The Rule-Breaker Page 7

  Mollified, she relaxed a bit. “That’s good to know,” she said. “Because I got the impression she intends to seduce the information she wants out of you.”

  He laughed incredulously, his eyes going wide. “Oh, is that right?”

  Shelby nodded, pleased that he seemed to find the idea so amusing. “Just giving you fair warning.”

  His gaze tangled with hers, a smile lingering on his lips. A beat slid to three as the silence stretched between them. Awareness sizzled along her nerve endings, twisted around her middle. “Noted but unnecessary,” he said, his gaze skimming her face, stalling hungrily on her mouth. “I’m not interested in her.”

  A breath stuttered out of her lungs. “I figured you had better taste.”

  He didn’t move, but she could feel his presence pressing in on her, surrounding her. He smiled. “You know me better than anyone else, right?”

  She used to think so, but now? She wasn’t so certain. Still, it was a loaded comment, one that made her acutely aware of the last time they’d had this conversation and, more significantly, what had happened after it. Longing rose up inside of her, making her skin prickle with heat, her palms ache for the touch of his skin. Need bombarded her, relentless and potent. She bit back a whimper and struggled to focus.

  Shelby stood, jerking her thumb toward the back door. “I’d better go.”

  While she still could. Before she did something she couldn’t take back. Not that she’d want to...but he might, and that would be unbearable.

  * * *

  OPERATING ON THREE hours sleep and a mile-high stack of pancakes, Eli slogged through the morning, determined to work off his carbohydrate-induced comalike state and aimed a grateful nod at Colin, whose upbeat playlist kept him from crawling into the cab of his rented truck and falling asleep. Thanks to Maroon 5 and Flogging Molly, he was able to keep up with Carl, who was working tirelessly alongside him. Despite the breeze, sweat beaded on his brow and his shoulders stung, evidence of an early sunburn.

  Though he’d been convinced last night that he’d worked and drank enough to sleep like a rock, Shelby’s unexpected, bomb-dropping visit had wound him so tight he’d spun for hours after she’d left.

  Truthfully, finding out that Micah had written to her prior to his suicide wasn’t a shock. He should have known that his friend would do that, particularly considering the timing. He wouldn’t have wanted Shelby to blame herself and Eli knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that their breakup wasn’t in any way a contributing factor to Micah’s downward spiral. He’d actually come to terms with the breakup—had seemed to be half expecting it, truth be told.

  What he hadn’t been able to come to terms with was being powerless while insurgents strapped a bomb onto a heavily pregnant woman and sent her into a hospital—to the children’s ward, the miserable SOBs, to maximize the horror. Wiping the remains of her unborn baby from his face was undoubtedly Micah’s tipping point, the place he couldn’t come back from. He’d had nightmares for months afterward, waking up screaming and sobbing, clawing at his face.

  Eli couldn’t imagine... And he’d witnessed his own share of terrible things.

  No, the existence of a letter hadn’t been what rocked him. Even learning that she’d been getting threatening letters hadn’t knocked him too far from center. Was it concerning? Yes. A game-changer? No. And he had every intention of helping her find the culprit and setting that straight. Other than Shelby and his family, Eli could confidently say that he’d known Micah Holland better than anyone else and he knew that Micah would be livid if someone was blaming her, in any way, for his death. He’d help right that wrong.

  For Micah, and for Shelby.

  Even learning that, impossibly, he wanted her now more than ever wasn’t too disturbing. It only stood to reason that he’d want her more now. He’d been wanting her more with every breath for the past six years and the only thing that had enabled him to act with a modicum of honor—the anniversary party notwithstanding, of course—was knowing that she was Micah’s, that she was taken. And now that they’d broken up and Micah was gone...

  Yes, God, yes, he wanted her even more. To his eternal shame and regret, he did.

  He didn’t have any idea how he was going to keep his hands off of her, how he was going to help her—spend time with her—and not take her.

  Especially when he knew she wanted it, too. Wanted him, too.

