Talk of the Town (5 page)

Everyone was delighted to have him back home. He had taken the job as fill-in prosecuting attorney while Dave Newsom was on vacation for the summer, but was back to regular family law now: estate planning, property stuff, and the occasional divorce.

“Who ever gets a divorce around here?” Kelly asked.

“No one I know in the last ten years. Well, that’s about it about Sam. Thirty-two, single, rich, and mmmmmm,” said Ginny.

“Rich doesn’t matter. Money can get you troubles.”

“Get a grip, Kelly. Poverty can get you troubles, too.”

“True. I just mean it’s his heart that matters.” Kelly frowned. And maybe some guys’ hearts are too nice to break, she added to herself.

“Well, it looks like you get the privilege of exploring that area. Here he comes.”

“He’s early!” Kelly bolted into the back room,
grabbed her purse and coat, and came out casually.

“Did I scare you again?” Sam asked.

“Not at all, I just went for my things. Shall we?”

“Have her back by midnight,” Ginny said sternly.

“I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” Sam smiled his bright, white, Robert Redford smile and escorted Kelly out of the store.

“You already
are
the perfect gentleman,” sighed Ginny to herself as they left.

Sam and Kelly sat across from each other on white wrought-iron chairs. The red-and-white-striped cushions blended in nicely with her clingy red outfit, but that was all that blended. Sitting in Van Decker’s Ice-Cream Parlor with a spiky-haired, tattooed lady just didn’t happen here in Happyville USA.

Sam knew that because he had been going to Van Decker’s since he was a kid. He used to order licorice ice cream to make his mother crazy. Old man Van Decker—the original patriarch of the clan—used to keep it in stock, special, just for him.

So what was he doing bringing Wild Thing here? For some reason he wanted to see if this
woman knew her way around a hot fudge sundae.

A buzz of whispers surrounded them, a swarm of gossiping locals. When there was not much going in town, a lunch like this could make the local papers.

It was probably good they didn’t know what he was really thinking about the Lady in Red. Right now it had something to do with the fact her nipples were hard from the cold.

This Kelly thing just didn’t fit in with the wife hunt thing. Kelly Applebee clearly wasn’t the marrying kind. She was the other kind. His eyes slid down to her slightly exposed navel. There was a tiny gold ring in it with a glittering diamond attached. He almost dropped his menu.

Dinky Van Decker, the unmarried twenty-year-old daughter, came to take their order. She winked at Sam about five times while she scribbled.

Kelly ordered a salad and a root beer float. Sam thought that was a very interesting combination. An attempt at healthy eating, countered by some pleasure. He decided to go for a cheeseburger and make it a classic blast-from-the-past meal. Cheeseburger, Pepsi, fries, just like high school.

Dinky winked a few more times, grabbed their menus, and left. He really loved knowing every
one deep down. It was strange that coming back to Paradise was such a great experience for him. He’d been so focused on getting out of town after graduation. Now his entire focus was Paradise, and doing his part to keep good things happening here. Every community needed people willing to give back if it was going to stay a great place to live. He really was a hometown boy deep down.

Hell, even a hometown boy needs an occasional distraction. And Kelly Applebee was one hell of a distraction.

The silence was drawing out. She pulled at her skirt and showed less leg. Didn’t matter, there was plenty of leg to go around. Sam put his hand up to his temple. What was he, just starved for sex? Any man worth his salt would get to know a woman before he let himself get this hot over her, wouldn’t he?

“What brought you to Paradise?” he asked her,

“A bus.”

He leaned back and looked at her hard. She wasn’t going to make this easy. Maybe she was just nervous. Okay, he decided, let’s take another tack.

“It’s a great little town, I’d be glad to show you around.”

“Myrtle gave me the grand tour.”

Sam gave up the chitchat and took her in while
she nervously sipped her water. Her long tan legs took up a great deal of the package. Boy, he was definitely a leg man. Then there was the twining rose vine running up her right one. Ankle to…wherever. Wild rose.

