Liz Talley – A Touch of Scarlet (страница 3)

She had to be suffering from heatstroke. Or low blood sugar. Anything to explain her reaction to Mr. Tall Blond Jackass.

She needed him to give her the damn ticket so she could head toward Aunt Frances’s bed-and-breakfast. Away from whatever strange thing pulsed between her and this cop. She’d driven too long without sleep and had to be partially delirious from road tripping.

“Okay, I’ve seen enough drunks to tell you’re clean. Wait here.” Officer Hinton spun on one motorcycle boot and stalked toward his cruiser. She was accustomed to following direction. Just not that of a pompous cop, so she sidled toward the open door of her car and sank onto the leather seat she’d abandoned moments before. She jabbed her sunglasses on her nose and tapped her fingernails against the steering wheel in an impatient manner.

She heard him approach. Heard the crunch of gravel beneath the boots. Heard the sound of a ticket being torn from the pad he’d carried.

“Here you go. Please note the ticket must be paid by the date on the bottom. There is also a court date listed if you wish to contest the citation.”

He handed it to her. No flourish. Matter-of-fact.

“Slow down and be safe.”

Bite me.

She took the ticket, slammed the door and cranked the engine of the secondhand-but-still-gorgeous convertible BMW. She also tugged the seat belt across her chest and clicked it. She didn’t need another ticket, thank you very much. But the devil inside her wouldn’t allow her to slink away like a meek mouse. No, the devil inside her bade her to crumple the ticket and toss it onto the floorboard.

The devil inside her usually won.

She flashed a blinding smile at Officer Adam Hinton as she pitched the wadded ticket toward the fast-food sack that held gum wrappers and gas receipts, along with the remains of her noon meal. “Thanks for the welcome home.”

He blinked. He hadn’t put on his mirrored glasses. “Home? Wait—” He looked at his notepad. “Summer Rose?”

She saw the dawning.

“You’re Rayne’s sister. But your stage name is Scarlet. The actress from the vampire show.” His gaze swept her, taking her in. She wasn’t wearing heavy makeup. No dramatic kohl-rimmed eyes or overly plumped red lips. No catsuit. No bra that pushed her boobs so high she could prop her chin on them. She looked very little like the vampire queen who ran the fictional Collinstown. And very much like a regular twenty-six-year-old.

“Wow. Your powers of deduction are better than I thought. You had my name right there and everything. A real brainiac.” She gestured to the clipboard in his hand. She was being a smart-ass but didn’t care. She was pissed at him for embarrassing her with the whole DUI test and for making her react to his touch. How damn weak was she? Getting turned-on by a random cop? Pathetic. And that made her mad.

Because he had no right to make her feel anything.

She wasn’t ready to embrace any frisson of desire. Not ready to welcome that small pique of interest. Not ready to move past the ache she clung to deep, deep down in her heart. She was dead to love.

She fingered the charm on the gold chain about her neck and begrudgingly looked into the cop’s eyes.

She’d crumpled his ticket, then insulted him. The veneer of control he wore like a shield had cracked. He looked not quite so in control. “I would have let you off with a warning. I’m a friend of Rayne’s new husband. But since you seem as much of a bitch as the character you play, I’m glad I didn’t.”

Scarlet gasped. Yes. Gasped. “How dare you? I’m reporting you to the police chief. This is an outrage, a—”

“Good luck with that.” He slapped a hand against the hood of the car and turned toward his cruiser. “Have a nice day.”

Scarlet moved her hand to make the universal sign of disdain, barely an afterthought for most New Yorkers. But she stopped herself. He was an officer of the law and this was Texas. So she grabbed the steering wheel instead and pressed the accelerator.

It was totally immature, but as the gravel spun beneath her wheels, Scarlet felt a momentary flash of satisfaction. She hoped the bits of rock hit his polished boots and scuffed them. Damn him. Calling her a bitch. She wasn’t a bitch. She played one, but wasn’t one. Officer Tight Ass was wrong.

Okay, sure. She had it in her. All women did. But he’d been the one to play the power card and force her to be frisked and humiliated on the outskirts of town. So she’d been mouthy. What of it?

Bastard.