  It was there in her eyes, the raw need and emotion, the desperate desire. It was in the shallow breath that trembled between her ripe lips, the fast flutter of the pulse at the base of her throat, the heat he watched rise beneath her skin when he looked at her. Or better still, when she looked at him. He could still feel the hot slide of her gaze over his body, linger on his shoulders, move down his chest, then lower still where he’d stirred behind the towel. How could he not, when she’d stared at him like that? Like he was her own personal porn star.

  He’d never had a woman look at him like that. Not with the same sort of single-minded yearning he saw in Shelby’s pale green gaze.

  Talk about a turn-on. It was nothing short of a miracle he hadn’t had an equipment malfunction right then and there.

  Thankfully, the conversation had turned to Micah—just like it always would—and Shelby had made that “trust” remark, which had completely, unwittingly upended him. He’d always assumed that Micah had made sure that he’d found him because he’d wanted Eli’s protection, because he’d counted on Eli to protect his family from the truth.

  Quite honestly, though it pained him to admit it, there were times when he really resented his friend for the burden, for leaving him with the mess of his death, the memory of his death. He’d already dealt with his share of suicide—which Micah had known—because he’d been the one to find his father. The older Weston had hung himself from an eave in the barn. And like Micah, he’d made sure that Eli would be the one to find him. He’d been eleven at the time, his “boy-man” his father had always called him, because he’d been eerily mature from a very early age. And perhaps his father had known his mother wouldn’t have been able to cope.

  Still, mature or not, the man had been his father, and seeing him dangling from that that rope... It was odd what the mind chooses to note or to focus on in a time of crisis. Eli couldn’t remember his father’s face at all—a gift if there ever was one—but could still recall his socks, of all things. They’d been cream with little black diamonds on them, and the elastic had given in the right one, making it bunch around the top of his dad’s penny loafers. Or “penniless” loafers, as his mother used to call them, because his dad had never inserted the pennies into the slit on the top of the shoe.

  He smiled, remembering. He’d completely forgotten about that until now. Strange...

  At any rate, was that why his dad had made certain that he found him? Because he trusted him with his death? Or had he simply been thoughtless, too far gone to care whether his eleven-year-old son discovered him or not?

  He’d never wondered why until last night, until Shelby’s comment had forced him to consider it. Revisit it.

  As if there was a day when he didn’t think about that day, about his mother, about Micah, about the countless others he’d lost to war? Death haunted him, Eli thought. Stalked him.

  He was damned tired of it.

  “Thinking heavy thoughts?” Carl asked, startling him out of his somber reverie.

  Eli blinked, chagrined. “Just thinking,” he told him. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face, resting a booted foot against a two-by-four.

  Rather than further question him, the older man merely nodded. “Thinking’s good, so long as it’s productive. Don’t get too caught up in thinking about whys and what fors. Some things don’t have an answer on this side of heaven,” he said. “Sometimes a man just needs to move forward, no matter how hard it is, so that others will follow him.” Carl looked away, his gaze landing on Sally, who was presently—God help them—unloading lunch.


  Eli nodded. “I understand.”

  Or at least he thought he did. In other words, the memorial was a marker, beyond the funeral, to help push Sally on through to the other side of grief. And given that Carl would do anything for his Sally, Eli completely understood that.

  “Do you think it’s going to help?” he asked him.

  Carl was thoughtful for a moment, his lips rolling around the toothpick stuck in the corner of his mouth. “I honestly don’t know,” he finally said. “But I had to do something and this is what she wanted.” He paused. “She’s worried about you and Shelby,” he continued. “She insists that y’all had some sort of falling out.”

  Oh, hell. “We haven’t.”

  Carl’s too perceptive gaze caught Eli’s and held. “See to it that you don’t, please. You and Shelby have known each other a long time and my son loved both of you. History is important, Eli. You, of all people, ought to know that.”

  He did and, though he appreciated the reminder, he didn’t need it.

  Carl expelled a relieved breath. “There,” he said. “I told her I’d mention it to you and I have.” He grinned at him, clapped him on the back. “Duty fulfilled.”

