Harlequin Special Edition November 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Weaver Christmas Gift\The Soldier's Holiday Homecoming\Santa's Playbook (12 page)

He worked his way around the congested room, thinking it was probably a good thing the sheriff was participating in the tournament, too, since Jane was definitely over the maximum occupancy. Max wasn't likely to give her a ticket for the infraction when he was part of the reason.

Before Casey made it to the exit, he saw her step back down the ladder and move behind the bar.

She had four bartenders there already. As far as he could tell, they hadn't stopped to breathe since the pool playing commenced a good three hours earlier. That didn't stop her from getting in there, mixing a few and—if he knew her—telling them how to do what they were already doing.

Jane liked things the way Jane liked things.

He made it through the door into the cold afternoon and headed down the sidewalk toward the parking lot.

The space between Jane's building and Lucy's dance studio was more congested with players and onlookers than the bar had been, and with the portable heaters, it seemed even warmer.

He was no more in the mood to wade through the melee here than he had been to show up for the tournament at all.

The only reason he
had
was because it gave him an excuse to see Janie.

Didn't matter that it was pointless.

She was through with him. She was seeing Arlo.

For the past month, everywhere he turned, he heard ad nauseam about how Arlo'd taken to having lunch every day at Colbys. How they'd spent Thanksgiving together and his car was parked in front of her condo all the time now.

Whether Casey liked it or not, Arlo was the kind of man she wanted. Openly. Publicly.

He was the kind whose work never called him away at inopportune moments. Whose work was exactly what Arlo said it was. He wouldn't do what her ex-husband had done—constantly put her second. And he would do what Casey couldn't—give her the baby she wanted.

Every day he woke, he expected to hear they were making it official. And every night when he went to bed without hearing it, he hated the selfish relief he felt.

With his mood growing even more sour, he turned and headed across the street to the park instead. There were already preparations under way for tomorrow's tree lighting. Tables had been set up for the covered dishes everyone brought for the potluck supper—nothing more than big sheets of plywood propped over barrels that would get sheets of red-and-green plastic for tablecloths. There were tall propane heaters to hold the cold at bay and folding chairs set out near the pavilion for the bands that would play. Nobody bothered putting up a dance floor. If people had a mind to dance, they would, right there on the frost-browned grass, among the dozens of Christmas trees that were being strung with lights.

The world kept ticking along whether he liked it or not.

He scrubbed his cold hand over his face and wandered around the pavilion. It was almost funny to see the couple in a clinch in the shadows behind the circular structure. For as long as he could remember, kids had used that spot to make out.

He'd been guilty of it a time or two himself back when he'd been in school.

But as he turned away before they noticed him, he recognized the man. And it was no longer funny.

Arlo Bellamy was playing tonsil hockey with a woman very clearly
not
Jane.

Casey cleared his throat and the couple sprang apart. He didn't know her name, but he recognized the woman—dark haired and young—from Shop-World, where she was a clerk. Her identity didn't mean diddly to Casey, except to know she wasn't Jane. “Couldn't find a spot that offered a little more privacy?”

The other man didn't even have the grace to look ashamed. He kept his arm slung over the girl's shoulder. “You know how it is, Casey.” His tone was easy. Friendly. As if they'd run into each other outside the hardware store and had stopped to shoot the breeze. “When the moment strikes and all.”

Casey saw red and his fist balled, flashing out to plant square in Arlo's face. Arlo's head bounced back, blood spurting from his nose.

The girl screamed and raced away, running hell-bent for leather across the street.

Casey didn't give her a thought. “You know how it is,” he told Arlo through his teeth. “When the moment strikes and all.”

Arlo had covered his face with his hand and was sidling sideways away from Casey. “Are you
crazy
? What the hell's wrong with you? I'm bleeding like a stuck pig!”

Casey sidestepped along with him. They were toe to toe. “If the shoe fits. What the hell's wrong with
you
? You think you can treat her like this?”

