Cupid, Texas [1] Love at First Sight (15 page)

“Go on.” He sighed and waved her away.

Relief flooded her face. She turned and fled down the steps, leaving Dade with even more questions now than he’d had before. Who was the mystery woman? Why was she looking for Red? What in the hell was his buddy mixed up in?

T
he next morning, Natalie awoke with a lazy smile stretching her mouth wide. She stretched, yawned, remembered. Last night she’d danced with Dade. Kissed him. And it had been amazing. What a beautiful morning! What a glorious day!

Energized, Natalie hopped from the bed, limped through the pile of wadded-up notebook paper on the floor, to reach the window seat. Anxious to embrace her future, she leaned over and threw open the window wide. Dawn, rosy and soft, spilled into the room, fresh and hopeful, but along with it blew a hot, blustery summer wind gusting from the south.

Oops, bad idea.

She moved to shut the window, but the brisk breeze picked up Shot Through the Heart’s letter, along with the one Natalie had written to Cupid the night before, asking for his help in sorting out her feelings about Dade, and sent them flying over the roof.

The letters caught against the side of the rock chimney, quivered there in the wind.

Oh, dammit. She could not leave the letters there. What if they flew off? She needed Shot Through the Heart’s letter to remember exactly what she’d written, and as for the letter Natalie had written, well, what if someone found it? What if
Dade
found it?

Her face flushed hot at the thought of Dade reading it and discovering exactly what she felt about him. She simply wasn’t ready for that. She had to get those letters back.

But how?

The chimney wasn’t very far from the window, just a few short feet. In fact, if she stretched really long, she could probably reach out and grab them.

There was just one problem. Her fear of heights.

She stood there, nibbling her bottom lip while the wind flapped against the letters. They made a sound like playing cards pinned to bicycle spokes. Night shadows still darkened the shingles. She could go get a ladder, but the thought of climbing up a shaky ladder was even more intimidating than the notion of leaning out across the pitched roof. She thought about getting Zoey to do it, but her sister would make a big deal of it and insist on reading Natalie’s letter to Cupid.

It was high time she conquered her fear.
Just go get the letters.

Resolutely, she kept her eye on the chimney.
Don’t look down.
Gingerly, she crawled up on the window seat and leaned out over the sill.

The wind gusted against her with surprising force.

She sucked in a deep breath, and it was all she could do not to pull back. Clinging to the window with both hands, she eyed the distance to the chimney. It looked no farther than a foot away, but then again, she was terrible at gauging distances.

Well, you can’t stay here forever.

Tentatively, she let go with one hand and reached out for the letters. The wind buffeted her hair into her face, the whipping strands stung her eyes, and this time, batting at her hair, she did draw back.

She sank against the window seat. Nausea rose in her throat, and in a flash, she was nine years old again and on that mountain, dangling from a tree.

Oh God, she couldn’t do it.

Forget the letters. It wasn’t worth this.

Really? Was she going to let her phobia defeat her? At this point, it was no longer only about the letters. It was the principle of the thing. She’d been sheltered and petted for too long. Was she going to spend the rest of her life controlled by fear?

You can do it.

She swallowed, closed her eyes, clenched her teeth, and tried again. This time she was braced for the wind, but no matter how much she stretched, the letters lay inches from her grasp.

If she wanted to reach them, she was going to have to venture out on the roof. Ah, crap. Crawling, she placed her left leg on the slanted roof, the gritty shingles rough against her kneecap.

She paused, needing a moment before she tried to move forward. From the corner of her eye, she spied the ground. It looked a million miles away. If she fell, she could break her neck.

Don’t look down.

Natalie closed her eyes. Hung there. Her breathing grew as ragged as a dull saw dragged back and forth across the tough bark of piñon pine. Her muscles seized up.

Move. It’s only inches.

The nausea crept up to her throat, but she swallowed it back, opened her eyes, and brought her right knee out onto the roof to join her left.

The sun peeped over the horizon, a happy yellow egg yolk, unbothered by the wind that ruffled the material of Natalie’s cotton nightshirt. Sweat popped out on her brow and she shivered the length of her body. Hotly cold? Or coldly hot? Who knew?