  Eli chuckled.

  “Duty aside, though, on a personal note, I’d

  really appreciate it if you’d spend some time with Shelby this week. She’s carrying a lot of guilt over the breakup and, though there’s no ill will or hard feeling on our part, there are those in this town who haven’t been so forgiving.” His pointed gaze landed just to the left of Eli’s shoulder, forcing him to shoot a glance in that direction.

  Katrina Nolan was making a beeline straight for them.

  “I try to see the best in everyone,” Carl remarked. “But when it comes to that one, I’m still looking.”

  “Afternoon, Mr. Holland, Eli,” Katrina said, acknowledging them each in turn. “Looks like things are moving right along.”

  Carl nodded curtly. “Yes, they are. If you’ll excuse me, I need to...” Get the hell away from her, it would seem, Eli thought, watching Carl amble toward the other side of the square.

  Katrina barely noted Carl’s departure, but instead turned a calculating look on Eli. She placed a hand on his arm and leaned in, as though they were much better acquainted than they actually were. “Listen, Eli, I’m reporting for The Branches and I’d like to get your perspective on Micah’s death and the memorial.” She slid a finger down his arm. “I was hoping I could pick your brain over lunch?”

  His flesh crawled where she touched him and, even if Shelby hadn’t warned him, he would have been suspicious of Katrina’s motives. She was purposely crowding into his space and there was a purely malicious glint in her eye that was beyond disguising.

  Drawing on his high school drama club reserves, Eli managed to return her smile. “Sure. I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to honor my friend’s memory.”

  And he’d be damned before he’d let her malign it.

  7

  “HONEST TO PETE, SHELBY, if I don’t get some relief soon, I’m going to do something unforgivably stupid.”

  Her mind snarled into a hot ball of rage, Shelby wasn’t in the mood to listen to Mavis lament the state of her elevated hormone level or the amount of sex she wasn’t getting.

  Her face presently glued to her front window, she’d watched Katrina put Eli in the crosshairs, then move in for the kill. Though she couldn’t make out anything they were saying, reading Katrina’s body language was a whole other matter. She’d sidled into Eli’s personal space, then casually placed a hand on his arm, sliding her finger down the length of it, as though measuring his penis.

  It was enough to make her hurl.

  After a moment, she’d watched Eli smile, then Katrina had looped her arm though his and aimed a triumphant smile in her direction as they’d made their way over to Sarah’s Diner, presumably for lunch.

  “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said,” Mavis complained as she tacked a button onto a top. “Don’t you even care who I’m tempted to do?”

  “What,” Shelby absently corrected. “And no, not at the moment.”

  “No, who,” Mavis insisted gravely. “Who I’m going to do. See? You aren’t listening.”

  Shelby forced herself away from the window and, with effort, relaxed her jaw. She’d warned him, she told herself. She knew why he’d obviously agreed to go to lunch with that woman. She knew that he wasn’t the least bit interested in Katrina. There was absolutely nothing to be concerned about, on any level. And yet...

  “Ah,” Mavis breathed knowingly, spying Eli and Katrina framed in Sarah’s window. “I see what’s got your knickers in a knot. What’s she up to, you reckon? Is she just yanking your chain, or is it something else?”

  Shelby resumed her seat and picked up her antique bobbins from the pillow, determined to channel this excess energy into something productive. Handmade lace, rendered a strand at a time via dozens of individually threaded bobbins, required enough concentration to hopefully calm her mind. It was a lost art, one that had nearly died out altogether after the industrial revolution, but was slowly—thankfully—seeing a resurgence.

  “It’s both,” Shelby muttered. She told her friend about Katrina’s visit last night and the veiled threat she’d leveled. Mavis didn’t know the truth about Micah’s death, but she knew enough about Katrina to know that the spiteful journalist wasn’t interested in the truth—she was interested in a story.

  Mavis’s expression blackened. “I wish I knew what she had on Les Hastings. Then we could put a permanent end to her reign of terror,” she said.

