The Trouble With Love (37 page)

Jayce led the dog to the back porch not wanting to eavesdrop, but damn, he was curious. He wanted her to land that decorating gig … and he didn’t. What if she got so busy between the Red Clover and her proposed sideline that she had no time for Jayce and the future he wanted for them? He told himself to get a grip. He had no right to dictate her business. He’d never felt so damned possessive of a woman in his life. It pricked an ugly thought. Had he inherited a trait from his father? Obsessed with a woman, would Jayce expect her to live the life of his choosing?

That thought unsettled Jayce as much as the possibility that Rocky was being stalked. Gut knotted, Jayce kept a keen eye on her while he got Brewster settled.

A minute later the woman who loved him came bounding onto the porch. “You’re not going to believe this. Harper—she asked me to call her by her first name—wants to fly me out for an in-person interview!”

“To Los Angeles?”

“She checked out my Web site. Not that it’s great, but it does feature several photos of the interior, giving her a feel for my sense of style—which she liked! I told her how familiar I am with the Rothwell farm and tossed out some thoughts regarding a makeover. She wants to meet with me. See if we hit it off. If we connect, she’d like to speak to me about redecorating another one of her investments. Can you believe this?”

Jayce frowned. “Why can’t she fly in here? Interview you while doing a walk-through on the Rothwell property?”

“She has business obligations.”

“So do you.”

Rocky blinked. “You’re not happy about this.”

“I’m not thrilled about you flying across country to meet with a stranger.”

“Molly met Harper. Said she was kind of prissy and uptight, but pleasant. She’s a highly successful businesswoman, Jayce, not a psychotic killer.”

Irritated by Rocky’s naïveté and snarky tone, Jayce folded his arms over his chest. “How do you know? Did you research her background?”

“Why would I…” Rocky narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare poke into Harper’s life.”

“If you’re going to work closely with someone you’ve never met, especially on an isolated property like Rothwell’s, you should know something about them. Their business practices at the very least. It’s common sense.”

“It’s paranoid.” Rocky spun on her heel and paced. “I can’t believe this. You’re the one who pointed out my talent for decorating. You’re the one who got me fired up by giving me your credit card and carte blanche. Do you know what a thrill it’s been for me to transform your house? The shopping and the actual decorating? I’m good at it and I love it. With a little luck and devotion, I could be successful at it.” She threw her arms wide, gesturing to the inn. “I don’t know that all these structural and exterior renovations are going to increase business for the Clover. I’m sick of struggling financially. I’m tired of feeling like a failure. Every other Monroe
ever
has run a successful business.”

Jayce stared, stunned at the vehemence of her tone, stymied by the glimpse of insecurity. “There are different levels of success, Rocky. You’ve turned this old property into a warm and stunning showcase. That’s a hell of an accomplishment. You contribute volumes of time and energy to the charitable efforts of the Cupcake Lovers. You’ve made a positive difference in the lives of countless soldiers and assorted people and causes in need. That’s huge.” He resisted the urge to reach out. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but experience told him—in her agitated state—he’d only get a sock in the chin. “You don’t have to prove anything to the world. You don’t have to compete with your brothers. And you damn well don’t have to worry about finances. You have me.”

She stopped in her tracks, glared. “So, what? You expect me to not work? To give up my passions? To freeload off of you? Are you nuts?”

“Call me old-fashioned, but is it a crime to want to take care of you? Provide for you?”

“Yes!’ she snapped, fists clenched. “It’s a crime against my independence.”

Brewster whined and circled, sensitive to the heated exchange.

Jayce scrambled not to repeat history. This moment smacked of the same vibe thirteen years ago. Him trying to do the right thing, speaking from his heart, and royally pissing Rocky off. Her cheeks flushed. Her eyes sparked. He knew that look.
Damn.

“I love that you moved back to Sugar Creek to slay demons and to win my heart,” she said in a tight voice. “You
have
my heart, Jayce. But it’s not fair for you to expect me to fall in with whatever fairy-tale version you have of us now. Just like it wasn’t fair for me to expect you to meet my fanciful expectations thirteen years ago.”

“What I’m envisioning isn’t fanciful, Dash.”

“Don’t call me that. Not now. Not when I’m so … angry. Dammit, Jayce, I can’t be the cure-all for your horrible childhood.”

