One Foot in the Grove (18 page)

Night creatures screeched and live oaks swooshed in the muggy, moonlit breeze as I labored up the basement stairs to the yard. Exhausted, achy, and groggy, I carried the tiny photo of Loretta and Lenny along with a loaf of Precious's bread and a string bag filled with Daphne's tomatoes that Pep had brought down from the kitchen for me. I slogged across the lawn in Daphne's creaky green rubber boots, hoping that Dolly would be waiting for me outside my cottage.

Dolly was nowhere to be seen.

Maybe after getting out of my wretched clothes, taking another dose of ibuprofen, drawing a warm, lavender-scented bath, and taking a relaxing soak I'd have energy enough to look for Dolly, I thought, opening the cottage door and kicking off Daphne's boots. I plopped the photo, bread, and tomatoes on the Sheridan dresser next to the door. As the screen door slammed shut, I pulled my filthy
GEORGIA VIRGIN
tee over my head and tossed it to the floor before clicking on the switch to the cranberry lantern overhead.

“Don't let me stop you there, Babydoll.”

Across the room, Buck Tanner was settled in my chintz floral armchair under the window. Dolly was curled up in his lap.

Chuckling softly, Buck said, “I must say, I'm tickled pink at your constant desire to undress in my presence.”

Dolly jumped down and ran to me, excitedly whining and wagging.

“Dolly!” I cried as I picked her up. Tears of relief fell down my cheeks as she wiggled and whimpered, covering my tears with licks.

I glared at Buck. I felt a confusing mix of relief and elation to finally see Dolly coupled with a sickening humiliation to—once again—be caught off guard and undressed in front of Buck. At least this time, I'd managed to remain somewhat clothed in my black sports bra and cutoffs. I pretended not to care. Or maybe I was too tired to care. I set Dolly down on the floor. In a flash, she grabbed my dirty
GEORGIA VIRGIN
shirt, shook it wildly, and skittered to her bed with it.

“What are you doing here?” I was chagrined to see my many wads of cried-upon tissues still littered everywhere.

“Why, I'm waitin' to see you, Babydoll. I've been here quite a while.” Smiling, with dark, chocolaty eyes fixed on me, Buck leaned back in my armchair, threw one leg up over his knee, and folded his hands in his lap.
Cocky
. He was dressed in black jeans, fitted black tee shirt, and boots.

“Do you always ensconce yourself, uninvited, in people's homes in the middle of the night?” My hands were on my hips. “And,
Sheriff
, are you ‘on duty' or ‘off duty'?”

“No, I don't usually ‘ensconce myself' uninvited, or otherwise, in people's homes,” said Buck with a dimpled smile. Then he waved his iPhone with one hand. “This time, I had my cell phone to entertain me. So, there's no need to feel guilty that you missed out on an opportunity to share some of your famous Southern hospitality.” Buck chuckled. “And as far as bein' ‘on duty' or ‘off duty,' I'd say it's a little of both, actually.”

My face was getting hot. What nerve. I couldn't believe he'd just waltzed in and sat down. Did he have a warrant? Had he gone through my stuff? Had he proposed to Debi Dicer?

Oh crap. Where did that come from?

I stiffened.

“It seems to me, Sheriff Tanner, that it's either one or the other—on duty or off duty.”

“Now, Babydoll, don't get hot and bothered. I'm here to help you,” he said, eyes twinkling.

“Help me? How's that? By scaring the crap out of me and stalking me in my own home?”

“Did you know that you look real hot and saucy when you're mad?”

“Stop it.”

“I'm here to give you a bit of friendly advice.”

“We're hardly ‘friends.' We haven't laid eyes on each other in eighteen years.”

“Well, yes. I guess you got that right.” Buck held my gaze. “At least I don't hold a grudge.”

I tried not to flinch. “You don't?”

“No, Eva, I don't,” he said softly. Buck gazed steadily at me.

