Addicted to Love (30 page)

It was time to take action.

Determinedly, he took out his cell phone and put a call in to Judge Pruitt.

“Hello, Brody,” Abigail Pruitt said when her secretary had routed him through to her. “Is everything in order for the tournament tomorrow?”

“It is.”

“I heard there’s been a lot of trouble lately over this anti-romance nonsense stirred up by Rachael Henderson.”

“Rachael’s entitled to her opinion.”

“True, true.” The judge must have realized she was rubbing him the wrong way because she injected a soothing lilt into her voice. “But she’s misguided. Getting dumped at the altar, along with the situation with her parents, has unfavorably changed her views.”

“I think it’s other people’s reactions to her opinion that’s the issue here.”

“We can’t have any problems. This charity is important. Not only to me, but to the underprivileged children of Jeff Davis County. And it’s not just the tournament that concerns me. I’m tired of seeing my hometown divided into two opposing camps.”

“My thoughts exactly,” he said. “That is in fact the reason I’m calling.”

“I’m listening.”

“Although you and I might not see eye-to-eye on this matter, I think we both want what’s best for the town.”

“Agreed.”

“I want to mend the rift.”

“How?”

“By making the key players in this rift kiss and make up,” Brody said.

“Excuse me?”

“I have a plan, Judge, but I need your help.”

S
ELINA DIDN’T WANT
to go to the fishing tournament. As Michael’s wife, she’d been obligated to attend the event for the past twenty-seven years. Now that she was free, she’d planned on spending the last Saturday in October curled up in bed reading the latest Karen Rose thriller. But Giada had ruined all that by insisting all the teachers enroll in the tournament.

So here she was standing around the marina with the rest of the town, wearing layered flannel shirts, wool pants, wading boots, and a water-resistant peacoat. The air smelled of fish, fog, and wood smoke. She thought of the warm, cozy bed she’d left, sighed, and looked over at her daughter.

Rachael was busy scribbling in a composition book, jotting down notes on the tournament for her next
Texas Monthly
article. She looked serious, dedicated. Selina had to admit writing the column had done her a world of good.

Pride lumped in her chest. Her daughter had gone from a starry-eyed romantic who always had to have a man in her life to a clear-sighted, strong, independent woman who was making her own way in the world. Selina wished she’d had such bravery at Rachael’s age. If she had, maybe she could have confronted Michael before it was too late.

Michael.

Involuntarily, she swung her gaze through the crowd, searching for him, and found him clustered with his cronies at the end of the dock, surveying the row of fishing boats.

Michael must have sensed her stare, because he glanced up. In that moment he looked as handsome as on their wedding day, a dimpled grin carved into his right cheek, his dark eyes sparkling, his hair ruffled by the breeze.

Selina’s heart squeezed and her pulse galloped. No matter what had happened between them, the mere sight of him still weakened her knees. Stupid, foolish, yes, but how did you stop yourself from loving someone?

He caught her gaze and his smile disappeared.

Quickly, she ducked her head, studied the tips of her bright yellow wading boots.

“Mom?” Rachael said. “Are you okay?”

She met her daughter’s eyes, forced a smile. “Fine. I just wish they’d get this show on the road.”

“They should be drawing the names any minute.” Rachael pointed to the redwood gazebo positioned at the head of the dock where the scales were located, alongside a microphone stand and a large circular lottery cage on a spindle filled with numbered ping-pong balls. It was the same equipment St. Jerome’s Church used to call bingo every Friday night. “Here comes Judge Pruitt.”

Selina noticed her daughter didn’t comment on the fact Brody Carlton was escorting the judge to the gazebo. To be perfectly honest, it looked as if Rachael was struggling hard to avoid catching his eye. Just as Selina was avoiding Michael’s.

Was her daughter falling for the sheriff?

Before Selina had time to consider this further, Judge Pruitt stepped up to the microphone. Posted on the wall behind her was a grease board grafted with the names of the contestants. After a microphone check, she began her welcome speech. She talked about the importance of the charity and then explained the rules. It was hardly necessary. Each year it was the same collection of faces who showed up.

The fishing boats went out in teams and the teams were selected by lottery — hence the caged ping-pong balls. You had no say in the matching process. You were stuck with whomever the lottery dealt.

