Here Comes Trouble (13 page)

“That green, huh?”

He nodded. “You can say no thank you. You don’t have to do something because I like it.” He pulled her another half step closer still, until her hip bumped his and leaned even closer. “I’m sure there are plenty of other things we’d both like to do,” he said, then glanced at her and laughed. “Much better face.”

She laughed, too, but part of her cringed. “Good to know I’m that transparent.”

“Hey,” he said, bumping her with his hip, then taking her hand as they set off across the lot. “Don’t feel too badly. You’re playing with a professional.”

She couldn’t help it, she just shook her head and laughed again. He really was incorrigible. Incorrigible and sweet and ridiculously sexy.

It wasn’t until they were stepping up on the curb to head into the store that she grew aware of the looks. It took her a second to process, then she realized what she was doing. Holding hands. With Brett Hennessey. Not that probably anyone in Pennydash, Vermont, knew who Brett Hennessey was in terms of his poker fame, but what they did at least see was her, clearly attached to a much younger, hot motorcycle guy.

That part didn’t bother her, but before she could consider any other possible ramifications to their public display, Helen Harklebinder was calling her name.

“Kirby!”

She casually slipped her hand from Brett’s as he opened the door for them and the trailing Mrs. Harklebinder. Kirby stepped into the store and turned back as the older woman caught up. “Hello, Helen, how are you?”

Helen had already forgotten all about Kirby. She was too busy beaming up at Brett. “Well, aren’t you the nice young man. Too many of your generation don’t know their manners these days.”

Brett nodded. “My pleasure.” He stepped forward and unstuck a cart from the queue and rolled it to her, handle first.

Helen’s smile deepened and Kirby swore there was a bit of a pink flush to her feathery cheeks. “Why, you’re just a big Boy Scout, aren’t you.” She turned to Kirby. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friend?”

Kirby had been caught up in the byplay, watching the spell Brett so effortlessly wove and was thinking he probably did that, rather pied piper like, everywhere he went. So it took her a split second to switch gears. “Oh, he’s not my—I mean, he’s—”

Brett stepped forward and extended his hand. “Brett Hennessey.”

“Mrs. Harklebinder,” she said, eyes twinkling now. “But, please, you can call me Helen.”

“Helen, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He rolled another cart out, which Kirby grabbed like the lifeline it was. “Have a nice evening,” he said to Helen, and then expertly guided Kirby and her cart toward the fresh vegetable department.

Kirby threw a little wave over her shoulder. “Nice to see you,” she said, then so softly only Brett could hear, added, “Thank you.”

“Actually, I should apologize.”

She glanced up, honestly confused. “For?”

“Not thinking. Small town. And your town. I know what you said about it not bothering you, but I don’t want to put you in a deliberately uncomfortable or awkward situation.”

“No, no, don’t—”

“Stop being nice,” he said, but was smiling as he said it.

Which made it easier for her to say, “Well, to be honest, I hadn’t even thought about it, beyond the general not caring about other folks’ opinions on my personal choices.”

“But you haven’t actually encountered them yet. Right?”

“True. So, yes, I guess I’d like a little processing time.” She took a steadying breath and added, “and more time to get to know you.”

She risked a glance up, and found him smiling but looking at her quite intently.

“What,” she asked, wishing she could read him as well as he apparently read her.

“Good,” was all he said. Then he nodded, and his expression was…happily content. “That’s good.” He covered her hand on the handle of the shopping cart and steered her toward the lettuce. “You get stuff to make a salad. I’m heading out to find us some pasta. Meet me in the bread aisle.”

“Ten-four,” she said.

“Horrible hand. I’d fold with that one,” he called back to her as he headed off.

She frowned. “It’s a radio sign-off,” she called after him. “Not a poker—never mind.” He’d already ducked down the soft drink and chip aisle. She turned and resolutely rolled her way through the fresh vegetable bins, choosing a fresh head of romaine, a few decent-looking tomatoes, some thoughtfully preshredded carrots, an onion, and a bag of croutons. She had no idea what kind of dressing he liked, so she picked out a ranch and a spicy Italian. Not so bad. A salad even she couldn’t screw up. Probably.