As he shifted his gaze upward and found himself lusting after her shapely form, he felt another wave of guilt for being such a Neanderthal. He sat up and looked into her face.

It was a beautiful face, with some sadness around the edges. He was lonely for a woman with a soul inside her, and he thought he saw a glimmer of depth in her lovely hazel green eyes.

He sat back and took a deep breath. He felt extremely confused. Yes, he wanted to get married, but Kelly Applebee didn’t fit the picture. Yes, he wanted to get laid, but he was an honorable sort, deep down.

Please, God, don’t let me suffer in this dating hell forever. I’ve been a good man. Send me a sign,
he prayed.

The waitress slid a luscious cheeseburger with perfectly crisp homemade fries in front of him and a great-looking salad in front of her. He took the perfection of his lunch as the sign. He was easy.

Between bites, Kelly carefully steered the conversation to avoid herself and learn more about him.
Not much was really being said with words anyway. Their knees brushed under the table, and Kelly felt a wonderful warmth move up her leg. He was simply one burning, smoldering, sexy guy, and the best part was he didn’t seem to know it. She reminded herself…several times…of her vow not to get involved in any relationship until she was free of Raymond.

Whatever. Being with Sam was so delicious, she savored every moment. That and the root beer float that arrived after she wolfed down the salad. It cooled her off a degree or two, so she started chatting again.

“Wow, lunch is fabulous. Sometimes I feel like Paradise is a step back in time. I love that feeling.” She scooped up a big bite of vanilla ice cream off the top of the root beer and stuck the whole thing in her mouth at once. A dribble off the spoon ran down the corner of her mouth.

He watched her, unable to stop. A thin gold bracelet dangled from one of her slim wrists. It slid down her tan arm while she spooned in another bite. She finally reached for her napkin and dabbed her chin. Her nails were red, her lips were luscious, and the ice cream…he envied it.

Sam had lost his focus and not heard much of what she said somewhere after their knees had
touched, except for her last words about liking Paradise.

What he did hear was the music of her voice. It was quite an extraordinary voice, sweet and low and sexy. And any girl who could eat like this—well, she had an earthy quality that he really went for. He reminded himself that he’d received a sign. What the hell, he might as well get to know her.

“Will you have dinner with me tonight, Kelly?” He took her spoon-free hand gently, and the buzz in the room stopped for just a moment, then went up a notch.

“Thanks for asking, but I promised Dottie Williamson I’d help her transfer food to the Presbyterian church after work.

“Oh, wow, lowly Lutheran that I am, I’ve been assigned the same task. It slipped my mind in the…heat of the moment,” Sam said.
Thank you Dottie Williamson and your potato salad,
he added silently. He wanted more time with her, right away.

Kelly’s spoon remained poised in midair for a minute, and she looked at him funny. “Well, isn’t that a coincidence? I want to warn you, though—” Kelly lowered her voice and looked around. “—people will talk.”

“I think they already are. Shall we go some
where more private? We can discuss that legal matter without it ending up in the
Paradise Pioneer
.” He signaled for Dinky to bring the check.

“Shall we go Dutch?” Kelly asked. She didn’t want to owe handsome anything.

“The hint of Italian in me would rather treat you, if you don’t mind. Don’t forget this is the rib bruise apology lunch. Besides, I’ll overcharge you for the legal advice and recoup in no time.”

Man, he was smooth. “Well, thank you again.”

Sam paid the bill with cash and the wacky winking waitress kept up her eye-batting. Kelly figured the girl must have a tic. Actually, the whole
town
must have a tic. He held her coat for her like a genuine gentleman. She slipped into it. At least he didn’t button her up. They walked out with all eyes upon them.

“My goodness, are you a famous celebrity in this town?” Kelly looked behind them.

“I’ve been out of commission as far as dating goes since my return. It’s a shock for them to see me with a woman. There’s probably a bet out since the last time. How many months will it take Sam Grayson to date again? Whoever picked six months will be buying a round at Town Tavern tonight.”

