Trouble When You Walked In (Contemporary Romance) (33 page)

And then a shot of Boone’s ugly pickup truck pulling into this person’s backyard was shown—again and again.

“Every weekday,” Anne said, “the mayor comes here, and apparently doesn’t want to be seen. He drives his truck to the rear of the home and doesn’t come out for at least an hour.”

“Why?” Laurie said.

“I don’t know,” said Cissie.

Then they showed another outdoor shot of Boone at the house, this time with Ella Kerrison, who threw her arms around him in a hug.

“What the hell?” Laurie said. “That’s Ella’s house?”

Cissie was so stricken and confused, she said nothing.

“Who is this woman?” Anne asked. “And why does Mayor Braddock visit her almost every day? We tried to find out.”

There was a shot of Ella at her door. “No comment,” she said, her brow furrowed. “Please. Just leave.” And then she slammed the door shut.

“I don’t understand,” Cissie said.

“Me, either,” Laurie answered quietly.

“We started with two candidates living in the same house,” Anne said. “And when you add a little mystery”—there was a shot of Ella—“and mayhem”—followed by a shot of Cissie on the stranger’s back at The Log Cabin—“we get a small town story with universal appeal.”

Anne turned to the news anchors with a charming grin. “Guys, I can’t wait to get back to Kettle Knob to see what happens next.”

“Me, either,” exclaimed the female anchor. “That Mayor Braddock is a real charmer.”

“Sounds like he’s spreading that charm awfully thin.” The male anchor arched his brow.

Anne and her colleagues laughed.

Cissie’s heart hurt. Her whole body hurt.

“Later today,” Anne continued smoothly, “we’ll find out which of these two candidates actually won this election to become Kettle Knob’s next mayor.”

“Keep us posted,” said the male anchor. “Sounds like we need a reality show filmed there.”

“Over my dead body,” Cissie told Laurie. “Anne Silver doesn’t like either of us. She’s trying very hard to make Boone look like a two-timing scumbag. I thought she was crazy about him.”

“It’s a ratings game,” Laurie assured her. “It does look like he’s having an affair with Ella. But I hope it’s not true.”

“I don’t believe it.” Cissie’s eyes stung. She so wanted to believe in love. It happened in the books she loved—couldn’t it happen to her?

“But why else would he go over there almost every day and stay for an hour?” Laurie was saying. “Did he ever tell you he was going there?”

“No.” Cissie sighed. “He never has. We don’t cross paths much in the morning.”

“Well, he was kissing you in the shed—”

“We did that before Anne Silver even got here.” And it was fabulous, at least until she saw it on TV. And then it looked all wrong because that had been a private moment, and tawdry, too, because Boone was also hanging out with Ella.

“I wonder who filmed us in the shed?” Cissie said. “That’s so creepy.”

“Yeah. Totally creepy.” Laurie paused. “I wonder what Boone thinks of this story?”

“Maybe he hasn’t seen it.”

“Well, if not, someone will tell him about it. That morning news show is on at Starla’s every morning. Kettle Knob doesn’t take kindly to sneaks. I never thought Perry could be one. But look at him.”

Cissie put her hand to her forehead. “This is bad.” She’d slept with a guy who was very likely seeing another woman.

“Hang in there,” Laurie said. “Maybe Perry and Boone can be put in Kettle Knob’s doghouse together.”

“Not yet,” Cissie said. “I’m going to ask Boone what’s going on. I thought—”

“What?”

“I thought he was falling in love with me, too. But this morning—”

“Yes?”

“He basically ignored me.”

“Did you by any chance sleep with him last night?” Laurie’s voice was wary.

“Almost,” Cissie whispered. “And then his parents called. I went back upstairs.”

“Hmm. He didn’t follow you up to your room later? Most guys would.”

“No. He didn’t, and it’s because we have an election to think about. I specifically told him not to. And then this morning, he barely spoke to me.”

“That’s weird. I wonder if it was really his parents on the phone.”

“I’m sure it was. I heard them come to the door shortly after.”

“Still, I think the guilt is getting to him. Sleeping with two women at once.”

