Sugar Creek (2 page)

A charming bell tinkled overhead as she pushed through the door, yet she still called out, “Knock, knock. Anybody home?”

“Rachel!” Amy screeched, bursting from between two tall bookshelves, arms extended and strawberry blonde curls bouncing—but before they could hug, a humongous cat leaped from somewhere high above, landing on the floor between them and forcing Rachel to squeal and step back.

“What the
hell
?” she asked, glaring at the cat.

Amy just shook her head. “Sorry. That’s Shakespeare. He’s kind of a pain in the butt. He’s always jumping down from the upper shelves and making a nuisance of himself. Nearly scared the wits out of old Mrs. Lampton one day—she may never come back. I really need to find him a home.”

“I’ll say,” Rachel agreed as the cat wove annoyingly between her legs. “You made him sound much more appealing on the phone.”

She shrugged. “Well, you know I have a soft spot for all felines.”

Amy had a soft spot for
lots
of things: books, people, Destiny, you name it. And, of course, cats—even stray ones like Shakespeare. Rachel had often wished she were so easily pleased in life as Amy.

“Are you sure Mr. Knightley wouldn’t like having a friend at home?” Rachel suggested.

Yet Amy drew back in horror. “God, no. He’d disown me.” Mr. Knightley was Amy’s own beloved cat, and according to Tessa, Amy had an unhealthy attachment to him. Which Rachel was starting to believe. “Maybe Edna could use a nice cat at the orchard?” Amy asked.

Rachel tilted her head. “Could be. I’ll check.”

Just then, Tessa emerged from another set of shelves, looking as dainty and pretty as ever, her hazel eyes going wide. “Rach, you’re here!”

And finally hugs were traded, and Rachel couldn’t deny that this would be
one
nice aspect of her return to Destiny. She looked forward to Tessa and Amy’s visit every autumn, and this one—though much different than usual—would be extended. And it was probably high time she saw what
their
lives were like now that they were all older—even if she
would
miss dragging them up and down the Miracle Mile.

“Let’s have a seat,” Amy said, motioning to a friendly grouping of overstuffed easy chairs by the door, so Rachel and Tessa sat down while Amy poured coffee into big, brightly colored mugs from the pot she kept brewing.

“So, how’s Edna?” Tessa asked as Amy passed her a large cup, then settled into another chair.

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Fit as a fiddle, of course. Until I reminded her that her knees were supposed to be hurting, and she grabbed onto the nearest piece of furniture for support. But that’s Edna. All I can do is indulge her, spend time with her, and help with the apples for a couple
of weeks to make her happy.” It had become a semi-annual occurrence the last few years—Edna claimed some illness or injury in order to make one of her children or grandchildren come visit for a while. And because they all loved the ornery old woman, they tolerated it. Although the thought reminded Rachel again what bad timing this was.

“Why do you call her Edna instead of Grandma?” Amy asked, squinting lightly. “I’ve always wondered that.”

Rachel shook her head. “I don’t know. All the grand-kids just always have, since we were little. A Farris family tradition, I guess. Or maybe we just all tend to be smart-asses,” she added with a laugh. Then she remembered using the same word to describe the Romos last night. The pot calling the kettle black, she supposed, as he’d pretty much pointed out—but Officer Romeo had been asking for it.

Amy smiled, looking giddy. “I’m so happy you’re here—this is going to be great!”

Yet Rachel gave her head a pointed tilt, gladly letting Amy yank her thoughts off her encounter with Mr. You-Speed-You-Pay. “Don’t get too attached to me, Ames. The minute I feel I’ve done my duty and can make a safe getaway, I’m outta here.”

The words instantly replaced Amy’s smile with a frown.

“Sorry, but there’s trouble in Ad Land, girls,” Rachel informed them, applying the little moniker they’d always used for her job at Conrad/Phelps.

As she told the whole horrid story about suddenly being in competition with Pamela Tremaine—“who I trained and mentored, I might add”—her stomach churned. Now that she was actually in Destiny, it was starting to hit her in a whole new brutal way that she really might not have a job to go back to. “My bosses always claimed I had ‘the magic’ when it came to getting and keeping clients,
but I guess I haven’t been pulling enough rabbits out of my hat lately. And I could probably get another job, but times are tight in advertising, so I might come off as over-qualified for whatever’s out there. And besides, I’ve been at Conrad/Phelps for over ten years—a third of my life.”

