HAPPY PANTS CAFE (THE HAPPY PANTS SERIES) (8 page)

Tragic.

In all honesty, Austin took for granted growing up as a single child with two healthy parents who loved each other. He couldn’t imagine raising three children all alone. Or being a widowed, Hispanic woman in the 1960s, living in what was once a sleepy little town comprised of relatively unknown wineries. Of course, that was then and this was now. Now, people came from all over the world to explore the breathtaking views, sample the exquisite wines from the world-famous wineries—some edgy and boutique, some as old as the Mexican-American war—and enjoy a bit of tranquility. No doubt, the world was now a different place compared to back when Ms. Luci was enduring the worst of times, which indicated she was a hardy creature, probably stubborn as a mule and set in her ways.

Which is why when the woman asks you if you ate her cookie, you should think strategically about how you answer.
Austin still wanted that interview.

Yeah. Maybe he was kind of an overzealous, cutthroat dick when it came to going after something he wanted.

He gave her one of his smiles, the kind that always made the ladies swoon. “I was hoping to talk to you first before taking the leap and eating that cookie.”

She laughed, but not because he’d charmed her. “Dear boy, it’s a cookie. Don’t listen to all those rumors.”

“What rumors?” He couldn’t resist asking just to see what she might say.

She shook her finger. “You are a sly one, Mr. Royce. If you spent as much energy on that Harper as you do work, you might find yourself in the Happy Pants boat with the rest of us.” She winked. “Trust me. I am an expert on such things.”

Harper?
What exactly did Ms. Luci mean?

“Eat the damned cookie, Austin. Don’t be a…” she smiled brightly, causing the wrinkles around the edges of her big brown eyes to pucker, “big pussy.”

Austin’s jaw dropped. Had that sweet, gray-haired, little old lady told him not to be a
pussy
?

Yes. Yes, she did.
In public, no less.

“If I eat the cookie, will you change your mind about the interview?”

Ms. Luci chuckled and disappeared down the flower-lined walkway.

That was a no.
Austin mulled it over for a moment. Well, he was doing a story on the café, and it wouldn’t hurt to have a little personal perspective to add regarding the infamous treats considering he wouldn’t be getting an interview. He’d eat it anyway.

Austin headed toward his car to retrieve the cookie from the trunk before the long drive home. He’d left it there yesterday after bumping into Harper. He had been about to leave (he’d already
dug up enough information to write his small follow-up article to the Christina wedding), when something told him to turn around and see what Harper was up to.

Well, this time, he would get in his car and keep on going. Harper would be free in a few hours, likely looking for blood. His blood. That woman was dangerously hotheaded.

Maybe she should sign up to be deputy sheriff
.

Of course, her spunky side was a goddamned aphrodisiac, but that wasn’t enough to go for it; she was trouble.

He grabbed the cookie from the small bag in the trunk of his red, convertible, 1965 Aston Martin DB5, popped down the top, and hopped inside.

But she said she wanted you last night.
Austin straightened his back. It was good to know Harper hadn’t been lying about that, but it didn’t change how she’d lied to him about her name and then accused him of trying to sleep with her just to beat her to the café in the morning. She really didn’t think much of him, did she?

Okay. Sure.
He might’ve stooped to getting her drunk if the thought had entered his mind, but it hadn’t. He’d been too wrapped up in how she’d made him feel. Damned wicked woman was sexier than sin on a Sunday—pouty little lips, freckled pert nose, and big green eyes. He even liked her short hair—a first for him. And that body. Hell, what was she thinking, prancing around in that little purple top today? Did she have any idea how difficult it was to fight with her, or look her in the eyes, when her breasts were talking to him like that?
Look at us! Look at us! You know you want to!

Too damned sexy.
Why did she have to screw it all up?

Maybe you need to give her another chance?

He shook his head.
No, I learned my lesson about fake women who’d do anything to get what they want
. Austin wanted a loyal woman, an honest woman, a woman who had her priorities straight. Harper was obsessed with her job. So even if he could see past the other stuff, he’d always be competing with her boyfriend: work.

No thanks. I’ve got better ways to spend my time.

Austin revved the engine and pulled out, starting down the main street that headed out of town. But of course, his mind stayed stuck, not moving a damned inch.

He kept wondering what Harper had been up to all these years and how he’d not recognized her to begin with.

Back when they were little, she had looked like a dirty boy, and frankly, Austin’s eyesight had been really bad. His damned glasses had been so thick that he used to feel like the bridge of his nose might collapse. The other kids’d had a field day picking on him until high school, when he’d grown several feet, filled out, and discovered contact lenses. Not that he’d ever given a crap about what anyone thought about him while growing up.

Except for Harper.

He still remembered the first time they’d raced their bikes around the park. She’d worn her hair long back then, and he remembered thinking how strange she looked. Boys weren’t supposed to have long hair. When they’d finally stopped for a break, he’d asked her about it, and she’d been so angry that her grubby little freckled face had turned tomato red. She’d jumped on his back, knocked him to the ground, and pushed his face, glasses and all, into the mud. “I’m a girl, stupid!”

When a few of the neighborhood boys gathered to watch and started laughing, Harper had got up, punched one of them right in the stomach, and they’d run away. Harper became his best friend that day, and they were practically inseparable.
Which is why when Harper’d told him she was moving, he’d been pretty devastated. His parents’d had to buy him a new tree house just to get him to come out of his room. But how could she have left without saying good-bye after everything they’d shared? He’d always wondered about that. He assumed that she was too stubborn and too much of a coward to show she cared. Not even for him. That was Harp, though, tough and feisty.

And, man, could she punch.

