The P.I. Who Loved Her. Tori Carrington
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it didn’t completely excuse some of the rougher periods Mitch and his brothers had gone through without a cohesive parental presence in their lives, it explained a lot. And, as Connor sometimes reminded them, Pops didn’t drink and chase women. He merely drank.
Now the opposite was true: Pops no longer drank, he, um, chased women. Or at least one, if Mitch’s suspicions were true.
Mitch tried to stretch the kinks from his neck. He really didn’t need this heaped on top of everything else that had happened since last night.
“On second thought, I’m going to skip breakfast this morning,” Sean said. “I think I’ll go catch a quick shower instead.”
“Yeah,” Mitch said absently. “Why don’t you do that.”
Sean started to step from the room, coffee cup in hand. He halted near the door and eyed Mitch closely. Too closely. “Everything all right? Pardon the expression, but you look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
Mitch turned toward the counter. “The ghost of summers past, maybe,” he said to himself. His intention that morning had been to unload everything and seek out some of Pops’s no-nonsense, use-the-good-sense-God-gave-you advice. Now, he was afraid Pops would be talking as much about his own personal life as advising him on his. He didn’t think he was up to peeking at that particular insight. “I’m fine.” He cleared his throat. “By the way, this…person you stayed with last night. Anybody I know?”
Silence greeted his question. He turned back to see Pops grinning. “Uh-huh.”
“Care to share who?”
“Uh-uh.”
Mitch stood in the middle of the kitchen, watching in amazement as his father left the room, whistling as he went.
Mitch left the coffee on, snatched up his truck keys, then headed for the door. He needed to get out of the house. All this…whistling was making him feel lousier.
AH, THIS WAS more like it. Good, familiar company, a hot cup of coffee, and peace in which to drink it.
One of the many advantages of having traded his P.I. cap in for his new one as a horse breeder was his ability to structure his day however he liked. During the week it was easier to drop in at Bo and Ruth’s Paradise Diner for breakfast and lunch before and between chores than to cook something up for himself. And on those occasions when he traveled into D.C. to work on the few cases he’d held on to or to check in with Mike and Renee, he did so in the afternoon. He glanced at the date on his watch, reminding himself that he’d planned to head into the city tomorrow.
He’d completely forgotten.
Stiffening, he told himself that he was not going to think of the person behind his recent distracted state.
Mitch leaned his elbows against the counter and took a deep breath of his first cup of Joe. Even on his good days he couldn’t come close to imitating Ruth’s unique blend. And today was definitely not one of his good days.
But it was getting better.
Farther down the counter he listened with half an ear as the ever-present Darton brothers argued about whose turn it was to buy breakfast, and behind him he heard Ezra, owner of the town’s only gas station, order his usual pizza, despite that it was nine o’clock in the morning. But it was Sharon, the waitress’s, tight little uniform that got his attention as she reached for a plate of bacon and eggs on the other side of the counter. What a great pair of legs.
She’s too young for you, his conscience taunted.
She’s legal, his libido argued back.
The cash register free of customers, Ruth stepped up to fill a glass of water for him. Mitch dragged his gaze from Sharon’s legs and smiled his greeting.
“Didn’t expect to see you in this morning,” Ruth said. “You and Sean normally eat breakfast at the house on Sundays, don’t you?”
Mitch’s grin waned. “Pops had, um, other things on his agenda today.”
“I see.”
He slowly sipped at his coffee. No doubt Ruth saw a whole lot more than the rest of them did. Born and raised in Manchester, she took great pride in letting everyone know she was never interested in living anywhere else. A good twenty years Mitch’s senior, she had an uncanny ability to figure out what was going on before anyone else did—including those involved in the goings-on.
“By the way, pass on to your brother that Bo and I had a grand ol’ time at the reception last night. It’s been so long since anyone from these parts has gotten married, I’d forgotten what a wedding looked like.”
Mitch put down his cup. “I’ll tell Marc when he and Mel get back. I get the impression calling home isn’t going to be at the top of their list right now.” He waved at Bo through the open kitchen window. Bo raised a meaty hand in response, looking more like a bouncer than a cook. “For a couple that likes to close down the joint, you guys left a little early, didn’t you?”
Ruth busied herself clearing the spot next to him. “Bo was a little tired, that’s all. Things were pretty hectic around here yesterday, and what with the drive into Maryland and all…well, I guess it all caught up with him last night.”
Mitch frowned as he watched Bo flip a few pancakes then drag the back of his hand across his forehead. Bo never got tired.
Ruth sighed. “Nice girl, that Mel. And pretty, too. Who’d have thought Marc would hook someone like her?”
Sharon angled her way back behind the counter to pick up an order. Mitch watched her absently. “Yeah, who’d have thought.”
“Enjoying the view?” Ruth asked as she dragged a rag across the counter in front of him.
Mitch grinned at her. “Yeah.”
Sharon shot him a coy little smile as she squeezed out from behind the counter to take Ezra his breakfast pizza. Ruth put her rag away and leaned closer to him.
He told himself he didn’t care what she was about to say. He lifted the cup to his lips. Nothing was going to stop him from enjoying his first cup of coffee.
Ruth said, “You’ll probably enjoy the view a whole lot more tomorrow morning when Liz comes back to work.”
Mitch spewed the coffee out all over the counter. What precious little peace he’d managed to find scattered to the four winds, and his frustration level surged past the danger point.
Ruth smiled, tossed him the rag to clean up the mess, then walked pleased as could be toward the kitchen.
ADMIT IT, McCoy, you’re thinking with the wrong body part.
Mitch pulled his pickup over a low rise and slowed to a stop on the weed-choked gravel road. He stared at the hulking Victorian some fifty yards away. Not just any hulking Victorian, but Liz’s hulking Victorian. Just knowing she was in it—alone—did interesting things to his body.
He dragged in a deep breath and let loose a line of unmatched curses. Who in the hell had decided to boot him out of his familiar life and into a twisted version of Oz?
Mitch scrubbed his hand over his face. In this particular instance, he could count the bricks that led to the unfamiliar territory in which he now wandered around stupidly. First, Liz had slunk back into town in that shiny new car. Next, Pops had rambled in, looking like he’d come fresh from licking some woman’s neck, his off-tune whistling chasing Mitch straight from the house, bursting with the urge to do some of his own neck-licking. Then Ruth had spilled the beans about Liz’s returning to work at the diner. Soon thereafter he found out word was already all around about her impulsive return. Everyone at the diner was abuzz with the news. Even Josiah—who did little more than rock in his chair on the general store porch—had said something about her still being the tallest drink of water this side of the Appalachians. This when the old guy had barely said anything to anyone for years.
That