“Don’t be premature,” Cissie said, even though she’d thought the exact same thing. “I’ll let you know what he says, okay?”

“Great. Meanwhile, happy Election Day.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

When Boone got Cissie’s first text, he was already up to his ears in fallout from the morning show, and it was clear—very clear—that unless the majority of Kettle Knob residents had shown up at voting booths before 8:00 a.m. when the show aired, he was going to win the election only by a hair—

Or not at all.

Hard to believe.

The text showed up when he was eating a takeout country ham biscuit from Starla’s at his desk at the mayor’s office around nine. He ignored the message, although it hurt to do so.

But Cissie wouldn’t let up.

She sent five more texts. And called three times.

Which was why he finally caved and agreed to meet her.
I can spare five minutes,
he texted back using his voice dictation app.
We both have places to be
.

He’d wanted to say he cared about her but had to let her go because he didn’t belong with her. Football and politics. Those were his things.

But he couldn’t tell her all that. She’d want to make a go of it, and inevitably, they’d come up against a wall. She’d be disappointed—in him, in their relationship.

No, he had to nip the blossoming feelings between them in the bud.

Even so, his heart leapt when he finally saw her, his stubborn political opponent, looking sexy and pretty in a black brimmed hat and bright purple trench coat, walking toward the theater instead of being where she should be, at the library.

He pressed the little microphone and dictated a message into his cell phone:
Other side of street.

She got it, crossed over with quick steps.

Her
, his heart clamored,
that girl
.

He looked behind, to both sides, and in front of the truck. No one appeared to be sitting in any cars watching—none of those network TV people, at least. And if they had some sort of stalker filming them from a nearby house window, he couldn’t see one anywhere.

He took his chances, got out, opened the passenger’s door, and got Cissie inside. “Great disguise,” he said as she climbed in.

Her face was white. “This hat was in the lost and found at the library, and it’s Sally’s coat.”

He liked having her in his truck, he decided, when he returned to the driver’s seat. “What’s this about?” he asked, knowing full well.

Her eyes were filled with censure. And questions. “Are you sleeping with Ella Kerrison? Dating her in any capacity? And did you ignore me this morning because you’re a two-timing sneak?”

“So I guess you saw the TV show.”

“Everyone did, and if they didn’t, they’ve heard about it. It’s on talk radio in Charlotte and Asheville right now.”

“My admin assistant told me. The station managers tried to get me to call in and join the conversation.”

“Me, too. And I’ve had way more visitors than usual at the library. Normally, I’d love that. But no one wanted books. They just wanted to see if I … if I was falling apart.”

He’d had the opposite happen. There’d been no messages, and only a few people—apart from the local TV station crews—had stopped by to say hello and wish him well at Town Hall. He wondered if he should even bother showing up at his scheduled stops throughout the day.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you.” He wished he could take her hand.

Two red spots of color appeared on her cheeks. “You didn’t seem to care a jot about me this morning at the house.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Cissie.” Which was true—truer than anything he’d ever said before.

“So why do you go over to Ella’s and hide your truck in her backyard?” She sounded so hurt. And scared.

“I know I look like a real horndog—kissing you one minute, and visiting Ella in secret the next.”

“That you do. But I know you. I might not have known you long, but something’s off here. I didn’t imagine the way things were between us. It was real. Answer me, Boone. What’s going on?”

He looked out his window. “You haven’t had much experience … with relationships.”

“So? Experience doesn’t necessarily equate to wisdom.”

He looked straight at her and willed himself to lie. “In some ways, it does. Not everything lasts.”

There was a long, bleak silence he willed himself not to break.

Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, really?” She threw open her door. “You’re hiding something. And you suck for treating me this way.”

One of Cissie’s campaign posters—one that Sally had stapled balloons to—came skidding down the sidewalk.

Boone met her gaze. “I understand why you’re upset. And I’m sorry.”

It hurt like hell when she slammed the door behind her. But that was the way it had to be.

He turned the key in the ignition.

Wished the engine didn’t purr like a kitten and start right up.

