Snow Falling on Bluegrass (2 page)

I sighed and let the expected shiver ripple down my spine. Curse his sexy brain!

I lugged my enormous bag across the parking lot. Hearing my labored steps over the gravel, Charlie turned and gave me one of those world-tilting, knee-melting smiles I loved so very much. It just wasn't fair what that man did to my nervous system.

My interactions with Charlie had been hit-or-miss lately. He was either his normal, charming, distracting self or he was withdrawn and quiet, not responding to my jokes, and finding some reason to avoid me. And he was only like that with me, which hurt my feelings considerably.

On the few occasions I'd asked him about it, he just got this really sad look on his face and assured me that everything was fine; that it was him, not me. But today he looked happy to see me, and I was going to consider that a sign of a good weekend to come.

“Hey, Kels, let me help you with that.” Charlie rushed to grab the handles of my bag only to stumble under its weight and nearly topple to the pavement. “Yipe!”

“Charlie!” I cried, rushing to help him back to a standing position. “I'm sorry. I should have told you it was so heavy.”

“I'll try not to let it bother me that you were able to cart that behemoth across the parking lot without help, while my weak T. rex arms couldn't hold it upright,” he muttered as I helped him heave the bag into the back of the van.

“You know that adrenal response that gives women the ability to lift cars off of their children?” I asked. When he nodded, I continued, “Well, it's the same principle, but my super-strength only applies to saving my shoes.”

While Charlie laughed, Josh stepped around the van door and gaped at my extra-large luggage. True to form, Josh was currently sporting the starched-and-pressed weekend lumberjack look, thanks to an outfit comprised entirely of L.L.Bean catalogue finds. I bit my cheek to keep my laughter at bay, because he looked horrified enough already. “Uh, Kelsey, do you have a body in there or something?”

“Hey, crack wise all you want, but this bag contains everything we'll need for the weekend. And this is where I put Sadie in time-out when she gets out of control.”

“I would like to think you're kidding, but I know you're not,” Josh said with a sigh.

Sadie emerged from the industrial-gray cracker box of an office building, locking the front door firmly behind her. She was practically skipping to the van, something I wouldn't think possible in the high-heeled Prada boots she'd scored from our favorite consignment shop the previous week. I rolled my eyes at her boundless work enthusiasm.

My boss was a kook. I'd lived in Kentucky my whole life and had never managed to drum up the enthusiasm Sadie had for what she called “the unique and wonderful quirks of the Bluegrass State.” Sadie often said we were two compulsive halves of the same neurotic whole. While she was polished and composed on the outside, at any given time she was experiencing a Chernobyl-size meltdown internally. I, on the other hand, processed my panic almost surgically through well-executed lists and plans, but occasionally walked through the office with copier toner smudged across my face. (The amount of time my coworkers were willing to let me walk around with smudges on my face was alarming.) I loved Sadie like the sister I'd always wanted, even if she got a little pushy when it came to my personal problems.

My main problem, as far as she was concerned, was Darrell, and all Darrell-related side effects.

When Sadie saw the expression on my face, she slowed her steps to a grown-up gait and slung an arm around me. Apparently I wasn't handling the whole “breakup/being desperately in love with a man who only acknowledged me every other day” thing nearly as well as I thought I was, in terms of facial expressions.

“Got a second, Kels?” she asked, though she was already leading me away from the van. Once we were outside of hearing distance, she said. “Look, as your boss, I don't want to push you into a situation that's going to make you uncomfortable. But as your friend, I think you need to use this weekend as an opportunity to get everything out on the table with Charlie; tell him that you're very fond of him and that if he has the time, you would like to have a marathon of dirty, sweaty monkey sex until your thighs give out and then maybe have a dozen of his super-genius babies.”

I nodded, chewing on my lip. “Right. No . . . that's not going to work.”

“If necessary, I will find a closet and lock the two of you in it.”

“Remember that I did that out of love,” I told her. “
And
I left you and Josh a hidden supply of vodka.”

“Yes, I definitely felt the love in the throes of my claustrophobic panic,” she deadpanned.

