Wildflower Wedding (8 page)

Busted

T
RISH LOOKED UP AT THE MOONLIGHT AND SIGHED. SHE
felt a little bit guilty after sending the lukewarm review of River Row Pizza and Pasta off to her editor. But even though the
Cricket Creek Courier
was a small publication, Clyde and Clovis made it abundantly clear that they wanted polished, professional articles written with an honest point of view. Trish even cut the new restaurant some slack since it was apparent that they were overwhelmed and understaffed, but that being said, she couldn't overlook the scorched bottom of her pizza with a crust so crisp that it crunched when she chewed. A crying shame because the thick sauce had delighted her taste buds and the stretchy, high-quality provolone melted in her mouth. To be fair she mentioned those positive things as well along with the homey, friendly atmosphere that felt old-world Italian. The fresh flowers were a nice touch and the piped-in music wasn't too overbearing.

Still, halfway through the day and they were already out of something as basic as salad. Patrons waited while tables remained cluttered with dirty dishes. In fact, she'd wanted to try one of the homemade desserts but felt as if she needed to vacate her table, allowing someone waiting to have a seat.

Trish tipped her wineglass up and took a sip of her Merlot and then patted Digger on the head. “Still, Dig, I feel kind of rotten.” Maybe she wasn't going to like being a critic after all.

Trish also felt a bit guilty that she'd been letting Digger out several times a day with an extended playtime in the evening. At first it wasn't an issue because a teenager had stopped over to let the dog out but hadn't shown up for the past few days. She knew she needed to get ahold of Anthony and ask permission, but the man was never home. She'd tried to get his phone number from Maggie, but her friend was out of town for the week, probably off on some fancy rock star vacation, and so she still didn't know anything more about her mysteriously absent tenant—except that he left early and came home late, leaving his dog alone for way too many hours. The thought crossed her mind that he might have a girlfriend, and she frowned.

Reaching down, she scratched Digger behind the ears. She and the dog, both lonely, had bonded over the past week and when she did see Anthony she was going to ask formal permission to keep letting Digger out when he would otherwise be penned up for long periods of time.

After draining the last of her wine, she gave the dog one last scratch. “Time to head inside, Digger. It's getting late.” Trish yawned and then stood up. Digger knew the drill and trotted toward his back door entrance, but this time he hesitated and gave her a sad look with his big brown eyes, making her halfway tempted to bring him inside with her. But she knew that'd be going too far. Maybe she really would have to look into getting a rescue dog of her own. Then Digger would have someone to play with. “I know, I know, this loneliness stuff is for the birds.” Trish let him in and then locked the door.

After entering her side of the house, she locked up and then headed upstairs. Once she was finished getting ready for bed, she grabbed the self-help book she'd been reading and tried to get interested in the chapter on how to declutter the negative thoughts from her mind. She tried, really tried, but after rereading the same page twice she decided that she just wasn't in the mood to declutter her brain. “Maybe tomorrow,” she said with a sigh, and put the book on top of a stack of several other self-help manuals. Perhaps she needed to read something more exciting like murder mysteries . . . oh, or maybe erotica.

And then she heard it. A noise.

Barely breathing, she sat very still and listened. Straining, she closed her eyes as if doing that would somehow make her hearing better. She should have listened to her mother's warnings about loud music as a teenager, because her hearing wasn't as sharp as it used to be. Aha, there it was again. A scratching and tapping noise seemed to be coming from the backyard. Switching off the light, she crept over to the window and peeked out but couldn't see anything. Trish made a mental note to have one of those gotcha lights installed.

Was someone trying to break in? Trish grabbed her cell phone and decided to creep down the stairs and see what was going on. But what if someone was already in the house? Her heart hammered in her chest and she wished she had a baseball bat handy. Instead, she picked up the empty wine bottle, thinking that might do the trick if push came to shove.

And then she heard a crash that had her nearly jumping out of her skin. She hurried across the kitchen floor and peeked beyond the vertical blinds, squinting, and then finally spotted the culprit.

