Champagne and Lemon Drops: A Blueberry Springs Chick Lit Contemporary Romance (37 page)

Mandy stalked off, eyes watering. She'd be
lucky if she only smelled into next and not the rest of her life.
She'd be turning off diners at Benny's Big Burger and get herself
fired from the best tipping restaurant in town.

She slipped through the downtown at a light
jog, unable to outrun her smell, thankful the majority of the town
was still at the wedding. By her estimation she had about two more
minutes to make it to safety before the streets filled again.

Turning onto Plum Street she headed for the
one person who could help her. The one person who had stood by her
through all the years: Frankie.

Everyone thought she'd been cruelly leading
him on ever since he fell off the water tower while painting her
name on it all those years ago—and earning himself the nickname
Frankie-Fall-Off-The-Tower-Smith—but they had an agreement. They
were just friends. And always would be. Nothing more.

She banged on the back door to his ancient
cottage with the cedar shake roof and cracked clapboard siding.
Frankie's dog, Heart, sounded the alarm on the other side of the
door. The door of the tiny three-room house opened, then slammed
shut again.

"Holy shit, Mandy! What the hell? You smell
like skunk!" Frankie hollered through the door.

She turned the knob and pushed on the door.
"Frankie, you've gotta help me out."

"Jesus Christ! Stay out of here. I'll never
get the smell out!"

Tears in her eyes, Mandy
gave the door a shove. The lock clicked into place and sounds of
Frankie scrambling on the other side of the warped wood door sifted
through. She slumped onto the small step and wondered what she was
going to do. She lived above the flower shop and was certain the
owner would catch wind of her new aroma and kick her out for
smelling up the building—at least until she smelled right again.
Nobody wanted their shop smelling like she did. Nobody wanted
there
anything
smelling like she did. And the way her eyes stung from the eau
de skunk, she wasn't sure she'd ever smell like herself—a gentle
blend of vanilla and Pears soap—ever again.

"Frankie, you gotta help me," she whispered,
leaning her head against the closed door. "I don't have anyone
else. My family will never let me live it down."

If her older brothers found out she'd never
live it down. This could quite possibly top Frankie falling off the
tower while declaring his undying love. Especially if they found
out the where and when and how and why of the whole skunk
schmozzle.

Frankie appeared around the corner of the
house in a pair of old sweats and a ripped t-shirt he usually
reserved for renovating his tiny abode. He carried an old drywall
mud pail and large shopping bag. "Follow me," he said, pointing
towards the large garage he'd built out back for rebuilding his
muscle cars.

Mandy followed him at a distance, watching
how he moved, his movements efficient and with purpose.

Pausing at the garage door, Frankie grinned
and clipped a clothespin over his nose. He drew her into the
garage. "Let's see what we can do."

Mandy looked in Frankie's pail and pulled
out a small bottle of juice he used to mix with cheap beer when his
next paycheck was still a week away. "Clamato? Really?"

He shrugged. "You're supposed to bathe in
tomato juice or peroxide and that's the best I have."

Mandy looked at it hopelessly. Her voice
wobbled as she said, "I'm going to smell like clams."

"Better than skunks," he said. He set down
the pail and uncapped the tomato juice. He poured it in, barely
covering the surface of the pail's bottom. They looked at it
doubtfully. Frankie tapped the bottom of the upturned bottle. "I
think we're going to need about eighty gallons more."

They looked at each other and laughed. Near
tears, Mandy flopped onto the cold concrete floor amid the oil
stains and fine layer of dirt that had blown in. She leaned against
the 1969 Dodge Challenger Frankie was currently rebuilding for a
client in the city.

"This sucks," she whined.

Frankie crouched in front of her with a old
washcloth dripping tomato juice. "Come here." Gently he tipped her
face upward and dabbed her forehead. "We're going to have to wash
your hair and you're probably going to have to burn your
clothes."

Mandy fought tears. She'd worked two week's
worth of extra shifts to buy this outfit. It was one of her best.
She let out a sigh. She supposed it was karma for dressing up in
her best to be ready with her arms outstretched in case her ex was
unable to say, "I do."

"Sorry," he said, "but I doubt you'll ever
get the smell out. I know it's your favorite."

She nodded and burst into tears. Frankie
patted her back and asked gently, "You went to watch, didn't
you?"

She nodded again, crying harder. He drew her
into his arms and held her close. She tried to push him away, but
he held onto her.

"I'll make you smell," she sniffed.

He shrugged under her grip. "They're old
rags. I can toss them."

She pushed away and wiped her wet cheeks
with her hands.

Frankie handed her a towel from the shopping
bag. "You can use this to cover yourself as you bathe. I'm going to
run out and get more juice. I threw an outfit in there for you to
change into." He gave her a sceptical look as he closed the thin
window blinds. "Maybe change into it after I get more juice
though." He stepped to the door.

"Don't tell anyone I got sprayed, okay?"

He paused, his hand on the doorknob. "I
won't."

"But they'll put two and two together when
you buy that much tomato juice."

Frankie shrugged. "Heart got into a dead
skunk out on a hike."

Mandy gave him a thankful smile and turned
the red soaked cloth over in her hands. "Thanks, Frankie. I really
appreciate it."

He returned her smile and she felt a sweep
of emotion. He was always so good to her and half the time she felt
as though she didn't deserve having him as a friend. Sure, she was
a good friend, too, but sometimes she wondered why he put up with
her chasing another man when he'd made it abundantly clear over the
years that he was willing to pick up where their first date had
left off.

He stepped closer, a look in his eyes that
made her tense up. "Why do we do this, Mandy?" he asked, his voice
quiet. "All this posturing and holding back. We're good together.
Great, even. We bring out the best in each other."

