Crazy Love (8 page)

“What?”

“You really like this guy.”

“No way.” Sierra shook her head, wishing her best friend didn’t know her so darn well.

“Do so.”

“Do not.”

Belle took a deep breath, her breasts straining against her purple T-shirt. “In that case, you won’t mind me taking a shot at him.”

Sierra stopped, not liking the way her heart reacted to the thought of Belle and Marc together.

“He isn’t your type.”

“Really?” Belle studied her fuchsia nails at arm’s length. “He’s gorgeous, successful and rich. What more could a girl ask for?”

“Chemistry.”

Was Sierra that blind? She could’ve sworn there was nothing between Belle and Marc when she’d come downstairs that morning. In fact, she’d wager a year’s profits on it, for the minute she’d descended those stairs and Marc had caught sight of her he’d looked like a starving man contemplating his first decent meal in ages and she was his appetizer, main and dessert all rolled into one.

“Hey babe?”

Sierra frowned, not liking Belle’s syrupy tone. If her stunning best friend set her sights on Marc, all because she was too damn stubborn to admit the truth and stake her claim, she didn’t have a hope in Hades. “What?”

“I’m kidding.”

“Bitch.”

“And you love me.” Belle draped an arm around her shoulders while Ripley tried to insinuate his way between them, pushing against their legs until they gave him some room. “Had you fooled for a minute.”

“You’re a real riot.”

She should’ve known Belle would never encroach on her territory.

Since when did City Boy become
her territory
? Damn, she lost all perspective when it came to him.

“Don’t worry, babe. It’ll all work out in the end.” Belle threw her free arm into the air. “We’re in Love.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Sierra should forget Marc. Uptight city boys passing through town were bad news. Yet the more she tried to forget him, the more he wheedled his way into her thoughts and she hoped her judgment hadn’t joined Ripley’s and gone to the dogs.

Olivia patted her stomach. “You’re spoiling me. Any more of your blueberry flapjacks and I won’t fit into my clothes.”

Hank wiped the frying pan and hung it on a giant copper hook over the range.

“That’s the idea, love.” He winked and crossed the kitchen to drop a kiss on her lips. “I kinda like the idea of you walking around naked.”

She slapped him away, loving every minute of the attention. “We’re too old for this sort of thing.”

His lips drifted across her cheek towards her ear. “You’re only as old as the fella you feel.”

“Your point, old-timer?”

Her breath caught as he nibbled on the tender spot beneath her earlobe.

“I may be old, sweetheart, but I ain’t dead. And as long as you’re doing the feeling I reckon my age registers around twenty-one.”

He knelt next to her and she snuggled into his arms, content to stay there for the rest of her life.

His hands smoothed her smoothed her back, strumming with infinite tenderness. “Care to do some feeling now?”

“You’re a dirty old man.” Her head lolled back as his magical fingers drifted upward to knead her shoulders. “And I love you for it. Feel away.”

Before they could retire to the bedroom a loud pounding on the backdoor jolted them apart.

“Think we can make a run for it?” Hank whispered, tugging on her arm.

“Doubt it.”

She smiled as Flo’s weatherworn face peered through the kitchen window. “We have company.”

Following the direction of her gaze, Hank groaned. “So much for a little morning loving. That sight is enough to turn any man’s stomach.”

She whacked his arm. “Be nice.”

“Stop canoodling you two and open this damn door.” Flo put both hands up to the glass and pressed her face against it, trying to get a better view. “Don’t you know what you’re doing is sick at your age?”

“Crazy old bat,” Hank muttered, dropping a light kiss on Olivia’s head as they crossed the kitchen to open the door. “How fast do you think we can get rid of her?”

“She’s lonely and the only person who truly welcomed me when I first arrived in this town so you get those uncharitable thoughts right out of your head.”

With one hand on the doorknob, Hank’s other patted her behind. “My thoughts aren’t uncharitable, sweetheart.”

She swatted his hand away. “No, they’re in the gutter. Now open that door before dear Flo has a coronary.”

“Dear Flo? Lord help us.”

He opened the back door with a flourish. “Dear Flo, how lovely to see you.”

Flo bustled into the kitchen, the pungent odor of stale cigarette smoke wafting behind her.