“A raccoon!” And he'd just knocked over her garbage can. Relieved but grumbling, she fumbled with the latch and tugged, knowing she needed to shoo him away or there would be garbage all over the pavement in front of the garage. Trish made another mental note to get a garbage can with a sturdier lid that locked down. She tugged hard on the sliding glass door, grunting while wondering why it wouldn't budge. “Oh . . . right,” she whispered, remembering the sawed-off broomstick inserted to keep out intruders, probably overkill in Cricket Creek but big-city habits die hard.

Finally, she opened the back door and stepped outside a few feet to the edge of the patio. She noticed the pretzels that she'd accidentally left outside that had been the late-night snack for the raccoon before moving on to bigger and better things. She shouted, “Go away! Go on, get out of here.” She brandished the wine bottle even though she wouldn't dare go any closer. When the raccoon boldly looked over at her, Trish started waving her arms and jumping up and down, wielding the wine bottle like a sword. “Go! Get!” She stomped her bare foot and winced. “I'm warning you,” she said, hopping on one foot.

“Is there a problem?” asked a deep male voice that had Trish yelping. She stopped in midjump, mid-crazy-wine-bottle wave, and landed like a ninja ready to pounce and turned toward . . . “Anthony?” Digger came out with him and barked at the raccoon before trotting over as if to protect her.

“You seem surprised. I live here, remember?” Shirtless, he wore weathered gym shorts. His dark hair was wet as if he had just gotten out of the shower. When he gave her an amused grin, Trish realized she was still in the crouched ninja pose. He frowned at the wine bottle.

“I . . . it was . . . I heard a crash.” She pointed toward the garage with the neck of the bottle. “A raccoon knocked over my trash can.”

“Oh. Interesting, uh, weapon.” When his gaze lingered on her for a second, Trish remembered she was in a pink tank top and shorts . . . and no underwear. “Unless you were going to lure him away with a glass of wine?”

“It's empty,” she said. “I . . . I should go pick the trash up.”

“You go back inside. I'll get it.”

“No, it's my trash,” Trish protested.

“Hey, it's dark and there might be other critters out there.”

“I've got this,” Trish boasted, wanting to show that she was no longer dependent upon a man. But she swallowed, thinking of the beady eyes staring back at her waiting to pounce. No, she could do this. . . .

“I insist,” Anthony said, and started to cross in front of her patio at the same time Trish hurried forward before her courage disappeared. She ran smack into him and on instinct, or maybe it was divine intervention granting her secret wish, the solid impact of his chest sent her stumbling backward. The bottle flew from her fingers, luckily landing on the edge of the grass, and she grabbed his shoulders for support. At the same time his hands shot out and steadied her around her waist.

“Oh my!” Trish said, suddenly becoming acutely aware of his warm skin. He smelled of masculine soap and minty toothpaste. She would let go . . . as soon as her equilibrium returned, and she hoped it wasn't anytime soon. For now she held on for safety reasons. “S-sorry.”

“For what?”

“Running into you.”

“Can't say that I'm sorry,” Anthony admitted, keeping his hands put. He flashed Trish a sexy grin and for a heart-thudding moment she watched a droplet of water slide from his wet hair to his cheek, landing on the corner of his mouth. When he licked the droplet off, Trish almost moaned. For a moment she wished she could pinch herself to see if this was really happening or she was dreaming.

She watched his Adam's apple bob in his throat, and for another heart-pounding moment, she thought he might . . . well, maybe . . . kiss her?

“Sorry. I probably shouldn't have voiced that out loud, but it's been a long day.” He suddenly dropped his hands and took a step backward as if wanting to create some distance between them. Digger started running around as if thinking this was time for fun and games. The happy dog brought the tennis ball over, but instead of putting it at Anthony's feet, he nudged Trish's hand. With a giggle Trish tossed it.

“He seems to like you. Funny because he was a rescue and it sometimes takes him a while to warm up to somebody.”