Mandy bowed her head. They'd had this
conversation a million times and she'd always used her devotion to
Oz as an excuse. But now that excuse was married off and there was
nothing left but her, Frankie, and the truth.

"I'm no good for you, Frankie," she said,
keeping her head down. "I would destroy you."

He gave a laugh. "I'm a lot tougher than I
look." He gave her a grin and pointed to the leg that undergone
three surgeries and was a mess of pins and rods after his fall off
the water tower.

"Case in point, I should think." She shook
her head at him, trying to ignore her body's response to reminders
of that scary, scary night when he'd fallen.

It was her fault he went up the tower. He'd
decided to paint her name as a way to profess his teenaged love for
her after their first date—which had gone rockingly well even
though it ended with an interrupted goodnight kiss on her front
step thanks to her eldest brother who came out, arms crossed, and
then totally ratted her out to their strict father for wearing her
forbidden mini skirt and French kissing Frankie.

And why had Frankie fallen
off the tower after that date? Because of her. He'd climbed up the
tower, drawing the attention of other teens. She'd come along with
the gang to watch, not knowing who it was up there in the
moonlight. But once she realized it was Frankie she felt as though
she was having a heart attack. She couldn't breathe, her pulse had
gone crazy, and her head had thundered with adrenalin. She'd
freaked out and screamed his name. He'd turned, lost his balance,
and fallen several stories. That night she had thought
she
was the one dying. As
the ambulance carted Frankie away he told her, "It was worth it.
Next time you kiss me, I'll go bigger."

It was then that she vowed to never let
Frankie get closer than a friend. If one date and an interrupted
goodnight kiss had ended with him being hospitalized she couldn't
trust what would happen if they took things further. He was a
daredevil who went over the top.

Her feelings that night had scared her and
she never wanted to feel that way again. From then on she'd kept
him at bay, dating men who were nice enough or interested enough to
be with longterm, but wouldn't freak her out like Frankie had. You
could never rest if you loved a man like Frankie. You'd always be
worrying that somehow you would shatter him.

Besides, his girlfriends had always been
like his crash-up derby cars—good for one weekend only. She wasn't
going to bet her heart on a man like that. Even though he was the
best friend a girl could ever ask for.

"What you want and what you need are two
different things, Frankie. I fall into the former category, not the
latter, and certainly not both." She met his light brown eyes.
There was no way she could ever let him know how much she
cared.

"Give yourself some credit," he said leaving
the doorway and crouching in front of her. "You are more than you
know, woman. We should try dating again. That first date was better
than any other I've ever had. Besides, you can always dump me if
you don't like me as a boyfriend."

"Frankie," she said, not bothering to hide
her exasperation. "You deserve more than that." She clutched his
fuzzy chin. "So much more. Any woman would be lucky to have a good
man like you." She dropped his face and turned away to dip her rag
in the pail. "Besides, the town already thinks I'm awful to you.
What would they think if we finally dated and I turned around and
dumped you?"

He gave her that goofy, crooked grin that
always made her want to comply with whatever kooky idea he had.
More than once she'd found herself racing across the meadow track
in her 4x4 trying to outdo one of his muscle cars after he'd shot
that grin in her direction. Such a challenge lay behind those lips,
and he knew perfectly well it worked on her. But she wouldn't give
in. Not this time. Not on this.

"Well, I guess you'd be stuck with me in
order to save face," he said.

She gave him a dry smile. "Ha. Ha. Very not
funny."

They stared at each other for a minute. He
slowly leaned in and when she didn't move away, he placed his lips
gently over hers. He gave her a deep kiss that awakened parts of
her that had been dormant for a very long time.

She shoved him away and stood up. "I can't
do this to you, Frankie. I can't. Okay? Please."

He popped up off the floor and crossed his
arms, his shoulders looking broader than she'd ever remembered them
being. "Stop worrying about me. I'm a grown man. If you dump me it
won't break my heart, but never knowing if we could make it—that
will." He turned and slammed the garage door so hard the windows
shook.

She drew in a long breath, the comforting
scent of oil and gas barely making it past the choking smell
wafting off her in great waves. Only Frankie would kiss her like
that when she smelt this awful. She plunked down and began dabbing
her face and hair with the tomato-stained rag to distract herself.
Her stomach tightened and her tears dropped dark circles in the
dust by her knees.

She couldn't give in. Her ex had been strong
enough to handle her, but Frankie had a soft side with various
unknown depths that scared her. He felt so deeply and his love was
so huge and out there. Who could match that? Who could keep it from
getting out of hand again?

There was no way to keep a man like that
safe.

* End of sample. *

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Please
enjoy this sample of Cali MacKay's FREE contemporary romance set in
the Scottish Highlands:

The Highlander's
Hope

By
Cali
MacKay

Now available for FREE!

Chapter One

Dust danced upon the shards of light that
pierced the ancient hall of the library archives. As if calling out
to her, the words on the page taunted and teased, daring Catriona
to find the secret they had long held safe. One would think it a
simple letter between lovers torn apart at a time of war. However,
Cat saw the clues woven through the endearments. She was one step
closer to solving a centuries-old mystery and finding a priceless
treasure.

The pounding of her heart competed with the
flutters in her stomach. It could be a historic find of epic
proportions, and yet it was so much more than that to her, having
been raised on her grandmother's stories of highland heroes and
ancient lands.

The Highlander's
Hope
. A necklace crusted with emeralds,
diamonds and sapphires, it had once been destined to fund the
Scottish rising against the English. But that was before the battle
of Culloden shattered Scotland's dreams of retaking the English
throne, and the necklace was lost.

Cat was now one step closer. All she had to
do was piece the puzzle together and find the Hope.

***

"Crap!" Cat maneuvered her car to the edge
of the narrow road, with the growing suspicion that the flopping
sound killing the rhythm of her music meant she had a flat
tire.