It Had to Be Love (An It Had to Be Novel) (4 page)

Tara unlocked her front door, picked up a package on the front step from her mother, then disabled the alarm system. Sherlock’s yelps had her crossing the living room to the back door. She opened it and said, “Hi, little man. Come in and sit.”

Her black-and-white fur ball raced inside. His excitement at seeing her had him chasing his stub tail in ecstasy for his usual solid minute before he plopped his butt down at her feet and stared up at her, waiting for his evening meal. Sherlock’s daily routines varied about as much as Ryan’s did. Oddly, Tara found comfort in that.

“Good sit. Are you hungry?”

He vibrated with impatient excitement at the prospect of dinner. So she gave him the release signal with her hand and said, “Let’s go!”

She’d spent many of her quiet evenings on Sherlock’s training. Mostly because she’d just redecorated the interior of her house and didn’t need a puppy messing things up. She’d been thankful for her sealed hardwood floors a time or two until they’d gotten the potty training skill mastered.

She ripped open the package from her mother and read the note.
Thank your stubborn ass of a father for this.
It was a pretty crystal vase that Tara didn’t need, but she’d add it to all the other things her mother had sent. Her parents must’ve gotten into another argument, because the cut crystal vase weighed a ton and must be worth a fortune.

Her house would soon be overflowing with loot at the rate her parents got into fights lately. Afterward, her mother retaliated against her father by buying expensive things. Her parents’ last row, perhaps a little too conveniently timed by her way of thinking, had resulted in a gorgeous living room, dining room, and master bedroom set from one of the most exclusive stores in Denver. All delivered to Tara’s front porch three days after she’d signed the lease. One more of her mother’s little ways to be sure Tara had the luxurious things in life that her mother couldn’t imagine anyone living without.

Her parents could be exhausting at times, the way they bickered, hovered over her, and found sneaky ways to spoil her even after she’d begged them to stop, but neither of them had left her bedside when she’d been in the hospital. She loved them and her little sister, Laura, more than anything else in the world.

After her pup had gulped down his food, and she’d changed into a T-shirt and comfy yoga pants, she settled on the couch with her laptop. Sherlock curled up by her feet and fell fast asleep.

She sent a thank-you e-mail to her mother, then navigated to the town webpage to see for herself what the missing letter business was all about. The headline stated:
Old Mystery Dating Back to Prohibition Days Solved At Last?

She scanned the article. Seemed Mrs. Beechum, the mayor’s new assistant, had been looking for an old document and stumbled upon a sealed envelope in a file. After the childless Arthur Anderson died, someone went into his home office and put anything legal-looking into the file, and then dumped it off to the town clerk at the time, who was an Anderson too. A scanned copy of the note in question appeared on a pop-up screen.

July 20, 1995

To the Residents of Anderson Butte,

My relations ribbed me for marrying a Grant, as Jane’s did the same for marrying me. And you all never understood why we were such devout teetotalers when brewing whiskey was where the Anderson family fortune originated. But, being a man of the cloth, it was the lifestyle choice Jane and I made. I can’t wait to watch how you all deal with this from my perch in Heaven above.

Before Jane died a few years back, we couldn’t decide who deserved the Andersons’ world-famous whiskey recipe my father entrusted me with, along with the location of where he’d hidden many barrels of it during Prohibition. The aged whiskey alone will bring a fortune, but we never felt right profiting from something we opposed the consumption of. But my father asked me to be sure the recipe was passed along if the drinking laws ever changed, so I feel obliged.

It was an Anderson who concocted it, but a Grant died helping him hide it, so we decided whoever kicked the bucket last (me) would pick an appropriate place to bury the recipe and the location map. If they aren’t found, then God has played his hand and all will end up for the best.

If it is found, it’s probably too much to hope you’ll work together and perhaps use the profits for the betterment of the whole town. So whichever Anderson, Grant, or any other finds it first can have it. Happy digging. Here’s a few clues to the location:

There’s a sealed box buried not too deep—about three feet.

It’s by something that existed before paved streets.

It provides shade and shelter, but beware of a fake.

It’s located not too far west of the lake.

There’s even a pattern to where it is placed.

Find that design, go to the south, and dig at its base.

If you hit metal, you’re in the right place!

Tara chuckled at the thought of Ryan having to recite that silly poem to her. No wonder he’d hesitated. Although, if he liked to read as much as he claimed, he might be as big a Keats fan as she was. Maybe she’d ask the next time she ran into him.

A vision of her almost wiping his chin popped into her brain again and she cringed. What was she thinking? She needed to avoid the man at all costs.

Ryan called up his e-mail. The first one was from Aunt Gloria.

Tara paid for your dinner tonight. And I saw the way you smiled at her. Maybe she’s THE ONE?

Tara had probably paid for his meal because Missy had forgotten the instructions for his temporary crown. When he and Missy had been at Brewster’s the other night, she’d told him Tara took her job very seriously and everything happened by the book.

He tapped back,
She likes Ben, and please put both our meals on MY tab.

P.S. Did you save my pie?

He hit “Send,” then navigated to the screen that showed the status of his applications. Still no news on any of the jobs he’d applied for.

