Bare Essentials. Leslie Kelly
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That was ridiculous. He was rough and edgy, ruled the town with an iron fist, but he was also fair. A pillar of the community.
No reason for her to feel anxious. After all, what would he do now? He’d probably just make her walk home, too. Yeah, that worked for her. The entire evening had been a bust anyway. She had no idea why she’d thought dressing up and going out with the most popular jerk—er, jock—would be fun.
“Cassie.”
“Sheriff.”
“Don’t you dress up nice.”
He was staring at…her breasts? That didn’t seem right. Cassie managed to keep her shock to herself. “I—yes.”
“You think the dress changes what you are?” he asked softly. “Or who you are?” His gaze ran over the black silk, which had been designed to make men beg for mercy. She’d loved it when she’d found it, she’d loved it all the way until this very second, but now she felt like hugging herself.
“Get out of the car.”
She didn’t move, and he leaned in. “I can make you,” he said silkily. “In fact, I’d like that.”
There was no one around. Not that anyone would have stood up for her if there had been. No doubt the people in the cars driving by figured she’d done something to warrant the sheriff pulling her over. Chin high, Cassie got out of the car. Casually leaned back against it. Tossed her head. Played cool as a cucumber. “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”
“What can you do for me?” He stepped close. So close she could see the lights from his squad car dancing in his eyes. Smell his breath. Feel his hips brush hers. She wanted to cringe back, wanted to panic, but no way in hell was anyone in this goddamned town ever going to see her panic.
“What you can do for me, Cassie, is rather complicated, though being Flo’s daughter…”
“You…know Flo?”
“Intimately.”
He was aroused. And he had been with her mother. Odd how that felt like such a betrayal. But she was very careful not to react because it was one thing to mess with a stupid eighteen-year-old punk driving his brand-new car. It was another thing entirely to mess with a fully grown, aroused man with a badge. Fear threatened to paralyze her but she tossed her hair back again. “You must have mistaken me for my mother then.”
“I don’t make mistakes.” He lifted a hand.
It hovered in the air between them for a long moment, while Cassie held her breath. When she released it, his fingers danced along the very tops of her breasts, which were pushed up and out by her dress. His breathing changed then, quickened, and she realized he was no different from his nephew at all. The knowledge that any man, even this one, could be turned into a slave by his own penis was disturbing.
Skin crawling, she slapped his hand away. “Unless you’re going to arrest me for having the poor judgment to go out with your idiot nephew, our business here is over,” she said with remarkable calm. “Get out of my way. I’m walking home.”
“I can give you a ride. Maybe Flo is home. Maybe the two of you would be interested…”
She shivered at the obvious innuendo. He wanted the both of them together. And why not, right? After all, a Tremaine was a Tremaine.
How did her mother stand this? Seducing men at the drop of a hat because she could? Cassie understood Flo enjoyed the power of bringing a man to his knees with lust, but Cassie would rather bring a man to his knees with pain. A direct kick to the family jewels would do it.
But this wasn’t the man to do that to. Keeping her smile in place, she pushed past him. “Sorry, Sheriff. Not in the mood tonight.”
Her heels clicked on the asphalt as she started walking. Don’t follow me, don’t follow me. She felt him watching her every step of the way, until she turned the corner.
Only then, when she knew she was truly alone and out of his sight, did she break stride and start running. No one stopped her. No one cared enough to.
Down Magnolia Avenue to Petunia Avenue, and then finally she turned off onto Pansy Lane. For the first time she didn’t stop to sneer at the ridiculous flower names of the streets, and instead ran down the driveway of the duplex she’d shared all her life with her mother.
Her aunt and cousin lived on the other side. Kate would be a huge comfort right now, the voice of calm reason, but she’d still be with her date from the prom. Probably having the time of her life.
Cassie didn’t go inside the house. Didn’t want to face her mother, who would get misty-eyed at the sight of Cassie all over again. They both knew Cassie was leaving, and soon. The day she graduated, if possible. She had a life to find.
And someday she’d come back here and show them all. She’d come back driving a fancy car. She’d live in the biggest house on Lilac Hill, just because she could. And…oh, yes, this was her favorite…she’d get the sheriff. Somehow, some way.
But most of all, she’d…become someone. Someone special.
She went around the side of the duplex to the backyard. Kicked off the Nine West pumps she’d saved all last month for and dug her toes into the grass. Tipping back her head, she gauged the distance she had to jump in the dress wrapped around her like Saran wrap.
And took a flying leap for the rope ladder. In her skimpy black dress, she shimmied up the tree and landed in the tree house that had served as her and Kate’s getaway all their lives.
It was cramped. And musty. Probably full of spiders. It’d been a long time since she’d needed to be alone, but she needed that now. Desperately. She was close—far too close—to losing it, when losing it was not an option. Ever.
Opening the small wooden cigar box she and Kate kept hidden, she took out her private and personal vice and lit it. A cigarette. It helped steady her nerves. There was also her diary, and Kate’s, inside the box. She reached for hers.
Leaning back against the trunk of the tree, she studied the stars, mentally reviewing the list of things she wanted to accomplish with her life before she scribbled them into her diary. Kate would get a kick out of the fancy-car goal, she was sure of it.
When she was done writing, she leaned back and watched a falling star, and though she would have denied it to her dying day, she wished.
She wished that life would get better soon as she got the hell out of Pleasantville.
1
Ten Years Later
SHERIFF SEAN TAGGART—Tag, as he was commonly known—had eaten, showered and was sprawled naked and exhausted across his bed when the phone rang.
“Forget it,” he muttered, not bothering to lift his head. He didn’t have the energy. God, he needed sleep. He’d been up all night helping a neighboring county sheriff chase down a man wanted for two bank robberies. Then this morning, before he could so much as think about sleep, he’d had to rescue four stupid cows from the middle of the highway. He’d also wrestled a drunken and equally stupid teenager out of a deep gorge.
Then he’d delivered a baby when the mother had decided labor pains were just gas so that she’d ended up stranding herself thirty-five miles from nowhere.
Now, though it was barely the dinner hour, he just might never move again. He lived alone on a hill above town. Not on Lilac Hill like the rich, but in a nice, comfortable, sleepy little subdivision where the houses were far apart and old enough to be full of character—aka run-down. His place was more run-down than most, which was how he’d afforded it.
Renovation had come slow and costly, so much so that he’d only gotten to his bedroom and kitchen thus far. But it was his, and it was home. After growing up with a father who ruled not only the town with an iron fist