She may as well have whacked him with a baseball bat. He was stunned. Was that what she thought? Was that what he was doing?
No. Yes and no.
“Rocky—”

“I can’t … I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Not now. Not in the heat of the moment.” She fussed with Brewster’s water dish, fluffed a chaise pillow, then kissed the dog’s head. “The Cupcake Lovers need me,” she said without making eye contact, and then hotfooted it toward his car.

Reeling, Jayce followed. She was right. They both needed to cool down. And he, for one, needed to reassess.
Had
he put the responsibility for his happiness on her shoulders? The notion shook his recently grounded world.

*   *   *

Instead of stewing over her fight with Jayce, Rocky devoted her attention to the Creepy Cupcake booth, hoping time and a clear head would provide her with better perspective on their future. The last thing she wanted was to make a hasty decision or say something awful that she couldn’t take back. Although she may have done that already. Her crack about being the cure-all for Jayce’s crappy childhood had been low. But dammit, he’d cast a shadow on her possible shiny new career and that had hurt. Why did she have to choose between him and her version of success? Why couldn’t she have it all?

Not that she was stewing.

Rocky washed down two Tylenol with a swig of apple cider, hoping to ease the pounding in her head. She didn’t know what to do for her heart. She’d been on an emotional roller coaster since the crack of dawn, and the freaking mind-and-gut-jerking ride continued.

Working alongside Tasha for the last three hours had been unusually unsettling. Their relationship, for lack of a better term, had always been strained, but Rocky was used to snippy comments or out-and-out rude remarks, not cold silence. Rocky still smarted over their brief confrontation the day before, and she wasn’t even sure what she’d done to set Tasha off. Given the “no drama” decree and the fact that the video crew was still popping in and out at the booth, Rocky bit her tongue and focused on business. CL business.

The Monster-Mash Cakes were a hit, although she was certain the kids would have loved just about any free cupcake. The real treat, for Rocky, was the success of the charity cupcake sale. The reason the booth was so short staffed was because they’d run low on cupcakes and several of the members, including Chloe, had retreated home to bake and replenish supplies. At this rate, the Cupcake Lovers would have a pretty hefty sum to donate to Sugar Tots for the new playground. Thinking of Sugar Tots made Rocky think of Rachel. Excusing herself, Rocky retreated to the back of the booth and, for the second time today, tried calling the reclusive CL member. Again, no answer, just an automated voice inviting the caller to leave a message—which Rocky did. Frowning, she pocketed her phone and edged back in next to Tasha, who was taking orange tickets and handing out Monster-Mash Cakes with a brittle smile.

“I just want you to know,” Rocky said, “that I’ve tried Rachel twice today. I’m hoping she’ll get back to me before the end of the day,” she plowed on when Tasha didn’t react. “I’ll mention how busy and strapped we are and try to get her to work the booth for a while. That way Amber can at least get a shot of Rachel in action.”

“I’m not counting on it.”

Rocky dug deep for calm. “Why are you mad at me?” she asked in a low voice while rearranging the dwindling supply of Ethel’s Chocolate Pumpkin Spices.

“I’m not mad at you, Rocky,” Tasha said in an equally calm tone. “I’m mad at the world.” Her phone pinged, and after reading the text she whirled away, “Excuse me,” and left the booth.

Ethel sidled over and took a ticket from a young boy. “I have to say I’m impressed,” the older woman said to Rocky. “Tasha’s put in more hours at this booth than any other CL member. And she’s actually been nice to the kids. Well, as nice as Tasha can be. She’s sort of awkward with genuine pleasantries.”

“She’s certainly determined to put on a good show for the camera,” Rocky said.

“Normally, I’d agree, but I’ve been watching and I get the sense that she’s actually trying to put her best foot forward for the club and the community. She said something to me about wanting to make Randall proud.”

Rocky blinked. “You’re kidding.”

Ethel shrugged. “A passing remark. I didn’t pursue it because she looked like she regretted saying it the moment the words left her mouth.”

“Huh.” Blessedly distracted from her own personal problems, Rocky watched as Tasha weaved through the crowd, frowning when she saw her point of destination. Decked out in full uniform, Deputy Burke was leaning against the ticket booth next to the kiddie carnival rides and games. Tasha crossed her arms over her chest as she approached, then stood stiffly as Billy leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Tasha nodded, then backed away. She disappeared into the crowd, and damned if Billy’s weasel gaze didn’t float over to the Creepy Cupcake booth and lock on Rocky.