“Save it, Hank. I gotta have a heart to heart with your missus. Hey, Liv. How you doing?”

Hank wrinkled his nose and waved a hand in front of it as if trying to get rid of a bad smell behind Flo’s back and Olivia struggled not to laugh.

“I’m fine. What brings you out here?”

Flo tapped the side of her nose. “Secret women’s business.”

Hank’s smile vanished. “That’s my cue to leave you delightful ladies. I’ll be in the tractor barn if you need me.”

Hank kissed Olivia before scurrying out the door.

“Don’t know what you see in that old reprobate,” Flo said, smiling fondly at his retreating back. “But I’m glad to see you looking so happy.”

“Thanks. Tea?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Flo’s gaze darted around the kitchen. “You wouldn’t happen to have a few ciggies stashed away somewhere?”

Olivia shook her head, thankful she’d shed that nasty habit along with her old life when she left LA. “Those things will kill you. Why don’t you try those newfangled patches? They worked for me.”

“Reformed smokers are the worst.” Flo opened her bag and popped gum into her mouth. “Now, hurry up with that cuppa so I can tell you my news.”

“I’ve got some news of my own.”

Olivia boiled the kettle, tipped leaves into a pot and arranged lavender cookies on a plate. Not content to let Hank do all the cooking, she’d started baking for the first time in her life and amazingly wasn’t half bad. At least they both hadn’t keeled over from food poisoning yet.

“We’ve set a date.”

Flo banged the table and the cups she’d set out rattled. “Good for you. When’s the big day?”

“Christmas Eve.”

“Lordy, old Hank’s getting romantic in his dotage.” Flo chuckled as Olivia poured the tea. “Does that mean he gets to wear a red suit rather than black?”

“No, but all his Christmases come at once.” Olivia winked as she set down the cookies. “What’s your news?”

Flo wrapped her gum in a serviette, wadded it and lobbed it into the trash. From Flo’s height, Olivia guessed she’d been a basketballer in her younger days back in Australia and it looked like she hadn’t lost her aim.

Flo took a sip of her tea and sighed. “For a person who had one of those fancy chefs back in LA, you sure know how to make a mean cuppa.”

“Any old fool can boil water and steep a few leaves.”

As the words left her mouth, she cringed. George had used those exact words in one of his many put-downs, knowing she took pride in serving quality tea. His petty attitude had never ceased to amaze her. For a man who’d had everything he wanted and his own way for so long he’d still derived satisfaction from making her feel inadequate. Bastard.

“You’re thinking about
him
again.”

“That obvious?”

Flo shook her head, a sad expression creasing her lined face. “Been there myself. Though thankfully my mean old son of a bitch had the decency to curl up his toes and leave me in peace. Saved me the hassle of going to jail for murdering his useless arse.”

Olivia loved their cultural differences—arse for ass—glad it lost nothing in the translation. Sounded like both their husbands had been an arse/ass.

“Murder would’ve been too good for George and besides, I would’ve had to care to do it. I didn’t in the end. In fact, I didn’t care for a very long time. Years of putting up with infidelity and abuse do that to a person.”

“He hit you?” Flo’s hands clenched into fists. “That lily-livered bastard—”

“No, but the verbal and psychological stuff was just as bad.”

In many ways it had been worse, as he’d subjected her to mindless torment before finally realizing what he said or did didn’t affect her anymore. Even then, he’d tried to get a rise out of her daily but she’d refused to bite, seeking oblivion in alcohol rather than face her demons. She’d been on a downward spiral until Marc stepped in and the fact her son had to see her like that, drunk, devastated, depressed, saddened her.

No child should have to shoulder the burden he had but she thanked the Lord every day he’d helped her turn her life around.

“He better not show his face around these parts or I’ll tear him apart with my bare hands.”

She glanced at Flo’s ham-fisted weapons of choice, not doubting their strength for a second. Man-hands, Marc would’ve called them. She hadn’t heard from him and it worried her. He of all people knew what she’d gone through with George and rather than be happy for her it looked like her son had chosen to ignore her.

“Quit thinking about him this instant, Liv. He’s not worth it.”