Amy leaned over to give her another small hug without spilling any coffee, while Tessa looked truly pained for her—and if Rachel had been the kind of girl who cried, she might have started tearing up a little. After all, she’d left Destiny with a plan, a goal, a dream, and she’d achieved it
all
. She’d built the life she wanted—from nothing. To think of losing it was devastating.

“Do you have some money socked away, in case you need it?” Tessa asked.

Rachel nodded, both hands wrapped around the big coffee cup she held. “I’d be fine for a while—but it’s more the…far reaching implications that worry me.”

The truth was, she was well paid and enjoyed spending what she earned—on travel, a nice condo on Lakeshore Drive, and yes, she squandered more money on shoes than most people would consider sane—but she didn’t spend it
all.
Far from it. And it had been more than a desire for jet-setting in Jimmy Choos that had pushed her to climb the corporate ladder—she had other financial issues no one knew about.

Fortunately, though, her friends didn’t ask what implications she was referring to, probably assuming it was a general worry about her future. And it wasn’t that she
meant
to keep secrets from them, but…well, she didn’t even like
thinking
about this stuff, so she certainly saw no reason to
talk
about it.

“And if that’s not enough,” she went on, “I got a speeding ticket last night coming into town. From that Romo guy, of all people.” But why on earth was she bringing
him
up?
It’s probably just money concerns, one leading to another in your mind, that’s all.
Not to mention how dis
concerted by her own behavior she’d been. Somehow, her normal, cool confidence had completely abandoned her.

Given how glum she surely sounded, it surprised her when Amy’s eyes lit up. “Was I not right? Is he not hot?” She totally ignored the speeding ticket part of the equation, along with Rachel’s grimace.

And even as her skin tingled at the memory, Rachel found herself loath to admit she found
anything
about him appealing. “I suppose. But good God, the guy’s an ass.”

“Amen to that,” Tessa agreed, long tawny locks framing her face. “You’re not the first person to get pulled over by him to think he was a jerk. My Aunt Alice, for one.”

Amy sent Tessa a chiding look. “How many times do I have to remind you that your Aunt Alice drives like a lunatic?” Then she glanced back to Rachel and tried to smooth it over even more. “He’s not that bad. He’s had a rough past, you know.”

This perked up Rachel’s ears. “No, I
don’t
know. What was so rough in his past?”

“Oh, come on—you remember. What happened back when we were kids.”

But Rachel remained in the dark, so she freed one hand from her mug and made a rolling motion, encouraging Amy to keep going. “I’ve been gone since high school—I need more to go on.”

Just then, Shakespeare—who Rachel had nearly forgotten about—bounded heftily up into her lap. “Dear God,” she snapped, drawing back slightly. “This is a freaking
enormous
cat.” She suspected the pushy tabby weighed a good fifteen pounds.

“
Shakespeare
,” Amy scolded. “
Bad kitty
.” Then she lifted her gaze to Rachel. “He’s not usually that rude. He must like you.”

“Lucky me,” she said. Then tried to get back on topic. “So, about Officer Romo.”

“Mike,” Amy clarified for her.

She hadn’t noticed his first name last night, too wrapped up in discovering his last. “Okay—Mike,” she said, if that would get Amy talking.

And then Amy got a familiar look in her eye—one that made all her friends recoil on a regular basis. “You know what would get your mind off your troubles? A little romance with Mike Romo.”

Oh brother! Rachel rolled her eyes and tried to budge the cat from her lap—but he wasn’t moving. “You’ve
got
to be joking.” Because yeah, the mere thought of Officer Romeo might make her flutter in all the right places, but it was an impossibility—for
numerous
reasons.

“Need I remind you how good-looking he is?” Amy prodded.

“Need
I
remind
you
that he’s a louse, and a creep,
and
a Romo? Who gave me a hundred-and-fifty-dollar speeding ticket?”

Both girls hissed in their breath at the amount. “Ouch,” Tessa said.

“Ouch is right. That could cost me a heating bill, or groceries. Or…a pair of shoes. If they were on sale anyway.”

