The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade (27 page)

Speaking of helmets—which Justin insisted were mandatory—reminded Susan of her hair. In the restroom of the diner she'd been horrified at the image that stared back at her from the mirror. So much for her efforts with the curling iron. Her hair plastered against her skull, the ends that hung beneath the full-face helmet ratty with tangles from being whipped by the wind. A comb took care of the snarls but could do nothing to coax body into the lifeless locks.

She raked her fingers through her hair. “Next time I think I'll bring a baseball cap. When the helmet comes off, the cap goes on.”

His fingers paused in the act of zipping his jacket and his eyes locked on to hers. Her breath lodged in her chest. Completely unable to look away, she stood still as his hand rose to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Next time.” His deep voice rumbled just above a whisper. “Lady, I like the way you think.”

Susan's heart was still tap-dancing when she climbed onto the motorcycle behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

The sun had almost set when they turned the corner onto Susan's street to find a commotion in progress. Her first thought was that Saturday's demonstration had resurged, but why would anyone want to picket Walnut Street? Flashing blue lights reflected off houses and the faces of a dozen or so onlookers gathered on the sidewalk. A second later she identified the house where the commotion took place, and her pulse accelerated. The police car was parked in the Hunsakers' driveway, the crowd gathered beside their mailbox.

Oh no! Has something happened to Mr. or Mrs. Hunsaker?

Her arms tightened around Justin as he steered the bike down the street. Heads turned, and every eye fixed on them as he rolled to a stop by the curb. Justin hopped off and turned to help her.

She jerked the helmet off. “What's wrong? Has something happened to the Hunsakers?”

As the question left her tongue she noticed a trio on the front porch. A deputy sheriff holding a clipboard and pen stood beside her worried-looking landlords.

Mrs. Hunsaker caught sight of her. Concern fled her face and she pointed at Susan. “There she is!”

The woman bounded down the porch steps and practically ran across the lawn to gather Susan in a bone-crushing embrace. “Thank the Lord you're okay. We've been so worried.”

Stunned, Susan endured the hug with her arms hanging at her side. She looked at Justin, who appeared as clueless as she.

“I'm fine,” she told her landlady. “Why wouldn't I be?”

The deputy and Mr. Hunsaker arrived then, the crowd retreating a few yards at their approach.

“Are you Susan Margaret Jeffries?” the officer asked.

What in the world had she done wrong? Her mind skipped across the last few days and came up empty. She'd done nothing illegal. Always drove the speed limit, came to a full stop at intersections, used her turn signals faithfully.

Swallowing, she nodded as Justin stepped to her side and placed a supportive arm around her shoulders. “I'm Susan Jeffries. Is there a problem?”

The deputy's gaze shifted to Justin and his eyes narrowed. “Are you all right, ma'am? Not being held against your wishes, or compelled to do anything you don't want to do?”

Now it was Justin's turn to look shocked. A flicker of suspicion erupted in her brain.

No. He wouldn't.

“I'm fine,” she told the officer. “Why would you ask that?”

“You've been reported as missing, ma'am. Possibly kidnapped.”

An excited rumble erupted among the onlookers. Mrs. Hunsaker sagged against her husband.

“Kidnapped?” Justin choked on the word. “I didn't kidnap her. We've been on a
date.
”

Humiliation blazing in her face, Susan could only nod in agreement. Not the slightest doubt who was responsible.
I can't believe he did this.

The officer expelled a breath. “We're all relieved to hear that, Miss Jeffries.”

“Dr. Jeffries,” Mr. Hunsaker corrected. “She's a veterinarian.”

Several of the spectators gazed at her with renewed interest.

“
Dr.
Jeffries.” The deputy addressed the observers. “Everything's fine here, folks. Dr. Jeffries has been on date.”

A smattering of applause met the announcement and a groan rose in Susan's throat. Her first date in years, and the event earned her a standing ovation. And this after a lunatic dash down Main Street in pursuit of an escaped patient.

The officer raised his clipboard and clicked open his pen. “I'll need a statement from the both of you. Shouldn't take but a minute or two. After that you might want to call your father, ma'am. Let him know you're okay.”

Completely mortified, Susan could only nod.

She paced the length of her tiny combination living and bedroom, gripping her phone in a hand that still trembled with humiliation. “Why would you do that, Daddy?”

