Sugar Creek (4 page)

“Comfort, I guess,” Rachel admitted. “Because you always said it would make me feel better.”

“Comfort’s enough,” Edna said. “In fact, I can’t think of much better to leave a grandchild with. And when I’m dead and gone, you’ll still have that.”

Rachel made a face. “Shut up—it’s not like you’re going anywhere anytime soon.” Then she turned back to the piano, focusing on a photo of Edna taken in the fifties, out by the creek. She wore a short-sleeved sweater with a white lace collar and a dark skirt. “You were really pretty,” Rachel said.

“Took after my mother,” Edna replied immodestly, motioning to an even older picture, on the wall—from the thirties—of Rachel’s great-grandmother, who was, indeed, just as lovely, even in what Rachel saw as a long, shapeless dress and flat hair pulled tight behind her head. “And good thing, too, because looks and charm was about all a girl in Destiny could hope for back then. I’m glad times have changed.”

Which reminded Rachel of something that
hadn’t
changed, or apparently not much—the Farris/Romo feud. “By the way, I didn’t get a chance to tell you last night, but I got pulled over by Mike Romo on my way into town.”

Rachel waited for Edna to fly into a fit over “those damn Romos” as she’d done on a regular basis in Rachel’s youth—so she couldn’t have been more stunned when Edna smiled and said, “Ah. Mike’s a decent fella. Caught ya speedin’, huh? He’s a stickler—you’ll really have to slow it down while you’re here.”

Rachel just stared at her grandmother, her mouth hanging open. “What the hell is
this
? Since when do you have anything nice to say about a Romo?”

She shrugged again, tilting her gray head. “Like I said, times have changed. Oh, I still don’t have much nice to say about
most
of ’em, but Mike’s a good egg. Not much of a talker, at least not to most folks, but he does a lotta good around here.”

“Huh,” Rachel said blankly, still trying to get over it. “He told me you and he got along, but I didn’t believe him. And…well, he still has plenty bad to say about the Farrises, just so you know.”

“Never claimed he was a saint.”

“He said we’d never had any respect for the law—and that we were smart-asses.” She neglected to mention that she’d actually
started
the name-calling.

Yet Edna just cracked a smile, clearly amused. “Sounds like he’s got us pegged.”

And Rachel rolled her eyes in disbelief. “Where’s your family loyalty gone? This isn’t the Edna I know.”

“Maybe the better question is—where’s my
family
gone? Once you’re by yourself…well, maybe it stops feelin’ like there’s much to be loyal to. Or maybe I just got old and tired of bein’ rambunctious. Easier to just get along with folks. That’s somethin’ I wish I’d figured out sooner in life.”

Rachel just stared, planting her hands on her hips. “Who
are
you? And what have you done with my grandmother?”

“I don’t see what the big to-do is. We
are
all smart-asses—except maybe for your cousin Elaine, but that’s just ’cause she’s not very bright. Takes some brains to be a good smart-ass. And your uncle Dave
did
have some shady real estate dealin’s years ago when he was runnin’ short on cash, and your great aunt Liddie was practically famous around here for writin’ bad checks back in the
seventies—recession and all, you know. And your cousin Robby—”

“Stop.” Rachel held up a hand. “I already know all this and don’t like being reminded.”

Yet Edna just shook her head. “We are what we are, darlin’. Don’t mean all of us are that way, but nobody’s perfect, either.”

And what was it the Farrises were? Bad with money. Most of them anyway. For Rachel,
that
was the resounding theme that ran through every branch of her family tree. Some relatives, like Dave and Liddie and Robby, let it show, way too much—while others, like her parents, appeared comfortable on the surface, yet mostly squandered everything they made. So, for her, it wasn’t about being perfect or not—it was about being responsible. About choosing smart, prudent paths in life.

And that was one reason Rachel felt so pressured to hold on to her good job—this was what she hadn’t wanted to think about in Under the Covers today. From a personal standpoint, her career success defined her; it was a huge part of her identity and what made her feel good about herself and her life. But it was also vital from a practical standpoint, too. The fact was, she’d had to give her parents money on occasion, and her older brother, Noah, as well. Sometimes it was doctor bills, other times car payments. And sooner or later, she feared they’d require her help in
bigger
ways. Her parents, her brother, Edna—what if the time came when one or more of them ended up dangerously broke? Where would rescue come from if not her?