The team who bagged the most fish during the course of the day won a trophy, Angler of the Year bragging rights, and the honor of being the largest contributor to the local food bank’s freezers for the coming year. Michael was the reigning champion, having won it the last five years in a row. Her husband would probably win it this year as well.

Correction. Her soon-to-be ex-husband.

She felt suddenly hollow inside. The divorce papers had arrived in the mail last week and they were still sitting unsigned on Selina’s bedroom dresser. All she had to do was write her name down and mail the papers back to the court and it would all be over.

Twenty-seven years down the drain. Kaput.

But she hadn’t been able to bring herself to sign them.

Helplessly, she looked back toward Michael as Judge Pruitt picked a ping-pong ball from the hopper. “Michael Henderson,” she called out.

“Yo!” Michael raised his hand.

“You’re in boat #1 and your teammate will be . . . ” Brody spun the cage. When it came to a stop Judge Pruitt stuck her hand in and came up with another ball. “Contestant #13.” The judge turned to look at the board behind her. “That would be your wife, Selina.”

“W
HAT ARE THE ODDS
?” Kelvin asked, whacking Michael on the back. “Getting teamed up in the tournament with your ex-wife.”

“We’re not divorced,” Michael murmured. “Not yet.”

“You could try asking Judge Pruitt for another teammate,” Kelvin suggested.

“I don’t want another teammate. She’s the only teammate I’ve ever wanted.”

Kelvin studied Michael. “You’re still in love with her.”

“I am.”

“After all she’s put you through?”

Michael nodded. “Especially after all she’s put me through.”

That made no sense to Kelvin. “I don’t get it.”

Michael made an odd noise. “Maybe someday, if you’re lucky, you’ll understand what real love is all about.”

“If your love is so damned real,” Kelvin said, feeling irritated, “how come you’re getting a divorce?”

“Because I’ve been a blind, ignorant ass. Now if you’ll excuse me, here comes my teammate.” Michael turned away and headed for Selina, who was coming down the dock toward him.

Kelvin stood watching them, feeling half-jealous, half-smug that he’d never fallen in love.

“Kelvin Wentworth,” Judge Pruitt’s microphoned voice rang out across the water.

“Yes?”

“You’re in boat #2.”

He nodded.

The lottery cage spun, spit out another ping-pong ball. “And your partner is contestant #32.”

Cupping his hands around his mouth to carry over the buzzing crowd, he called out, “Who’s that?”

The judge looked at the board. “Contestant #32 is Giada Vito.”

The minute Kelvin heard the woman’s name, a spike of anger hammered straight through his temple. He’d rather eat arsenic with a smile than be stuck in a fishing boat with that woman.

“Oh, hell, no,” he said, pushing his way through the crowd on the dock, headed for the gazebo. He thundered up to Judge Pruitt. “Get me another teammate. I refuse to fish with that woman.”

Unflinchingly, Judge Pruitt pulled herself up to her full five-foot-three-inch height and met his scowl with a judicial icy glare. “I’m running the show, Kelvin. Either accept your teammate and deal with it, or forfeit your entry fee and withdraw from the tournament.”

Kelvin fisted his hands. He’d seen that stubborn expression on the judge’s face before and he’d never won against it. The notion of just walking away was tempting.

But something kept him from storming off. He didn’t know if it was the realization that if he left, Judge Pruitt would win, or if it was Giada, standing off to the side, arms crossed over her chest, with a look on her face that said she was enjoying his misery.

“What’s the matter?” Giada taunted. “Chicken?”

“To be with you?” Kelvin snorted, trying to deny the sweat popping out along his shoulders in spite of the chilly morning breeze floating in off the water.

“After all, we’re going to be out on the water all day. All alone in that tiny little boat,” she goaded.

He knew what she was up to. Vito wanted him to quit and storm off so she could look like the bigger person, but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction. He might be stuck with her, but she was equally stuck with him and he was determined to make her miserable.

“Fine with me,” he said, taking some small measure of pleasure at the startled expression dipping her eyebrows inward. “Get your gear and let’s go.”

