Midsummer Night's Mischief (16 page)

Wes took a step closer to me. “Hey, we're still on for tomorrow, right? Country drive, picnic?”

“Sure. Absolutely.”

“Good.” With a glint in his eye, he put on the cowboy hat, tipped the brim at me, and nodded his head. Then he reached out with his left hand and touched my upper arm, while with his right hand, he tossed the hat onto the bar behind me. “So long, purty lady,” he drawled.

I stood there, rooted to the floor, as I watched him disappear into the crowd. Part of me was vaguely concerned with how odd it was that he was there in the first place. But even more worrisome was the lingering sensation of his brief touch of my skin. I had it bad for this guy. And I didn't know if it was gonna turn out good, bad, or . . . real bad.

CHAPTER 16

Om. Om. Om, Shanti. Om. Breathe in . . . peace. Breathe out . . . love. Breathe in . . . Wes. Breathe out.... Damn.
This wasn't working.

I opened my eyes, uncrossed my legs, and stretched my arms to the ceiling. Then I hopped up and decided to try something else to calm the butterflies in my stomach. I had woken up uncommonly nervous in anticipation of my date with Wes. I had already gone for a run, worked in my garden, taken a long shower. Now I tried to meditate, but even that wasn't working.

I still had more than an hour before Wes would pick me up. Today was Father's Day, and Wes had called to ask if we could do a mid-afternoon picnic, since he would be having brunch with his family and Skyping with his father. That was fine by me. It was only right that he should spend time with his family today. I had already called my dad and had a nice chat, deftly brushing off all questions about how work was going. It was a ten-and-a-half-hour drive to my hometown in Nebraska, so I saw my folks only two or three times a year. But we spoke on the phone or e-mailed at least once every couple of weeks, so it didn't take long to catch up. Dad was pleased with the books I had sent him, a trio of historical biographies, and he had hinted that I'd be getting a similar package in the mail for my birthday in a few days.

Now I was killing time, trying to get my nerves under control. As I sat on the deck, painting my toenails, I realized I hadn't been this nervous before a date since I got asked out by the star quarterback in the ninth grade. For some reason, this rendezvous with Wes felt extra significant. Maybe it was because of my love spell, which I had continued to nurture, with help from Mila's love charm. Or maybe it was just that Wes was so damn hot.

Or maybe it was the decidedly
intimate
nature of our date.

I couldn't stop thinking about the fact that this would be the first time we would really be alone together. . . side by side in a snug little car and then one-on-one at our private little picnic. It wasn't very likely he would be called away again. It would be just the two of us, alone, cozy, comfortable. Romantic.

I was excited, for sure. But I was also jittery, because of the missing Folio hanging over my head. For one thing, there was the not so small matter of Wes's mother, who had all but threatened to sue me. From what I could tell, Wes seemed to be in the same forgiving camp as Rob and Sharon . . . but still. I couldn't help wondering if he harbored any measure of blame toward me for failing to protect and insure the Folio.

Besides that, I was also dying to know what was going on with Wes and his brother, and what the deal was with the thug at the casino. Did Rob owe the guy money? If he was missing half his baseball games to gamble, then it wasn't much of a stretch to imagine he might be carrying some serious gambling debts. And that would be bad news for sure.

I wondered how much Wes would confide in me about the whole business. We would have plenty of time to talk.

As it turned out, having the time did not necessarily translate into taking advantage of it. After picking up some sandwiches from the vegan bakery, Wes and I were mostly quiet on the drive out of town. It was a clear, blue-sky day. Birds chirped, bees buzzed, and I felt pretty good. Wes played upbeat jazz on the radio and made intermittent small talk, but our conversation gradually tapered off after the first ten minutes. Wes didn't say anything about running into me on the River Queen. Nor did he mention the waitress at the Cozy Café who had told him I was asking about him. Zip about the Folio, too. Pretty soon, all the things unsaid seemed to hang in the air between us, and I wound up gazing out the window, feeling increasingly shy.

And speculating. When it came down to it, I knew more about Wes's family from Sharon and Eleanor than I did about Wes. I mean, I definitely had good vibes around him. He seemed kind and intelligent. But there was so much more that I didn't know. Who knew what secrets might be lurking beneath the attractive exterior?

