You're the One That I Want (24 page)

“Wait, Scotty
 
—wait!” He lunged for her, grabbing her arm. “What’s going on? Are you upset?”

“No!” She shook out of his grip, wrinkled her face as if to rein in a rush of feelings. “I’m fine.”

“You’re wearing mascara?”

“No
 
—yes
 
—whatever.” She turned away. “I’m so stupid.”

Stupid? “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing.” She headed for the door, but he wasn’t about to let her get that far. He ducked past her, propped his hand over the doorway.

“Get out of my way.”

“No.” He put his hand under her chin to lift her face. “What’s going on?”

She blew her nose, then wadded the tissue into her pocket. “I was trying to . . .” Shaking her head, she looked at the ceiling. “Flirt.”

Flirt.

He couldn’t help the laughter that burst out. “Flirt?”

“See, even you’re laughing.” She put her hand on his chest.

But he shackled her wrist and pulled it away, growing solemn. “Easy there, I’m still a little sore.”

And now she looked stricken, trying to jerk her hand away. But he held it. “Scotty, tell me why you were trying to . . . flirt . . . with me.”

Her expression betrayed defeat, her voice wavering. “I don’t know. It’s because of . . . this afternoon. You were looking at me like . . . I thought you were going to kiss me, and then you didn’t and I thought maybe . . . And then your sisters put all this gunk on me and acted like your head would pop off
 
—”

“My head is popping off,” he said, a strange, wonderful warmth spreading through him. He reached up to run his thumb over the bones of her face, softly tracing them. “In fact, I haven’t a thought left in my head except how utterly beautiful you are.”

“I’m not. I probably have mascara running down my face
 
—”

“You do. And it’s very, very cute.”

She bit her lip.

“You have gorgeous eyes. And your hair . . .” He reached up, loosened it, and it fell over her shoulders. He tangled his fingers into it. “You take my breath away, Scotty. You have since that first day on the boat, when you made me call you
sir
. And yeah, you’re pretty amazing right now, but you’ve always been amazing. I don’t care if you’re dressed in overalls or a grimy thermal shirt, smelling of fish, or . . . well, I wouldn’t exactly mind you in a dress.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth opening.

And he didn’t care one iota about her inane rules. “Scotty, your flirting
totally
works.” He curled his hand around her waist. “In fact, I’m going to have to kiss you.”

He’d imagined this, imagined kissing her
 
—really kissing her
 
—since that moment on the raft. Tasting the Scotty who’d saved his life and believed in him even when he couldn’t believe in himself. And the kiss they’d shared in the car had only whetted his appetite.

Now he pulled her to himself, one arm around her waist, backing her against the wall. Then he braced a hand over her head, bent down, and met her eyes for a lingering second
 
—one where he let her see his intentions
 
—before he pressed his lips against hers. With nothing of hesitation, just so she knew he had no intention of holding back.

She tasted sweet, her lips soft under his, and if he wondered whether she really wanted to be kissed, she answered in the way she slipped her arms around his waist and molded her body to his, lighting every inch of him on fire. Yet her kiss was cautious, hesitant.

And that only made him love her more.

Love.
The word crept into his brain, but once it got there, it spread through his entire body. Yeah, he loved her. He loved her bossiness and the way she refused to give up on him. Loved how she could flip from all business to holding his hand, caring, understanding. Around her, he forgot he was broken; he felt whole and as if he did have a future. A bright, brilliant future filled with the love of this beautiful woman.

The thought broke him away from her, and he stared at her, his breathing hard as he caught her eyes.

She blinked up at him. “Um . . .”

“Scotty. Please tell me that this isn’t an impulse. That my sisters
didn’t talk you into doing something you didn’t want to do. Because I’m so crazy about you I just might
 
—”

“Propose?” Her mouth lifted up on one side.

She must have seen the panic on his face because she pressed her hand to his cheek. “Shh. Just . . . kiss me.”

Right. Okay, yeah. Because even though he wasn’t proposing, there he was, running ahead of himself, grabbing on to a future that he still didn’t have a clear view of.

Except for her, right in the middle of it.