O
NE BY ONE
, couple by couple, Judge Pruitt executed Brody’s scheme. She’d rigged the event, pairing cynics with romantics, forcing ex-lovers together, and teaming up business rivals. Each time the names were drawn, matched emotions ripped through the air — anger, disappointment, frustration, surprise, concern, and hope—until the docks were thick with tension.

“We’ll be lucky if someone doesn’t end up getting killed by the end of the day,” Judge Pruitt muttered to Brody.

“You’ve gotta trust me on this,” he said sagely. “I know what I’m doing.”

Judge Pruitt looked at him with new respect. “Why, Brody Carlton,” she said. “I think you’re finally starting to believe in the magic of true love.”

Brody’s eyes found Rachael in the crowd. Maybe he was.

On and on she went, pulling names until all the slots were gone, all the ping-pong balls drawn, all the participants off in their boats, except for two — Brody and his teammate.

Rachael. The lone remaining contestant left standing on the dock.

He took one look at her standing there in her wading boots and blue jeans and his gut turned to mush. Judge Pruitt had turned the table on him. “You did this on purpose,” he accused.

“But of course. You think I’m blind just because I’m pushing sixty.” She winked. “I saved the best for last. Now go fishing. Everyone else has a head start on you.”

“Judge . . . ”

“Brody . . . ” She leveled a stern glance at him.

“This isn’t going to work.”

“She needs you, and you need her.”

“Clumsy attempt at matchmaking.”

“Okay, look at it this way. The town needs you to tone her down. Show Rachael that what she knows in her heart is the truth, no matter how much she’s been hurt.”

“And what is that truth?”

The judge handed him a bucket of minnows. “Get out on that water and find out.”

He went because he wanted to be with Rachael. He took the bucket and walked toward her. She waited, her smile growing brighter the closer he got.

“Looks like it’s me and you, Peaches,” he said, stopping a few feet from her. “Is that a problem?”

“Not for me,” she murmured. “You?”

He shrugged, suddenly feeling like he was in fifth grade at his first coed party, his mother nudging, prompting him to ask a girl out onto the dance floor. His heart was thumping and his fingers felt strangely numb curled around the minnow bucket as he led Rachael toward the last remaining boat tied to the pier.

Brody climbed in first, set down the minnow bucket, then turned and offered his hand to help her into the boat.

She placed her palm in his.

And he felt Abigail Pruitt’s Valentine magic.

It wrapped around his heart soft and sweet as Rachael’s smile. Wrapped and twined and twisted until he was knotted up with it. Knotted up with her. The scent of her perfume curled in his nose. The feel of her skin against his ignited a fire deep inside him. The sight of her hair falling from the loose ponytail at the back of her neck had him itching to plunge his fingers through the silky strands.

He shook his head, trying to gain some measure of control over his senses. She sat down in the front of the boat with graceful movements. He focused his attention on starting the outboard motor and guiding the dinghy toward open waters.

Neither of them spoke. They passed several of the other fishing boats bobbing on the water. Brody was encouraged to see most people appeared to be getting along, casting lines in the water, pulling up bass and perch, crappie and catfish.

But his mind wasn’t on his constituents or fishing. Only one thing held his interest and that was the woman beside him.

Rachael had her back to him, and she was gazing out over the water as he zipped along, headed for his secret fishing spot. Anxious to anchor so he could tell her all the things he’d wanted to tell her for the past month.

At last they arrived in the narrow slough hidden from the main branch of the lake by a copse of oak trees and surrounded by cattails and water lilies. He cut the engine and let the boat drift for a bit before he dropped anchor.

“You want this?” he asked, bending to pick up a rod and reel. “Or do you prefer a cane pole?”

He raised his head, saw she’d turned around and was now facing him. “I’d prefer it,” she said saucily, “if you kissed me.”

“What?” he asked, unsure if he’d heard her correctly.

She repeated herself.

He needed no more encouragement and he wasn’t asking any questions. He dropped the fishing pole and reached for her.

She was in his arms before he could even kick the minnow bucket aside.

Needfully, he trailed his fingertips over the nape of her neck and leaned to kiss the throbbing pulse at the hollow of her throat. Her silky skin softened beneath his mouth and a tight little moan escaped her lips.