Eye on the prize. Grab those letters and get the heck back into the bedroom.

She brought her left knee forward again, moved forward a couple of inches, completely free of the window now. No anchor. No landline.

Don’t be silly, the window is right behind you.

It sounded logical. Of course it was logical, but when you were afraid of something, logic didn’t enter into it.

She reached out toward the chimney. Her fingertips grazed the paper but she couldn’t quite grab it in her fist.
One more inch. Just slide forward. You’ve got this thing.

Chuffing out her breath, she scootched forward, knees dragging across the shingles. Her fist closed over the letters just as a particularly strong gust of wind bulleted around the chimney and knocked her off balance.

Natalie toppled over, cried out, and slithered lickety-split down the steep angle of the roof, barreling toward the ground below.

D
ade came out of his room at the carriage house, dressed in shorts and running shoes, ready to pound out a good five-mile run.

After the Mexican woman had awakened him, he’d been unable to go back to sleep, so he’d returned to the Cupid’s Rest to change clothes in hopes of burning off the restless energy that had dogged him since he’d kissed Natalie.

He rounded the corner, started up the paver stone driveway, and stopped in his tracks.

There, dangling from the roof, was Natalie. She wore a thin white nightshirt, the short hem showing off her legs, and the outline of purple bikini-cut panties showing through. She clutched the gutter tightly in her white-knuckled hands and her breathing came in ragged, panicked gasps.

Instantly, Dade ran to her, reached up, and encircled her waist with his hands. “I’ve got you,” he said. “You’re okay. You can let go.”

“I can’t,” she wailed.

“You can. I’ve got you,” he repeated. “You’re safe.”

The tension seeped from her body into his and he felt her fear. She was terrified. “Natalie,” he said firmly. “Let go.”

It took her a minute to release the gutter. How long had she been hanging there?

He set her gently onto the ground, but her knees collapsed beneath her weight. Dade gathered her to him, held her against his chest.

She was trembling from head to toe.

“What is it?” he murmured in her ear. “What happened?”

She said not a word, simply clung to him, buried her face against his neck.

He lightly kissed the top of her head, smoothed down her hair with a palm. “Natalie, what is it? Speak to me.”

“I . . . I could have been killed.”

“Not really. You were only a few feet off the ground.”

“What if I’d fallen on my head?”

“You didn’t.”

“But I could have.” She shuddered against him. “I’m terrified of heights.”

He tightened his arms around her like a cocoon. The material of her nightshirt was dangerously thin and the curves of her breasts were mashed against him. He should let go of her before his body responded in a totally normal way to a smoking hot, scantily clad woman. “It’s okay. You’re okay now. How long were you up there?”

“It felt like hours, but it was probably only a couple of minutes.” Her voice was wheezy.

“I know it’s none of my business, but what were you doing up there if you’re afraid of heights?”

She waved a fist. She had something clutched in it. Something yellow like notebook paper. “Embarrassing story.”

Hmm. He narrowed his eyes. What was she hiding?

She stepped back from him, glanced down at her barely there garment, and immediately wrapped her arms around herself. The wind, which had been blowing hard and steady for the last hour, sent whirling eddies of sand dancing across the street and lifted Natalie’s nightshirt all the way to her hips.

And Dade got a great glimpse of her smooth white skin. He gulped, and the boner he’d been battling to hold off poked jauntily against his shorts.

Ah, damn.

Natalie yanked down the hem of her nightshirt while Dade ducked his head.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“Gotta go,” he muttered.

She turned toward the house. He turned toward the street. And they both took off in opposite directions.

Chapter 11

It’s usually the skeptics who fall hardest.

—MILLIE GREENWOOD

S
everal hours later, Natalie arrived at the community center still shaken from her tumble down the roof.

“You don’t look good,” Aunt Carol Ann fussed. “Do you have a fever?”

“I’m fine.”

Her aunt put a palm to Natalie’s forehead. “You’re cool as a cucumber.”

Natalie pulled away from her. “I said I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. Something’s up.”

Even though she wasn’t hungry, Natalie snatched up a plate and went to the buffet table for the beef brisket that Junie Mae had brought for lunch; anything to avoid Carol Ann’s scrutiny.