She valued Flo’s loyalty. For all their differences the two of them had bonded when she’d first come to town. Nothing like loneliness to bring like-minds together.

“Actually, I was thinking about my son Marc and how I haven’t heard from him.”

She couldn’t fathom Flo’s sly grin. “I wouldn’t be too concerned. Something tells me you’ll be seeing him real soon.”

Wondering whether Flo was suffering from nicotine withdrawal, Olivia drained her tea and placed the cup out of thumping reach.

“What makes you say that?”

“Marc’s a handsome devil. And that fancy car of his must impress the ladies.”

Flo had seen pictures of Marc but there was no way she could know about his Jaguar unless she’d actually seen it.

“Marc’s here?”

Olivia should be ecstatic he’d found it in his heart to leave his desk for more than a few hours, though she couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t come to see her yet. It hurt. A lot.

Flo nodded and leaned forward as if about to divulge a trade secret.

“Yes-sirree. I served him last night at the diner and then saw him first thing this morning as I was heading down to Amor for some ciggies.”

“He was out walking?”

Not only had Marc abandoned his precious work for longer than a day, he’d taken up strolling? Her son had never walked anywhere in his life unless it involved getting from the boardroom to his glass-enclosed office.

Flo’s grin turned positively evil. “If you call sneaking out Sierra’s front door and strolling to his car walking.”

“
What
?”

Flo folded her arms, annoyingly smug, as if she’d delivered the Gettysburg address.

“Looks like your son and Sierra hit it off over dinner last night and continued their
discussion
into the night.”

“Hard to believe.”

Olivia shook her head, torn between wanting to ring Marc to discover the truth and wanting to wring his neck for not seeking her out first.

She’d admired her son’s independent streak as a youngster though wished he’d turned to her more as he grew up. Not that she blamed him. In the Fairley household it had been every man, woman and child for themselves and though she’d loved him the best way she could she knew she’d fallen short as a mother.

She’d been too wrapped up in self-preservation mode to pay attention to Marc and though they shared a close bond now she sure wouldn’t win any Mother of the Year contests.

“Believe it. Looks like your son has a new girlie friend.” Flo refilled their cups and nibbled on a cookie. “Mmm, these are good. Face it, Liv. He could do a lot worse than the Kent girl.”

In an instant, Olivia’s mood improved. Hadn’t she been thinking yesterday she wished Marc would settle down with a nice woman? So he hadn’t rushed to see her as soon as he hit town? At least he was here and that could only mean one thing. He cared enough to want to meet Hank and to give them his blessing.

As for being sidetracked by lovely Sierra, she couldn’t have planned it better if she’d tried.

Now all she had to do was get him to stick around long enough to ensure this wasn’t another of his slap-dash flings like he had with those trashy LA floozies he usually hung out with.

“You’re right.” Clinking porcelain with Flo, she raised her cup in salute. “How good are your matchmaking skills these days?”

Outside the market, Sierra sat on an old wooden bench and tilted her face up to the sun, savoring the warmth caressing her skin. She usually loved strolling around the stalls, checking out the fresh produce and haggling with familiar faces.

Today, she’d dragged her feet until Belle banished her to take a breather and she’d gratefully agreed, aware her lethargy had everything to do with the sleepless night she’d spent and cursing the cause as she’d trudged to the nearest seat.

Damn Marc Fairley
.

She wondered what he was up to as she watched Ripley bound through the park. Probably terrorizing his poor mom and bailing up Uncle Hank, trying to impose his will on them like the rest of his well-organized world.

She’d seen his type before, had even managed to match a few guys like him. Personally, uptight, money-driven, businessmen weren’t her thing.

Liar
!
You were willing to make an exception last night
.

“Yeah, but I didn’t,” She argued with her conscience, wondering how much more pathetic she could get than sitting alone and talking to herself.

Not for any lack of trying
.

“Shut the hell up.”

Deciding silence was easier than squabbling with herself, she slid her sunglasses in place and closed her eyes, wishing she could shut out the image of Marc as easily. However, six-four, black wavy hair, chocolate eyes was burned into her retinas, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.

A blaring horn made her jump and her eyes flew open as a car screeched to a halt at the curb.