“There’s a tavern here? And Town Tavern is the actual name?” Kelly watched Sam smile a
confirmation. Unbelievable. “And this lunch qualified as a date?” she continued.

“I’d say the criterion was for me to appear in public with a gorgeous woman. You definitely filled the bill. Plus don’t forget I took your hand in public. That was probably worth another twenty bucks. Bonus bucks.”

“I’m happy to oblige. I’m thrilled to be a bonus buck kind of girl.” Kelly felt an edge in her voice. She had the feeling Mr. Grayson was categorizing her in some very interesting slot.

Plus she was also getting very nervous about telling Sam Grayson her problems.

They went four blocks north to the neatly landscaped Grayson Building. Her red sandals were starting to pinch. Wrong shoes for the occasion, and somehow this occasion was starting to feel like a trip to the principal’s office in junior high.

The Grayson Building was placed in a parklike area of Japanese maple trees and expanses of lawn, along with a bank and medical center. The building had a very modernistic, Frank Lloyd Wright feeling. Each floor had a terrace completely surrounding it, with plants dripping down the brick and stucco exterior.

It was different, yet blended in nicely with the rest of town. There was a modern angular bronze
sculpture in the courtyard. The building was seven stories, by far the tallest building in town.

Sam pointed to the top row of windows. “That’s where I live. I took the top floor and converted it into an apartment. Our law offices are on six. The rest of the building has a few accountants and insurance agents.”

“What possessed your family to build such a modern structure in Paradise?” Kelly asked.

“I think Dad wanted to shake up the place a bit.”

“Paradise must look beautiful from up there.”

“It’s very picturesque. Paradise was a wonderful place to grow up. I should be done pretty soon,” Sam said.

It took her a minute to get the joke, but she did. It was probably quite true. Most men took till at least thirty to grow up.

A surprising black marble lobby held another sculpture. It almost looked like a Henry Moore—a bronze of a woman with a child. Very modern and smooth.

“That’s not what I think it is, is it?” she asked.

“My mother is an art collector.”

“Wow, she doesn’t mess around, does she?”

“She’s passionate. The office was built to house it. My dad and I just borrow it to practice law in.” Sam punched the elevator button.

“You’re a very amusing fellow, you know?”

“Lawyers without a sense of humor are just not fun people.” He gestured to the opening elevator and held one side open for her.

They got in. He punched six and moved real, real close to her. She had a little flashback to her last elevator ride—in her wedding dress, running away from Raymond.

Sam smelled good. His warmth was pervasive. This was an improvement over her last elevator free fall.

The receptionist on six looked up at Sam, took Kelly in, and did a classic mouth drop.

“Faith, I’ll be in with Miss Applebee for about an hour. Can you hold my calls, please?”

Faith snapped her jaw shut, then answered, “You bet, Sam. I’ll bring in some coffee.” She had on one of those purple sweatshirts with a white collar. It had puffy-paint chickadees on the front. Her desk was spread out with a very elaborate arts and crafts project that included a doll’s head. Faith was clearly someone’s grandmother.

“She’s not your grandmother, is she?” Kelly asked, as they stepped into Sam’s office.

“Unofficial. She bakes the best zucchini bread in the county, can dismantle a hard drive, rein-stall the motherboard, type about five hundred words a minute, plus a bunch of other stuff. She’s usually not here on a Saturday. Her hus
band George must be watching football, and she needed to escape, I’d guess.”

Sam sat down behind his desk. She perched herself on one of his client chairs. Brown leather. She batted at a huge office palm that reached its fronds out and tickled her cheek. She kept her coat on. She pulled at the hem of her skirt. She clutched her small red leather purse in her lap. Then she told herself to stop fidgeting.

Faith brought in two cups of coffee on a tray with sugar and cream, Kelly explained her usual—three lumps of sugar, black. Faith served both Sam and Kelly in fall leaf design mugs. It was so homespun. Homespun law, Paradise style. Faith exited, and Kelly sipped the coffee, then set it down on Sam’s desk.