Sandra walked in carrying an oversized metal bowl of banana pudding and put it in the community refrigerator. “Don’t forget the ’naner pudding, when you leave,” she told Natalie.

Although she’d run the risk of galling Pearl, Natalie had ordered the banana pudding from Sandra for tonight’s outdoor catfish fry that she was throwing for her B&B guests to kick off a week of Fourth of July celebrations.

Pearl would have her hands full manning the deep fryer on the backyard patio without having to worry about creating dessert. Her cook had pitched a bitch because that was Pearl, but in the end, she acquiesced and grudgingly gave her permission for the order. Even cranky Pearl had to admit Sandra made the best banana pudding in west Texas.

“Thank you,” Natalie said, happy to have the focus off her. “I’ll get you a check after the meeting.”

“No rush.” Sandra smiled. “I know you’re good for it.”

The reprieve was short-lived. Mignon came over, narrowed her eyes. “Are you hungover?”

“You know I don’t drink,” Natalie said, wishing they’d find another topic of conversation.

“I heard that you drank last night.” Mignon grinned. “And that you kissed Chantilly’s handsome new bouncer.”

“I had to kiss him. I lost the Life Saver relay.”

“Why do you say lost?” Carol Ann asked. “It’s the object of the relay to be the last one with the Life Saver.”

Natalie made a face. “I guess the definition depends on whether you want to kiss someone or not.”

“Some people would consider that winning,” Mignon said. “He’s very handsome.”

“I heard you kissed him twice,” Lace added.

“Zoey’s got a big mouth,” Natalie grumbled.

“I didn’t hear it from Zoey,” Sandra said. “I heard it from Calvin and Maria.”

“I heard it from my mailman.” Junie Mae poured herself a glass of sweet tea. “I think it’s wonderful. Long past time you had a beau.”

“He’s not my beau!” Natalie protested as she took her seat at the table. “We just kissed. End of story.”

“If you say so, dear.” Junie Mae’s eyes twinkled.

“Leave her alone,” Delia defended Natalie. “She’s entitled to her privacy.”

“Thank you, Auntie Delia.”

Delia patted the chair beside her. “Come sit by me and tell me all about him. Junie Mae says he’s got muscles to make the Incredible Hulk weep.”

“Junie Mae!”

“Well, he does. Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’m blind. I know a good-looking man when I see one, and it’s about time you did too.”

“Could we please talk about something besides my love life?” Natalie pushed halfheartedly at the brisket on her plate.

“Ooh-la-la,” Mignon said. “At least she’s admitting she’s got a love life.”

Oh crap. This was backfiring on her from every angle.

“I don’t have a love life. I admit nothing,” Natalie declared.

“Ah,
chère
, you should have a magnificent love life. You are young—but not getting any younger.”

“We just want to see you happy,” Sandra chimed in.

“They need romantic fodder,” Lace said. “Heaven knows that no one is living vicariously through
me
.”

Natalie looked around the table, spread her arms open wide. “Anyone else want to weigh in? This is your opportunity. Tell me what to do. Should I shag him till I’m blue in the face?”

Delia laughed. “Sounds good to me.”

“Woo, Nat, way to get sassy.” Lace pumped her fist.

“You’re right,” Aunt Carol Ann said primly. “We do need to change the subject. Let’s talk about Shot Through the Heart’s letter. Have you answered it yet?”

Well, that change of subject hadn’t helped her any. “Not yet,” Natalie admitted.

“Dear, really, it’s not an indictment if you just can’t do it. Any of us would be happy to take that letter off your hands and answer it today, problem solved.”

She should just turn the letter over to one of the other volunteers. If she were being sensible, that’s exactly what she would do, but Natalie did the tasks she’d been assigned. She was dependable that way. It was just that this particular task felt impossible. “You said I could have until Monday.”

“I have a feeling you’re not going to have it done by Monday. You’re going to be crazed with getting the B&B ready for the Fourth of July celebrations. Let me ease your burden. I don’t mind.” Carol Ann smiled.

“If you want to ease my burden, then please give me another week.”

