Bolted (18 page)

She gave him a rueful smile. “Sorry. Occupational hazard. Yeah, I can turn this kind of thing off sometimes. And for the record, I really do like Barney’s clams. It’s just that they’re better in my memory than they are on the plate.”

“That’s the way with a lot of food, I guess. Hot dogs were a hell of a lot better when I was a kid.”

“And we liked it that way,” she said in a little old man voice. “Where are you from, Doc?”

“Omaha. Haven’t been back in a while, though. My folks moved to Texas when the winters started getting to them.”

“How did you end up here?”

“I got a job. In archaeology, you don’t worry much about where the job is. You know you won’t spend much time there, unless it’s in someplace like New Mexico.”

“But now you’re digging here in New England.”

“I lucked out. Most of the big digs in the area are in historic sites, and the guys who have the grants aren’t interested in sharing.” He gave her a slightly sour grin, shoveling in a few more clams.

“Well…” she began.

“Greta?”

The voice came from a few feet away. Hank turned to see a rather plump blonde working her way down the narrow aisle toward their table.

Greta sighed. “Oh, swell.”

“Greta. It
is
you.” The blonde gave her a triumphant smile, as if she’d just proved her case.

Greta’s smile was more like a twitch of the lips. “Hi, Bernice. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m just fine.” The blonde turned her gaze on Hank, skewering him with a suspiciously bright-eyed glance. “Who’s this?”

Greta looked like she was gritting her teeth. “This is my friend Hank Mitchell. Hank, this is Bernice Cabot.” He noticed she didn’t describe Bernice as her friend, but maybe that wasn’t significant.

Hank nodded in Bernice’s direction. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Her greenish-hazel eyes looked both avid and slightly suspicious, like she wanted to see his ID. If so, she was destined for disappointment. “Are you from Boston?”

Hank shook his head. “Nope.”

She waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t.

Bernice turned back to Greta. “Where did you go after the wedding? Your mother was looking for you. Have you heard anything from Josh? Did he go after Allie? What about Gavin?”

“I haven’t heard anything from Josh or Allie,” Greta said quietly. “I don’t know what they’re doing. I took off for a few days.”

If she was hoping that statement would bring the conversation to a close, she’d underestimated Bernice’s persistence. “So are you home now?”

Greta’s smile looked transparently annoyed. “I’m around.”

“Well good, because once Josh and Allie come back, there’s going to be fireworks. Your mom’s going to need your help. Unless you need to get back to your husband in Boston?” That bright-eyed look was back again.

“Mom can handle stuff like this better than I can.” Greta shrugged, her smile sliding into something that looked more like a grimace.

Bernice’s own smile suddenly seemed annoyingly self-righteous. “Even so, you should be there to help. It’s your responsibility, Greta.”

Greta gave her a steely-eyed look but said nothing.

Bernice’s ample bulk had effectively blocked the passage, making it almost impossible for the waitresses to get by. “Bernice,” one of them snapped. “Move. You’re in the way.”

Bernice snugged herself more tightly against the table, which only moved her rear end into a more prominent position. “You can scrunch by.”

The waitress narrowed her eyes, giving Bernice a death-ray stare. “Only if I lose fifty pounds. I’m serious, Bernice. You have to move.”

“Well, there goes her tip,” Bernice muttered. But she turned back toward the front of the restaurant. “I guess I’ll see you later. Call me.”

“Sure.” Greta gave her another tight smile. “In about a hundred years,” she murmured as Bernice moved away.

“Friend?” Hank asked.

“Acquaintance.”

“Want to get out of here before you meet anybody else?”

Greta gave him a thin smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He followed her toward the cash register at the end of the counter. She seemed to be keeping her gaze fixed on the door deliberately, as if she really didn’t want to see anybody else she knew. Fortunately, no one else seemed interested in them. He paused at the cashier to pay the check, making one last survey of the restaurant. Bernice was tucked back in her table at the side, casting furtive glances in his and Greta’s direction while she muttered to her dinner companions. He glanced back toward Greta.