My stomach flipped, and the back of my neck got real hot. I tried to push a million thoughts out of my head. The same million thoughts I'd had, and tried to ignore, for eighteen years. I broke Buck's gaze and looked down at the floor, biting my lip.

I really wanted him to leave.

“What do you want?” I asked, still looking at the floor. I pictured him putting a ring on Debi Dicer's long, slender, perfectly manicured finger—the same way he'd put a little diamond ring on my finger once. I reminded myself that he was
not
my friend. He couldn't be. Not after what I'd done. And certainly, not now. Not with Debi. I could see them laughing together. I started to imagine them, intimately . . .
Stop!
This was all a ruse. He was working a case, I
reminded myself. He was here to arrest me. I looked up and glared at him.

“Why don't you sit down and we can talk. You look like you could use a rest,” said Buck.

“I don't want to sit down. In fact, I just woke up, so I'm happy to stand here until you leave, which will be any moment now, I'm sure.” I looked hard at Buck and crossed my arms, silently daring him to arrest me.

“Have you got something I can eat?” he asked suddenly. “You know, I've been waitin' here for hours, and I'm starving.”

“You're kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I'm kidding? I tell you what, since you're not feeling terribly hospitable right now, why don't you sit down while I find us something to eat.”

“Good luck with that,” I said dryly. I stared over at Dolly, who was happily wrapped in my tee shirt, munching on one of the tissue wads.

In one swift motion, Buck rose up out of the chair and was at the kitchenette. He was like that. Catlike. It looked like he was moving slowly. But really, he was fast. He'd always been that way. Combined with his power, grace, and stealthiness, it was part of what made him such a great athlete. And sportsman. And lover.

Stop it!

“Cute place you've got here,” he said. “Was this Daphne's doing?”

Staring at the holstered gun Buck wore tucked into the backside of his jeans, I pushed a strand of hair out of my face and rolled my eyes impatiently.

“Looks like one of her projects,” continued Buck. “I remember this place as bein' not much more than a dirt-floor shack.”

Buck stepped out from behind the counter and crossed past me to my loaf of bread and string bag of tomatoes on the dresser near the door. “These'll do,” he said, picking up the bag and the loaf of bread. Remembering how Buck
and I used to make out on the floor of the cottage back when it was “not much more than a dirt-floor shack,” knowing my hot cheeks were blushing red thinking about it, only added to my mortification, standing in front of Buck in my sports bra.

Buck stopped short and picked up the little photo.

“What's this?”

“I think it's a photo of Chef Loretta and her brother.”

Buck flipped the photo over and nodded his head silently. “Where did you get it?”

“In Loretta's apartment. Your crackerjack detective must've missed it.”

Buck studied the photo.

“Stay here.”

He pushed open the screen door and stepped outside, closing the door quietly with his hand.

“Like I'm going anywhere dressed like this,” I shot back. Still, I doubted he heard me. Already, he was mumbling on his cell phone from the stoop outside. About a minute later, the door squeaked open and Buck stepped back in, placing the photo back on the corner of my dresser.

“I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't just help yourself to all my things,” I said. “Although, I'm sure you already have. Are you going to arrest me, now?”

“Tsk-tsk. I don't ever remember you bein' this testy. You need to eat.”

Buck brushed my arm absently as he crossed back to the kitchenette. I could feel the familiar heat in his bicep as it skimmed the hair on my skin. He had an energy that could draw me in, like a magnet.

I resisted.

Still, I sensed something different. He smelled different. Cologne? I didn't remember Buck ever wearing cologne. But it was there. Something new. It was a warm, spiced scent that mingled with his honeyed skin. Funny how I remembered his scent so clearly, I thought. But there was something more. Something like patchouli. Sandalwood. Along
with something soft and powdery. Following him with my eyes as he crossed behind the counter, I tried to get another whiff of whatever it was he was wearing. I liked it. Even in his black jeans, I could see that Buck's butt was just as I remembered.
Totally pinchable
. I shook my head, trying to erase thoughts of Buck's behind.

