Forever in Love (4 page)

“Yeah?”

“Have you seen my purse anywhere?”

“Uh…” He frowned. “What’s it look like?”

“It’s a Dior bag, black and about yay big.” She indicated the size with her hands.

“Willie Rae was in here,” some guy called out.

“Ah, shit.” Dusty blushed. “I mean…darn it.”

The back of her neck prickled. “What?”

“She’s the town kleptophile.”

“He means kleptomaniac,” said Blaine from behind her.

Catherine turned around slowly. “What does that have to do with my purse?”

“It has to do with that she probably took it.”

“Can we call the police?”

“Can if you want, but it won’t do any good.”

I couldn’t have heard that right
. “Why not?”

“Because nothing will come of it.”

“Excuse me? What kind of place lets a known kleptomaniac run free?”

Blaine gave her a steady stare. “Careful there. You don’t want to antagonize people your first day in town, do you?”

Left without a choice, Catherine waited for the sheriff at the counter. Rick came over. “Want a drink? It’s on the house.”

A drink would be way over her daily allowable caloric intake, but this was no ordinary situation. Her purse—stolen! By a woman who was apparently famous for kleptomania! “Why not? Stoli Vanil with Diet Coke, please.”

“Tastes better with regular.”

“
Diet
please. Thank you.” She might be about to break her calorie allowance, but there was a limit.

This was what she got for helping Salazar. Small town Americana, indeed. Amazing how nobody in the area thought it might be prudent to keep a kleptomaniac in jail. Or at least under house arrest to stop her from roaming around and helping herself to whatever caught her eye.

Catherine couldn’t believe how blasé everyone was. Nobody seemed at all bothered by the theft, but the indignity was just too much for her. She’d lost her husband to one woman; did she have to lose her purse to another? Apparently fate wasn’t going to be satisfied unless Catherine suffered absolute and utter humiliation.

The drink appeared in front of her. She noticed the tattoo on Rick’s ropey forearm—some kind of swirling initials melded together. The thorny vines around the letters and heart might have made the tattoo appear masochistic, or perhaps evoked heartbreak, but the plump roundness of the heart hinted at enduring love. So what should have looked like high school graffiti was instead elegant and quite artistic, turning the work into something sharp and intriguing. Whoever had designed the tattoo had some talent.

Sipping the sweet alcohol, she checked her watch. Where was the sheriff? Blaine had called a while ago. The klepto woman—Willie Rae—had Catherine’s wallet, plus her brand new phone and the fob to her Aston Martin. Until she got them back, she was effectively stranded.

Catherine glanced outside at the parking lot. At least her car was still there. So the klepto hadn’t committed a grand theft auto…yet.

A little bit later the door opened, and a large raw-boned man in a khaki-colored uniform walked in. A dark khaki hat that Catherine was certain wasn’t part of the uniform was perched on his head. Far too stylish to be government-issue. He had a pair of smallish blue eyes, set wide over ruddy cheeks. The only hair above his neck was an impressive handlebar moustache that looked like something out of the old West. He approached the counter, boots moving purposefully.

“Blaine,” he said in a surprisingly resonant voice.

“Hey, Earl.”

“So. Where’s the victim?”

“Here.” Blaine gestured at Catherine. “Catherine, Earl Webber, Cooter’s Bluff’s sheriff. Earl, Catherine.”

Touching the rim of his hat, Earl tipped his head. “Ma’am.”

Catherine ground her teeth. First the waitress and now him. Did she look
that
old? But her purse took priority. “Sheriff. Thank you for coming over.”

“I went by Willie Rae’s place.” He paused meaningfully. “She wasn’t home.”

“But she has my purse, and it has my car keys and everything.”

“Now, don’t be hasty in making accusations, ma’am. You don’t know if she has your purse.”

“It seems to be the consensus around here.”

“Did you see her take it?”

“No, but—”

“Did anyone else see her take it?”

“No, but—”

“So we don’t know what really happened to it.”

He had to be joking. Everyone in town seemed to know that Willie Rae was a kleptomaniac. Why was the sheriff defending the woman? Was he just trying to dot his
i
s and cross his
t
s in case he got sued?

“If she’s not home,” Earl began, “there’s nothing I can do.”

