Back Where She Belongs

chapter EIGHT



THE NEXT NIGHT, Tara parked in front of Dylan’s adobe-style ranch house situated on a huge expanse of manicured cactus and desert plants, and climbed the steps to his porch. Tile mosaics of hummingbirds decorated the twin posts at the top. Was it just coincidence or had he had the mosaics made in honor of the hours they’d spent on Tara’s terrace?

Surely he wasn’t that sentimental.

If he was, it was sweet. Or sad.

Maybe both, which was how she felt about their past.

She shifted the tequila bottle to the other hand, since her palm was so sweaty. She’d taken forever to decide what to wear. Since when had she dithered about clothes? She’d tried a silk top with spaghetti straps and a white denim skirt, but decided the shirt was too clingy, the skirt too short. She didn’t want Dylan to think she was trying to look sexy.

She’d settled on purple silk slacks and a modest white linen blouse—business casual after she’d removed the gold hoop earrings, throwing on an amethyst pendant that didn’t look datelike.

Sheesh. Get a grip. It’s a chicken dinner, for God’s sake. A chicken with beer up its butt, no less. To talk about the investigation.

She’d gathered all the clues to share with him, including the conversation she’d had with Joseph that morning at the hospital when she’d asked for the insurance agent’s number, so she had a serious reason to get together with Dylan. Right? Ignoring the pounding of her heart and the squeak of the tequila bottle against her clammy hands, she rang the bell.

In a few seconds, Dylan opened the door. The sight of his face lifted her heart. His eyes held hers, sexual interest flaring, warming her everywhere, despite her determination to keep the meeting focused on business.

“Come in please.”

She stepped into the entry area, taking in his home—roomy, friendly, neat and full of personal touches. Nails clicked on the sand-colored tile floor and she looked down the hall to see a dog lumbering toward her.

“Oh, my God, is that...Duster?”

“It is.”

Tara had adored the golden retriever. She thought they’d had a special rapport. “He has to be so old now...”

“Fourteen. Yeah.”

“Damn.” Tara dropped to eye level with the dog. He’d put on weight, his muzzle was gray and his eyes cloudy, but it was unmistakably Duster. He rose on his back legs, put his front paws on her shoulder and dipped his nose to touch one of her cheeks, then the other, as she’d taught him. “He remembered European greeting.” She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“He’s deaf and almost blind, but he’d never forget you,” Dylan said softly, his expression full of tenderness.

“Good dog, Duster,” she said, scrubbing his ears the way he used to like, giving herself time to recover, breathing in the familiar doggy smell, while his tail thumped heavily against the floor.

She got to her feet. Being here with Dylan and his dog stirred up old feelings, like dust, making it hard to breathe or even see. It was ridiculous. They’d been teenagers, for God’s sake. You didn’t find your soul mate at seventeen, though she’d been so sure at the time. She’d been so sure about everything back then.

“I’m afraid to ask what you’re thinking,” Dylan said.

“You should be. The upshot is I thought I was smarter at seventeen than I think I am now.”

“Ah, but now you’re wiser. Wise beats smart every time.”

“I hope you’re right.” She didn’t feel very wise at the moment. She felt happy to be near him. She’d been back in Wharton for a week and, if anything, her reactions to him had grown stronger.

“You look sexy as hell. Damn.” He ran his gaze down her figure, making her feel nearly naked, business casual be damned. His compliments had always been sincere, never knee-jerk. He’d made her feel so attractive.

“You, too.” He wore dark jeans and a black-and-gray silk bowling shirt, and looked meltingly hot. This wasn’t a date, but she felt the same thrill—the delicious chance to be alone with him, anticipating brushes and touches and intense looks and maybe more. She held out the bottle of tequila. “For old times’ sake.”

He laughed. “Actually, I bought Mountain Dew and Grey Goose.”

“God. Dew-V-Dews! I forgot about them.”

“Remember Halloween when we had the water balloon fight on Hangman’s Hill?”