She pushed the cart along the aisles, heading toward the small bakery and bread area on the far side of the store. She heard Brett before she saw him. He was talking to somebody. She pushed the cart a bit faster, then slowed before she rounded the end of the last aisle and peeked around the corner first. Crap. Thad had Brett cornered between the dairy and the bread rolls. Thad, who knew exactly who Brett was. And had no idea he’d prefer no one else did.

Thad was pumping Brett’s hand, and to his credit, Brett was smiling easily enough, but it wasn’t the same kind of twinkling, truly sincere smile he’d favored her with. This was more…well, it was hard to say, exactly, because he looked quite sincere as he listened to Thad ramble on about something. She pushed the cart around the corner and headed their way, her mission plan to extricate him—them—as soon as possible. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

“You in town for an exhibition of some sort?” she heard Thad ask.

She winced inwardly as she noticed a few other shoppers shamelessly listening in on the conversation. If she didn’t do something quickly, he’d have folks asking him to autograph their grocery lists or something. Everybody loved a celebrity, even if they had no idea who he was.

“No, nothing like that,” Brett was saying. “I don’t think Vermont even has a gaming commission,” he joked with an easy smile. “I’m just taking a break, doing a little sightseeing.”

“Hey, Thad,” Kirby said as she closed ranks.

“You get my message earlier?”

She forced herself not to so much as glance in Brett’s direction or she was certain a neon sign would pop up over her head, announcing exactly what it was the two of them had been doing right before he’d left said message. “Sure did, thanks.”

He nudged her with his elbow. “Coulda told me you had a celebrity booked at your place.”

“It wasn’t an advance booking. And Mr. Hennessey here was looking for a bit of relaxation and a chance to get away from Vegas for a bit. If you know what I mean.” And she hoped to hell Thad did. Unless he’d already blabbed it across town. Which, come to think of it, he probably had. She should have thought of that and headed off this little excursion at the pass.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Deputy Johnson,” Brett put in, setting the box of pasta and cans of tomato sauce he’d been juggling into Kirby’s cart.

“No, the pleasure’s all mine. Thanks for the tips,” he said, clearly loving the idea of feeling he was suddenly a poker insider.

“Catch you some other time,” Kirby said, rolling the cart forward a bit and hoping Thad would catch on and move himself and his little handheld basketful of items on along.

“Sure, sure.” He glanced at the cart. “You making your guests do their own grocery shopping now, Kirby?”

Thad was about five or six years older than Kirby, divorced three times, no kids, and had made more than one attempt to get her to go out with him since she’d moved to Pennydash. She’d always politely but firmly declined. Thad was nice enough, in an overly-loud-but-friendly kind of way, but he had “lonely divorced guy looking for number four” all but made into a badge and pinned to his chest right next to the real thing. That was not a combination she was interested in tangling herself up with.

Thad had always taken her kindly worded rejections well, and he’d seemed to back off once the season had begun, or had geared up to begin, anyway. Word was he was seeing the new twenty-four-hour video store night manager. Kirby wished them both well.

“I needed a few things,” Brett interjected in response to Thad’s jibe. “Kirby was headed this way, so I tagged along. She’s a very accommodating innkeeper.”

Kirby almost choked on her own spit; then she quickly pasted a smile on her face when Thad looked at her with concern. “That’s me,” she said brightly. Probably too brightly. “Well, you’re probably wanting to get home before the game.”

“What game?” Thad asked, confused again but mercifully no longer ogling their comingled cart items.

“Uh, hockey.” There was always a hockey game on this time of year. “Tip-off is soon.”

“Face-off,” Brett said under his breath.

“Right,” Kirby said, smiling as she maneuvered her cart between Thad and the huge display of muffins and cinnamon bread. Once clear she gave the universal sports fist pump. “Go, uh—”

“Bruins,” Brett offered, and she could see his lips twitching now and that twinkling light was back in his eye.

“Exactly,” she said, unable not to smile back. Until she caught Thad looking between the two of them and snapped right back out of it. “Go New England!” she said, giving another little fist pump and then swiftly angling the cart when Thad shifted his feet a bit, looking at her like she’d lost her mind. At that point she didn’t care if she ran his toes over or cleared off half the display stand. She shoved the cart the rest of the way past the display case and kept on going. Brett was just going to have to save himself.

