,
Rocky thought,
from a purple-haired senior wearing blingy metallic glasses, crushed velvet overalls rolled up at the hems, and high-top sneakers decorated with colorful cupcakes.
The latter a gift from Vince to celebrate the removal of Gram’s cast. “I don’t think they’d show us in an unflattering light,” Rocky said reasonably. “The goal is to push book sales.”

Chloe raised a brow. “You do realize that a lot of people are attracted to train wrecks and freak shows, right?”

Rocky thought about the recent media blitz for a book written by a TV reality-show star. No doubt the pseudocelebrity considered her memoir a work of art while the rest of the world was drawn to her ludicrous lifestyle. Rocky envisioned Highlife twisting her own life to boost sales and shot out of her seat. “I’ll get more info.”

While she strode to the door, Gram launched into a story about Dev and Vince and her impending move, something she’d kept to herself while Tasha had been preaching the importance of no scandal, no drama, no bickering. Rocky wanted to hear more but needed to nail a pinhead. She hit the street, looked right and left, spotting Tasha a half a block down and striding toward a patrol car on the corner. Billy stepped out, and Rocky slinked back. She watched a tense exchange between stepmom and son, frowning when they both climbed into the patrol car. What the hell was going on between those two?

The car drove off, and Rocky succumbed to a spontaneous itch. She scrambled to her Jeep and gave chase. Following at a discreet distance, she dialed Chloe. “Yeah, it’s me. Listen, Tasha took off before I could nab her. I’ll get more answers when I can, but for now I need to follow up on something else. Sorry to bail. Make my apologies to the girls?… Thanks.”

She signed off and texted Jayce.

CAN U TALK?

A heartbeat later, he called. “What’s up, Dash?”

She didn’t think he’d appreciate knowing she was tailing her nemesis and the man who’d possibly stalked her, so she glommed on to another thought. “Gram said you’re running for sheriff.” Just one of the things the purple-haired woman had gossiped about before Tasha had launched into her lecture. “Did you change your mind? What about your cyber detective agency?”
Why didn’t you tell me?

“JB Investigations is still a go,” he said, sounding a little hassled. “I have no intention of running for sheriff.”

“Wishful thinking on Gram’s part,” Rocky assumed. “Unfortunately, rumors spread like wildfire around here.”

“I know.”

“Don’t be surprised if you get a call from Sheriff Stone. Probably shaking in his boots at the thought of competing with you.”

“We’ve already had that discussion,” Jayce said.

“Really? Wow.” Rocky focused on Billy Burke’s cherry top, three cars ahead of her now. “Wonder if Deputy Dickhead got wind of that rumor yet?”

“Seems like everyone’s gotten wind. Speaking of discussions, I spoke with your brother.”

Rocky perked up big-time.

“And?”

“He was surprised but not opposed to us seeing one another.”

“He didn’t flip out? Or read you the riot act? Or—”

“We have his blessing.”

“Why don’t I feel good about that?”

“Because you’re a pessimist.”

Her back went up. “No, I’m not.”

“Where you and I are concerned, yeah, hon, you are.”

She couldn’t tell if he was teasing or chastising her. Focused on the distant cruiser and grateful for moderate traffic enabling her to blend, Rocky fidgeted with her seat belt. Part of her itched to pick a fight. It was so much easier to manage her vulnerable heart when she was angry and riled. Instead, she took what she hoped was the more mature route and, even though he couldn’t see her, slapped on a happy face. “On second thought, might as well enjoy Dev’s blessing.”

“That your way of asking me for a date?”

Detecting humor in his voice, Rocky rallied. “I’ve never been one for dating, per se. Movies, dinner, dancing. Canoodling in public.”

“Canoodling?”

“Gram’s word, not mine, but you get the picture.”

“Not a fan of PDA.”

“That and … I’m just not, I don’t know, a girly girl. I think Luke got the last of the Monroes’ romantic genes.”

“What about bowling?”

“You’re missing my point.”