“Yeah. I wanted to sneak up on the couples hooking up in cars and you wouldn’t let me.”

“We would have scared the crap out of them. It was Halloween. They’d think they were being attacked by real zombies.”

“I know. That was the point at the time. It was mean of me.” She’d been too angry at everyone. Dylan’s love had softened her. She’d be forever grateful for that.

“So what’s your pleasure?” he asked.

You. Being here with you. “Let’s do the Dew-Vs.”

“You got it. Make yourself at home.” He left for the kitchen. Tara put the tequila bottle on the table and looked around. The great room was done in contemporary Southwest style, one wall painted coffee-brown, another mustard-yellow. The art on the wall included two stylized desert landscapes in vivid earth tones and a large whimsical abstract painting.

Dylan returned with ice-filled crystal tumblers, the yellow drink glowing golden in the warmly lit room. They took sips, watching each other, the ice tinkling merrily. She couldn’t stop grinning. The vodka warmed her stomach, Dylan’s gaze the rest of her.

“Your home is lovely,” she finally said, turning to survey the room again. Are those paintings originals?”

“Yes. Done by local artists.”

“Supporting the community, huh? Being town manager and all?”

“Wherever I can, sure.” He glanced at her, hesitated, then spoke. “Actually I have my eye on a state grant to establish a co-op gallery, complete with studios. We’ve got quite a few talented artists in town.”

“You’re taking the job seriously, that’s obvious,” she said. “So did you decorate the house or did, uh, your ex-wife?” She felt a nasty twinge. Jealousy, of all things.

She’d felt it back then, too, and it had been horrible. Secretly she’d hoped he would come to NAU sophomore year as he’d promised. Instead he’d gotten engaged. Within a year he’d replaced her with someone he wanted to spend his life with, not just college.

“Me. I bought this place three years ago. Candee and I divorced way back. Eight years.” He glanced away.

“Sore subject?” She shouldn’t be prying, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“Not really. We managed to stay friends.”

“Looked that way at the funeral.” In fact, she thought she’d caught a flash of longing in Candee’s eyes when they’d mouthed their goodbyes. “Friends with benefits?” she teased. What is wrong with you?

Dylan colored.

“Look how red you are. You do sleep with her.” She did not want to know that. Thinking of him making love to Candee, looking at her the way he’d looked at Tara, as if she were the most important thing in his life.

“Not in a while. It’s not a good idea.” He shook his head, clearly embarrassed.

“Maybe not.” Why not? Did one of them want to get back together? Probably Candee. None of her business. If she asked more questions she’d sound as gossipy as the worst Whartonite.

“Anyway, what about you?” he asked, clearly wanting to change the subject. “I would have heard if you’d gotten married. Did you ever come close?”

“Not yet, no. Building a business is tough on the social life. I travel a lot, so there’s that...” That sounded lame. “I’ve dated, had boyfriends. Nothing too heavy. When the time is right...” And when would that be?

“That makes sense.” He looked down at his feet. Did he feel sorry for her? God, no. “I bought a condo,” she blurted, as if that were a substitute for true love and marriage.

“Yeah?”

“In Scottsdale. Great view. It’s the top floor.”

“A penthouse...wow.”

“It was a killer deal from a client. I put in an extra month after they ran through their budget for my services. We were so close to this amazing employee-management agreement that I had to see it through. They were selling the condo they used for visiting execs, so they gave it to me for a great price.”

“Very cool.”

“Yeah. That project was the cover story of my professional association’s magazine, and got included in a feature in Business Week on innovative management. The publicity brought me customers.”

“Plus, you got a penthouse out of it. What’s it like?”

“It’s a showplace really. High ceilings, huge windows, warm wood floors, tons of built-ins, a chef-worthy kitchen.”

“You cook?”

She laughed. “I should learn, huh? I haven’t really settled in, I guess.” She paused, thinking that through. “It’s funny, but I’ve been there five months and I still feel like I’m in a pricey hotel, not my home, you know?”

“It’s probably all the travel.” He honed in on her, waiting for her to say more, letting her sort her thoughts.