Only to have his gaze caught by a guy sitting by himself at the far end of the counter. Dark hair. Medium height. Clothes that looked expensive, although Hank had no way of knowing, really. He bought his own stuff off the rack with as little thought as he could manage. Judging by his expression, the guy had developed an instant hatred for him, although Hank wasn’t sure why. Maybe he objected to Hank’s choice of shirt.

Oh well.
He pushed his money toward the cashier, turning to follow Greta out the door. But he felt as if someone’s gaze was burning into the middle of his back until they climbed into the truck.

Chapter Thirteen

The ride back to Tompkins Corners was even more silent than the drive over had been. Greta stared out the window at the darkening trees alongside the road, wishing she could have the last couple of hours back to start over again. She should have known going to Barney’s for dinner was a bad idea. She was just lucky she hadn’t run into anyone besides Bernice, although actually running into somebody other than Bernice would probably have been an improvement.

She’d deliberately avoided looking around Barney’s so that she wouldn’t lock eyes with anybody who knew her. She’d reckoned without Bernice’s ability to find her prey, however. Bernie could smell gossip a couple of miles away. And there Greta was with somebody other than her husband. Granted, Ryan wasn’t her husband anymore, but Bernice didn’t know that. Thus all those pointed references to Boston.

She only hoped Bernie wouldn’t tell her mom she’d been at Barney’s. She was pretty sure Mom’s feelings would be hurt even though she had tried to stop by. And that might be the least of it.

“So.” Hank’s voice sounded blessedly normal in the gathering twilight. “I guess Promise Harbor, in spite of it being your hometown, is not one of your favorite spots.”

She sighed. Given the way she’d acted with Bernice, that was probably a fair assumption. “I like the town. I’m not crazy about some of the people who live there, but it’s home.”

“What’s the problem with the people who live there?”

“They still think of me as a high school screwup.” Also college. Also culinary school, although in reality she’d done pretty well there.

“Dare I ask what that involved?” He turned off the highway on the road toward Casa Dubrovnik.

“Oh, the usual. I borrowed my parents’ car without asking and ended up in a snowdrift. I dyed my hair purple and had to let it grow out instead of washing it out because it turned out to be permanent dye. I painted my room black without checking with my parents first. My prom dress had a wardrobe malfunction.”

His eyebrows raised. “An interesting wardrobe malfunction?”

She shook her head. “Not so much. My date caught my skirt in the car door and it ripped up the back. I had to go home and change into one of my mom’s party dresses. So I ended up looking like I was channeling Joan Collins.” She sighed. “It wasn’t one of my best nights.”

“But your brother’s the one who’s in the spotlight after this wedding, right?”

“At the moment.”

He pulled to a stop in the carport, shutting off the headlights, then turned toward her. “So what’s really going on here, Greta? I mean, I’m guessing it was more than just your friend Bernice, although god knows she strikes me as someone who’d depress the hell out of anybody.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not exactly my friend. More like an acquaintance.” She sighed. “I’m sorry about this. I should probably have steered you away from Barney’s. But I didn’t know being there was going to be such a downer. Actually, it wasn’t much of a downer until Bernice reminded me why I took off after the wedding.” The whole decision-free zone thing was looking like another disaster.

“Come on.” He opened his door. “The moon’s still up. Let’s walk around Nadia’s garden.”

The faint smell of lavender still perfumed the night air, slightly humid against her cheek. Hank interlaced his fingers with hers. “Nice night. Nadia’s plants always smell great.”

The lavender scent was replaced with mint. Greta closed her eyes, letting the aromas and the feel of the night air drift over her.

“So I’m guessing a lot of what you’re not telling me has to do with your divorce. And the fact that the people back home apparently don’t know about it.” His voice was soft. “Would I be right about that?”

Her eyes popped open again. “Well, crap.”

“Sorry.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Didn’t mean to exactly drop it in your lap like that. Am I right?”

She sighed. “Yeah. For what it’s worth.”

“So having wandered into this minefield, I guess I’ll just keep going.” He guided her to a bench, half hidden beneath a maple at the side of the garden, pulling her down beside him. “Tell me about it.”

She stared off into the darkness toward the garden shed. Just her luck to have what should have been a great date turn into a confessional. “My divorce was final about two weeks ago. We were separated for two or three months before that. He cheated on me. I threw him out. That about sums it up.” She glanced back at him, trying to see his face in the gathering darkness.