So he bent down and kissed her again, wrapping his other arm around her, losing himself in her sweet sounds, the way she became his with her surrender.

“Is it game time?” Jace’s voice parted them. “Whoa
 
—hey, sorry, dude!”

Owen glanced over to see Jace turning to block Eden’s entrance.

At the sound of a giggle, he looked back at Scotty. He tucked her hair behind her ear.
I love you.
Wow, he wanted to say that, but it might be akin to
Will you marry me?
and he didn’t want to freak her out.

“And that’s how it’s done,” Eden said, pushing past Jace into the room. She patted Owen’s shoulder, and he stared after her, bewildered.

Scotty ducked out from under Owen’s arm, leaving him to lean against the wall, watching as she plunked down beside Eden, who handed her a bowl of fresh-popped popcorn.

“C’mon, Wild!” Scotty shouted.

Owen sat next to her, put his arm around her, and miraculously, she snuggled right in.

As if she’d always belonged.

Suddenly everything in his life seemed to fit exactly into place.

C
ASPER HADN’T KILLED
M
ONTE
R
IGGS,
but he’d wanted to.

Or maybe he’d simply wanted Monte to exit his life, Raina’s life, quickly, quietly. And he certainly didn’t feel any grief over the news that Monte had ended up in a ditch somewhere.

Except, after sitting in the Deep Haven jail for the past two days, it seemed Monte had his revenge. And truth be told, if Monte were to show up today in the cell opposite Casper, he couldn’t deny that he might do exactly what Kyle had accused him of.

“Remember, let me do the talking. It’s just an initial appearance. They’ll read your charges and set bail. You don’t need to enter a plea or respond in any way. That’s why I’m here.” His attorney
 
—a guy from Minneapolis he didn’t know, procured by Max to appear with Casper in court today
 
—paced the tiny holding room, preparing Casper for the next step.

The next step in his journey to prison if someone didn’t start believing him. He could only say,
I did not kill Monte Riggs
so many times before he had to admit that no one was listening.

Casper sat at the table, his head in his hands, trying to hold in the fury that burned like an ember inside. “This can’t be happening. I didn’t kill Monte.” He looked at the lawyer
 
—Brian? Bruce? Clearly a man who had never spent a night in jail, with his slick wool suit, his manicured nails, his short, gelled hair. He even smelled good.

Casper smelled like old soap, two days of living in the same clothes, and the vibrant odor of increasing panic.

He hadn’t been given a razor, but he’d cleaned up for today with a suit
 
—one of Max’s, maybe, because Casper didn’t remember owning one
 
—a white shirt, a tie. He looked like a lumberjack who’d gotten lost at some hoity-toity charity event.

“I don’t want to know,” the lawyer said. Bryce. That was his name. “I don’t even care. What I care about is getting you out of here and home. We’ll worry about your defense after that.”

“We need to worry about it now! They can’t just pick someone out of a crowd and accuse him of murder.”

Bryce opened his briefcase, now on the table, and pulled out a folder. “They didn’t pick you out of a crowd, Casper. They have a case that, from a jury’s perspective, might seem open-and-shut. They’re charging you with voluntary manslaughter, which means that even if you didn’t plan on killing Monte Riggs, you had the ability, means, and opportunity to do so.”

Casper shook his head, not really seeing Bryce, instead taking in the door with the reinforced window, the plastic table bolted to the floor, and the fact that in about ten minutes, Kyle would put cuffs on him and treat him like he belonged here.

A criminal.

“This isn’t fair.”

“It never is.” Bryce closed the briefcase. “See you in court.”

Casper looked away, not sure if he’d heard sarcasm or not. He waited in silence after Bryce departed, trying to find his breath despite the hand that seemed to push on his sternum.

Because Deep Haven shared a circuit judge, he’d spent two precious days watching reruns of game shows on an ancient television secured high on a wall and playing solitaire with a deck short three cards. And reading
 
—a couple issues of
Popular Mechanics
, a
Reader’s Digest
from the eighties. He’d even done a few push-ups because they burned off the energy that buzzed through him, kept him staring at the ceiling with what-ifs and how-comes and why-hims. Longest two days of his life.

