Mint Juleps and Justice Page 9

  “Great. Let’s do it.”

  Mike pulled his phone from his hip and made the call. “They’ll be here in about thirty minutes.”

  “That’s fast.”

  “I’m a little concerned about this guy. With him cutting all ties, it seems like something is up. There’s more too. He’s got a sketchy past with the law. I don’t think we want to take any chances.”

  “Thanks.” She chased the chills that ran the length of her arms.

  “Let me walk you through how the system will be installed while they’re headed over.” He’d just finished walking her around the house and discussing the placement of the external cameras when his guys showed up to do the installation. He introduced them to Brooke and unloaded ladders and supplies.

  “How long will all this take?” she asked.

  Mike jumped in before the guys could answer. “I thought I’d take you for a ride so they could get to work. They’ll be done before we get back.”

  “I’m a mess. Maybe I should shower and change.”

  “Come on. I’ve got my truck. We’ll bring Stitches too.”

  “Seems like you’re not going to take no for an answer.”

  He shrugged. “No reason to primp. It’s not like it’s a date. Come on.”

  It’s not a date. He’s just a nice guy. She picked up her purse and lifted Stitches to her hip. “Deal.”

  Mike and Brooke rode in silence for twenty minutes until he honked the horn twice as they crossed the North Carolina state line.

  “My daddy used to do that,” Brooke said.

  “Mine too.” He seemed to enjoy the memory as much as she did. “In fact, he probably still does.”

  “It’s good luck.”

  “You have a lot of lucky beliefs. I like that about you,” Mike said. “Are you hungry?”

  “A little.”

  “Good. I’ll take you to one of my favorite places. It’s just up the road here.”

  “Unless it’s a drive-through, I don’t think I’m dressed for it.”

  “You’re dressed just fine. It’s an old train depot that’s now an antiques shop and they make a great sandwich. I think you’ll like it. The owners are a couple of old ladies—sisters, I think. Trust me. We’ll be the only ones in the place.”

  “You’re not going to let me have a say anyway. You’re borderline bossy, you know.”

  “Look who’s talking.”

  She knew he was right. “Just get there already, would you? Before I regain my fashion sense and refuse.”

  “We’re here.” Mike turned into the lot, crunching through the deep gravel, and pulled the truck near the front door. He rolled down the windows for Stitches, then got out of the truck and moved quickly ahead of her to open the front door.

  Brooke dipped under his arm, entering first, and getting a whiff of his cologne. The old wood floor creaked. The smell of home cooking filled the air. They took their time poking around the cluttered collection of items. Each room had its own theme, filled with glorious old pieces of furniture, trinkets, linens slightly yellowed with age, and hand-crocheted doilies. She headed for a big mahogany dresser and pulled the top drawer open. The workmanship was beautiful, and the knobs were all original. “This is wonderful,” she said to Mike, realizing that he was just barely within earshot.

  “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

  “I was just saying I love this place. What do you have there? Some kind of animal trap?”

  “No.” He dangled a pair of antique spurs he’d just picked up from a huge tabletop of goods. “They’re spurs. I collect them.”

  “I love this kind of stuff. You can feel the memories.” She looked around and took a deep breath as if the air would share the details of the decorative items among the old furnishings.

  “Let’s go place our order and we can look around while they’re cooking. I’m starved.”

  Brooke let Mike lead her to the lunch counter, where he ordered BLTs and limeades for the two of them. They circled back and returned to browsing through the old treasures.

  “Mostly I love the stories behind these things,” admitted Brooke. She lifted a teacup, admiring the beautiful intricate design on the inside. She turned it over to examine the mark on the bottom.

  Mike picked up an old cast-iron skillet. “Okay, what’s the story? Lay it on me.”

  “Well,” she said with a playful glint in her eye, but an oh-so-serious tone. “Grandma Vivian used to use that pan every Sunday morning.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yes, every single Sunday. She would fry up bacon, from the hog she’d slaughtered right out back of her house. A local 4-H project, no doubt. The hog’s name was Ham Bone. His sister was Riba.”

  “Reba, as in the great country singer?”

  “Uh, no, Riba, as in barbecued ribs.”

  “Of course. How could I have not known?”

  Brooke continued in full animation. “Then she, Grandma Vivian that is, would fry up eggs in the bacon grease until they were crispy on the edges. She made the best darn fried eggs for miles. That pan is quite a steal, you see, because it has made memories for so many people over the years. In fact,” she said, lowering her voice, and looking around as if to make sure no one was listening, “it’s really quite hush-hush, but rumor has it that Grandma Vivian once made fried corn bread in that very pan for,” she cleared her throat and looked around before leaning in and lowering her voice again, “the King himself.”

  “The king? As in the King of England, I presume?” he asked.

  “Oh, don’t be silly. The real king.” She flashed a mischievous smile. “Elvis, hello!”

  “Grandma Vivian and Elvis? Scandalous,” he teased.

  “You know Elvis wasn’t really crazy about jelly doughnuts. The truth is, he was really all about Grandma Vivian’s corn bread. And yes, he did put jelly on that too.”