Watch your ass, Rocky. I am.

“That does it.”

“Where are you going?” Ethel asked as Rocky untied her apron.

“To whack a weasel.”

*   *   *

Jayce had spent the afternoon trying not to dwell on his fight with Rocky and watching her back instead. He maintained visual contact from a distance while handling business via his smart phone. E-mails. Calls. A quick Internet search on Harper Day—who was, at least on the surface, a respected and well-connected Hollywood publicist.

Meanwhile his senses buzzed with the sights and sounds of the popular festival. Sugar Creek was packed with locals and tourists. Several people he knew, including Sam McCloud and his two kids, had stopped to talk with Jayce when they’d spied him sitting on a bench or leaning against a tree, seemingly taking in the festivities of the Spookytown Spectacular. All the while, Jayce had kept a keen eye on Rocky.

More than once he’d berated himself for being paranoid. She was in public, in a cupcake booth, surrounded by friends and hordes of families enjoying multiple activities. The sun was shining, and temps were mild. A local band cranked out country folk music. There was nothing ominous about this day. So when Jayce got a call from Dev asking him to meet him at J.T.’s, he shelved his paranoia and hoofed it one block over to the bustling department store. Dev had promised to broach the subject of Adam with Luke. Jayce assumed Dev hadn’t liked what he’d learned. He hadn’t sounded happy on the phone.

Jayce scaled the stairs to Dev’s office two at a time. He knocked on the partially opened door, then walked in.

Dev looked up from a mound of paperwork. “You’re not going to like this.” He held up a specific document for Jayce’s inspection.

Curious, Jayce moved forward and took the pristine page. A photocopy of the toxicology report on his parents.
Shit.
Pulse erratic, he glanced back to Dev. “Where’d you get this?”

“Barry Stein, executive editor of the
Sugar Creek Gazette.
Said it was delivered to him, anonymously, along with this typed note.”

Jayce took another page from Dev and read out loud.
“Jerome Monroe and Jayce Bello conspired to bury this evidence. Is Bello the kind of man we want policing Sugar Creek?”
Jayce blew out a breath. “Obviously instigated by someone who believes the rumor about me running for sheriff.”

“Could be Stone,” Dev said. “Hell, it could be Billy. He wouldn’t be keen on working under you. At any rate, Barry turned it over to me, saying he didn’t feel right about making this public until he’d at least given the family a heads-up. I told him you had no intention of running for sheriff. Tried to reason with him about dredging up dirt for the sake of dirt. Barry’s a decent man and I’m pretty sure we can count on his discretion, but that doesn’t mean another photocopy won’t land at the
Pixley Tribune
or any one of several northern Vermont papers.”

Jayce chewed the inside of his cheek, reviewed the report one last time.

“I called Dad. He wants to speak with you first, but his advice is to let Barry run the story. Get it out and over with and he’ll do damage control.” Dev’s lip twitched. “You should have heard the heat in the old man’s voice. He’s primed for the fight. In a warped way, I think this is a good thing. For him. And you.” Dev regarded Jayce with a calm and caring expression. “With this secret out in the open, maybe you can finally let go and move on.”

Jayce nodded. It did indeed seem like the final tie that needed severing. “I’ll call your dad. Let’s do it.”

As if on cue, Dev’s phone rang. “Devlin Monroe. No problem. What’s up, Gerry?” He listened, then shot to his feet. “Who phoned it in?… No.… Yeah. We’re on our way.” He hung up, then nailed Dev with another look—this one pained. “The Red Clover’s on fire.”

*   *   *

Rocky pushed through the crowd, tears blurring her vision, panic obscuring clear thought.
Must get home. Purse. Keys. No, Jayce drove. Phone. Pocket.
She’d almost made it back to the cupcake booth when someone grabbed her by the shoulders.

“Dash.”

“Oh, God. Jayce.”

“You heard,” he said while finessing her through the masses.

“Was talking to Billy. His walkie-talkie squawked and someone said,
Ten-seventy
at
One-oh-one Pikeman Lane.
That’s my address,” she choked out.