“Maybe.” The truth was that no place she’d lived had ever felt like home. She used to blame it on the fact she’d always rented and never for long. “Now, here, your place, this feels like home. It feels...cared for, personal.”

“I like it. I don’t spend much time here, though. Juggling the two jobs has me keeping crazy hours.”

“I’ll bet.”

He looked at her for a few seconds, as if he wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure he should.

“What?” she said. “Tell me what you’re holding back.”

“It’s just that I plan to change that. The juggling.”

“Yeah?”

“Once the Wharton batteries hit the market and the demand increases, we’ll be in great shape. My plan is to quit the company and work for the town full-time.”

“Full-time? Wow. Can they pay you?”

“Not at first, no. But I plan to write development grants to increase our infrastructure. I want to bring in new businesses, more housing and tourism for the river area. It has untapped potential. It’ll take time and work, but I’ve got good people on the council and serving on commissions. A lot can be done and I plan to do it.”

New energy had come into his face, and his gestures were big; his whole body seemed lighter.

“I’m impressed. You really want this.” He looked the way he used to when he talked about college. It made her chest tight to think that he’d waited ten years to do what he really wanted with his life.

“I do. I figure within a year, I’ll be safe to leave Ryland Engineering.”

“How will your dad handle that?”

He shot her a look. “He’ll be fine. The company will be on solid ground. Victor Lansing, our factory manager, will take over for me. I’ve been briefing him.

“And your dad knows?”

“Of course,” he said, frowning, irritated, she could tell, that she kept bringing up his father, who she could imagine would be damned hard to convince of anything he didn’t want. “I’ve let a few key people know. The guy I want as my deputy director. Troy Waller. He’s vice mayor now. A couple of town council people.”

“Sounds like you’re prepared. You were into student government, I remember. You headed the social service club. You’ve always been a leader.”

“It’s what I want to do. It’s important. I like working for people. I’m good at solving problems, working out compromises. I’d like to see Wharton be more than it is.” He looked almost boyish with pride. Her heart squeezed with tenderness.

“They’re lucky to have you, Dylan.” She fought the feeling that he was wasting himself, that he could do so much more in a city, hell, in state government, maybe Congress.

“Who knows? In a few years, this place might be big and sophisticated enough you might actually like it.”

“Yeah, right.” She assumed he was joking. Then she caught the light in his smoky eyes, the quirk of his lips. He wanted her here. In Wharton. It was sweet, actually. Impossible, but sweet. “Anyway, I hope it all works out the way you want it to.”

“Thanks. I appreciate your good wishes, Tara. It means a lot.”

She felt a rush of affection for him and lurched forward to hug him. It wasn’t easy with the drink in one hand. She lifted her face to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before she backed away. Totally friendly and supportive. But his fingers pressed into her back, his chest against her breasts. He took a ragged breath. Her own pulse pounded in her ears. She backed away, unsteady on her feet. Her pulse pounded in her head. It felt so good to be in his arms, to touch him.

The glass in her hand sloshed some of her drink onto the tile. “Whoops. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said, looking at her, his eyes a little hazy.

She couldn’t keep staring at him, so she jerked her gaze to the left and noticed a sculpture on a stand beside the slate fireplace. “Wait...is that what I think it is?” She walked closer.

“The battle bot, yeah,” he said, clearly relieved by the shift in focus. “I had it repaired and painted afterward.”

“How cool.” It had been the night of Reed and the motorcycle, the night Dylan and Tara first got together. Dylan had staged a battle with a science club friend as part of the kegger in the desert. “I won fifty dollars that night,” she said. They’d all placed bets, turning it into a drinking game, which was how Reed got plastered.

“You never said you bet on me.”

“All the girls did. You were hot for a geek. Why would I give you the satisfaction of telling you? I was pissed. You had to jump in like Captain America and save the girl. Reed wasn’t that drunk.”

“He dropped his bike.”