“No, I’m not, but I’ll compromise. Canoodling in private. A picnic.”

“Seriously?” She couldn’t decide which was more out of character—Jayce using the word “canoodling” or alpha man plopping down on a blanket for fried chicken and coleslaw. Neither one fit her picture of him, but both made her smile.

“Weather’s supposed to turn nice tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll spend the afternoon at Willow Bend.”

A woodsy spot on the river. She knew it well. Willow Bend had been a popular hangout for the Monroe family for eons. It was not that she was against an intimate picnic with Jayce, but tomorrow seemed a lifetime away. “What’s wrong with tonight? A moonlight…”
Oh, crap.
“You know what? Never mind.” Rocky scrambled to backtrack, realizing she’d sounded jealous or needy or something. “Just remembered I’m busy tonight.”

“Me, too.”

Doing what?
she wanted to ask, but didn’t. “It’s settled then.”

“You mean it’s a date.”

The man was teasing her. She tried not to smile and failed. “Whatever. Tomorrow it is. A picnic, huh? I’ll pack a basket.”

“Just tackle dessert. I’ll handle the rest. By the way, Dash,” he said in a sexy drawl, “do me a favor and peel off into Maple Molly’s before you blow my surveillance.”

The monstrous antique barn where Rocky frequently shopped loomed a quarter mile ahead. How did Jayce know …
Wait. Surveillance?
“You’re tailing Billy?” Stunned, Rocky squinted at the two cars between her and the cruiser, then glanced in her rearview mirror. “Where are you? I don’t see you.”

“That’s the idea, babe. On the other hand, I see you, or rather your Jeep, and unless Billy is a total moron, he’ll make you, too. If he hasn’t already. Peel off.”

“Dammit, Jayce.”

“I’ll fill you in later.”

He disconnected and, gritting her teeth, Rocky slowed and made a left into Maple Molly’s. If Billy
had
spotted her, he’d assume she’d headed this way on a bargain hunt. He’d continue on to wherever with Tasha, clueless of being tailed by Jayce, because Jayce was a professional and damned good at his job. Rocky still had no idea what he was driving or where he was exactly. The irritation she’d felt because he had busted her and ordered her away gave way to admiration. And appreciation. He’d taken her concerns about Billy seriously and was following up. If Billy and Tasha were involved in a seedy affair or maybe plotting to make Rocky’s life hell, Jayce would find out and report to Rocky. What exactly she’d do with that knowledge she didn’t know. This moment, she couldn’t think beyond the sexy fact that Jayce was looking out for her.

Suppressing a besotted sigh, Rocky breached the sliding doors of Maple Molly’s Antique Barn. God, Rocky loved this place. As always, she marveled at the rows and levels of eclectic and retro furnishings, carpets, lighting, and collectibles. Some of the stock dated back to the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The more kitschy items originated in the 1920s through ’60s. She could practically smell the history. She thought about Jayce’s semi-refurbished home—a rustic chalet that lacked warmth and charm—and the fact that he’d hired her as an interior decorator. As long as she was here and now that she had a feel for his taste, no harm in scouting out some unique and functional treasures. High on the thought of working magic on her
boyfriend’s
house, Rocky immersed herself in antiquing heaven.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“You’re not going to believe the day I had.”

Chloe sat cross-legged in the center of Devlin’s leather sofa watching the love of her life striding into his living room. So handsome, so confident, so intense. Normally she would have risen to welcome him home. A kiss. A hug. Instead, she sat frozen with misery. “Daisy told me you’re warming to the idea of her moving in with Vince,” Chloe said in a brittle voice.

“Warming is an exaggeration,” Devlin said while slipping off his coat. “But I do see some advantages.”

“And from something Rocky said I assume Jayce spoke to you about their relationship?”

“At odds for thirteen years and now they’re a damned item. Can you believe it?” Devlin jammed a hand through thick brown hair and dropped down on the sofa next to her. “I have to admit, I’m thrilled. As long as they don’t blow it.”