“Let me just change hats here from lunch date and rib crusher to legal eagle.” Sam opened a desk drawer, took out a green plaid golf cap, and placed it at a jaunty angle on his head.

Kelly started laughing. A thing she did when she was nervous. “You are a total cornball, Grayson. You belong in a Jimmy Stewart movie.”

“Thanks. Now, what’s the problem?” He handed her a Kleenex box. Her laughing tears were running down one cheek. Then he sat back with his mug and took a sip.

“I need a divorce.”

Coffee sprayed out of Sam’s mouth. He coughed and reached for a napkin. His chair skidded backward and hit into one of the office palms, which fell on him. He fought it back into place.

Kelly jumped up. “Geez, Sam, are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“Can I give you a Heimlich?”

“Maybe later.” He rose and grabbed the offending chair like it had betrayed him, then sat firmly down and faced her.

He straightened his golf cap. “Where were we?”

“My divorce. It’s a bit of a story.”

Married. She was married. He’d figured she’d been in an auto accident or had some other personal injury matter. He took out his damned yellow legal pad and smacked it on the desk. She jumped. He got a damned pen. He was an idiot.

“What state did you marry in?”

“California.”

“California?”

“Yes.”

He could feel beads of sweat form on his forehead. He smacked his hand against it and rubbed, then ran his fingers through his hair.

“You didn’t hurt your head on that palm tree did you?”

“Only wounded pride.” He took in a deep breath and tried to gather himself. There was a rock in the pit of his stomach. “I can tell you the process. The divorce can be filed anywhere the court can get jurisdiction over both parties and their community assets, so where is the spouse?” He hated even saying the word.

“L.A.,” she answered.

“I do know someone down there. I’ll do some research and see what I can find. You’re not in a hurry, are you?” It was an odd question, and he wondered why he’d asked it.

“Not really.”

Okay, so she was married. She was getting a divorce. So what? He could pick up with her later, right? Divorced women were nothing new. She was taking a positive step. Right?

He took off his golf hat and stuck it back in the drawer with a slam. “I’ll need some information. Names, marriage date, assets, that sort of thing.”

A very long pause came from across his desk. Kelly shifted in her chair. In his experience this was not a good sign.

“The thing is, I’m not Kelly Applebee.”

The rock in his stomach rolled over. Here we go.

“My name is Kelly Atwood.”

“That’s close.”

“I’m sorry I lied to you, but I have reason to believe my husband might try and track me down.”

Great. Crazed husband. Should he even ask? “What makes you think that?” He went ahead, tapping his pen against his forehead, which was beginning to ache.

“I stole his car.”

Sam smacked the pen down and got up. “Maybe you better tell me the whole story.” He paced the long side of the office.

“We got married.”

“How long ago?”

“About a week ago.”

“You’re filing for divorce after what seven or eight days, and you stole his car?”

“I thought you were going to let me tell you the whole story.”

“Yes. Continue. Please.” He sat back down and stared at the car thief with the red dress, hot red lips, stick-up hair, navel ring, and tattooed leg. This, he was thinking of dating. He might as well be in a B movie.

“We came home from the wedding and were getting ready to leave for Jamaica. I found cocaine in the lining of his suitcase. I confronted him about it, and he slapped me.”

“He slapped you?” Something in Sam got dark. He hated that kind of crap from a man. “Had he ever done that before?”

“No. Quit interrupting.” She chewed at her
lower lip, which made it swell up, Sam noticed. “Then I knocked him out,” she said.

Sam put his head in his hands and bowed over his desk. She went on.

“He must have forgotten I was left-handed, and I kind of surprised him. He fell against a coffee table and hit his head. I ran and got my stuff and when I heard him start to come to, I got out. I took his BMW. But it was partly mine. I helped pay for it.

Sam lifted his head. “You shared the car? Did you live with him? What’s his name?”