His hand moved across her back, rubbing gently. “Okay. Sounds messy, but not all that unusual, unfortunately. Did you love him?”

She blew out a long breath, thinking. Did she love him? Had she ever? “No,” she said slowly. “I didn’t at the end. I might have loved him, or sort of loved him, when we first got married. I’m not sure I remember.”

“How long were you married?”

“Around two years.” She leaned back against the bench, letting her head rest against his shoulder. “No big love story. Just…sort of typical, I guess.”

“Okay.” He rested his hand on her arm, holding her against him. “So why is this something you don’t want to tell your mother? Did she really like this guy?”

She shook her head. “Not especially. And she’s already found out about it, by the way—she left me a message on my voice mail. She always said he was really good looking, but that was about as far as she went in terms of compliments. He’s from this sort of wealthy family, and I think Mom thought he was a snot.”

“Was he?”

She turned to look up at him, smiling faintly. “Yeah. Now that I think back on it. He really was a snot.”

“So your mother might not be all that upset that he’s no longer related to her.”

Greta shook her head again. “No. But that’s not the problem. It’s the whole screwup thing. It’s something else I rushed into against everybody’s advice, including hers. When I talk to her about it, Mom’s going to sigh. When I told her I was dropping out of college to go to culinary school, she sighed. When I told her the purple dye wouldn’t come out of my hair, she sighed. She always sighs. It’s like she’s saying ‘You’ve done it again, haven’t you?’ And she’s right, of course, which is what makes it worse. I just…I wish I wasn’t the one who always made her sigh.”

They sat for a few moments, listening to the rusty sound of the crickets in the grass. “I don’t exactly have a solution for you,” he said finally. “But it doesn’t sound like this was totally your screwup. My guess is your mom will be okay with it. Hell, knowing mothers, she’ll probably be ready to cut the guy’s nuts off.”

“There’s a thought.” She fought back a grin.
Totally inappropriate.

His hand cupped her shoulder again, gently pulling her closer. “If I kiss you now, you’re not going to think it’s some kind of half-assed pity thing, are you?”

She frowned. “It isn’t, is it?”

“Nope. Definitely, nope.” His lips touched hers lightly, almost a brush and then something more.

She opened her lips to him, letting her tongue slide along his for a moment. Then his lips pressed more firmly. She felt the edge of his teeth as he angled his mouth, one hand moving to the back of her head, holding her in place as his tongue plunged deeper.

She could barely see him in the darkened garden—just the dim shape of his body. It was almost like making love to a ghost. She moved her hands across his chest, feeling the smooth weave of his Hawaiian shirt, her fingers fumbling with the buttons.

He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, his chuckle more like a groan. “Should have known better than to wear a shirt that buttoned.”

“I like it,” she whispered. “I’ll like it even better when it’s off.”

He pushed her fingers away, undoing the buttons quickly. She smoothed her hands across the warm skin of his chest underneath, feeling the slight tickle of hair against her palms and then the hard points of his nipples. She ducked her head, running her tongue across one while she rubbed the other with her thumb.

His breath came out in a whoosh, and he grasped the bottom edge of her sweater. “The sweater goes.” He pulled it up and off in a single jerk, dropping it on the bench, then squirming out of his own shirt so that he could lean against her.

The feeling of skin against skin almost sent her into instant orgasm. She caught her breath in a gasp, clasping her hands around his neck and bringing her mouth to his again. She nibbled on his lower lip as his tongue slid into her mouth again. And then she was sucking hard, drawing him deeper, groaning against his mouth.

She felt cool air against her back and realized that at some point he’d unfastened her bra. His fingers moved along her upper arms, sliding the bra straps down until it dropped in her lap.

“Is anybody likely to come out here?” she murmured. It was, of course, sort of late to be asking that question.
Oh well.

“I doubt it. We’re the only guests, after all. And all three of the Dubrovniks should have gone to bed by now.”

He dipped his head and she felt warm breath on her nipple, then the rasp of his tongue. Her whole body seemed drawn to a single point, a shaft of desire flying straight to her core. He sucked hard, drawing her nipple taut between tongue and teeth.