“And I'm not even sorry,” I told her, pulling out her last-minute checklist as the other female staff members boarded the van and chose seats in the more spacious fourth row. Jacob Denton, our recently hired media relations manager, and Tom Lucas, our new IT guy/self-appointed curmudgeon at the ripe old age of thirty-eight, had already managed to slink into the van's second row of seats without helping with the luggage, which I considered a mark of intelligence as well as sloth. The fact that we were able to hire new permanent staff members when other state government branches were ruthlessly slashing expenses was a testament to Sadie's general pushiness during the legislative budget season.

I slid into the van's third row next to Charlie, who gave me a crooked smile. “I promise I'll only elbow your ribs on the left turns.”

“That works both ways, Bennett. And my elbows are bonier than yours.”

Charlie frowned. “I've always thought you have nice elbows.”

My eyebrows shot up, but before I could ask when exactly he'd studied my elbows, Sadie chirped from the front seat, “Is everybody ready to go?”

The occupants of the backseat offered a halfhearted “yay.”

“Clearly we're going to have to avail ourselves of a Starbucks drive-through to caffeinate your draggy behinds,” Sadie commented. When even that didn't elicit a cheerful answer, she added, “My treat.”

The ensuing “yay” was a lot more enthusiastic. I laughed. This was why Sadie was a great boss. She was once one of us, so she understood that her employees weren't mindless drones programmed to do her bidding. We needed incentive. And maybe one of those blueberry scone things with the sugar crystals crusted on top.

Just as Josh started the van, the rumble of bass from a stereo system so far out of balance that the car's speakers were rattling in their mounts assaulted my ears.

I closed my eyes. Please. Oh, please, by Superman's inappropriate red Underoos, not now.

I turned to see the fire-engine-red 1992 Corvette pulling into the parking lot. I gritted my teeth at the dreaded, familiar sight of my newly ex-boyfriend's car. It wasn't even one of the cool Corvette models. He looked like a drug dealer from a bad
90210
plotline.

Darrell Watts crawled out of his car, smirking all the way, pushing his mirrored aviators up the bridge of his nose without any irony at all. The humiliation, it burned.

I couldn't claim Darrell was unattractive . . . because despite everything, I still had my pride and there had to have been something that drew me to this dink in the first place. Darrell had even features and big brown puppy eyes, and his dark hair was shaggy, because job interviews were for
other
people. He'd always landed on the thin side of an athletic build but had taken that for granted. He tried to bulk up his frame with protein bars and muscle milk, but forgot the step that involved actually going to the gym. So now he was going slightly soft around the middle, something he'd reminded me repeatedly that I had no room to judge him for.

Once upon a time I'd found that whole package attractive and believed that he was a sweet, funny guy who just had a little growing up to do before he would make a great boyfriend. Now all I wanted was to get the dent of his butt out of my couch cushion.

I threw the van door open, climbed out, and closed it behind me, praying the others wouldn't hear whatever pointless, painful conversation would surely follow. Considering that we'd broken up only a few weeks before, I expected some sort of ache at the sight of him, some sign that my heart was still smarting from losing someone I'd spent the better (or was it the worst?) part of three years with. I thought I'd have to brace my heart against that now, protect myself from falling for the same crap again. Happily, I discovered this wasn't necessary. I just wanted him to go away. I wanted him far from my safe, Darrell-free work space.

It seemed my heart had finally learned its lesson. Yaaaay, heart.

“What are you doing here?” I asked through tightly clenched teeth.

Darrell smiled at me, all sincere and doting, like he was just a sweet boyfriend who couldn't bear for his girlfriend to leave him for the weekend. Bastard. He knew I hadn't told anybody about the breakup yet. Hell, I'd quit Facebook last year because it was too damn embarrassing to keep bouncing back and forth on the “Relationship Status” like a dysfunctional Ping-Pong ball—“In a relationship,” “Single,” “It's complicated,” back to “In a relationship.” And there was the additional issue of Darrell trolling my friend list for potential “investors” in his get-rich-quick scheme of the week. It was easier just to keep up with people I liked by, well, calling them and talking to them.