He’d probably lost five pounds despite Grace’s and his mother’s food deliveries, his appetite having vanished the moment Kyle fingerprinted him.

If it weren’t for Raina, he might have simply curled into a ball, refused to eat, but she’d been at the jail for every moment of visiting hours, reassuring him with her eyes, resting her hand against the glass to align with his own.

He longed to put his fist through the glass, to climb into her embrace.

To believe her words:
Everything will work out.

The door opened, and Kyle came in. Casper glared at him, not a word to articulate the sense of betrayal.

“Get up and turn around, hands behind your back,” Kyle said.

Casper obeyed, grinding his molars as the jangle of handcuffs echoed through the room. Then Kyle led him out through the jail, past the eyes of deputies Julie Applewood, who he’d sat next to in
biology, and Marty Finch, who he had sold a pair of snowshoes to last winter.

They said nothing, and Casper refused to look anywhere but ahead.

Injustice burrowed through him as Kyle put a hand on his head and helped him into the cruiser parked outside. The slightest nip of winter touched his neck, the weather turning from autumn to early morning frost in the two days he’d been incarcerated.

What would happen if he had to spend weeks, even months, waiting in the Deep Haven jail for a trial?

He burned a hole in Kyle’s head through the grate between seats as they drove the three blocks to the courthouse. Kyle pulled around back, next to another cruiser, and opened the door.

Casper managed not to yank out of his grip as Kyle grabbed his arm, directed him inside. “I know where to go,” he grumbled, but that sounded guilty, so he shut his mouth.

Kyle brought him to an anteroom next to the courtroom, pointed to a chair by the wall. “Wait here.”

Casper refused to sit, choosing to stare out the window at the lake, at the pewter-gray sky. Of everyone who should be in jail . . . well, it shouldn’t be him. He did things right. Sure, he’d jumped Owen once upon a time, but frankly, he’d felt just a smidgen of righteousness over that act. Someone had to wake up his brother to his stupidity. And maybe it had worked because Owen seemed to have changed, at least a little.

Still, Casper had come home, swept up Owen’s mess, fixed everything. And this was how life
 
—how God
 
—repaid him. Again, he wanted to say it
 
—he wasn’t the villain here. He leaned his forehead against the window, trying to breathe away the scream building inside.

Then the door opened and a bailiff came in. “It’s time.”

For what, execution? Because it certainly seemed like everyone had skipped over the innocent-or-guilty part and gone right to locking him up and throwing away the key.

Casper clenched his jaw and headed into the courtroom.

He stopped short at the sight of his family in the front two rows.

Raina he’d expected, and she gave him a smile, her brown eyes warm, reaching out to him with something probably meant to encourage him. She held Layla on her lap, his daughter
 
—
his daughter
 
—working her pacifier. He’d also expected his parents, and yeah, they were here, his mother dressed in what looked like Sunday clothes: black pants, a white blouse, a scarf at her neck. His father had stuck to a green Evergreen Resort flannel shirt. They gave him a smile, his mother’s expression one of pain.

But seated beside her, lined up like his own personal cheering squad, were Darek, holding Joy, and Ivy. Darek looked at Casper, gave a nod. Like
No worries, Bro.

Beside them, Eden held Jace’s hand, Jace looking solemn. Next to him sat Max, his arm around Grace’s shoulder, managing a grim smile. Grace gave him a small wave.

Behind them, Scotty sat with her arms folded, her face stoic. He frowned at that
 
—he’d expected her to be headed back to Alaska by now. But maybe Owen had something to do with that because he sat beside her, his hands in his pockets, his jaw tight, as if just barely holding himself back from launching over the gate that separated the court from the gallery. He gave a short nod to Casper.

His people, his crew. He felt like Braveheart before the English, his countrymen at his back, and took his place at the table.

“All rise,” the bailiff said.

The judge entered and called the court to order.

They sat and Bryce leaned over. “I got you first on the docket. This shouldn’t take too long.”

Casper cast a look across the room, at the table for the prosecution, and wished Ivy were sitting there instead of the portly, middle-aged, balding assistant prosecutor from Duluth.