Carol Ann pursed her lips. “Natalie, that means it would have taken you three weeks to answer a simple letter. It’s unheard of and a violation of our policy, I might add.”

“Could we put a humorous, short comment to Shot Through the Heart in the next newsletter that Cupid is taking her letter under extended advisement, and plead for her understanding?”

“There’s no need, if you’d just give over control of the letter.” Carol Ann’s jaw clenched. Once her aunt got a scenario in her head she tended to become entrenched. She glanced around at the group. “Y’all back me up on this.”

“Back you up on what?” Zoey asked, rushing through the door with her book bag slung over her shoulder.

“Carol Ann is pressuring Natalie to answer Shot Through the Heart or give the letter over to one of us,” Lace filled her in.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Carol Ann sniffed. “I’m the one who has to keep this whole show on track. Natalie’s being stubborn.”

“Take a chill pill, Aunt Carol Ann, how many times has Natalie not done what you’ve asked her to?” Zoey tumbled into her chair.

“That’s not the issue. I—”

“She always does what everyone wants her to do. For godsakes, let her do this one thing in her own time, okay?” Zoey said.

Wow, Zoey was taking up for her? Unbelievable. She smiled across the table at her sister and silently mouthed,
Thank you
.

“How does everyone else feel about this?” Carol Ann asked. “Is this acceptable to you all? Can we all just decide when we’ll get around to answering the letters? Is this the precedent you want to set?”

“Take the stick out of your behind, Carol Ann,” Delia said. “The world’s not going to end if Shot Through the Heart has to wait another week for her letter.”

“Fine.” Carol Ann pressed her lips into a firm straight line and glared at Natalie. “But I really don’t understand what the problem is.”

“Don’t you get it?” Zoey asked.

“Get what?” Carol Ann’s tone was snippy.

“Natalie’s fallen in love at first sight and she’s wrestling with her beliefs and working it out through her answer to Shot Through the Heart.” Her sister ratted her out.

Carol Ann’s face transformed. “My gosh.” She splayed a hand to her throat. “My goodness. Natalie, why didn’t you just say so?”

“Because it’s not true,” she lied, and felt her eyelid twitch.

“Of course, you can have another week.” Carol Ann nodded. “I’ll put a little blurb in the newspaper saying that Cupid had to put on his thinking cap for this one.”

Oh God.

Natalie groaned and dropped her head to the table. She might have gotten a reprieve on answering the letter, but now the entire town was going to be buzzing with the news that Millie Greenwood’s great-granddaughter had finally been struck by Cupid’s arrow.

L
ater that day, while going to the bar to stand in for the day-shift bartender who needed to run some errands, Dade noticed the back door to the Cupid’s Rest standing ajar.

Shaking his head, he went over to push it closed. It immediately popped back open. Forcefully, he shoved the door shut, jiggled the latch until it caught with an anemic click. The lock was a joke. Even if it was locked, the most bumbling thief could break in with a credit card and two minutes to spare.

“Natalie,” he muttered. “You gotta get this thing fixed.”
Hell, you should fix it for her, Vega. Clearly, she doesn’t understand how vulnerable she is.

Dade got on his Harley and took off for Chantilly’s. He resented having to go to work at the bar when he wanted to be off looking for Red. He told himself this was the best way to find out about Red, talk to the regular customers where his buddy used to work, but still he ached to spring into action. Do something besides wait around for clues to appear. After his encounter with the Mexican woman, Dade had a renewed sense of urgency, and he was determined to find a lead to Red’s whereabouts.

At noon, Milo Birch, who perpetually occupied the last stool at the end of the bar closest to the front door, showed up. Milo was a weathered string bean with sharp features and a habit of wriggling his nose. If you stuck whiskers and a tail on him, he’d look like a desert rat, shifty-eyed and sneaky.

Dade didn’t trust him any farther than he could throw him, but he promised to be the best source of information about Red. When Milo was liquored up, his lips loosened like a hooker’s knees. Luckily for Dade, Milo was liquored up seventy percent of the time.

“Bud?” Dade asked as Milo settled into the seat.

Milo sniggered for no particular reason and nodded.