“Because I was worried. Here I am, two hundred fifty miles away, and my little girl stops answering her phone. Texts too. You always answer when I call. What am I supposed to think?”

He
did
sound worried. Guilt stabbed at her, dulling the edge of her frustration. He had a point. Even when she was working, if she couldn't take a call she would send a text saying she'd get back to him when she could.

“I would have called as soon as I saw your missed calls.” Twelve of them, and twice as many texts with messages of escalating panic. The guilt knife twisted in her gut.

“How was I to know that? You never forget your phone. It's completely out of character.”

True. She even kept her cell phone in her lab coat pocket while she worked. As soon as she realized she'd left it at the clinic she should have asked Justin to turn around so she could retrieve it, but talking was impossible while zooming down a country road on the back of a motorcycle. She'd run over to the clinic to retrieve it after the police left.

“Something else that's out of character is your behavior tonight. I thought we'd decided that you weren't going out with this boy.”

Not a boy. Justin is
all
man.
She indulged in a dreamy smile and kept the comment to herself. “It wasn't planned. He came to the clinic this afternoon and offered to buy me a hamburger.”

“And that took three and a half hours?”

“We went for a ride in the country afterward.” She allowed a touch of defiance to creep into her voice. “I had a good time. Is that so bad?”

“Of course not. Everyone's entitled to a little enjoyment in life.” A pause, and when he continued his tone held a note of resignation. “Tell me about him. Where did he go to school?”

“The University of Kentucky.” A truthful answer. No need to tell Daddy that Justin dropped out during his sophomore year to work construction.

“Good school.” His voice was guarded. “What's his profession?”

Though she adored her father, Susan knew he tended to be something of a white collar snob. She paced to the corner and peered into Puff's aquarium. “He, uh, owns his own business.”

“Doing what?”

She hesitated. Justin's business name,
Hinkle the Handyman,
would put her father off for sure. “He's a subcontractor, and licensed in several areas.”

“A subcontractor? Do you mean he's a construction worker?” Disbelief colored his tone.

“More like a builder,” she hurried to say. “He specializes in repairs, and has an electrician's license too.”

A long pause ensued, during which Daddy drew in a slow breath. “Sweetheart, what are you doing? You've worked so hard to get to where you are. You've got to keep your head about you, now more than ever.”

“I will.” She turned at the window and paced four long steps in the opposite direction, ending at the dinette table. “It was only a hamburger. One date can't possibly pose a threat to my future.”

“
Our
future,” he commented. “After all, if you become distracted to the point that your business fails, I'll be forced to pick up the bank note.”

Deflated, she dropped onto the futon that did double duty as sofa and bed. She must never forget Daddy's role as principle financier in
the Goose Creek Animal Clinic. Without him, she could never have bought her business.

Nor could she ignore his warning, not with a good conscience. Justin Hinkle could definitely become a dangerous distraction.

Chapter Eighteen

S
aturday arrived, but not a tranquil Saturday of days gone by. The house had been transformed, and Al didn't like it one bit. The contents of his once-peaceful abode had exploded off the walls and shelves and drawers to lie in cluttered piles all over the house, waiting to be packed into the collapsed boxes that had taken over his garage. Moving day loomed on the horizon, a mere two weeks away. Correction. Thirteen days. Millie had created a countdown with red ink on the kitchen calendar, so there was no ignoring the fact. He wandered from room to room, scuffling in his slippers around the chaos. Perhaps he might go to the office for a few hours of order and solitude.

Heavens, what had he come to, actually considering working on a Saturday?

Millie emerged from the kitchen, her head wrapped in a red checkered scarf, and deposited a stack of newspapers on the floor beside the knickknack shelf. “There you are. Did you find the packing tape yet?”

“On the bed.” He sank into his recliner and stared at the black television screen.

His wife crossed the room to stand in front of him. “Heavens, you look positively morose. Are you getting sick?”

Yes,
he almost cried.
Sick of this whole business. Of crates and piles and eating off paper plates because you've packed the dishes.

“I'm fine.” He slumped further in his chair.

“Hmm.” She placed a cool hand on his forehead. “No fever, except
maybe cabin fever. Why don't you walk over to the Manor and see what progress Justin has made on the roof?”

Sunlight streamed through the front window, beckoning Al outside. Yes, perhaps a walk would cheer him up. The weatherman predicted a high of sixty-eight, beautiful weather for late April. “Maybe I will.”