Austin chuckled to himself as the speed limit increased to sixty-five and the road stretched out to four lanes. It was almost noon, and on a beautiful summer Saturday like this, he couldn’t imagine a nicer drive. In an hour, he’d be back in the city, where he’d call a few buddies and hook up for some basketball and beers. It wasn’t too late to save this day.

He slid on his sunglasses and turned on the radio. The cookie on the seat grabbed his attention as hunger pangs kicked in. He shrugged.
It’s just a damned cookie.

With one hand on the steering wheel, he carefully peeled away the plastic wrapper and took a bite.

Mmm. Not bad. Buttery sweet with a little bit of a kick.
He gobbled down the rest of the treat and then heard the loud siren behind him. He glanced into the rearview mirror, to find flashing lights.
Shit.

He pulled to the side of the highway and reached for his wallet to dig out his license. When he looked up, he couldn’t believe it, but it was Ms. Luci’s son. Austin didn’t think he’d stepped over the line when he’d tried to talk the man out of taking Harper, but perhaps the officer didn’t agree. Payback time.

“License and registration, please.”

Austin handed them over. “Nice to see you again, Officer Leon-Parker.”

The officer stared at Austin through his mirror lenses, but didn’t say anything.

“I, uh, was with the lady you just arrested,” Austin explained. “Remember? I’m the other reporter. That is why you’re pulling me over, isn’t it?”

The officer shook his head.

“Maybe I’ll just stop talking now,” said Austin.

“I’m pulling you over because littering our beautiful highways carries a fine of two hundred dollars.”

“Littering?” Austin glanced over at the empty seat next to him. Darn. He knew better than to leave trash on the seat when the top was down. The wrapper must’ve flown out. “I think you caught me—”

“Hey, Alberto.” A loud male voice came out over the officer’s radio fastened to his shoulder.

He pressed the radio’s button. “Yeah? What’s up?”

The voice said, “That woman you said to release refuses to leave.”

The officer shook his head. “Nut bag. Why not?” he responded on the radio.

“She says she deserves to stay in jail. For lying to some guy.”

Austin’s ears perked up. “Is he talking about Harper?”

The officer nodded. “That woman is insane. Shouldn’t she be on medication?”

“Probably.” But nevertheless, Austin didn’t appreciate “Officer Alberto” talking bad about her. “She’s probably still a little upset over a disagreement we had. I’ll talk to her,” Austin offered, “and
get her out of your hair if you let me go?”

“Fine. But I’m warning you—”

“No more littering, I promise, Officer,” Austin interrupted, eager to get the hell out there and see what was going on with Harper.

“I was going to warn you that the woman is trouble.”

Austin felt his anger bubble up. First this guy threw Harper on the ground for an innocent mistake, and now he was insulting her?
Don’t get angry.
“Thanks for pointing that out.”

“You have cookie crumbs all over your shirt, by the way.”

Austin looked down at the avalanche of cookie remnants on the front of his navy blue T-shirt. “Oh, yeah. I just had one of your mother’s cookies. Pretty good.”

The sheriff lifted his brows. “You ate one of her cookies?”

Austin nodded. “Sure. Why?”

The officer smothered a smirk. “No reason. You can follow me back to the station.” The officer headed to his patrol car, mumbling something that sounded like, “Stupid asshole is in for a treat.”

What the hell?
Austin quirked his brows and pulled out behind the squad car after it passed.

Harper sat in her jail cell and felt quite certain that she never, ever wanted to come out.
Arrested. I, Harper Marie Branton, was arrested.
And not just in front of an entire crowd, but in front of Austin Royce. Because, oh no, it wasn’t bad enough having been caught lying to him and then having a big old fight; she had to go and smack the town sheriff with his own scalding cup of coffee.

Harper covered her face. She might as well just stay in this pee-scented jail cell, decorated in shades of
unkinky-gray, the rest of her life. Yes! Forever. Because even if she could get over the humiliation, she was certain that Austin had charmed his way into Ms. Luci’s heart by now and had gotten that interview. That meant no article for her by next Friday. That meant bye-bye dream job.

“Hello there,” said a deep, masculine voice. “A little birdy with a badge told me that you, young lady, don’t want to come out of your room.”

Harper glanced up and saw the supremely masculine Austin standing on the other side of the bars, looking like he was enjoying the hell out of this.

Oh, great. Just what I needed.

“Come to gloat?” Harper scorned.

He held out a hand, pinching an invisible inch. “Just a little.”

She pulled her knees to her chest and looked away. Why wouldn’t he just go away? “Well, take a picture. Maybe you can add it to your article. I’m sure your readers will love it.”

Austin gasped, feigning a wounded heart. “What you must think of me, Marie.” Then he applied one of those giant grins that reminded her of the silver-bullet smile, the one that had always killed her anger when they were kids. Harper couldn’t help but feel like smiling, too, although she did her damnedest to suppress it.

“Stop. This isn’t funny.”

He cleared his throat and scratched his short whiskers. Little did he know how that uniquely masculine sound turned Harper
on.

“Is that a little smile I see?” he teased.

She looked away and tried not to laugh, but the corner of her mouth seemed to lift on its own.
Dammit. Why does he have this effect on me?

“Ah, yes,” he said, crossing his perfectly ripped arms over his chest, “I do believe Harper is ready to come out of her room.”

“I wouldn’t be in here if it wasn’t for you.”

“Are you referring to the little discussion we were having at the café or to the fact that you’re in here because you feel guilty about lying to me?”

How did he know about that?

“Both, I guess.”

“Want to try explaining to me again why you lied. I hear that clearing your conscience can be very therapeutic for those serving self-inflicted life sentences.”