While Dade was trying to figure out how to bring Red’s name up in conversation, Lars Bakke walked in. Bakke didn’t take a seat at the bar, but instead chose a small nearby table and sat with his back to the wall.

It was a seat that Dade himself would have taken in a similar situation. He always sat with his back to the wall if he could arrange things that way. When you had the wall at your back, no one could creep up on you. He’d met Lars in passing at the Cupid’s Rest, but he hadn’t really had much of a conversation with him. It was time to rectify that.

Dade slapped a bar towel over his shoulder. “What’ll you have?”

“Jack straight up.”

Dade poured up a jigger of Jack Daniel’s, set it in front of Lars. “Kinda stout for high noon.”

“You’re pretty ugly to be my mother.” Lars smoothly poured the whiskey down his throat, and didn’t even wince.

Milo sniggered again.

“Something eating you?” Dade asked Lars.

Lars swiped a hand over his mouth. He was damn fit for a man his age. No belly paunch like the majority of older guys. “Problem with my boat.”

“Boat?”

“He’s havin’ a cherry of a sailboat handcrafted in Mexico,” Milo supplied, pronouncing Mexico the way the natives said it,
May-he-co
. “Gonna sail around the world. Show him the pictures, Lars.”

Lars shook his head. “Not in the mood to talk about it.”

“You want another?” Dade nodded at the jigger.

“Beer. Whatever you’ve got on tap.”

“Got it.”

Just then, Jasper came in through the back door. “What’s up?” he asked rhetorically.

“Lars’s got a glitch with his boat.” Milo took a big swallow of beer, leaving a foam mustache on his upper lip. He snaked out a tongue and licked it off.

“That right?” Jasper asked. “What kinda glitch?”

“He don’t wanna talk about it.” Milo played with a Chantilly’s coaster.

Dade poured Lars’s beer. “I slept in the hammock out back yesterday,” he said casually. “And in the middle of the night a Mexican woman showed up on the deck.”

“Hey,” said Jasper, sounding jealous. “How come nothing like that happens to me when I sleep in the hammock?”

Milo snorted. “ ’Cause you don’t look like him.”

Lars met Dade’s eyes when he settled the beer in front of him. “What did she want?”

“Whaddya think she wanted?” Milo made a lewd gesture.

“Actually,” Dade said in a measured, nonchalant tone. “She was looking for the guy whose place I took. Red, right?”

“Hmm,” Jasper said. “I didn’t know Red had a girlfriend.”

“I don’t think she was his girlfriend. She said he was supposed to help her with something.”

“What was that?” Lars asked.

“I can guess.” Milo made another lewd gesture.

Everyone ignored him.

Dade shrugged. “I don’t know. She wouldn’t elaborate, but she seemed pretty scared.”

“No tellin’ what Red was up to,” Milo said. “He was pretty tight-lipped.”

“I’m going to my office.” Jasper jerked his head in that direction. “Got some calls to make.”

Dade’s ears pricked up. What kind of calls was Jasper making? Did it have anything to do with Red?

“Red was something of a character,” Lars said. “Of course, most people who come to Cupid tend to be colorful in one way or another. He wore a braided bracelet with a spent bullet casing threaded over it.”

“I ’member that ratty old bracelet.” Milo scratched his chin. “Red said it was a souvenir from the gun he used to shoot a Talibanny.”

“Personally,” Lars said, “the story sounded far-fetched to me.”

Milo kept scratching on down to his neck. “Yeah, but why would he have worn that bracelet it if weren’t true? He never took it off.”

Dade tensed at the mention of the bracelet. He had to be careful here, couldn’t tip his hand. He didn’t know whom he could trust, but obviously Red had trusted Lars and Milo enough to tell them the story of the bracelet.

“You don’t say?” Dade murmured mildly, as if he wasn’t the least bit interested.

Lars lifted his big head. In his youth he must have been one strong son of a bitch. Even now, he was broad and powerful and could give a younger man a run for his money.

“Arm wrestle?” Lars asked.

“What?”

Lars eyed Dade’s biceps. “Ever arm wrestle?”

“Sure. When I was a kid.”

“Red and I used to arm wrestle.”

“Who won?” Dade asked.

Lars shrugged. “Sometimes him, sometimes me.”