It wasn't easy.

“See something you like, Babydoll?” Buck asked from the other side of the counter.

“Shut up.”

Buck smiled. How embarrassing.

“I was talkin' about the tomatoes,” he said.

Although he'd been devilishly handsome as a young man—with every muscle toned from years of farming, football, and swimming—somehow, all these years later, Buck seemed even more buff than I'd remembered. He'd lost the baby fat. And there was something more mature about him. More honed.

What is wrong with me? The man is investigating me for murder and I'm staring at his ass!

My knees buckled.

“Hey!” Buck shot out from behind the counter and caught my arm before I collapsed. His face was just inches from mine. It was familiar. Like home. Still, there was something different in his eyes. There was more depth. More edge. And for the first time, I noticed little strands of gray in his hair near his temples. And tiny lines on his face—thin furrows at the corners of his chocolaty eyes, the edges of his mouth, his forehead. Smile lines. Or were they worry lines?

“I'm fine,” I said. “It's the sugar,” I said, pushing myself away from his grasp. “I had way too much sugar and caffeine this afternoon.”

I really did feel weak. And my ribs ached every time I breathed in. Still wrapped, my ankle was very stiff.

Buck pulled out one of the chairs at the table under the cranberry glass lantern. “Sit,” he ordered. He slid back behind the counter as I dropped onto the chair.

I felt shaky as I put my elbows on the table.

“You got anything to drink? Something stronger than water?” He asked from the kitchenette. I heard him open my little refrigerator.

“I don't want anything,” I sighed, putting my head in my hands. All of a sudden I thought I might cry. I was too tired for this. Too unsure. I needed him to leave.

“I didn't ask you if you
wanted
anything,” said Buck tersely. “I was asking you if you had any alcohol here.”

“Bottom cupboard on the left.”

I heard a cupboard door open and close.

“What the hell? ‘Georgia Peach Whiskey'? Sounds like the worst of two worlds,” chided Buck. “Who would make such a thing? Let alone buy it. Tell me you didn't pay money for this.” I heard Buck tear the wrapper off the top of the bottle.

“Daphne did.”

Another cupboard door opened. Then a glass clunked on the counter. Followed by another.

“That explains it.”

“She's supporting the local economy,” I said quietly. I knew that I needed to stay alert. Buck was surely trying to trick me into giving him some sort of information about the dead man. Maybe he thought I'd confess. Lucky for me, I thought, I really didn't know a thing. I saw the ghoulish dead man's face in my mind and started to feel sick.

“Here.” Buck set a small glass of the whiskey on the table in front of me. “Drink.”

“No.”

“Drink it while I fix something for you to eat. Look. It's not poison. I'll even pour myself a shot.” Buck went back to the kitchenette.

“I thought you were still ‘a little' on duty,” I said with a smirk.

“I was.” Buck held up a glass half full of peach whiskey and gulped it down before he turned and opened the small refrigerator. “Your turn. It's not all that bad, really.”

Good, I thought. I could get Buck in trouble for
intimidating me, coming to my house without showing a warrant, and drinking on the job if I needed to. I'd keep the glass with his fingerprints and DNA on it. If he arrested me, the charges wouldn't stick. And it wouldn't be hard to take him down; Daphne had said there were folks in town who didn't want him to be sheriff in the first place. Then, Eli Gibbit would be sheriff. Although, that might be worse.

I picked up the glass in front of me and sniffed the bronzy-colored liquor. No surprise, it smelled like boozy peaches. I took a sip. It burned as it went down. I took another sip. It was surprisingly good stuff. I sipped again while I sorted my thoughts. I was hungry.

“I see that you weren't kidding about there not being any food,” said Buck. “Except, what's this army of olive oil on the counter over here? You savin' up for the apocalypse?”