Which he apparently did, as he was beside her before she reached the bakery counter. “Sorry about that,” she said.

“About what? He seemed like a nice enough guy. And it’s Boston. You know, in case you ever get stuck again.”

“Boston?” Then her expression cleared. “Oh. Boston Bruins. Well, Boston is in New England. I was close.”

Brett just chuckled.

Kirby rolled her cart to a stop beside the baskets of French bread. “And you’re right, Thad is basically harmless. Thanks for being so nice to him. You probably just got him at least a half dozen free beers down at Swingert’s Pub on that one story alone. Of course, it will probably sound a little different by the time he’s telling his buddies. By that time he’ll have been the one giving you poker tips. Fair warning.”

“Warning taken.” He was still smiling.

“I just—I thought you’d rather not have it blabbed all over about…you know. And Thad is worse than an old woman when it comes to gossip. Mostly because he makes it his business to know every last thing about everyone within a fifty-mile radius of the town limits, and given we’re not exactly riddled with crime, and with the resort hotel more than half empty, he doesn’t have much else to do except run his mouth. So I’ll apologize up front if you’re suddenly inundated with questions from nosy townsfolk.”

He slid the long loaf of bread from her hands and merely smiled at her as he put it in the cart. “There’s only one nosy townsperson I’m interested in talking to at the moment. What do you say we blow this pop stand? Do we have everything we need?”

“I have wine back at the inn, so…yes, I think we’re good.” She looked in the cart. “Wait, where is the spaghetti sauce?”

He pointed to the cans of tomatoes and tomato sauce. “Right there. You have a decent spice rack?”

“Um…well. Like what, exactly?”

“Oregano, salt, maybe a little garlic to make garlic toast with the bread. Butter?”

“Maybe we should hit the spice aisle. Just in case.” She silently groaned, thinking that getting there entailed crossing to the opposite end of the store again. All she needed was for them to cross paths with Thad again, or Helen, or anyone else Thad had cornered in order to share his latest piece of news.

Brett’s long-legged stride kept up pretty easily with her sprinting pace. “Hungry?” he asked as she took the spice and condiment aisle almost on two wheels.

“Just not big on dawdling.”

He plucked the appropriate spices off the shelf so easily it was clear he’d made his way around them in the past. “Or cooking,” he said, half teasing, half asking.

“I do okay.” As long as it came out of a box, can, or prepackaged tray. And was only responsible for feeding herself. There was a reason the only actual full meal she offered was a box lunch. Sandwiches and chips she could do. Bagels, muffins, little boxes of cereal in the morning, some hot coffee and juice? Check. She’d been doing setups for that stuff since she was six years old and had proved to Mabel, the resort dining room manager, that she could reach the countertops without knocking anything over. But cooking where actual ingredients and a hot burner or three were involved? Yeah, the fire department could only do so much. Why risk it? Not to mention that poisoning her guests by actually preparing full meals from scratch generally wasn’t seen as a good business-building tool.

“Just okay?” he asked, that teasing glint surfacing again. And she realized then what she’d missed before, when he was talking to Thad.

His smile had been easy enough, his body language friendly and open, but his easy smile hadn’t reached his eyes. She wondered if it was sort of like a role he played. It went past just being polite to charming enough that most folks probably didn’t notice they were bothering him. Both Helen and Thad had surely felt like he’d personally connected with them.

“All right, barely okay,” she said, figuring what difference would the honesty make at this point. “I’ll be in charge of chopping up the fresh things that don’t require a stove.”

“Ah,” he said. “Got it. But you’re safe with knives?”

“I can chop anything from an onion to firewood. But you’re only supposed to burn the latter one. I know my limits.”

“Ah. So was that the reason for the last-minute change in menu at dinner?”

“In my defense, the pot roast barely fit in my Crock-pot after adding the potatoes and other stuff. I’m usually good with the Crock-pot. Okay, I usually only use it for mulled cider, but it just didn’t look all that hard.”

Brett was grinning again. “Well, I appreciate the effort. And the chicken and biscuits were wonderful.”

She gave him a little curtsy. “Thank you.” They moved to the front of the store and she scanned the check-out stands but didn’t see Thad or Helen, or anyone else likely to interrupt their progress in getting out of the store without being further accosted.