“If I’d been on it he’d have driven more slowly. You embarrassed the hell out of me.” Her friends had stared wide-eyed when she let Dylan drive her home. Nobody told Tara Wharton what to do.

“Why did you go with me?”

“I’m still not sure.” But it had been the way he looked at her, like he was concerned and he didn’t care who knew, that he’d do anything to keep her from getting hurt, even risk her rage. No one had looked at her like that before—or since, for that matter. She’d never let anyone that close.

“The whole way home you yelled at me, said I was a macho a*shole, a self-righteous jerk, a—”

“Stop!” She cringed. “I was awful to you. Why did you ask me out?”

“I knew you were showing off for your friends. We used to play Parcheesi when our parents had card parties, remember?”

“I do. And I used to cheat.”

“I remember.”

“I couldn’t stand to lose. What a brat I was.”

“I didn’t care. You made me laugh. You viewed the world so quirky. It was like you tickled my brain.”

“I tickled your brain. I think there were more parts involved than that.”

“That goes without saying.”

Zing. It hit again. That low, swooping charge through her body, zooming to the spot between her legs. When her knees gave way, she said, “Let’s sit down.” She barely made it to the overstuffed brown leather sofa. Dylan sat close to her, his knees turned toward hers, eyes on her face. They both set their drinks on the table.

“So that was why? You asked me out because I tickled your brain?”

“Also I’m a masochist.”

She gave him a playful slap, though she knew she hadn’t been easy to be with, restless, always pushing for more, testing his love, his patience. She’d been a pure mess.

“The truth is I asked you out because Reed Walker was an ass,” he said in a low, serious voice. “He didn’t get you. You were wasting your spark on him.”

“Oh.” She felt hot all over. “What a nice thing to say.”

“It’s true.”

“You were good to me, Dylan. I know I was...intense.”

“We were good to each other.” He paused. “When my parents were ripping into each other every night, you made me feel better.”

“You steadied me.” He still did. Since she’d returned, he’d had that effect on her. He’d cheered her, comforted her, made her feel like she belonged...at least for now and at least with him.

“We really had something,” he said.

“It was something, all right.”

“I keep thinking about us.” He smiled wistfully.

“Me, too. The good parts anyway.”

“The sex?” He grinned that wicked grin she’d always loved.

“Oh, yeah. The sex was great.” Why admit it? What was she doing?

“Yeah, it was.” His words sent a charge zooming along her nerves, lighting everything up like a pinball machine.

Tara could smell him. His cologne, laundry soap and that sweet tease that was just his skin. Sometimes, just smelling him would make her feel so light-headed she thought she might faint.

She remembered being in his arms, swept away by a passion so hot that nothing else in the world mattered. That had been mind-blowing. How had she forgotten passion?

Duster gave out a groan, as if he felt the tension between them. He lay below them like he used to when they would make out in Dylan’s living room. Their knees touched, pressed together. Dylan’s arm was across the back of the sofa, his fingers just brushing her shoulder, feeling natural. All she had to do was turn toward him, lean in and they would slide right into it.

It? What is it? Kissing? First base? All the way? Stop acting like you’re seventeen.

“But you can’t go home again,” she said, scooting a few inches away.

“Nope,” he said, leaning into the corner of the couch. “Nothing stays the same, even when you stay.”

They both looked away at the same time, then back, smiling sheepishly at each other, as if they’d gotten caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

“And now I have my own company and you saved your father’s,” she said on a big breath in a bright voice. “Does he realize what you did for him, what you sacrificed?” She sounded harsher than she intended, still reacting to the earlier temptation. It was true, though. Dylan’s father had taken advantage of his son’s loyalty.

Anger flared in Dylan’s eyes, which surprised her. She’d clearly hit a sore spot. “Staying was my decision, not my father’s, and I have no regrets.”

That hurt a little. Her teenage self lurked inside, she guessed. She had needed more than anything to be first in his heart. It had killed her to learn she wasn’t. He’d chosen his father over her. “Really?” she said. “No regrets about giving up NAU? Astronomy? You missed out on all that. It seems sad to me.”