Scarlet’s car ate up the two miles of dilapidated houses, appliance-repair shops and boarded-over junk stores that dotted the highway leading into downtown Oak Stand. As she rolled, she grew even more aggravated at the cop and his stupid speeding ticket. She didn’t care how damn sexy he looked in his uniform. Or how his touch had heated her blood. A friend of Brent Hamilton? That figured. Brent was a creep extraordinaire with gorgeous baby-blue eyes and a body that would make a nun toss her habit. He’d romanced most of the women in town. In fact, the last time Scarlet had been in Oak Stand, he’d tried to hook up with her.

Ugh. She had to talk some sense into her flighty sister before Rayne got hitched to a player of epic proportion. Brent spelled heartache and she had already had enough of that in her life. Scarlet knew what was up. Brent had hoodwinked her sister with his greasy smile and hot bod in order to hitch his wagon to Rayne’s rising star. As soon as she had mentioned the M word, Scarlet knew she would have to do more than protest from afar. She needed to go to Texas. Thank goodness she was on hiatus. Small favors.

But the cop had said new husband.

Scarlet’s mind stutter-stepped. Surely, Rayne and Brent weren’t already married. Her older sister had said maybe sometime in September. It was still August. Very hot, sticky, sweltering August.

Rayne wouldn’t get married and not tell Scarlet. No matter how badly their last conversation had gone.

Would she?

The town square materialized in front of her windshield, withered green and stereotypically small. Large oak trees hunkered in the shady park that centered the town. Brick streets, tired businesses and faded signs wrapped round it, clinging to the park like a toddler. Last spring, a tornado had ripped through town, leaving many businesses damaged. The First United Methodist Church of Oak Stand still lacked a steeple and several businesses remained boarded up. But otherwise, Oak Stand looked the same.

She rounded the square, noticing it seemed busier than usual. Almost every parking spot was taken, including all the ones in front of the Dairy Barn, the hometown diner that masqueraded as haute cuisine here. Directly in front of the Oak Stand Baptist Church were several vans with Horizon Blue Production Company on the side panel. Horizon Blue was the company contracted to film Rayne Rose’s A Taste of Texas, a cooking and travel show debuting on a food channel. But that was to be filmed at Serendipity Inn, her aunt’s newly refurbished bed-and-breakfast. And production wasn’t scheduled to begin until September.

Or so Scarlet thought.

She slowed her car as she approached the front of the church. Only one man stood outside the closed doors, camera held at his side. Hmm. Something was going on and she suspected it had to do with Rayne.

She searched for a parking spot, but there were none near the church. She circled the square again, looking for an empty slot, finally finding one on a side street next to the old green stamp store. She leaped out of the car, grabbed her new Marc Jacobs bag and pressed the lock on her remote key chain. She walked quickly through the shady park. Squirrels scampered out of her way and the fountain with the Rufus Tucker topper spewed tepid water. A trickle of sweat rolled between her shoulder blades and she prayed her deodorant worked as well as the ads claimed. ’Cause it was Texas hot. Beyond all degrees known.

She stepped onto the sidewalk on the other edge of the park as the double doors of the church swept open. Her sister, splendid in a soft ivory bridal gown, appeared like an angel on the elbow of the handsome Brent Hamilton. They were grinning from ear to ear at the cameras whirring around them. Brent caught his glowing bride in his arms and kissed her.

His timing couldn’t have been better, though he was not an actor.

The happy couple clasp each other and stare into each other’s eyes, blissfully happy. Cue the family around them, basking in the love the couple shares.

Everyone behind them “oohed” and “aahed.”

Exactly.

Camera Two, get a close-up of angry sister’s face. She’s bewildered, hurt and furious. She won’t stand for what has occurred.

Scarlet narrowed her eyes and stalked across the street toward her sister and Brent. The hurt that thumped in her chest was soon overshadowed by the anger rushing into her, whooshing in her ears, shooting out of her fingertips. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Couldn’t believe the timing. The irony beat down on her. She’d driven across the country to stop this very event.

Brent and Rayne broke apart and everyone clapped. Arm in arm, they turned and started down the steps toward the limo that pulled in behind Scarlet. She planted herself in Rayne and Brent’s path.