“Well, if you’re not into Mike Romo,” Amy said, back to being her perky, habitually matchmaking self that fast, “what about Logan?” Logan Whitaker had been Amy’s neighbor growing up and he was like a brother to her.

“What about him?” Rachel asked.

Now Tessa rolled
her
eyes. “She tries to fix
everyone
up with Logan. Me included.”

Poor Tessa. And poor Logan, too, having to deal with Amy in Cupid mode. Rachel narrowed her gaze on Amy. “Why? Is there something wrong with him?”

“God, no—there’s definitely something
right
with him.”

“It’s true, he’s utterly hot,” Tessa added, clearly knowing Rachel trusted her opinion of guys more than she did
romantic, idealistic Amy’s. “But there just wasn’t any chemistry between us. And he’s probably a commitment-phobe or something—he never dates anyone for long.”

“Maybe he’s one of those guys who gets bored when the chase is over,” Rachel suggested.

Yet Amy only responded with a shrug. “I’d just like to see him find a nice girl and settle down, you know?”

Absently scratching the big fat cat on her lap behind his ears, Rachel lowered her chin. “Then you’re barking up the wrong tree, sister, since you know
I’m
not the settling down type.” She was a committed career girl to the core.

“Maybe that’s why I thought you’d like Mike,” Amy said. “He’s not into settling down, either.”

Hmm. “Not that I care,” she pointed out, “but how do you know that about him?”

Amy leaned forward in her chair, as if ready to tell a secret. She was as pure as the driven snow, but she did enjoy her Destiny gossip. “Well, from what Logan says, Mike’s with a different girl every weekend, over in Crestview.”

“I see,” Rachel said, instantly annoyed at the notion Officer Romeo was a womanizer in addition to being a jerk. “He seemed like such a straight arrow. Who’d have thought?”

“And he’s Logan’s best friend, so that means Mike can’t be
all
bad,” Amy added.

“Or maybe Logan just…feels sorry for him or something. Because of that rough past you mentioned.” Rachel lowered her coffee cup to a side table and bent over the cat, ready to draw Amy back to her original tale—but then she sat up straighter, wondering aloud, “Wait—why don’t I remember him?”

“He was a few years ahead of us in school,” Tessa replied.

“Ah.” Made sense. “And I thought one Romo was as bad as any other, so they mostly all ran together in my mind. But back to whatever happened to him—”

And that’s when the bell on the door jingled brusquely and all three girls looked up to see none other than Mike Romo himself suddenly towering over them in all his tall, hot, masculine, uniformed glory.

Oh boy. Speak of the devil.
The words lingered on the tip of Rachel’s tongue, but she held them back—she had no intention of letting him know they’d been talking about him. Still, just like last night, the mere sight of him affected her. Physically. Which was disappointing. She’d been hoping she’d overreacted—that maybe it had been the result of being so tired, or of having the sun in her eyes the whole time. Yet somehow he looked even
better
than last night. Maybe because she could really see him now—no sun, no glare. Nothing to keep her from feasting her eyes on just how sexy he really was. Jerk or not.

“There’s a car blocking the fire hydrant outside,” he barked toward all of them, just as gruff as the previous evening—and only then did his eyes drop to
her
. “I
thought
that Beamer looked familiar. Out breaking more laws, Farris?”

“Officer Romeo to the rescue,” she muttered under her breath.

But apparently not low enough to keep him from hearing. “Aching for another ticket? If not, move your car.”

Oh, relax, Fife. And quit talking about aching
—since she
was
, but for something far more pleasurable than another ticket. “All right, all right, Romo—keep your pants on. I’ll be out in a minute.”

He gave her a funny look—and she realized with horror that she’d made a remark about his pants, which could indicate she was thinking about what was in them—but then he went back to being his usual crusty self. “No, not in a minute.
Now
. Unless you want that ticket.”

“Sheesh,” she said, peering up at him. “So much for small town hospitality.” Then she heaved Shakespeare to
the floor, murmuring, “Silly cat,” as she pushed to her feet and whisked past Mike Romo.

Only she passed too close, in order not to trip over the cat—and accidentally brushed up against him. Her arm touched his, and—oh dear—her breast grazed his biceps, too. And a hot, sizzling sensation rippled through her whole body as she made her way out the door.
Holy God, what was
that?