“People change. They grow up. You did.” There was an edge to his voice. “You work for big business now. What happened to the pyramid of exploitation, the evils of corporate greed, all your ideals?”

“Wow,” she said, falling back against the sofa. “You jabbed back. I’m impressed. You always used to fold when we argued.”

“You were a bad loser. It was rarely worth the fight. I figured you could take it now.” His eyes twinkled with mischief, the friction gone.

She laughed. It just burst out of her. “You called me a sell-out, a sore loser and a baby and I’m laughing. Only you could pull that off.” She shook her head.

“I did regret hurting you, Tara,” he said, touching her knee. “I regretted that a lot. I still do.” He looked closely at her, telling her he meant it. His words helped, but didn’t touch the deeper ache—that he thought she was incapable of love.

“I hurt you, too,” she said.

“You did that.” Pain flickered in his eyes, remembering.

“I’m sorry, Dylan.”

“Me, too.” They held each other’s gaze letting the feeling settle and fade.

“That was then and this is now, and we’re friends, right?” she said brightly, determined to get past this. “Like you and Candee?”

“Like me and Candee.”

“But without the benefits.” She winked and tapped his glass with hers, proud of her jaunty tone, though she felt heavy inside, weighted down, as if she were saying goodbye to something she didn’t want to lose.

“I need to check the chicken,” Dylan said, pushing to his feet.

She followed him through the kitchen—cranberry-red with dark granite countertops, fancy pots and pans hanging over an island—and out to the patio, where a table was set with colorful pottery plates and cloth napkins rolled around flatware.

Dylan opened the grill to baste an upright chicken, its skin just browning. The aroma was mesquite smoke and dark beer. “Mmm, smells like Ruby’s minus the cigarette smoke,” she said.

He laughed. “Ruby’s doesn’t smell like cigarettes anymore. No smoking in restaurants, remember?”

“Right. Probably ruins the food.”

“You’ll see. I’ll take you there—” He stopped abruptly, probably realizing he’d sounded like they were a couple, making dinner plans. “Anyway, looks like another fifteen minutes. The rest is ready inside.”

He sat at the table. She sat across from him. “You must be a great cook. You’ve got all that gourmet cookware.”

He laughed. “I got talked into buying all that. Long story.”

“Judging from your face, it was a woman, right?”

“Yeah. Candee. She does these home sales parties—candles, jewelry, handbags. She’d been hounding me to come to one and I figured cookware was about as masculine as they were going to get.”

“How sweet. You help out your ex-wife.” Candee was lucky to have such a generous and kind guy in her life. Tara envied her.

“There were no benefits involved, okay?” he said firmly.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you were thinking it. I know you.”

“You do. You do know me.” Better than anyone ever had. It had been ten years. The thought made her stomach drop. She finished her drink in one swallow. Dylan did the same.

Beyond his pool on a concrete rise, she noticed a telescope on a stand. “You still do astronomy?”

“Yep. That’s computer guided. You can really see a lot.”

“I took an astronomy class, you know,” she said. “Freshman year.”

“You’re kidding.”

“After all you raved about Lowell Observatory, I had to. I mean, I hated the snow, so I had to get something out of being there.”

“Sorry about that.” He winced. NAU had been his choice, not hers.

“It’s fine. I got what I wanted. I escaped Wharton and didn’t let my parents buy my way into an Ivy League school.” She shrugged, remembering that time. “I was lost at first. I knew who I didn’t want to be—Abbott and Rachel Wharton’s screwed-up daughter—not who I wanted to be.”

“We all have to figure that out, whether or not we have a town named after us.”

“True.” There was more she wanted to say, more questions she wanted to ask, and she could feel that Dylan felt the same, but she knew they were tender around each other and always would be. They’d crossed lines not meant to be crossed, gotten too close, hurt each other too deeply. You truly couldn’t go home again.

“How’d you end up in the business you’re in?” he asked, clearly changing the subject.

“I took a sociology class, and there was an expert on corporate culture. He walked us through a few of his case studies and it just set me on fire.”

