The Valentine’s Day Disaster (7 page)

She notched up her chin. “I’m not afraid.”

He stared at her so hard it set her head spinning. “Really? Because I am. I’m scared to death.”

The vulnerability in his voice made her want to confess, tell him,
Hell yes, I’m scared. You scare the living daylights out of me, Josh Langtree, because if I let you, you could break my heart into a million little pieces.
He could hurt her so much worse than Chad ever had.

“You don’t have to be scared,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. This too shall pass. Fill in the blank with whatever platitude works for you. Nothing happened but a kiss. We didn’t cross a line. No line was crossed,” she blathered.

“But you wanted to cross that line. Last night. You invited me home with you.”

“Momentary insanity.”

He moistened his lips. His fingers were still locked around her elbow. Why wouldn’t he let her go? “You’re not the least bit curious—­”

“No!” she said more emphatically than she intended.

“My mistake.” His Adam’s apple bobbled like he was going to say something more but changed his mind and swallowed back the words.

“Look . . .” She softened her tone. “It’s complicated. You’re on the rebound. I’m on the rebound. You’re only in town for a few weeks. I’m here to stay.”

“Who says it has to be anything more than a good time?”

Yes! Yes! Take me now!
Her knees did start to wobble then. “I can’t, Josh. Not with you. If I slept with you—­”

“What?” he pressed. His hand was so warm.

“Nothing has really changed in ten years, has it? The same reason we didn’t work then is the same reason we wouldn’t work now.”

“But the sparks are still there. You can’t deny that.”

“Phenethylamine. That’s all it is.”

“You’re right.” He smiled in a breezy way, but she wouldn’t lay any bets on the authenticity of it. “Phenethylamine. That stuff really sneaks up on you.” His short laugh was as undependable as the smile. “Twilight almost hooked me.”

“Valentine’s Day propaganda will do it to you every time. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just as long as you come to your senses and shake it off.” Her smile was as phony as his.

“You make an excellent point.” He tightened his grip on her elbow the slightest little bit and then let go and stepped away.

It was all she could do to keep from stroking her fingers over the skin he’d just touched. “Besides, you’re the hottest bachelor on the auction block. We don’t want the ladies believing I’ve been sampling the wares. Gotta get those bids up. Holly’s House is counting on you.”

They stood there a moment, the rosy scent of the flowers from Caitlyn Garza’s flower shop on the corner mingled with the odor of overripe Dumpster. One heartbeat. Two. Three.

“Where do we go from here, you and me?”

She straightened. The event planner. The professional. “You still owe me thirty-­four hours of community ser­vice. Help break down the conference center after the bridal show is over tomorrow afternoon at five and set up for the bachelor auction on Saturday. That’s where we go from here.”

“And then?”

“There’s the auction itself.”

“And after that?”

“Why after that you’ll be off on a date with the woman who buys you.”

Chapter Seven

O
N
F
RIDAY MORNING,
February 14, eager brides-­to-­be from all around the Dallas–Fort Worth metroplex descended upon Twilight. Cars filled the conference center parking lot as fresh-­faced young women rushed inside to visit the wedding vendors.

Around the town square, kiosks had been set up to take advantage of the holiday.

Flower carts sold roses; their crimson smell filled the air. Merchants peddled heart-­shaped jewelry engraved with mushy quotes. Lovers could have personalized cards made while they waited. A clerk from the Candy Bin passed out samples of heart-­shaped chocolate truffles. Perks had a sandwich sign parked on the sidewalk outside the shop: “Today’s Special: Sweetheart Hot Chocolate Half Price.”

Every B&B in town was full. ­Couples, both young and old, strolled arm and arm around the square. Soaking it up, smiling dopily at each other, resting heads on shoulders, falling hook, line, and sinker for Valentine’s Day.

Ah, phenethylamine, that wicked, wicked stuff.

The morning started out sunny, but by noon the sky was overcast and the temperature had dropped fifteen degrees. Merchants scrambled to adjust, pulling out sweaters, wraps, gloves, and hats to sell.

By five o’clock, when the bridal show ended, the wind was whipping across the lake, making the fifty degrees feel like thirty. The sky was so dark it might as well have been midnight, and the local weathermen were calling for a tornado watch. Tornadoes in February weren’t all that common, but they weren’t unheard of either.

The previous year, a tornado had hit Twilight and lives were lost, and now everyone was edgy when it came to thunderstorms. Sesty counted herself lucky to have purchased a house that came equipped with a storm cellar in the backyard. But a tornado watch was only a watch. She couldn’t let the threat of a maybe storm keep her from getting the conference center ready for tomorrow’s auction.

She dashed from her office to the conference center, a short three blocks away, but in the dark and cold it felt much farther. The kiosks had vanished, but the restaurants on the square were lit up and she could hear laughter and warm conversation spilling out as she hurried past, collar upturned, head bent against the wind.

She arrived at the conference center to find Josh there with about twenty high school boys. They’d already broken down the vendor booths and were busy sweeping up. The cutouts she and Josh had built were stacked on the stage, ready to be arranged. Sesty stood in the doorway a moment, watching him with the kids.