Trish shrugged, wondering if she should confess that she and Digger had a thing going on, but she didn't. “Look, seriously, you don't have to pick up the trash. I need to put getting a better garbage can on my to-do list.”
I'd like to put you on that list too
went through her mind, and she felt heat in her cheeks. “I would wait until morning, but I don't want to attract any more critters.”

“I'll do it.” Light from his kitchen cast a soft glow, and when he took another step backward, Trish got a really nice view of his chest. Anthony stood close enough for her to touch him, and Trish sure wanted to and fisted her hands at her sides in an effort not to do just that. Damn . . . it had been so long, and having her hands on his warm skin had been such a tease to her senses.

Anthony had one of those nicely ripped, but not too bulky, athletic bodies along with an enticing dusting of dark chest hair that had her heart hammering. He didn't immediately head over to clean up, just stood there as if he wanted to say more, but Digger ran over and started getting into the trash.

“I'd . . . I'd better get over there before he eats something he shouldn't. I feel bad enough that he's been cooped up so much lately. Katie, the dog walker I hired, left for volleyball camp and I haven't found a replacement.” Tony sighed. “I let him out early in the morning and then sometimes not until late at night, but he's been so good about not making a mess. Hopefully, I can make it up to him after things settle down for me.”

“I wondered what happened.” Trish nodded. When was a good time to confess you'd been secretly carrying on an affair with someone's dog? She thought she would go join him and help while learning more about what was keeping him so busy, but a sudden cool breeze reminded her that she was scantily dressed and bending over might not be such a good idea, so Trish decided she'd better go back in the house. “Thanks so much, Anthony,” she said quickly. “I'll get a new can tomorrow.”

Once she was back inside, Trish put her hand on her chest, feeling the rapid beat of her heart. Biting her bottom lip, she smiled and savored the little feminine thrill sliding down her spine. She already knew Anthony Marino was one sexy man, and there was something deeper about him that sucked her in, making her want to know more about him. He had a killer smile and the coming-to-her-rescue thing was a total turn-on. As much as Trish wanted to become independent, she couldn't help liking the notion that he would come to her aid if need be.

But then she sighed when she remembered that she'd forgotten to ask him where he worked or if it was okay for her to let Digger out to play during the day. “Tomorrow,” she said, and then went back upstairs, hoping that sleep wouldn't elude her. With any luck she'd have a steamy dream about her oh so dream-worthy neighbor.

•   •   •

Sunday passed by without any sign of Anthony, and feeling sorry for Digger, Trish let him out to romp around in the backyard while she worked on an article about Heels for Meals, a local charity benefiting families in need. Next on her list of restaurants to critique was Wine and Diner, but since she'd already eaten there she knew the review would be a positive one. She thought once again about the Italian restaurant. She'd have to head there again to see if they'd settled down and improved. The review would be in the paper tomorrow and she was excited for her words to be in print but still felt a little bit of nagging guilt that the review wasn't all that positive.

In addition to writing a lot of local articles, lately Trish had also been considering writing a novel but had yet to put the plot forming in her head on paper. When she'd once mentioned the idea of writing fiction to Steve, he'd scoffed at the notion, telling her she'd be wasting her time. Well, one thing that Trish had learned about her life since her divorce was that she'd wasted a lot of precious time
not
doing things she'd always dreamed of doing.

Those days were done. Knowing that made her want to dance a little jig.

Trish had decided it was about time to head inside when her cell phone rang. Looking at the screen, she smiled. “Hi, Maggie!”

“Hey,” Maggie said, “I'm finally back in town after a week in Nashville with Rick. He's looking for new talent to sign at his recording studio.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“It was but I'm so behind with my work. So, what is it you were calling about?”

Trish watched Digger chase after a bird. “I haven't been able to locate the lease for Anthony Marino. Steve might still have it, but I thought you would be able to e-mail me a copy?”

“I'm sure I can do that. I believe it was a two-year lease.”

“Oh, good. Hey, listen, do you know what he does for a living? He's rarely here.”

“You don't know? He and his nephew own River Row Pizza and Pasta.”