“Yeah?” He leaned in, eyes focused on her face, eager to hear whatever she had to say. He’d always been a good listener.

“What we do is fix employee-manager dynamics in the workplace. Managers become more humane. Employees feel empowered. People over profits, you know? See? I still have my ideals.”

“I never doubted that.”

“It’s about relationships. Building trust. Open and honest communication. Shared values.”

“Sounds like marriage counseling.”

“It’s like that. Companies are families, really. There are issues, conflicts, personality clashes. Our job is to develop better ways to be together.” She hadn’t needed a shrink to tell her that her own terrible family played no small part in her passion for her field. “I talked the guy into an internship, ended up working for him until I opened my own company a year and a half ago.”

“I’m glad you’re happy.”

“I feel the same about you.” They were wrapping it all up and tying it with a bow. They’d been in love, they’d broken up, they’d made happy lives for themselves, so long forever. Something in her resisted that. She didn’t want to slap on a friendship bracelet and call it a day, dammit. There was more here. Lots more.

Tara took in the gorgeous sunset, the orange light making the telescope glow. “I used to love sitting out in the chill, taking turns looking into the eyepiece.”

“Tonight’s a good night for stargazing,” he said. “If you’d like that.” His tone said they were talking about more than a telescope. Tonight was a good night for stargazing and getting naked and tangling in the sheets, and not leaving the bed for hours, days, weeks....

“I would like that.” She felt herself being pulled into this moment, like the tug of stars on their planets, steady and sure. Irresistible. She saw that same tug in Dylan’s smoky gray eyes.

They were daring each other to go for it, to kiss, to make love. She tingled with the thrill of it, the burn and ache of it. It was like the time they’d challenged each other to jump from higher and higher ledges into the river. They got to the highest spot, dripping, breathing hard, looked down, then at each other and burst out laughing, chickening out at the same time.

“I’ll make more drinks,” she said, jumping up, her heart racing, her cheeks on fire. Despite their earnest, wish-you-well speeches, she wanted something to happen. She thought he did, too. Her hands shook as she dropped in ice, added a splash of vodka and poured in Mountain Dew.

At the last minute, she dumped in more vodka. What the hell, let’s try the high jump.

* * *

“TO US,” TARA SAID, lifting her glass.

“To us,” Dylan repeated. The fading sun turned the drinks into liquid gold in their hands, some magic elixir that would put a spell on them both. Tara’s eyes held that familiar mischievous light that made him want to skip the drinks, the food, the talk and just haul her into his arms.

Despite what they’d said about not going home again, here she was, and he felt it all again, just as big, just as all-consuming.

It didn’t help that she looked so good. She’d become softer and tougher at the same time. Sexier, too, because she was more certain of her appeal, more secure in herself, more sure of what she wanted.

And what did she want right now? Sex?

Damn, he hoped so.

He took a gulp of the drink and had to cough. “This is straight vodka.”

“Pretty close,” she said, coughing, too. “How ’bout we get hammered. For old times’ sake. Escape all this.” She made a circular motion over her head.

That would work. Vodka would fuzz their brains and drown whatever inhibitions remained. It would distract Tara from her troubles and him from his mixed feelings about helping her out.

Go for broke. That was Tara for sure. She took things too far, ready to ride the raft straight over the falls, heedless of the danger. His job had been to stab the oar down to bedrock, anchor them in place before they tumbled to their deaths below.

Yeah, they could get drunk and have sex. It would feel good in a blurry way. But they would be sorry later. He didn’t want to see regret in Tara’s eyes or feel it in his heart, or hear them mumble that they’d been too wasted, that they barely remembered what happened.

He didn’t want that. He doubted she did, either. He knew what she did want—to find out all she could about the car accident—and he had information she would appreciate.

“I talked to Fallon,” he said, putting down his glass.

“You did?” She set hers down, too, and honed in on him, the dare forgotten, as he’d hoped. “What did he say?”