  “Interesting.” Mike twirled the heavy pan in his hand.

  “Oh, yes, the memories of Grandma Vivian’s corn bread…” Her voice drifted off.

  “I see. Making memories. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Even if you have to make them up.”

  “Better than my story, I guess.” Mike held the pan. “Some woman beat the crap out of an intruder with this. Guy had a big knot on his head that was covered in bacon grease and fried egg pieces. End of story.”

  “Stick to your day job,” she teased.

  “Here’s something with a real story.” He motioned for her to come over to a long oak glass-front counter. “It’s an old postcard. Pretty cool.” He flipped it from front to back reading the message and looking at the picture, then passed it to her. “They look like myotonic goats.”

  “Goats pulling a cart. I love it. Hope they aren’t myotonics. Those are the fainting goats. That could be a problem if they’re supposed to be pulling a cart.”

  “True. Probably just Spanish goats,” he said.

  “You do know a little about livestock. I’m impressed.”

  “I’ve got friends.”

  “That man in the cart looks like a giant compared to them. We grow goats a lot bigger these days.”

  “Learn something new every day, huh?” Spending this time getting to know her layered the feelings that had been sprouting inside him lately, feelings he thought had been tucked permanently away after that tragic event over eight years ago.

  When she turned around he was standing right there, practically toe-to-toe with her.

  He tipped her chin up with his knuckles. “I love rustic stuff. There’s lots about me you don’t know.”

  “I think I’m going to like learning about you.” She hadn’t felt this carefree in a long time. It felt good to be silly with no strings attached, and he was good company. “You know, that postcard would b
e really neat in a shadow box. You should get it for your friend.” Brooke edged along the counter. “Hey look, a lucky horseshoe.” Then her mouth dropped wide as she moved to a velvet-tray display of jewelry and trinkets. “Now that is exquisite.”

  “Which one?” He was so close his shoulder brushed hers. A comfortable energy ignited between them.

  “That one. Right there. She pointed to a white- and yellow-gold-filigree hair comb studded with tiny pearls and gemstones, maybe even a few rubies. “Isn’t it beautiful? I wonder how it ended up here.”

  “That is pretty.” He signaled to the blue-haired shopkeeper to open the case.

  Brooke balanced the beautiful piece in her hands. “This is the kind of thing you pass on for generations. Maybe the woman had no family to leave it to, or she became desperate for money and had to give it up to save the farm. I bet there’s a beautiful story behind this comb.”

  “Do you know anything about this piece?” Mike asked the shopkeeper.

  “It came from an estate sale. Sorry. No details.”

  “She may have worn it in her hair on her wedding day.” Brooke imagined a young woman with perfect skin, hair swept up, nervous about the nuptials.

  Mike placed a hand on Brooke’s shoulder. “I bet you were a beautiful bride.”

  “Order up.” The ding of a bell followed.

  Brooke felt literally saved by the bell from the awkward moment just then.

  She avoided the comment as she and Mike meandered back to the counter and hopped up on the barstools. Brooke caught a glimpse of herself in the old warped mirror behind the counter. “I can’t believe I’m out in public looking like this.”

  He pushed a wisp of hair back from her right cheek, quietly leaning into her. “Actually, I wasn’t going to say anything, but I did hear those two ladies over there talking about how they couldn’t believe a frumpy chick like you ever landed a good-looking guy like me.” He gave her a convincing look, but she knew he was teasing her.

  “You’d better quit picking on me. You’re on my payroll, you know.”

  “I’m not billing you for this. Besides, you look beautiful to me. And you’re fun to pick on.”

  “Hey, quit with all the flirting and just eat, would ya?” she said, then bit into her sandwich.

  “Can’t you even just take a compliment?” He rolled his eyes.

  They munched on their BLTs without much conversation and then headed back home.

  “This was great,” she said, looking out the window. “Do you think they’ll really be done with the security system by the time we get back?”

  “Should be.” He looked at his watch. “Or close to finished. We’ll have to do this again.”

  “I don’t want to mislead you. I’m not looking for a relationship,” she said. “I don’t mean to sound harsh, but I’m just not cut out for it. But dinner. With a friend. I could totally do that.”

  “Friends is good,” he said. “Maybe even better.

  They drove back over the Carolina line to her place. Mike pulled into the driveway alongside the security guys’ truck. They were already packing up.

  “Looks like you were right,” she said.

  “I’m right a lot. Get used to it.”

  “We’ll see about that, but thanks for the distraction while they got this done. I appreciate it.” She got out of the truck and headed for the door with Stitches right behind her. A second slam made her spin around. Mike was falling in step right behind her. “What are you doing?”

  “I thought I would take a quick peek and be sure everything looked safe and sound.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mike walked in behind her and sent the installers on their way. Then he gave the place the once-over, and when they were both convinced everything was safe, he gave her the two-minute alarm tour and they did a couple of practice runs.

  “I can handle it,” she said. “Thanks.” Brooke walked Mike to the door.

  After an awkward moment, Mike placed one hand on the door, and pulled her to him with the other. “I had a great time tonight. Thanks for humoring me.”

