Flirting with Fireworks. Teresa Carpenter
Читать онлайн книгу.
“And now we have to pay for her deceit.”
“Unfortunately. But we can’t really blame the people of Blossom for not wanting a repeat performance. Last year, they didn’t have a fair at all.”
“Well, now. That’s just a shame. Those charlatans stole more than the town’s money, they stole their spirit.”
Nona truly believed in the positive energy to be had at the fair. Family values and young love, goodness and joy, all wrapped up in popcorn, cotton candy and hot summer nights were what made up the fair.
Cherry believed, too, but she also knew frauds existed, people spent what they couldn’t afford and life wasn’t always fair. Even at the fair.
“Don’t worry,” she reassured her grandmother. “I’m not giving up.”
“What do you have planned?”
“A few innocent parlor tricks, is all. The people of Blossom may have been burnt, but curiosity will bring them back every time.”
“There’s something more, isn’t there? Something in your voice—” Nona suddenly switched gears. “You’ve met someone haven’t you? A man.”
Cherry grimaced. She’d hoped to finish the conversation before it headed in this direction.
“Nona, didn’t we have this talk when I was eighteen? I want to form my own opinion about the men I meet.”
“We didn’t have this talk. This isn’t about the big bad wolf. We’re talking Prince Charming here.”
Oh, please. Cherry barely kept from saying the words out loud. Jason Strong might look like a prince, but charming he was not.
“Believe me, we are not talking Prince Charming. Take care of yourself, Nona. I’ll call after I’ve been to the Realtor.”
Nona hung up the phone, her thoughts still with her granddaughter until a voice broke into her musings.
“You were talking about men, right? With your granddaughter?” Tom Baxter asked. An ex-cop with broad shoulders and lots of pewter-colored hair, he was here recuperating from a blown-out knee. “I understand the reference to the Big Bad Wolf, but what does Prince Charming mean in this day and age?”
The big Texan’s attention flustered Nona. Lord, she hadn’t felt so nervous around a man since her Grant first courted her a million years ago. Sweet Grant, he’d been her Prince Charming. She’d known the first time he touched her he was her soul mate. They’d had twenty wonderful years together before she lost him to a heart attack. Now she was seventy-one and could barely walk across the room. She certainly had nothing to offer this Big Bad Wolf.
Still, she answered his question about Prince Charming. “It means her one true love.”
Chapter Two
Leaving the BeeHive, Blossom pushed open the door and came face-to-face with Jason Strong.
“Lady Pandora.” He held the door for her. “Still in town?”
“Mr. Mayor.” She pasted a smile on her face; not all that hard to do when he was such an almighty joy to look at. She stepped past him onto the sidewalk. “Of course. I don’t plan on going anywhere. I have a date with the fair in a few days.”
His light blue eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t get your hopes up. I won’t change my mind. Too many people stand to get hurt if I do.”
Cherry just smiled more brightly; because he honestly didn’t know the insult he’d dealt her. “I’m very careful not to hurt people. When you have a talent such as I have, you learn early that it comes with a responsibility to shield people from the answers they’re so eager to hear.”
“Very honorable of you. Except you’re wasting your time. I don’t believe in your special talents.” He broke off to greet two ladies exiting the diner. “Mrs. White, Mrs. Davis, good afternoon.”
The women were complete opposites one, tall, thin, and dark; the other, short, sturdy, and silver. They greeted their mayor, then turned twin looks of interest in Cherry’s direction.
Unaffected, she met their stares. “Afternoon. Wasn’t the apple cobbler exceptional?”
Brilliant smiles broke over their faces. The taller of the women rolled her eyes and patted her chest. “My, yes. The cobbler was delicious today.”
“Excellent, just excellent,” her companion voiced her opinion. “Just a tad too much cinnamon.”
“Oh Mary Ellen, everything always has too much cinnamon for you.”
“Well, I don’t care for a lot of cinnamon.” The two women moved on down the street, discussing the merits of spice versus flavoring.
Enjoying their good-natured squabbling, Cherry didn’t notice the mayor’s eyes had narrowed again until he stepped in front of her.
Her humor disappeared. “Oh, please. You think that was a demonstration? That was nothing, I saw them eating the cobbler. It looked good, so I ordered some. You want a demonstration, talk to your secretary. Did she find the document she was looking for? It had something to do with a city building.” She cocked her head, seeing by the look on his face that his secretary had indeed found the missing papers. “The library, I think.”
Oh yeah, that nailed it. That had him thinking. Emboldened, she invaded his space and lowered her voice to a husky drawl.
“I can do even better than that.”
Careful not to touch him—that would be too daring—she reached for his tie. Savoring the feel of silk warm from the heat of his body, she slid the soft fabric through her fingers. A low-volume buzz tingled through her.
Hmm. That had never happened before.
Her eyes on his, she opened her senses the tiniest bit. It didn’t take much to connect with his energy; to align with his nagging need to find a specific item.
One of the fastest ways to convert nonbelievers was to help them find something. It was personal and almost everyone had something they were looking for at any given time. The nagging factor also helped. Easier to pick up something that was close to the surface of someone’s mind.
In Jason Strong’s mind, she saw a ring. A wedding ring.
The mayor was married. Something inside her flinched at the revelation. But no. He had been married. A widower, then. Because the sorrow she saw in his eyes spoke of death.
Emotions bombarded her: loss, grief, sadness, anger, loneliness. Desire. Guilt. And an absolute resolve to keep her from the fair.
She dropped his tie and stepped back. Too much, too fast, too personal. And way too close for comfort. She’d seen way more than she usually allowed herself. Out of respect for him and self-defense for herself, she put even more distance between them.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said softly.
His head went back in surprise and a frown slammed his eyebrows together. “What?”
She’d blocked his emotions, but hers were all over the place as well. Focusing on compassion, she shook her head and simply repeated, “I’m sorry.” Then, because it would give him peace, she added. “You’ll find what you’re looking for under the nightstand beside your bed. The one on the right, by the back left leg.”
Knowing she’d said more than enough, she turned and walked away.
“I want that woman gone.” Jason slid into the gold-and-brown booth across from Sheriff Trace McCabe inside the BeeHive. Brown-haired, hazel-eyed, Trace had the look of the boy next door with a military edge. He had two traits Jason wanted in his sheriff—calm in a crisis and the perseverance of a bulldog. “What did you find?”
The younger man reached for his coffee, then nodded toward