As he and the teens moved the chairs back onto the conference center floor, Josh instructed the boys on car maintenance and safe driving techniques. They hung on his every word. She was mesmerized by him too—­his depth of knowledge, how relaxed he was with the kids, the way the room just seemed brighter with him in it.

He looked up and caught her studying him. Instantly, his face warmed and he straightened, setting down the folding chair in his arms. “Here’s the boss,” he told the boys. “We’re ready to start setting up for the auction. Tell us what you need for us to do.”

“Everyone should go on home,” she said. “I appreciate your help, but with the storm warnings, I don’t want to be responsible for you kids getting caught out in it.”

“But miss,” one kid said, “Mr. Langtree was gonna take us out for pizza afterward.”

“Miss Snow is right. We’ll have to take a rain check.” Josh clamped a hand on the teen’s shoulder. “Quite literally. Sunday night. Pappa Pastas. I’ll reserve the banquet room.”

After a few disappointed mumbles and grumbles, the teens agreed and started arranging carpools to get home. Within a few minutes she and Josh were alone in the conference center.

“Wow,” she said. “Where and how did you get the kids to help you? I thought it was going to take us hours to clear this place out, and you’ve already got it done. How did you manage it?”

“Many hands make light work.”

“Even so . . .” She swept a hand at the empty room. “The bridal show went until five, and it’s only . . .” She glanced at her watch. “. . . fifteen after.”

“Because of the weather, the crowd thinned out around four, so most of the vendors left early.”

“How did you get the set designs?”

“Your assistant asked me to bring them over.”

Staring into his mesmerizing eyes, she could barely think. What was Jana up to? “And the boys?”

“I dropped by the high school this morning to see my old shop teacher, and he asked me to give a speech to the class. All it took was the promise of pizza and the boys were over here like a shot.”

“It wasn’t the pizza, Josh. It was you. Those kids look at you like you hung the moon and the stars and the Milky Way.”

“They think it’s cool I crashed a two hundred thousand dollar car. Little do they know . . .” He tapped his injured leg.

“Don’t undersell yourself. You’re good with them.”

“Some might say it’s because I’m as immature as they are.”

“You’re not.” She cocked her head. “You’re different than you used to be.”

“Is that right?” His smile was Little Red Riding Hood wolfish.

“You’re . . .” She canted her head, sized him up. Long and lean in his blue jeans and T-­shirt, so similar to the boy he’d been, and yet, not.

“What?” he nudged.

“You’ve wised up.”

“Now that’s the kiss of death.” He put an index finger to his lips. “Shh, don’t tell the kids.”

“In spite of the racing and the wrecking, you’ve got a head on your shoulders.”

“Ah, Ses, don’t get all serious on me.”

“I mean it. I didn’t realize it at first because you’re so good at the cool, cocky dude thing, but the celebrity stuff didn’t go to your head. I’m impressed.”

“Oh, but it did. Be glad you weren’t around to see that. You would have hated me.”

“I could never hate you, Josh.”

“But you can’t lo—­” He broke off, shook his head.

What had he been about to say? Her pulse thumped wildly. Her chest suddenly seemed too small and her heart too big. “Is something bothering you?”

He put a hand to the nape of his neck, shifted a sidelong glance at her, opened his mouth, shut it again, hesitated.

“What is it?” she prompted, uncertain whether she wanted to hear what he had to say.

His hand moved to shove a lock of hair from his forehead, a boyish gesture accompanied by a cheery, photo-­shoot smile and a no-­big-­deal shrug that belied the weariness in the back of his eyes.

Something
was
bothering him. “Josh?”

“I don’t know whether it was the wreck or Miley screwing around on me or maybe that thirty is looming in my windshield, but as much as I love what I do, stardom doesn’t live up to fantasy.”

“A case of ‘I got everything I’ve ever wanted and I’m still not happy’?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade the life I’ve had for anything, but it’s not the summit ­people think it is.”

“See, you have changed. The seventeen-­year-­old Josh would have said you are out of your freaking mind.”

“Don’t forget that seventeen-­year-­old Josh drove off and left you in his rearview mirror.”

Her heart filled up her chest, taking every spare inch of room, leaving her a little dizzy. They stared at each other for the length of time it took her swelling heart to beat once, twice, three times.

Josh cleared his throat and drew an envelop from his back pocket. “I got something for you.”

“That’s not a Valentine’s Day card, is it?”

“Absolutely not.”

She felt at once relieved and slightly sick in her stomach. “Oh, good. That’s great. What is it?”

“Open it up.”

A vein at her temple ticked hot as she slid her finger underneath the flap of the envelope and removed the card. It was handmade from black construction paper and decorated with a white upside down heart on the front. The lettering was in red fingernail polish.

Because we both hate all that phenethylamine Valentine’s Day stuff . . .

“It’s stupid. Give it back.” He grabbed for it.

She held it behind her. “No, you gave it to me, it’s mine.”