Fortunately, Edna didn’t seem to notice Rachel’s lack of reply—instead, she headed into the kitchen and said, “Think I’ll whip up that pie, and maybe fry us some chicken for supper. How’s that sound?” she asked, her voice filled with cheer.

“Great,” Rachel said, and it truly did. Another good thing about being back in Destiny: Edna’s cooking. There
was nothing like it in Chicago. So she let it draw her mind from her lifelong worries. “But, uh…how are your knees today?”

Edna gritted her teeth and took on a tortured look. “Painin’ me pretty bad, but I’ll hold up. Can ya hand me my cane?”

“Another round?”

Mike looked up to the bartender at the Dew Drop Inn, Anita Garey, a saucy forty-something woman who he’d quickly grown to like and respect since her arrival in Destiny more than a year ago. Usually, Mike and Logan headed to Crestview, the next town over, on a Saturday night, but the Dew Drop had gotten a lot nicer since Anita bought the place.

“Sure,” Mike said, and she uncapped three bottles of beer—one for him, one for Logan, and one for the brunette hanging on Mike’s shoulder. It was just like he’d been thinking earlier—he’d bought her a beer and now she wouldn’t leave him alone.

Not that he knew why he was so glum about that—she was an attractive girl, even if a little giggly for his taste. And she wasn’t shy, and that usually worked out fine for the kind of hookup he preferred—quick, easy, no muss, no fuss.

But he still hadn’t managed to get over his bad mood from earlier, which went a lot deeper than a reckless driver in a potentially stolen Mustang. Like so many nights, thoughts of Anna—and questions without answers—lingered on the edge of his mind.

He knew he should let go of it, knew he should have let it go
years
ago—but he just didn’t know how you let go of something
that
awful. And every so often, some little thing set him off, took his thoughts in that horrible direction, and he wasn’t able to shake it for a while. Today, it had been a guy in a Mustang.

“To an adventurous night ahead,” the brunette said,
and Mike realized she was toasting. So he clinked the neck of his bottle against hers, then turned to do the same with Logan, who sat on the other side of him at the bar—only to see Logan raise his eyebrows knowingly. Mike could easily read his look.
The Italian Stallion strikes again.

“So, Tracy,” Logan leaned around him to ask, “you live around here?”

Hmm, she must have said her name was Tracy—Mike had missed that. And he guessed Logan was doing the social part
for
him since
he
wasn’t making much effort.

“Over in Crestview,” she said, giggling—at what, he had no idea. “I manage the Full Exposure Tanning Salon, next door to Bleachers—I think I’ve seen you guys there.”

Well, that explained a couple of things. Like why she was unnaturally tan, and why she looked a little familiar. Bleachers was a sports bar they frequented.

“Yeah, Mike and I get over there pretty often, especially once football season rolls around.
Don’t we, Mike
?”

Feeling Logan’s pointed stare, he drew his gaze absently from his beer bottle upward, to the girl. “Um, yeah.”

Then he heard Logan’s sigh. “You’ll have to excuse him. He had a rough day on the job.”

“Oooh, did you catch some dangerous criminal?” the brunette asked.

And that’s when it hit him—girls liked him because he was a cop. Even in a tiny little town like Destiny. Why had it taken so long to figure that out? Well, maybe because he didn’t exactly see himself as the hero type. “Uh, no—nothing like that,” he answered.

“What then?” Tracy asked.

And now it was
his
turn to sigh. He didn’t want to be rude, but…“I’d rather not talk about it. In fact, it would probably only make my mood worse.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to do
that
,” she said, giggling some more. “What do you want to talk about?”

In response, he just looked to Logan—since his buddy seemed a lot more into this conversation than he was anyway.

And Logan let loose the grin that chicks always went gaga over and said, “Why don’t you tell us…all about tanning. Everything there is to know.”