“Amber? She's—”

“
Jane
,” he said through clenched teeth. “I'm talking about Jane.”

Blood was dripping down Arlo's chin. Onto his coat. He eyed Casey over his hand as if he'd lost his mind.

Maybe he had. He hadn't punched someone since he was fifteen and full of teenage bravado and stupidity.

“She's got nothing to do with this,” Arlo said.

Fresh fury coursed through Casey, and his fist curled again, but someone grabbed his shoulder from behind before he could do more than that. “Hold on there, hoss.”

Casey jerked around to find Max. The girl, Amber, had obviously run him down from the tournament. She was panting, holding her side, as she warily circled Casey to get to Arlo's side.

“This doesn't concern you, Max.”

His cousin-in-law gave him a hard look. “That remains to be seen,” he said evenly, and transferred his gaze to Arlo. “We gonna all go to our corners here, Arlo, or what?”

“He assaulted him,” Amber insisted. Her hands fluttered around Arlo's hands, only succeeding in smearing the blood farther. “I was right here and saw it all!”

“Mischief I break up behind the pavilion usually involves kids,” Max muttered. “Not grown men old enough to know better. Arlo, you want me to take you over to the hospital? You want to file charges? What?”

“Charges.” Casey nearly choked on the word. “He's cheating on Janie. A bloody nose is the least of his worries.”

“You hear that?” Amber pointed her finger accusingly. “He just threatened you, Arlo! Sheriff,
do
something about him!”

Arlo lifted his hand. “Let's just all calb down,” he said thickly. “Nobody's cheating and nobody's charging.”

“You had your tongue down her throat,” Casey snapped.

“
What
is going on here?”

They all turned to see Jane storming toward them, looking furious. Her gaze swept over Casey, then Arlo, and she paled. “Good Lord.”

“Broke by dose,” Arlo said. His eyes were already looking swollen and bruised as his voice turned even more nasal. “Nudding fadal.”

“He needs a doctor,” Amber yelled at Max. “Why aren't you getting him to a doctor?”

Arlo patted the air again. “Calb down.”

“She's right,” Jane said, looking determined. “You should see a doctor, Arlo.” Giving Casey a sideways look, she brushed between them and slid her arm around the other man's waist. “I have at least four of them playing pool across the street. Come on.”

Amber's jaw dropped. She obviously didn't like being displaced quite so easily. She skipped along with them, doing her best to put her arm around Arlo, too.

Feeling dark inside, Casey watched them go.

“Looks like your knuckles are bleeding, too,” Max observed after a moment.

Not as badly as Arlo's nose. Casey swiped them over his jeans. “You going to arrest me or something?”

“I could.” Max studied him. “Don't even need Arlo to file a charge against you. Public brawling?” He shrugged. “Good enough cause. That what you want? Spend a little time in my jail cell?”

Casey grimaced. What he wanted had just walked away from him, tenderly yet bossily tending to a man who, it turned out, also didn't deserve her. “No,” he answered.

“Want to tell me what happened?”

“No.” He flexed his fingers. They were stiff.

“Okay.” Max rubbed his chin. “So here's what you're going to do. You're going to go home. You're not going back to the tournament today. Last thing I want is that crowd over there picking up sides if that little girl, Amber, succeeds in stirring them up. Stay away from Arlo for a few days. Then apologize.”

Casey spit out an oath. “He's a cheat. I'm not apologizing.”

“Guess that's up to you. You might think about it, though. Arlo changes his mind about making a charge, there's nothing I can do to stop him. You want me to give you a ride home?”

“Afraid I won't follow orders?”

“Will you?”

He deliberately unclenched his jaw.

Max evidently took his silence as assent. “And get some sleep,” he advised. “You look like hell.”

“But I won't have a couple of black eyes,” he muttered.

Max looked vaguely amused. “Of all of you Clays, I always figured you were the most peaceable. You play the violin, for God's sake.”

Casey grimaced. His grandmother's violin was still broken, sitting in silent accusation on his kitchen table. “Yeah, well, I don't like cheats.”