“Raymond. Raymond Bianchi. Yes, we’d lived together for two years. We shared expenses, we worked together—”

“And you didn’t know anything about his drug use?”

“No. He hid it well. Actually, I don’t think he used as much as he probably sold it.”

“He sold drugs.” Things just kept getting better. Car thief with red dress, hot red lips, stick-up hair, navel ring, and tattooed leg married to L.A. drug dealer.

“As far as I know. We were only married three hours. Can’t I get an annulment or something?”

Sam looked up into a pair of big, female, pale green eyes. Her lip was quivering, a small tear slid down her cheek. Why him?

“It looks like you may have some jointly held assets in California, so I’ll have to check on California laws. It’s another world down there. Cohabitating for two years adds another level to the mix. Exactly what line of work were you in? You and Raymond.” The rock in his gut jumped. What’s it gonna be, escort service? Adult films?

“Fashion district. We repped high-end Italian and French designer clothing.”

“Repped?”

“Represented. Raymond owned a showroom, and I worked for him. Buyers from stores come and look at your goods and order for their stores. We were sort of unofficial partners. I handled things when he was out of town. That’s about it.”

“Oh.” Sam said. Hell, it could have been worse. Way worse. Still, Sam felt like he’d been steamrollered. “I’ll make some calls and get back to you by the end of next week.”

She stood up and adjusted her skirt. “I better get back to work.”

“Yes.” He stood as well. “Can I walk you back?” He wanted to walk her back, but he wanted to think, too. Thinking clearly didn’t take place within three feet of Kelly Apple…Atwood.

“No.”

“Okay.” He abruptly opened the office door. She went ahead of him. He walked her past
Faith and out to the elevator. She pushed her own button.

“I guess I’ll see you tonight?” she asked.

“What?”

“Dottie Williamson. Potato salad. Presbyterians.”

“Oh, yes, yes.”

She stepped into the elevator. Facing him, she stared right into him. The doors shut, and that was that.

Kelly cried. She had one Kleenex wadded up in her fist, and she put it over her mouth to catch her sobs.

Whatever the hell she was crying about, she didn’t even know. So, Sam Grayson thought she was a criminal, and a slut, and a—who knows what? Who cares? She was here to give Paradise a go.

She liked the town. She liked the quirky people and the stuck-in-time feeling. Just because one person didn’t fit into that picture, just because one man knew her real world—her before-this-world—it wasn’t going to stop her from making a life in Paradise.

She’d just avoid him. The elevator opened. What the hell was this thing with elevators and her life?

She wiped her face with the shreds of Kleenex
and started back toward town, down the wide sidewalks, down past the changing red maples turning rusty yellow.

When she passed Van Decker’s her heart squeezed in her chest. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon,” she said softly, to no one but herself.

What was she even thinking? Get a grip, Kelly. She was a married woman living under a fake name, with drug money stashed under her bed.

A guy like Sam probably had a girl in every county anyway.

Sam shifted the truck into second gear and rounded the corner of Pearl Street. Four o’clock. He’d had three hours to think through everything Kelly Atwood had told him.

After she’d left he’d sat with a legal pad and made a list. Pro and con.
Con
was long. She lied and she stole, though with some technicalities that could excuse both. She had huge problems. She made bad choices in men. She was married. She was tattooed. She was probably being pursued. She was undoubtedly going to blow out of town within the month, if not sooner. Paradise was just a hideout for her.

Pro
was less specific, and very short. One, she had a sense of self-preservation and should be commended for leaving a terrible situation. Two,
he’d really like to help her get the divorce. And three, she was delectable. Delicious. Desirable.

Damn.

He was going to cling to the long and negative
con
list with every last ounce of intelligence he had. He was going to make a wise choice this time, one that was not based on physical attraction. He might help her out of a jam, but that’s the only thing he was going to help her out of.

He’d made a commitment to Mrs. Williamson. After that he could put in an hour at the social and graciously exit.