I gave Wes a sidelong glance and thought back to the night before at the casino. What was Wes doing there, anyway? I had the impression he wasn't hanging out on the riverboat for fun. For all I knew, Rob wasn't the only one with a gambling problem. Maybe it even ran in the family, starting way back with Grandpa Frank's Saturday night poker games.

As a matter of fact, if Wes was living in a bar, he must be hard up for money.

After a while, the roadside cornfields gave way to thickening stands of trees, and I realized we must be near the state conservation area surrounding Diamond Point Lake. One wooden sign pointed the way to Briar Creek Cabins a mile west, while others advertised boat rentals and pick-your-own strawberry patches to the east. Straight ahead the land became hilly, and another road sign told us there was hiking, camping, and fishing not too far off.

But Wes didn't follow any of those signs. Instead, he slowed the car and turned into a narrow unmarked lane, nearly hidden from the road. We bounced along under the overhanging trees for several minutes, until he pulled off the lane and into a small hidden clearing. It would have been easy to miss if you didn't already know it was there.

“There's a nice picnic spot near here,” he said, cutting the engine. He opened his door and exited the car. I stepped out on my side and looked around. There was nothing but trees in all directions. A crow called from high overhead, and then it was quiet. It was peaceful . . . and secluded.

I looked back to see that Wes had gone around to open the trunk. I thought maybe he had a blanket back there, but he pulled out a black duffel bag, shut the trunk, and set the bag on top. I stayed by the open car door, keeping my eye on Wes as he unzipped the bag and fiddled with something inside. Our lunch was on the backseat. So, what was he messing with in the duffel bag?

Under the shadows, the air was cooler and very still. I could feel goose bumps rise on my arms as it suddenly struck me how this scenario might look to an outsider.
Girl meets boy. Girl falls for boy and goes off with him to a remote spot deep in the dark, lonely woods. Boy turns out to be . . .
What? A crazed killer? No way. Wes wasn't dangerous.

Still, here we were, all alone. Not a soul around. There was no place to run, even if I wanted to. No one to hear me scream.

I swallowed hard and licked my dry lips. “Um, whatcha doing?” I asked, trying to sound calmer than I felt.

He looked up with a strange expression. “I finally have my chance,” he said.

“Chance?” I echoed. I impulsively glanced into the car, hoping to find the keys still in the ignition, but he had taken them with him. I looked back at Wes, who stared at me with an inscrutable expression. My heart started thudding madly as Wes slowly began to raise his arm.

“A chance to shoot you.”

I gasped sharply and stepped backward, stumbling over a fallen branch. Adrenaline surged as I prepared to fly off into the woods. Wes walked around the car toward me, and I let out a constricted squeak as he lifted his hand . . . and showed me the camera he held.

“What's the matter? Camera shy?”

He walked over to me, hanging the professional-looking camera on a strap across his chest. I exhaled heavily and slumped against the car. Trying not to let on that I'd just suspected him of wanting to attack me, I faked a small laugh. “Why would you want to take pictures of me?”

“Are you kidding? You're gorgeous. The camera will love you. Come on.”

He headed into the trees, and I hesitated for a moment, looking after him. Then I shook myself, letting go of the residual fear.
See
? I told myself. I had been right all along. I should have listened to my instincts, which had liked Wes from the get-go. Taking a deep breath, I followed him down the path.

Before long, a bubbling creek came into view. As I got closer, I saw that it led to a meandering river lined by sycamores, elms, and white oaks. Wes walked over to a large flat rock and crouched down to photograph delicate flowering spikes of blue vervain on the water's edge.

“What a lovely place,” I murmured, gazing at the river and the birds soaring and dipping.

I joined him on the rock and slipped off my sandals. Dangling my feet in the water, I took in the serenity of the scene and idly reached down to break off a sprig of the blue vervain. I knew it could be useful for its healing properties. Nearby, a pair of ducks bobbed for food, while a slender damselfly flitted from leaf to leaf. I tilted my face to the sun and closed my eyes for a moment, feeling so much calmer than before. When I opened them, I saw Wes looking at me. He smiled and, without a word, crouched down and aimed his camera at me.

“So, you're a photographer, huh?”

“Yeah. Didn't I tell you?”

“Uh-uh. I thought you were a musician, actually.”