Mike shot him a sideways glance, knowing full well this was Logan’s way of torturing him and trying to make him laugh at the same time. And Tracy merrily launched into a long, painfully detailed lecture about tanning beds and settings and various skin types, giggling all the way. It wasn’t long before Mike wanted to gouge his eardrums out—but instead, he just took a long swig from his bottle, hoping to feel a little more amused by it all. Damn, why’d he buy the girl a beer in the first place? He hardly even knew—habit, maybe—but now he just plain regretted it.

After all, it was pretty bad when your wingman had to take over for you. But that’s how it was with him and Logan. They had each other’s backs, always, without ever even discussing it. Logan had been there when all the bad shit had happened, back when Mike had been only twelve, Logan ten. That was probably why Logan tolerated him. And it was why Mike would put his life on the line for Logan in a heartbeat.

“So if you guys ever want a tanning package, I could get you a discount,” he heard the girl still glued to his shoulder saying. He vaguely wished he could have his arm back so he could reach for some peanuts without having to set down his beer. “Although,
you
,” she went on, mooning at Mike, “have such gorgeous coloring that you’d never need a tan. Are you Italian or something?”

He looked up. “Uh, yeah—half anyway.”

“But I, on the other hand, am a dog?” Logan asked, teasing, flirting.

“No, silly, you’re a total hottie, too. And you’ve got a nice tan going already. But the bed would even you up
around the edges, you know? Hey, do you guys have any change? I want to play something on the jukebox.”

Since Logan started digging in his pockets for quarters, Mike let him. And when his buddy had supplied the girl with coins and she went gliding across the floor to select a song, Logan said, “How about
her
?”

Mike barely glanced up, more interested in peanuts than Tracy now that his arm was free. “How about her?” he asked absently.

“For your grandma’s party?”

Mike turned to Logan with a look of disbelief. “Are you kidding? No way in hell.” Because Mike’s family had recently started giving him a hard time about being thirty-five and unmarried, and because Mike’s parents were coming to town soon for his grandmother’s birthday party, Logan had suggested Mike bring a date to shut them all up and at least make it appear he was trying to remedy the situation. Even though he wasn’t. Because in
his
mind, there was no situation to remedy. He’d told Logan he had no intention of giving anybody the idea he was even
thinking
about marriage—since he just didn’t see that in the cards for himself—but every time he was around a girl lately, Logan brought it up anyway.

Now, Logan just shrugged. “Look at it this way. They meet
her
and they might prefer you stay a bachelor.”

Mike couldn’t deny the idea held some merit. But not enough for him to torture himself with a whole party’s worth of tanning talk. “I’ll take my chances alone, thanks. And I’ll thank
you
to butt out.”

That’s when Tracy returned, latching back onto Mike’s arm. So much for the damn peanuts.

Just then, the door opened across the room and Mike glanced up to see three women walk in—and one of them was Rachel Farris. He had no idea what made him look—there were plenty of patrons coming and going every few minutes; people shot pool at the tables in the corner, and
music and talk filled the bar. But something drew his attention, and when he saw her, every muscle in his body tightened. Including the one between his legs.

Damn
, she knew how to make a simple pair of blue jeans look good. And the rest of her was easy to look at, as well. As usual, she appeared city-chic and confident, and the hot pink top she wore hugged her breasts and brought out the blue in her eyes. Shit, something about this woman messed with his radar like a fuzzbuster—despite all his resolve, she had a way of getting past his defenses merely on sight.

That’s when he realized he was staring at her.

And that she was staring back.

And that there was a girl attached to his side.

Did Farris look annoyed by that? Maybe.

Not that it mattered. He still had no intention of hooking up with someone like her. And if he was staring, well, could be he’d finally started feeling his beer.

So he drew his eyes back down, pushed the bottle away since he was driving, and decided maybe the tanning bed queen wasn’t so bad. God knew she was a lot friendlier than Rachel Farris, and there was a lot to be said for friendly when a man was getting a hard-on.

“I’m gonna go find the little girls’ room,” his babe-for-the-night said.

He nodded absently, then watched as Rachel Farris and her friends—the same from the bookstore, Amy and Tessa—took a table near the jukebox.

Logan gave him a nudge. “Dude, not that I want to criticize your technique, but it’s bad form to undress a woman with your eyes when there’s already another woman hanging on your shoulder.”