“He’ll write you a report, but it won’t give you more than he already told you. If any pictures got taken they’ve been deleted from what he claims is a, quote, lame-ass camera with next-to-no memory, unquote. The insurance adjuster took the photos he needed and that was all that mattered, according to him. I asked him to send out a detective to photograph the scene and bag the debris.”

“Will he do it?”

“Oh, yeah. If he wants those two new cruisers.”

“You blackmailed him for me?” She grinned.

“Negotiated, I believe, is the proper term.”

“Negotiated, then. You did that for me?”

“I did.” He cleared his throat. “The irritating thing is that he thinks I’m doing this to get back together with you.”

“What an ass.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” What he’d said was get in her pants, though the look on Dylan’s face had scared the guy enough that he’d mumbled an apology and promised to get a detective out there.

“Thanks for doing that, Dylan.”

“I said I would help, didn’t I?”

“I know, but...” But he’d let her down before and she wasn’t convinced he truly had her back. That was Tara.

“Anyway, thanks. It’s more than I would ever get from him. In fact, I kind of blew it again.” She winced.

“What happened?”

“I went to Vito’s to see if any of the waitstaff saw Faye that night, and ran into Jim Crowley, who was there for his niece’s birthday dinner.”

“Not the best setting for an interrogation.”

“I didn’t grill him. I was polite. But he gave me this speech about what a good man Bill Fallon was and that my father wouldn’t want me upsetting my mother by asking questions.”

“Interesting.”

“Interesting? Don’t you get it? Fallon got to him. He probably called all the poker guys and told them I’m on a rampage and not to tell me anything. Crowley still hates me over the grocery store protest.”

“I forgot about that. It was about unfair wages, right?”

“Yeah. He was making part-time workers work full-time and not paying them or giving them benefits.”

“It made the paper, I remember.”

“After I broke Fallon’s headlight to get him to arrest me. It was worth it. Those people got paid so little they qualified for food stamps. They had to leave their kids alone late at night to work double shifts. And Crowley cleaned up his act, too, so he wouldn’t get busted for breaking labor laws.”

“Mission accomplished.”

“Exactly. Anyway, now that I blew it with the poker guys, I need you to talk to them—find out what really went on with my father that night. Can you ask Crowley? Or one of the other guys?” She listed the names.

“What reason would I have?”

“Curiosity? Checking out what Fallon said? Because you’re the town manager. They’ll tell you. You’re one of them.”

He bristled at the built-in insult she’d delivered. “The poker guys and I are all individuals with separate motivations, beliefs and attitudes, Tara. We’re not all part of some small-town hive mind.”

“I get it, okay? Don’t be so sensitive.”

“If it makes sense to talk to one of them, I will.”

“Good,” she said, as if he’d agreed to do it. “We should talk over the rest of the case.”

“It’s a case now?”

“What would you call it? I put all the clues on a spreadsheet on my iPad so you won’t think I’m a paranoid nut job.”

“No. I’ll think you’re an organized paranoid nut job.”

She went to give him a playful slap, but bumped her drink.

Trying to catch it, Dylan splashed Tara’s shirt.

She gasped from the jolt of cold.

“Sorry,” he said. He grabbed a cloth napkin, sending flatware rattling to the table, and brushed at her chest, aware of her body beneath his fingers, the softness of her breasts. She closed her eyes, caught by the contact.

They were on dangerous ground, so he stopped. “I hope that won’t leave a stain.”

“No big deal. This makes us even. One ruined shirt apiece.”

“You’re too much,” he said. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The minute he decided sex was a bad idea it was all he could think about. He was about to take her hand and pull her toward him when mesquite smoke billowed out in a cloud, accompanied by a roaring sizzle.

“Time to eat,” he said on a sigh, saved by the grill.

He cut up the chicken, brought out the rolls, a pasta salad and some marinated peppers, and they dug in.

“Mmm,” Tara said, swallowing a bite. “Heaven. Moist. Savory. Beerlike. Perfect.” She did everything with such relish. When she licked her fingers he had to look away and think about baseball. “Where’d you get the recipe?”