  She looked up at him, and smiled. “It was nice. Thanks for being so bossy and forcing me to have some fun. It felt good. It’s exactly what I needed.”

  He tipped her chin, and for a second she thought he might kiss her, and yet she didn’t move. Instead he moved away.

  “Bye,” he said with a nod, then he pulled the door open, stepped out onto the porch, and headed to his truck.

  As she watched him leave, she considered what it might have felt like if he’d covered her mouth with his. Kissed her slow and soft. But then why would he? She’d just given him the I-don’t-do-relationships speech.

  She set the alarm and stood there at the door, watching him leave. She wondered what might have happened if she’d kept her daggone mouth shut for a change.

  Glancing at the caller ID, she grinned and answered sweetly, “Hey, Mike.”

  “You know my ring?”

  “I’m psychic.” Her whole insides danced at the sound of his voice. It had been nearly a week since he’d had the alarm system installed. He must have taken the friends speech to heart.

  There was a trace of laughter in his voice. “Caller ID?”

  “Did you ever consider the private investigator business?”

  “Think I’d be good, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah. Glad you weren’t my dad. A girl can’t sneak anything by you.”

  “Well, quit trying, would ya?” he said. “I know we made plans for dinner, but what are your plans on Sunday instead?”

  Brooke tried to recall her schedule from memory. “I’ve got plans with Jenny on Saturday afternoon, but aside from that, nothing important. What’d you have in mind?”

  “I want to take you somewhere on Sunday,” Mike said.

  Instead of the steak dinner, and he hadn’t called it a date. That was a plus. “Where?”

  “Can’t tell you where. It’s a surprise.”

  “Oh, come on. I hate secrets,” she pleaded. “Maybe I’d rather do the dinner.”

  “You’ll have to just trust me that you’ll like this better.”

  “You think you know so much about me already, do you?”

  “Oh, no. I wouldn’t dare go there, but I’m pretty sure I’m right about this.”

  “Now I’m really curious. How will I know what to wear, if I don’t know where we’re going?”

  “Dress casual. We’ll be outside,” he said.

  “I’m not athletic at all. I run like a girl, throw like a girl…”

  “I didn’t say anything about sports. Jeans and tennis shoes—something comfortable.”

  “Fine. Keep your darn secret. No one else could get away with this.”

  “I’m honored.”

  “You should be. Can you hang on a sec? I just got home, let me put my stuff down and get inside.”

  “Okay.”

  Brooke unlocked the front door, then dropped her keys in the bowl on the sideboard and hung her purse on the coat closet door. “Feels good to be home.” She kicked out of her shoes, then something in the backyard caught her attention through the French doors. “Hang on.”

  “What’s the matter? I can hear it in your voice.”

  “I’m not sure. I thought I saw someone.” She ran to the back door and peered out the window.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She held the phone close as she scanned the yard. “It’s okay,” she said to Mike. “Must have been a bird or something. Sorry.” She walked back into the living room with the phone against her ear. “All right, so where were we? Oh, yeah, you being all honored, or was it ornery?”

  Mike snickered. “How about I pick you up at eight Sunday morning, and plan to be gone most of the day.”

  “All day? This better be good.” S
he feigned annoyance.

  “It’s only a couple days away. I think you can make it. See you Sunday.”

  “I’ll be ready. See you then.” Sunday couldn’t get here quick enough.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  On Sunday morning, Mike pulled into the driveway at Brooke’s house at eight o’clock on the dot. Brooke stepped outside looking cute in her jeans, red hiking boots, and blue-and-white-striped top. She balanced two travel mugs looped through the fingers of her left hand as she turned the deadbolt.

  He lowered his window as she walked up, and Hunter sprang across him and pushed his nose out the window.

  “I thought the least I could do was supply the morning caffeine fix.” She handed him a mug. “Goodness. I didn’t think to bring one for you, Hunter.”

  “He’s not a coffee drinker.” He pointed to the red mug she’d just handed him and then to her blue one. “But blue is my favorite color.”

  She trotted around to the passenger side of the vehicle to climb in. “The blue one will cost you some four-one-one on where we’re going.”

  He raised a brow. It was way more fun to make her wonder.

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so; besides, the blue one is mine and has girly flavored cream in it. I pegged you as more of a simple cream-and-sugar kind of guy.”

  “You’re right. I’ll stick with the red one.” He took a sip and dropped the truck into gear.

  “Uh-huh, thought so,” she said, looking pleased with the early win. She stroked Hunter’s ears as the truck eased out of her driveway.

  As they pulled onto the street, movement in the backseat startled Brooke. She swung around to see what it was. “What do we have here?”

  A soft thump, thump, thump sounded from the backseat. A black-and-white rough-coated border collie anxiously shifted from paw to paw.

  “What? Are you going to make me have a guard dog now too? Have to tell you that Hunter looks a lot more menacing, even as a puppy, than this little border collie in the back.” Brooke leaned back and stroked the dog’s head. “What is it about Mike and damsels in distress?” she asked the dog. “Or is this little gal your date?” she asked Hunter. She regretted using the word date as soon as it slipped from her lips. She didn’t want Mike to think she was thinking of today as one.