“Can’t you find her? It’s not a big town.”

“Probably can, if I have the time to look around some. We don’t exactly have a big city force here in Cooter’s Bluff.”

Catherine rubbed the bridge of her nose. That made sense, but she didn’t have to like it. “I see.”

“If you want, I can stop by her place again tomorrow. Where are you staying?”

“On Peach Street. Um… I can’t remember the exact number. That’s also in my purse.”
Which you’re refusing to look for
.

“It’s the Blue House,” Blaine said.

“Okay. As for your car, ma’am,” Earl began, “maybe you can call one of the dealers around here and see if they can help out?”

“You have luxury car dealers?”

“Yes. Mercedes and BMWs and such over in Greensville.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure they don’t have anybody who handles Aston Martins.”

Something flickered in Earl’s gaze. “No, they don’t. I suppose we have to wait until you get your purse back unless you want it towed back to your place.” He turned to Blaine. “You mind her leaving her car here overnight?”

“Not a bit.”

“Excuse me, how do I get back to my place?” Catherine asked.

Earl frowned. “I can take you, if you want to leave now.”

“I’m not ready to go back just yet.”

“Well then, I’m sure one of these fine gentlemen will be happy to give you a ride when you are.”

The slow way he spoke like she was some stupid child infuriated her, but she kept a tight leash on her temper. “Are you seriously suggesting that I get in a car with some stranger I met in a bar?”

“I know all the men here. They’re good guys.”

Catherine felt her jaw drop. No wonder Salazar hadn’t wanted to come here himself. This place was no Small Town Americana. It was more like Loony Bin Americana.

“I’ll drive her on over,” Blaine said. “I don’t mind.”

“See, problem solved. No need to worry. Have a good evening, ma’am. Blaine.” Earl tipped his hat, the bar-lights reflecting briefly off his cue-ball pate, and left.

Catherine rubbed her temples. A knot had formed behind the right one, a sure sign of a headache to come. “You don’t have to drive me,” she said to Blaine. “I can figure it out on my own.”

“It happened here, and I feel partly responsible.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” She picked up her coat, holding it possessively. “I guess I should be grateful she didn’t steal this, too.”

* * *

An hour later, Catherine let Blaine lead her out of the bar, his hand warm at her elbow. He towered over her. He might have been the tallest Pryce; they were all known for their height except for Salazar’s daughter Vanessa. This close, it was easier to see the clean Pryce lines on him. They softened his rough edges. He also smelled nice, warm clean cotton and hard soap. If she’d been looking for a quick, no-strings-attached affair, she might have invited him into her bed.

But that wasn’t what she was looking for. Her mother was right: she was becoming a fossil. Just look at the way people were starting to address her. “Ma’am” indeed! It hadn’t been too long ago that people had called her “miss.” She needed to get a husband who was rich enough to never go bankrupt as soon as possible…before people started calling her “hag.”

Blaine unlocked the passenger door to a relatively new, tan-colored truck. It was enormously tall with huge tires. How in the world was she supposed to get inside? Her dates had all driven low-slung European cars.

“Let me help you in,” Blaine said. He boosted her up easily, his hands warm and strong around her waist. And because they felt too good on her, she climbed in faster than she might have otherwise. She didn’t like the way her heart was thumping. She needed to keep focus, remind herself why she was in the town in the first place.

The inside of the truck was surprisingly clean with a couple of receipts and an open can of Coke in a cup holder. The only people she knew who kept their cars neater were Jacob and Salazar, but both had chauffeurs to clean up after them.

Blaine got in the driver’s seat and started the engine. It purred like a large cat getting scratched behind the ears. Catherine buckled up and leaned back in the seat. He started toward the river, one big hand resting on the wheel. He handled the truck the same way he’d worked behind the counter—calmly and with an assured confidence. Would he be like that in bed too? Or would he lose all control? Catherine looked outside and ignored the slick heat gathering between her legs. Perhaps she should’ve had an affair before coming here. It’d been so long since she’d felt a man’s passion. Jacob hadn’t been interested in sleeping with her for two years.

Blaine and Catherine didn’t speak on the short drive to the Blue House. Thinking about the modest home, she decided the name fit. It must be something the town’s people had given it since Salazar hadn’t called it that.