“Uh, Candee. She made it for me once.” He felt himself blush, remembering the circumstances.

“I thought you said the cookware didn’t include benefits.”

“Just forget it, okay?”

“You two,” she said, shaking her head in amusement.

When they finished eating, she wiped her hands on the napkin. “I’ll go get my iPad so we can go over the clues.”

She started to rise, but he caught her hand. “Wait.”

Tara sat, looking at his hand on hers, then at his face, her eyes gleaming, pupils large. “Yes?” she asked breathlessly. She couldn’t possibly think he was going to yank her into his arms and kiss her, could she? Though the idea sounded damn good to him.

But he’d had a point to make. What was it? Oh. “How about you just talk me through it?” He released her hand.

“Sure,” she said, taking a sharp breath. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s see. Where to start?” She tapped her lip. “How about this? Someone broke into my dad’s desk and stole all his files. I think it might be Joseph.”

“Why?”

“I had to ask him for the car insurance agent’s number and he got defensive about it. He warned me not to do anything that might delay the settlement our attorney will be working out with the insurance company. Bodily injury, lost earnings, pain and suffering. It’ll be millions. He got this gleam in his eye about the money. That made me wonder more about the finances at Wharton.”

“What does that have to do with him stealing the files?” Her thought process seemed convoluted to him.

“He’s been handling things for Mom—insurance, our estate attorney, even the clothes for the funeral—so maybe he was afraid something incriminating was in the files.”

“You didn’t accuse him of any of that, did you?”

“No. I’m not an idiot. Well, despite picking a fight with Fallon and harassing Jim Crowley at a birthday party.” She smiled ruefully. “I simply asked if he’d seen them and he got excessively defensive.”

“You’re not thinking Joseph had something to do with the accident, are you?” That would be way over the top.

“No. But something’s up with him, for sure. I’ll see what I can find out when I’m at Wharton.”

“What are you going to do at Wharton?”

“Investigate a little, but mostly help out.” She pushed her plate forward and back, frowning, thinking hard, abruptly upset. She lifted her gaze to his. “Faye wanted to hire me. She called a few weeks ago and said she’d like my perspective on the transition Wharton’s going through.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She steadied her gaze on him, regret clouding the clear blue of her eyes. “But I didn’t take her seriously. I joked about Joseph being too cheap to pay my fees. I totally blew it. I should have dropped everything and come out. Maybe if I had...”

“What? You think you could have prevented the accident?”

Tara shrugged. “Faye started seeing a shrink around the time she called me. She was taking pills for depression and anxiety. She was worried, Dylan. Really worried. But I didn’t pick up on that. I let her down.”

He stayed quiet, knowing there was more she had to get out.

“Faye was always there for me. Always.” She swallowed. “And what did I do? I harassed her for trying to please our father instead of going to art school. I told her marrying Joseph was a mistake. Who does that to someone they love?” She looked so anguished he had to intervene.

“Someone with strong opinions and big feelings.”

“You mean a spoiled brat? Don’t you dare pity me. You’re supposed to give me hell.” She gave a twisted smile. “I can’t stop thinking that the last talk I had with Faye was her begging for my help and me blowing her off. Why didn’t I listen? That’s one of my strengths with clients. Faye is the dearest person in my life and I barely paid attention.”

“She wouldn’t see it that way.”

“That’s because she’s too kind.” Tara grimaced, then grabbed her neck, so he knew her muscles had gone tight.

“You’re knotting up.” He moved his chair beside her and motioned for her to turn so he could rub her shoulders. He gripped the muscles at the base of her neck. They twisted like snarled rope under his fingers.

“You haven’t lost your touch,” she breathed, relaxing under his hands.

He focused on easing the knots, not how right it felt to be touching her again, how much he wished he weren’t so damn adult, that he would just give up and go to bed with her. His gaze landed on the sweating drinks, both nearly full. Maybe Tara was right. Maybe vodka wasn’t such a bad idea after all.