  Shelby stilled as a thought struck and her gaze swung to Mavis’s. “Isn’t Les in your Scrabble Society?”

  “Yes,” Mavis admitted suspiciously. “He’s quite the wordsmith. And he’s fit and attractive and frighteningly smart. It’s a pity about that speech impediment,” she said, frowning thoughtfully. “He’s quite striking until he opens his mouth. Elmer Fudd doesn’t do it for me, I’m afraid.”

  “But could he?” Shelby asked slyly.

  Mavis gasped. “Shelby Justine.”

  She knew she was in trouble when Mavis used her full name, but she pressed on, anyway. Mavis had mentioned Les many times before and Shelby knew that her friend respected him. “You’re the one who was going on and on about who you were going to do. Surely whoever you’ve sighted can’t be any more desirable than Les.”

  “Clark Upton,” she admitted glumly. “I swear, I think he knows I’m in some sort of compromised state. He’s been at the park the last three mornings when I’ve been on my walk.”

  That was rather industrious, considering Clark had accidently shot off three of his toes in a hunting accident and had trouble walking at all, much less for exercise. Clark was a nice man, but he was wider than he was tall, and wasn’t known for being the sharpest tool in the shed. Additionally, Clark had earned the nickname “Stump” in high school, the moniker given to him from fellow football players who’d shared a field house shower with him.

  Indeed, Mavis was desperate if she was considering taking Stump for a lover.

  “Les has always had a thing for you, Mavis,” Shelby needled. “And he’s got all of his toes.”

  Mavis’s gaze turned inward, speculative. “You’re right,” she said. “And I’ll bet he’s hung like a horse.”

  “Mavis.”

  She blinked innocently. “What? It’s a pro, right? While we’re listing them.”

  She’d never be able to look at Les again without mentally “neighing” at him, Shelby thought, snickering under her breath. At her laugh, Dixie lifted her head off her pillow and looked at Shelby. Deciding that a trip or a treat wasn’t in order, she immediately relaxed once more.

  “What are you laughing at? It was your idea!”

  “It was a suggestion, that’s all. If you’re not going to be able to control yourself until you can see Doc Anderson, then why not take advantage of the situation? Why not see what secrets you can pu
ll out of Les?”

  Mavis was quiet for a moment, her head cocked in thoughtful consideration. She was much quicker to share the details of her love life than to actually share her body, despite her bawdy behavior. “I rather like Les,” she confessed. “He’s smart and well-read. He’s interesting. And if Katrina does have something on him, then I’d like to see him off that hook.”

  Shelby nodded. “I agree.”

  Mavis straightened. “This is a workable solution to my problem,” she said. “I won’t take advantage of him. Merely explain my dilemma and see if he’s interested in...alleviating some of my tension.” She shrugged. “And if he happens to share what, if anything, Katrina has on him, then all the better.”

  Shelby grinned. “So you’re going to seduce Les?”

  “No,” she corrected. She snagged her purse, pulled a compact from the inside pocket and freshened her lipstick. It was red, naturally. “I’m going to proposition him. Men do it all the time,” she said. “I don’t see any reason why I can’t be as honest.”

  Why, indeed? Shelby thought, secretly admiring her older friend. She was horny. She wanted to get laid. She was taking a proactive step toward that end, one that men did with a lot less forthrightness and impunity all the time.

  “Go, Mavis,” Shelby told her, impressed.

  “Go yourself,” she said, arching an imperious brow. “I’m not the only one with quivering lady bits. Your hormones are every bit as sensitive as mine are right now and the solution to your problem is only in town until the end of the week. You’d better make some hay while the sun is shining, chickie. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

  Blushing to the roots of her hair, Shelby lifted her chin and returned to her lace-making. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied. It was pointless, but felt necessary.

  “Well, well, would you look at that,” Mavis said distractedly. “Eli must have eaten something that Katrina wanted. She’s licking it off his mouth. Enthusiastically.”

  Shelby’s head shot up and she darted toward the window, where Mavis stood. “What?” she breathed, sickened. “That conniving bitch!”