Darrell knew I wouldn't want to make a scene in front of my coworkers right before I was supposed to spend a weekend trapped with them, so he was going to use that to his advantage. Once again, I questioned my very sanity for staying with this guy for so long.

“I needed to drop off some of your stuff,” he said quietly, sending a smirk and a significant glance over my shoulder toward the van.

I frowned at him. When he'd “moved out,” Darrell had left behind a crapload of his unwashed laundry and “men's magazines.” I'd boxed the lot of it up and put it out on the curb with a sign that said
FREE IF YOU DON'T MIND PARASITES
. Sadly, it was snatched up within twenty-four hours. If he was willing to leave ten pairs of his underwear behind, I sincerely doubted he'd made the effort to pack up some of my stuff during his great escape. Darrell grinned as he dropped a stack of mail into my hands.

“What the . . . ?” I sifted through the envelopes from his cell phone provider, a Best Buy store account, an Abercrombie & Fitch store account, and a Gamer's Paradise store account, most of which were marked
PAST DUE
in big, scary red capital letters. “These are unpaid bills. In no way does this qualify as my stuff.”

“Yeah, but your name is on the accounts, too.” Darrell smiled sweetly at me, winking over my shoulder at Gina, who was watching closely from the van window.

“What?!” I exclaimed, immediately lowering my voice. “I never signed off on any of this!”

“No, but you did leave your social security card in your filing cabinet. And your credit rating has always been so much better than mine. It was only fair that you helped out.” He shrugged, giving his impersonation of a winsome grin as I fumed at myself for not immediately checking my credit report after Darrell moved out. That stupid grin made me feel so very stabby. He was lucky I didn't keep a nail file in my purse. I turned toward the van, wondering if Darrell would stand still long enough for me to dig through my duffel for my manicure kit.

Charlie was watching from the window, an expression of concern flickering across his features. But when he saw me looking back at him, he squared his shoulders and looked away. I turned my back to him and growled, “How far behind are they?' ”

“Eh, a couple of weeks, you still have time to catch up.” Darrell's hand moved dangerously near my chest, twisting my long, dark hair around his fingers.

I glared, contemplating the various debilitating injuries I wanted to inflict on him. With my level of rage, I wouldn't be able to make it look like an accident. But I could stash his body in my duffel bag and bury him somewhere in a state park. Thanks to Charlie's statistical research, we knew which trail areas were rarely used. But with so many witnesses . . .

I subtly smacked his hand away, wincing when he dragged a few strands of hair with it. “Go away.”

“Hey, don't be like that,” he chided. “I'm happy now, Kelsey. It's not my fault that didn't happen with you.”

“Great, go be happy somewhere else.”

“Oh, trust me, I am,” he said, shrugging with a self-assurance that made those stabby feelings resurface with a vengeance. “But I think I have some stuff at the apartment. Stuff I might need. I won't know it until I see it.”

I snorted, and it was just as derisive and loud as I hoped it would be. I wasn't worried about him breaking into my apartment for whatever he thought he was entitled to. My Lost Boys—Cyrus, Bud, Aaron, and Wally—were watching the place in my absence. I'd adopted all four almost immediately after moving into the apartment down the hall from theirs, serving as a sort of den mother to their nerd herd. I cooked for them and occasionally translated geek to girl-speak. Next to Sadie and Bonnie, they were my closest friends; friends so dear to me that I regularly had to keep them from illegally entering several government databases to delete all evidence of Darrell's existence. Also, they were my designated mail collectors and plant rescuers and therefore well aware of my travel plans.

Knowing them, tech geeks that they were, I'd be surprised if there weren't lasers and artificial intelligence involved. So I felt pretty comfortable responding, “It's not
the
apartment. It's
my
apartment. You can tell, because my name—not yours—is on the lease. Because I paid the rent, not you.”

Before High King Lord Douche Bag could reply, Sadie climbed out of the van and slipped her arm around my shoulders, pasting on her best dealing-with-politicians-she-didn't-like expression—one I'd seen many times. “Darrell, lovely to see you as always . . . Go away.”