Next he pulled up the background check he’d already done on Tara when they vetted her the first time, and tried to find something he might have overlooked.

He didn’t see anything out of line, but his gut felt the same way it had when he’d been checking out Josh, his sister Meg’s fiancé. It was all a bit too clean and perfect. Like Josh’s had been. Later they’d found out Josh had been an undercover FBI agent.

Maybe he’d ask Tara a few innocent questions. She jogged around the lake every day just after he did. She might not like it, but she was going to have some company on her daily runs.

A ding sounded, alerting him of an incoming e-mail. It was from his aunt again.

Your pie is at the diner waiting for you. Tara added hers too. I think that shows she likes YOU, not Ben! :0)

He smiled, happy his pie had been rescued, and typed back,
I think it means she’s a dentist and probably doesn’t eat sweets. I’ll drop by tomorrow and pick it up, meddler.

He’d miss his family if he moved to Denver, there was no denying that. Especially his matchmaking Aunt Gloria, who, because she’d divorced Uncle Brewster, wasn’t technically his aunt on paper, but would always be to him. But he’d never meet someone he could have a serious relationship with if he stayed in Anderson Butte.

The next morning, Ryan changed up his routine by going to the gym first. He did a hard workout, finished up by seven, then headed out to the boat ramp on the other side of the hotel where Tara usually started her run. When he rounded the corner, there she was, dressed in something snug-fitting and pink, stretching out her long, tanned legs.

She popped her earbuds in and took off at a brisk pace. He jogged in the opposite direction, intending to run into her at about three-quarters of the way on the paved path, so it wouldn’t look like he was shadowing her.

After twenty minutes at a full run, he spotted a guy just ahead. By the man’s build, deep spray tan, and girly highlighted hair, he must be the celebrity his sister Casey mentioned had checked into the hotel the night before.

Then he spotted Tara’s pink outfit running toward them. As the action hero in front of Ryan passed Tara, her eyes grew wide. The shirtless celebrity, white cords from his earbuds bouncing against his shoulders with every step, lifted a hand at Tara as he passed by her.

Tara took a few more steps and then her feet turned 180 degrees to follow him. Ryan increased his speed to catch up with her. She must’ve forgotten the rules about giving celebrities their space.

When he got close behind her, he called out softly, but she probably couldn’t hear him with the music playing in her ears. He didn’t want the movie star to know they were following him, so he slipped a hand on her shoulder and gave a soft squeeze to get her attention.

Her sharp elbow whipped back and jabbed him in the solar plexus, stopping him dead in his tracks, doubling him over. Then she stomped on his foot. Before he could straighten up and catch his breath, the heel of Tara’s hand slammed up and into his nose so hard he saw stars.

Blinding pain made his fingers fly to his face. His nose wasn’t sitting the way it should be.

Tara’s hand slipped over her mouth. “Oh, it’s . . . just you.” She yanked out her earbuds.

He didn’t know what ached worse, his nose or his pride. He’d just been beaten up by a woman. “What the hell was that about?”

Tara ripped off the pink cloth thing that held her hair back and stuck it under his nose to stop the bleeding. “You grabbed me from behind and I . . . reacted.”

Yeah. He probably shouldn’t have done that. She was from the city. “Sorry.” He took the lump of fabric from her and pressed harder against his nose. “I was trying to stop you from following Mr. Academy Award there.” He pointed down the shore as the oblivious man ran the opposite way.

A slow wave of pink rose up her neck and cheeks. “I wasn’t going to talk to him, I was just going to . . . look.”

If his face hadn’t ached like he’d been hit with a baseball bat he might have laughed. “I’m gonna go.” He needed to stop the bleeding that wasn’t letting up.

“Let me see.”

He shook his head and walked away. “I’m fine.”

Tara caught up. “Please?”

Huffing out a breath, he stopped and lowered the cloth.

She winced. “We need to get you to the clinic.”

“I’m good.” He tossed the blood-soaked cloth into a nearby trash can. Then he lifted his favorite T-shirt over his head and balled it up, jamming it under his nose. “See you.”

Tara caught up with his long strides and laid her soft hand on the lower part of his bare back for a brief moment before she yanked it away again. “Ryan, I think I broke your nose. You really need to go to the clinic.”

He was sure it was broken, dammit. He hated that he’d have to tell his brother how it happened. “I’ll go to the clinic. You need to get to work or something, right?”

She shook her head and kept walking beside him. “Not for a bit. I want to be sure you make it okay.”

“I’m not going to pass out or anything.”

“You could. The angle of that punch is designed—”

When he sent her his best “stern cop” look, she snapped her mouth shut.

They walked beside the lake for a few more minutes until she broke their silence again. “I’ll pay your medical expenses and replace your shirt too.”

“You can’t.” He increased his pace as his nose swelled even bigger and pounded harder with each step. They were almost to the clinic and he hoped to God his brother could make the pain stop.

“I insist.”

“This shirt is from the Rolling Stones’ farewell tour. Can’t be replaced.”

“Now I feel even worse. But haven’t they had like five farewell tours already?” Her face brightened. “Maybe they’re having another
one? I’ll see if I can buy you tickets so we can get you a new shirt.”