“Two strong personalities. Probably lots of fireworks along the way, but I think they’ll make it.” Chloe tried to smile and failed. Her stomach twisted with her own surprising news. She’d suspected but hadn’t known for certain until a half hour ago. Home testing wasn’t 100 percent accurate, but she knew in her heart she’d screwed up. As always, when driven by passion, she’d been reckless. She hated that she wasn’t happy about this unexpected turn. She
wanted
to be happy, but there were too many issues at play. Surely there was a rainbow beyond the thick fog of complications. If only she could catch a glimpse.

“What’s wrong?”

“What?”

“You’re distracted.”

Obsessed with her own dilemma, Chloe couldn’t get past the knowledge that Devlin had been down this pregnancy road before. The difference between her and his high-school sweetheart was that Chloe wasn’t looking to be saved. Knowing Devlin, she assumed he’d step up, again, and do the honorable thing. Chloe finally understood why Rocky had been so crushed when she’d thought Jayce had proposed out of a sense of duty. Marrying because it was “the right thing to do” battered Chloe’s romantic sensibilities, not to mention her self-esteem.

Blue eyes sparking with concern, Devlin smoothed her hair from her flushed face. “I burst in here rambling about my surprising day and obviously something went wrong with yours. Whatever it is,” he said with a troubled smile, “it can’t be that bad.”

Chloe burst into tears.

“What the—”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“The … the timing couldn’t be … be worse.” Tears turned into sobs as her mind fixated on the cruel twist of fate. “I … I haven’t even met…”—
hiccup
—“your parents.”

“What do my parents—”

“Then there’s Daisy and Moose-a … Moose-a-lotta. How will I … and then there’s
you!
” She doubled over with tears and frets, fought to catch her breath.

Devlin pulled her onto his lap, into his arms. “Chloe, hon, calm down. Tell me what’s wrong. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.”

It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Sick to her stomach, Chloe pushed up and away and bolted for the bathroom. By the time Devlin caught up, she was on her knees, puking into the toilet. Add mortification to her list of miseries.

Instead of pummeling her with questions, Devlin soaked a washrag and pressed the cold cloth to her forehead while holding back her hair. Chloe struggled for calm, absorbed his quiet strength. Nervous stomach purged, she pushed to shaky legs, welcoming Devlin’s support as she rinsed her clammy face and washed out her mouth.

“Better?” he asked, one arm around her middle.

“You can’t fix this, Devlin.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” He finessed her around and framed her face with cool, steady hands. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m pregnant. I think. I’m pretty sure. According to a home test.” The words came out stilted, but at least they came out.

He blinked, then dragged a hand through his hair. “Another lob from left field.”

“I haven’t been feeling well,” she plowed on, “and I’ve been irritable. I thought I was overly tired. Stressed about the opening of Moose-a-lotta. But then I was late. Really late and I suspected but … I sort of went into denial. Until today. I stopped at the drugstore hoping to ease my mind, erase the possibility, but then it showed positive and there was no erasing—just panic.” She realized suddenly that she was wringing her hands and that Devlin was staring. “Are you angry? Disappointed? Shocked? Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“I’m trying to figure out why you’re so upset.”

“It should be obvious.”

“You don’t want children?”

“Of course I want children. Absolutely. I just … the circumstances.” She swallowed hard, licked her lips. “Aren’t you going to ask me if it’s yours?”

“Why would I ask you that, Chloe?”

“Because as of two months ago, I was living with another man.”

“And since then you’ve been with me.”

“So you’ll accept the baby as yours whether it is or not. Just like with Janna.”

His expression hardened. “You’re nothing like Janna. We’ve been through this.” He shook his head, pressed a kiss to her forehead, then guided her into the living room, back onto the couch. “How far along are you?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I’m several weeks late.”

“Weeks.” He smiled a little, brushed his thumb over her palm. “Sweetheart, the baby’s definitely mine.”

“I know that. I’m so sorry.”

“I really wish you’d stop apologizing.”

“What will your parents say?”