Catherine stole a quick glance at Blaine. His eyes were glued to the road, and he seemed content to ignore her. Why did he want to be nice to her but then ignore her? She wasn’t used to this kind of treatment from men. Or was the only thing he felt guilt that the town’s famous thief had taken her purse at his establishment? Maybe, like the sheriff, he just didn’t want to get sued.

Within fifteen minutes, he pulled in front of the house. He helped Catherine out, his hands lingering on her a bit. Or was that wishful thinking?

Taking half a step back, she tilted her head. “Thank you for the ride.”

“No problem. Have a good night, sweetheart,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed. The “sweetheart” sounded like an insult, a euphemism for “spoiled little girl.” “I’m not your sweet anything.”

“Never said you were,” he said as he vanished into his truck. He started to back out of the driveway. “You’re somebody else’s.”

The retort was so unexpected she stood mute for several long moments. “No,” she finally murmured as Blaine’s truck disappeared down the road. “I’m not anyone’s.”

* * *

Sighing, Kerri Wilson took her seat next to Ethan Lloyd in the living room of their Arlington condo. It was a few weeks away from their wedding, and she couldn’t believe how much more work was required. He took her hand and kissed her fingers. “Tired?” he asked, massaging her tense neck muscles.

“A little,” she said. “Anybody on yet?”

“Nope. But it’s still early. I haven’t even started the call.” He turned on the monitor and set up the video conference Kerri had asked for.

“You sure you don’t want to just, you know…elope?”

“Nah. Let Barron spoil you a little bit.”

“Spoil me? He’s trying to drive me insane. Thank god your mother went to Thailand to stop him.” Barron had insisted he could single-handedly plan his precious granddaughter’s wedding himself, but Stella wasn’t going to let some high-handed “spoiled rotten” billionaire venture capitalist single-handedly “ruin” the wedding of her son. “I just want to marry you and live happily ever after.”

“I know, but a few months from now you’re going to be happy we had a big blow-out with all our family and friends. A small ceremony—just us with Alex and Natalie as our witnesses or something like that—simply wouldn’t be the same.”

She mulled that over and rested her head on his broad, strong shoulder. “You’re right. Still, I wish things didn’t have to be this elaborate. It’s sort of…” She trailed off as everyone from the Lloyd side of the family showed up on the giant monitor in their living room…well, everyone except Stella.

“Show time,” Ethan murmured, and she sat up straight.

“I’m really sorry about calling this meeting,” she began, cringing at her sister-in-law Amandine’s tired eyes. She was married to Ethan’s younger brother Gavin Lloyd and had delivered their first child not too long ago. “I know I gave almost no notice, but I wanted to talk to everyone before we all left for Thailand.”

“Hey, you’re the bride-to-be. You can call as many meetings as you want,” Amandine said with a smile.

“Thanks,” Kerri said.

“Barron and Mom haven’t killed each other, right?” Gavin asked.

“As far as I know, no,” Ethan answered with a sigh. “Not yet anyway.”

Kerri chuckled. “I’m glad Stella’s taking him on. If anybody can stand up to him, she can.” Then she sobered. “Anyway, the reason why I’m calling is Catherine.”

The light mood vanished from everyone’s face. Gavin steepled his hands. “What did the auditors say?”

“Nothing concrete yet,” Kerri said carefully. That wasn’t entirely true, but she didn’t want to say anything definite until she was one hundred percent sure.

“But I thought they said it looked like the missing money was going to Catherine,” Meredith said. She was Ethan and Gavin’s younger sister, and had been overseeing The Lloyds Development during the past few months.

Kerri shook her head. “That’s hardly sufficient. I want hard facts and numbers before making any accusations.”

“I don’t know…” Meredith looked uncertain. “From what I’ve heard, forensic accounting isn’t easy.”

“Have faith,” Gavin said. “I hand-picked the auditors.”

Kerri nodded. She knew her brother-in-law well enough by now to know that he hired the best or no one at all, which was why she’d been happy when he’d volunteered to select the auditors for the company. “Anyway, the point is that we don’t know if Catherine did it. And until the audit says she did, I don’t want any awkwardness or recriminations in the family.” She took a deep breath. Ethan squeezed her hand and nodded in encouragement. “I’ve invited her to the wedding.”