Then he turned and headed home. The fact that his uncle was sitting in one of the rocking chairs on his front porch by the time he got there wasn't a particular surprise.

“I told you to get your crap together,” Tristan greeted him.

If Casey hadn't had as much respect for him as he did, he would have told him to go to hell. And damn the consequences.

“You decked an innocent man.”

Casey clenched his jaw. Arlo wasn't innocent, but he knew there was no point in arguing with his uncle.

“I need you showing clear judgment,” Tristan went on, pushing to his feet. “Ever since Jon's and Manny's deaths, you've been spiraling. And it stops now.”

Even though he was braced for the lecture, the words felt like his fist must have felt to Arlo.

“As of now, you're suspended. You still show up at Cee-Vid. You still keep up the front. But your access to Control is cut off.”

He felt another notch chip away from his world. “For how long?”

“Until I see you start acting like the man I know you are,” his uncle said flatly. “If you need a counselor—”

“What the hell would I say? I can't sleep because of a few bad freaking dreams? Like I'm some little kid afraid of the damn bogey monster? I've been in Connecticut enough already. I have no desire to go back and get my head poked and prodded.”

Tristan sighed. “You wouldn't have to go back there. You could see someone here. Dr. Templeton—”

“Hayley?” He let out a snort. “Sure. I'm gonna confess all to Janie's best friend. Great idea.”

“She's a professional,” Tristan said impatiently. “And she's heard things from more people than your smart ass knows about.”

Casey ground his teeth together again, because whether he liked it or not, his uncle definitely had the right to make the call he was making.

“But if I were you,” Tristan finished, “I'd start talking to the person who's a major part of your problem. I know you told Jane about Jon and Manny, so don't bother claiming she doesn't matter to you. A lot. For now, Jason McGregor is in the wind. But Jane Cohen is right here in Weaver. So stop screwing it up!”

* * *

It was nearly 2:00 a.m. when Jane parked her truck in Casey's driveway.

She was as riddled with misgivings now as she had been the first time she'd come here.

But she hadn't been able to make herself go home after the last of the revelers and pool players called it a night. If she hadn't closed things down on them, her register would have been still ringing up drinks.

But enough was enough. She'd issued the last call, made sure everything was set for the final rounds of the pool tournament tomorrow and locked Colbys up.

She got out of the truck and walked around to the front of his darkened house. As late as it was, Casey was probably asleep. No doubt, he'd have plenty of caustic things to say if she woke him up.

She'd worn tennis shoes in anticipation of the long day and they were silent on the brick walkway. The porch light that had been turned on the last time she'd come here was dark. Casey's truck was parked in the driveway, so she assumed he was there. But the total lack of light made her wonder. She had only the moonlight to go by and was relieved when she made it up the porch steps without tripping over them. Unfortunately, once she was on the porch, the awning blocked out what little bit of light there was.

Moving blindly forward, she felt the doorknob. It had been unlocked the last time, and she was tempted to try.

But she tapped her cold knuckles on the door instead.

“You think anybody inside would hear that timid little knock?”

She was so startled by his voice coming out of the dark her heartbeat nearly exploded from her ears. “Dammit, Casey! Do you like scaring the living daylights out of me?” She peered along the dark porch and finally made out the shape of him sitting in one of the rocking chairs.

“I live here, sport. You're the one skulking around in the middle of the night.”

“I'm not skulking.” She folded her arms over her chest. She'd layered a thick long-sleeved sweater over her turtleneck once the sun had gone down, but she still felt cold.

Or maybe she was just feeling that way because she was here. With Casey. And his tone didn't hold the least bit of welcome.

“It's almost two in the morning,” she pointed out. “Why aren't you in bed?”

“Why aren't you?”

“Because I just finished working for the night!”

“You think you're the only one?”

She exhaled, struggling for patience. The man excelled at frustrating her. “Don't you have any light?”

“Yes. And if I wanted any, I'd have it. What do you want, Jane?”