He reached around her, his body brushing up against hers. Instant tingles poked her nerve endings like cactus spines and she jumped back. “Don’t open it.”

She opened up the card to find a strip of vacuum-­sealed bacon had been taped there.

Here
’s some meat.

She looked up at Josh. His forehead was wrinkled and he was leaning forward, both hands shoved into his pockets. Aww. He was anxious about her reaction.

“I just realized the line about meat makes me sound like a total tool. I didn’t mean it that way. I was trying to think of something that was the opposite of chocolate, and bacon came to mind, clearly I did not fully think this through.”

“You thought I would be offended by a meat reference?” Slowly, she dropped her gaze to his crotch. The man had a full-­on erection. Oh, my. She slung her gaze back to his face.

He hitched his fingers through his belt loops. “You’re not?”

“It’s hysterical. The perfect Valentine’s Day card for Valentine’s haters the world over. Thank you.”

“Glad you like it.” His gaze locked on her lips, and she just knew he was about to kiss her again and she was going to let him.

The lights flickered. Outside, the wind howled. The moment was lost.

“We should be getting home too,” he murmured.

“I can’t. I have to set up for the bachelor auction. It’s—­”

“If a tornado hits there will be no bachelor auction. It’s not worth risking your life over.”

“What are the odds it will hit here?”

“When it comes to your safety, any odds are too high.”

“Says the daredevil NASCAR driver.”

He touched her shoulder, and her body lit up like a circuit board. “Ses, I’ll get up early, get the boys back here. We’ll have it decorated in an hour. Stop sweating the small stuff.”

“But that’s my job, Josh, to sweat the small stuff.”

“And mine is to make sure you get home safely.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

She was about to argue, but he was right. Why give him grief over it?

“Where’d you park?” he asked.

“I didn’t. I walked.”

“Do you ever take a car?”

“I live half a mile from my office,” she said. “Most all the events I plan are on or around the town square. Walking is good exercise.”

“Not in a winter thunderstorm it’s not.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that.”

“C’mon,” he said, and hooked his arm around her waist. “I’ll drive you home.”

H
E WAS IN
the car.

Alone.

With Sesty.

He hadn’t been here in ten years. His loss.

The confines of his black classic Chevy Camaro smelled like her—­a sweet, womanly scent jettisoning him back in time.

She looked so beautiful in the glow of the dashboard light he almost got choked up. Yesterday she’d made it clear in no uncertain terms that she was not interested in starting anything up again, and she had good points against it.

He didn’t give a damn. He wanted her anyway.

And she wanted him too. The kisses they’d shared in Sweetheart Park didn’t lie. What would it take to convince her he was serious about this? About her?

Wind slammed against the car, demanding and relentless. Rain battered the windshield. It was shaping up to be one helluva storm.

Josh gripped the wheel. Eyes on the road. Head in the game. Get her home safely.

“Oh gosh,” she fretted, and bit down on a thumbnail. “I might not be a big fan of Valentine’s Day, but I didn’t want it to end in a real disaster.”

“Don’t borrow trouble,” he soothed, but switched on the radio in search of a weather report.

A stern-­voiced weatherman cautioned, “The counties of Hood, Parker, and Erath are under a tornado warning. Please take shelter.”

“All I can think about is that tornado that hit Twilight last year. I hope those kids all got home okay. I don’t think I could live with myself if something happened to them.” She wrung her hands.

Josh reached across the seat, laid a palm on her shoulder. “Breathe. It will be okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“It’s not a disaster until it’s a disaster. In the meantime it’s just a learning experience.”

“Wisdom gleamed from the track.”

“Yeah.”

“And if it is a disaster?”

“We deal with it when and if it happens. If we spend all our time worrying about what may never come, we don’t ever live fully in the moment.”

“This moment is scary enough,” she said. “I don’t really want to live fully in it.”

He returned his hand to the wheel and pulled into her driveway. “We’re here.”

Just as they stepped from the car, everything stopped.

No wind. No rain. The eerie stillness raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

“Uh-­oh,” Sesty whispered at the same time the civil defense sirens went off.

“We’ve got to get into the house.” He grabbed her hand, dragged her toward the front door.

“Wait.” She balked.

“Don’t make me pick you up and carry you, woman,” he growled. “You don’t always have to be in control.”

“Listen to me. I have a storm cellar,” she said. “This way.”

He followed her into the backyard. The streetlights were still on but the sky was completely black. Sesty led the way through her backyard gate and to the underground storm shelter.

The snap of the cellar door cut off the ear-­bruising shriek of alarm sirens and splashed them in total darkness. Sesty descended the steps ahead of him, leaving Josh to duck his head to keep from whacking into the low-­ceilinged entrance. He ran a hand along the wall, feeling his way down.

The blackness was complete. Not a glimmer of light anywhere.

He heard her stumble, grunt. “You okay?”

“Tripped,” she said.

“You got flashlights or candles stored in here?”

Her voice came back to him, tinny and high. “I was supposed to. I meant to, but I never got around to it.”

“You? Little Miss Organized?” He feigned sounding scandalized.