The prosecutor and defense attorney stood while the judge read the complaint.

“Casper Christiansen, you are charged with one count of voluntary manslaughter in the death of Monte Riggs, of Deep Haven, Minnesota.”

Casper glanced at Bryce, who just . . .
stood
there.

This was not right. “I didn’t do it!” Casper found his feet even as Bryce turned to him.

“Sit down,” Bryce hissed. “This is not the time.”

“But I’m innocent!”

In that moment, he heard himself. Angry, just like a defendant on
Law & Order
. The judge banged his gavel, but Casper missed his words as he stood there, helpless. Pitiful. Shackled.

He sank into his chair, feeling heat rise up his neck.

This wasn’t right.

The county prosecutor began, “Your Honor, the state would like to ask for a no-bail hold on this defendant, as he’s shown a propensity to flee the state.”

What
 
—? Casper nearly jumped to his feet again, but Bryce put a hand on his shoulder.

He wanted to drop his head down on the table. Instead, he impaled the judge with a look of disbelief.

“More, Your Honor, Casper Christiansen has recently come
into quite a bit of money, giving him the
means
to flee, should he decide to do so.”

Oh, that. Casper closed his eyes. Hung his head.

He wished he could block out the next words. “This is a violent crime, Your Honor. The evidence points to a man with a history of violence against Mr. Riggs, not to mention members of his own family
 
—”

Casper winced.

“
 
—and also shows the motive to plan such an attack, namely Mr. Riggs’s history with Mr. Christiansen’s fiancée. Most of all, eyewitness accounts testify that Mr. Christiansen threatened Mr. Riggs’s life on the day in question.”

The one thing they actually got right. But he hadn’t killed the man.

“Your Honor . . .” The prosecutor’s voice took on a hometown flavor, like
C’mon, we all know this.
“Casper Christiansen grew up here. He knows how and where to hide a body, and by his own admission, he cannot account for his whereabouts on the night in question.”

He’d gone for a drive to clear his head, finally arriving home late to a sleeping house. Which no one could verify, so apparently his alibi didn’t count.

“For these reasons, the state humbly requests a no-bail hold until we have our preliminary hearing and decide whether to hold him over for trial.” The prosecutor settled his girth back into his chair.

The words hollowed Casper out. Because he saw the case laid out before him. Him, angry
 
—no,
furious
with Monte. Willing to do anything to protect Raina and Layla. The fight outside the VFW
 
—had he broken ribs when he’d tackled Monte? Maybe.
Casper had certainly been angry enough
 
—which led to the argument in the municipal parking lot later. And yeah, maybe he had grabbed Monte, shoving him against his truck, threatening him.

But he hadn’t killed him.

However, honestly, he did have money
 
—enough to disappear with Raina. The thought had crossed his mind more than once.

Except what kind of life would that be for her, for Layla? On the run? Always looking over their shoulders?

Bryce’s turn. He talked about Casper’s job at the trading post, his love for Raina and Layla, and how he had invested his money into the resort. “Your Honor, his family is here, right behind him, to support him.”

And never had Casper been more aware of that fact as he felt their eyes on him. Sympathetic.

Even . . . ashamed? Because what kind of person built up enough of a reputation to be reasonably accused of murder? Looking at the fact sheet
 
—his motive, his history
 
—yeah, he would have arrested himself too.

Maybe he
was
the villain.

“I’m inclined to agree with the defense,” the judge said. “As long as Mr. Christiansen agrees to stay in Deep Haven for the weekend, I’m not opposed to setting bail. But, Mr. Christiansen, if you so much as hint at leaving town, I’ll revoke your bail and you’ll wait for Monday’s hearing in the Deep Haven jail.”

He looked at Casper, who managed a terse, “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Bail is set at one million dollars.”

One
million
. . . Behind him, someone gasped, but he didn’t look to see if it had been his mother.

Bryce returned to the table. “You’ll only need to put up 10 percent of that, and you’ll get it back, minus a fee, Monday morning
when you show up for your preliminary hearing. By then we’ll figure out how to plead.”

“I’m pleading not guilty,” Casper said as he rose. “And can you get these handcuffs taken off?”