And took off, wending his way by the gazebo on his way out of town and refusing to look at it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

It couldn’t have been love, Cissie thought as she picked up her sign with the balloons. She threw it in a public trash can—it took forever to stuff the balloons in—and then began her lonely walk back to the library. Love didn’t topple like that, so quickly. Love found solutions. Endured longer than a day or two.

Love didn’t lie.

Boone was definitely holding something back that was keeping them apart. She knew him. She knew his soul. Maybe that sounded corny, but it was true. She loved him.

But apparently, he didn’t love her.

That was what he was saying, anyway, in so many words.

Yet she couldn’t quite believe him. Not yet. She was desperate enough to keep hoping. His eyes had been too flat. Too unlike him.

Without even thinking, she found herself detouring to Ella’s. Her house was on the edge of the town proper. It would take a good fifteen minutes to walk there.

As she traveled block after block, passing mainly small brick or clapboard cottages, she had a crazy wish that Boone would catch up with her in his truck, leap out, and lay a reassuring hand on her arm.

“Hey,” she could hear his whiskey-and-gravel voice saying. “Everything’s going to be fine.
We’re
going to be fine.”

But he didn’t.

Two TV trucks from two different stations drove by, coming from Ella’s direction. Cissie pulled her hat brim down lower. Maybe she was walking right into a media circus.

It was a chance she was willing to take.

When she got there, Ella’s house looked deserted. Curtains were drawn. No car sat in the driveway. Still, Cissie knocked.

And hoped.

Maybe Ella would know what was wrong with Boone.

But no one came.

She knocked again, but when she was met with silence, she turned to walk away. And as she did, she caught a glimpse of a face behind a curtain. She froze, ran back up to the small porch, and pounded on the door. “I know you’re in there! Please answer! It’s Cissie, not a reporter. Please, Ella!”

There was another long silence, but then she heard footsteps and her heart lifted. The next second, she grew wary, reminding herself to prepare for utter heartbreak.

The door finally opened. Ella stood there, her mouth thin, her gaze clearly distraught. “What do you want, Cissie? This has been a horrible morning for me, okay? I don’t want those nosy reporters coming back.”

“I get it.” Cissie’s throat was tight. “But Ella, I need to ask you something. Is it true that you and Boone are—are having an affair?”

Ella’s expression gave nothing away. “I don’t want to talk about it. To anyone. I’m sorry.”

She started to shut the door, but Cissie held it open. “Please,” she said, “for my own peace of mind, I need to know. I won’t be angry with you. I promise.”

Ella’s jaw tightened. “Did he say we were together?”

“In so many words. But not directly. He just refused to deny it.”

Ella sighed. “You’re asking too much.”

“Please,” Cissie whispered.

Ella shook her head once, soberly. “I have no right to talk about Boone’s private life. And my private life is my business. I’m sorry.”

Cissie felt the prick of tears at her eyes. “That’s the answer you give reporters. I know we’re not close friends, but please, woman to woman, tell me the truth.” A crow overhead cawed, such a lonely sound. “Even if it hurts, I want to know.”

Ella stared at her a long time. “All right,” she said finally. “It’s true.”

Pain like she’d never known coursed through Cissie’s body. “You two”—she could barely get the words out—“are having an affair?”

Ella nodded. Her expression showed no sympathy. It showed nothing—like Boone’s.

But maybe that was what two people in love did when there was a third, unwanted party in the mix. They turned cold. Like statues. To protect themselves.

Cissie swallowed. She couldn’t believe she was the intruder in this scenario, the one who didn’t belong.

She knew she should thank Ella for talking to her. She should. She’d practically forced the woman to confess. But Cissie’s manners fled, and she didn’t care.

No doubt Ella didn’t, either.

“I have to go,” Ella said quietly.

This time, when she shut the door, Cissie kept both hands in her coat pockets. With bowed head, she turned and walked slowly back to the street.

She had no recollection of getting back to the library.

But when she found herself there, she ignored Sally’s concern.

“Is anyone here?” she asked faintly.

“No,” said Sally. “Just me and Hank Davis.”

“Can you lock the door?”

“Sure.”

“And … and do you mind if I stay here alone a little while?”

Sally bit her lower lip and shook her head. “Are you sure?”