Wes grinned at that. “I'm not that cool,” he said.

He took a few shots, then sat down next to me. I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, and I suddenly longed to touch him. Imagined touching him. But I quickly checked myself, mentally shaking my head. I must be crazy. The relief at feeling safe again must be lowering my inhibitions.

I snuck another peek at Wes's profile, trying to figure him out. One thing I knew for sure, I really did like him. But I didn't know for sure how he felt about me.

More importantly, I couldn't forget he was a suspect. Even if he wasn't dangerous, he could still be a thief. I should be questioning him about where he was the night of the robbery.

“Wes?”

“Yeah?” he said, turning toward me.

“We forgot our lunch in the car.”

A slow grin crept over his face as his eyes moved from my eyes down to my mouth and back. “You know,” he said tentatively, “there's actually something I'd like to do more than eat right about now.”

“Oh?”
Be still, my heart.
Without thinking, I looked at his lips, too, and leaned toward him ever so slightly.

Apparently, that was enough of an opening for him. He leaned in, angled his head, and brought his lips slowly, gently, to mine.

Part of me was startled. The other part felt completely at ease.

I kissed him in return, feeling myself dissolve into his lips. He pulled back, looked into my eyes for confirmation and, seeing it, kissed me again. With eyes closed, I let myself surrender to the moment.

I guessed this answered the question as to how he felt about me.

Wes brought a hand behind my neck, and I found myself encircling his broad shoulders with my arms. I ran my fingers through his thick hair as we kissed, our bodies inching closer and closer together. All rational thought left my mind as I allowed him to ease me back onto the rock.

“Whoot, whoot! Yeah, baby!”

Wes lifted his head, and I looked over his shoulder to see a couple of kayakers not fifteen feet away. They laughed, and one lifted his camera phone to take a picture. Wes, apparently inclined to ignore them, turned back to resume his position. But I sat up and put my hand like a visor over my face to hide from the would-be paparazzi.

Wes grunted and sat back on his haunches. “Guess this place isn't as private as I thought.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Have you—” I stopped myself before asking if he had been here at make-out point before. I knew I had no standing for jealousy, and besides, that was so beside the point right now. Actually, I was grateful for the interruption.

Okay, not all of me was grateful. Just the sane part.

“Should we get our lunch?” I suggested.

“Yeah. Sure.” Wes stood up, looking embarrassed now.

Without further conversation, we found the path back to the car. My body still tingled, and I sort of hoped Wes would reach out to hold my hand. He didn't, but we did walk close to one another, our arms brushing now and then.

When we reached the car, he pulled out his phone to check the time. “It's getting kinda late,” he said. “It's after five. Mind if we eat as we drive?”

I shook my head and got in the car. I unwrapped our food as Wes maneuvered the car out of the forest. Back on the main road, we continued toward the farm in a more companionable quietness. Locking lips had a way of bringing people closer together.

“You know,” I said thoughtfully, watching the countryside, “I think this is the area where my aunt lived years ago.”

“Oh, yeah?” he said.

“Yeah. On a commune, believe it or not. It was in the seventies.” I looked at Wes, waiting for his reaction.

He raised his eyebrows and glanced my way. “That's cool,” he said. “What kind of commune? Like an artists' colony or something?”

“I actually don't know,” I admitted. “It's kind of a sore subject in my family. My aunt was only seventeen when she left, against my grandparents' wishes. She basically cut ties with them, never went back. She'd send a postcard every few years, letting them know she was still alive, but that was it. As far as I know, nobody knows where she is now.”

“Wow,” said Wes. “That's deep.”

“To tell you the truth,” I said, feeling comfortable enough with Wes to open up a little, “she's part of the reason I chose Edindale for law school. Although I never met her, I've always felt a special sort of connection with Aunt Josephine. I admire her renegade spirit. Plus, our birthdays are in the same week, exactly thirty years apart. She even sent a couple of postcards to me, one on my tenth birthday and one on my twentieth.”

Wes smiled softly. “Well, I'm grateful to your aunt, then,” he said. “If you hadn't come to Edindale, then I never would've gotten to meet you.”

Awww.Myheartmelted
, and I almost leaned over and kissed Wes again right there in the car. He was like a shot of butterscotch schnapps: hot, sweet, and apt to make me feel a little bit giddy.