Dances Under the Harvest Moon (Heartache, TN 3) Read online

  “Already?” She ducked into the bathroom to brush her teeth. “Give me two minutes.”

  She ran her fingers under hot water while she cleaned her teeth, changing hands halfway through. The warmth eased the pain a little. She took some of the anti-inflammatory medicine the doctor in Austin had given her and checked the calendar on her phone.

  Four days until her doctor’s appointment in Charlotte.

  A week and a half until the audition for American Voice.

  Getting out of this town would help her condition, she was certain. She knew stress made it worse, and what could be more stressful than all the family events this week? She knotted her hair into a messy twist and left the house. Only to find Zach slumped sideways in the driver’s seat of his dark four-wheel-drive SUV.

  Sleeping.

  She knew for certain he slept since Zach was the kind of guy who stood when a woman walked into a room and who opened doors for females. Yet, right now, his head tipped onto the window, his breath clouding a small patch of the glass with each exhalation. Something was definitely going on with Zach. Instead of climbing into the passenger seat, she tapped lightly on the windshield.

  He startled straight.

  “Want me to drive?” She should at least offer.

  He shook his head and slid out of his seat, coming around to open her door for her.

  “Just resting my eyes.” His gaze followed her as she slid into the seat. “You look beautiful today.”

  “Now I know I can’t trust a word you say, Mayor.” She eyed him, searching for clues about what he might be hiding from her. She flipped her skirt straight and inhaled the scent of hazelnut filling the interior. Her hand went straight for the cup. “I hope you got one of these for you, too. This is elixir of the gods.”

  Savoring the warmth seeping through the cup and easing her stiff fingers, she noticed him still staring at her.

  “I mean it, Heather. You are going to dazzle those judges in Charlotte before you even open your mouth.” He tucked a finger into a twisty piece of her hair that hadn’t quite made it into the knot. “I like this.”

  It was merely hair that he touched. Dead cells with no sensation of their own. But the way he moved the curl around his finger tingled along her scalp and sent a burst of pleasure along nerve endings that should not be paying any attention to him. Her breath stuck in her throat as she tried to think of something to say, and in another heartbeat that lack of air made her light-headed.

  For a moment, with his gold-and-amber gaze dipping to her mouth and her heartbeat accelerating like a jet engine, she actually thought he might kiss her. Then he broke the spell by letting go and stepping away with a self-deprecating grin.

  “Sorry.” He shook his head. “I know you’re going to let your music do the talking at that audition. But television does love a pretty face, and those judges know that, too.”

  He shut her door and then loped around to the driver’s side of the SUV. He hopped in and buckled the safety belt. Thankfully, that gave her time to shake off the wave of attraction that had hit her like high tide.

  “Damn straight my music is going to do the talking.” She latched on to the subject with a fierceness that surprised her. Maybe it came from not being able to play this morning. “When I open my mouth, nobody’s going to doubt it’s my voice that got me on the show.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He grinned as he put the vehicle in reverse. “I’m going to keep all my commentary focused on talent and skill. No getting distracted by full lips or—” he glanced her way, his gaze taking a slow path from knee to shoulder “—long eyelashes.”

  Her heart skipped a beat and she ignored it. Mostly.

  “I’m going to get the wrong idea about dinner.” She sipped her coffee as he pointed the vehicle north, determined to reroute this conversation.

  “I’d like to see you get a few more wrong ideas before you go. Maybe make a few bad decisions, too.”

  “Okay. Care to tell me why you’re flirting—badly, I might add—with me this morning?” Actually, the flirting wasn’t bad so much as it made her decidedly aware of him. And whereas she wouldn’t mind a friend and a distraction today when her hands hurt and she waited for her car to be fixed, she wasn’t ready to navigate the minefield of a very real, very potent attraction.

  “Sorry. I’m on no sleep. That’s part of it.” He steered toward the interstate. “I have less ability to filter thoughts when I haven’t slept.”

  She tucked that bit of information aside. Those thoughts were unfiltered? Not calculated flirtation?

  “Um...” She cleared her throat as she hit a raspy note. “Why aren’t you going to the Upstream store?” She pointed to the turn toward the main street as he drove past it.

  “The ribbon cutting is out at the river. Better photo op. There’s a fishing contest, and a rod-and-reel magazine will be there to take pictures.”

  “Ugh.” She tipped her head against the seat rest. “I didn’t dress for fishing. And now I’m captive for hours instead of minutes.”

  “I thought you knew. Tiffany has been advertising it nonstop.”

  “I knew, I just forgot. I’ve had wedding on the brain.” Along with the audition and her disorder that needed the intervention of a good doctor.

  She resisted the urge to flex her sore fingers, remembering how observant Zach had been the night she’d run out of gas and her wrist had been bothering her.

  “I can take you back if you want.” He checked his watch.

  “No. I know you’re running late. Worst-case scenario, you can loan me this for the day.” She patted the SUV’s dashboard in an effort to keep things light. “I just need to be back in town for a lesson with Megan at two o’clock.”

  “Are you free for dinner later?”

  “You were serious about that?” She’d had a crush on him in high school. And the old feelings were definitely in danger of returning if he kept this up.

  “I’ll be honest, I have a few things to ask you about the town and your dad’s work. But mostly I want to thank you for going with me this morning. I was afraid I’d say something really inappropriate since I’m tired and Tiffany McCord is one of my more challenging town council members.”

  Heather relaxed a bit. A thank-you dinner was not a date. Maybe he didn’t have a secret agenda for wanting to see her, after all.

  “She’s a force to be reckoned with, isn’t she?” Out the window, the signs of fall were starting to show as the road became more rural.

  A few yellow leaves mixed with the green, and an occasional tree sported a whole branch of red. Normally, autumn ranked as her favorite season, but it had been a while since she’d walked among the falling leaves and truly enjoyed the season.

  “Right. We’ll call Tiffany that.”

  “Why didn’t you sleep last night?” She had always envisioned his life as perfect.

  Back in high school when his family had experienced the scandal with his father, Zach had seemed untouched by it all. If anything, he’d been more of a presence in the school and had volunteered at a local nursing home. She remembered he’d organized a concert for the retirees, bringing the high school choral group to the rest home during Christmastime.

  “Sometimes I need to burn the midnight oil to keep up with the day job and town business, too.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “Only if you want to talk about what made you so upset this morning when I called.” He glanced her way across the enclosed space, the moment far too intimate with his hazel eyes missing nothing. “You sounded like you’d been crying.”

  So he was not just observant but also frighteningly perceptive. And apparently they both had secrets to keep.

  “Must have been my allergies.” She wouldn’t discuss her health with family, so she sure didn’t plan to brin
g it up with him. “And you’re not exactly making your case for dinner if you’re on some kind of fact-finding mission.”

  His attention firmly focused on the road again, he shook his head.

  “Just trying to be a friend.”

  Remembering how kind he’d been on the phone, assuring her she’d be a success at whatever she tried, she regretted shutting him down that way.

  “Thank you. And it was nice of you to see if I needed a ride this morning, too. I appreciate it.”

  “Is that so?” He shot her a sly, sidelong glance, his good humor restored. “I had the distinct impression you would have gladly overslept and missed the Tiffany McCord three-ring circus.”

  “She’s really gotten under your skin, hasn’t she?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not a stupid man. I run a successful business. I’m experienced in a lot of areas. But I’d like to think I’m also smart enough to listen to people with much different experiences than me at the town meetings. Like, if Harlan Brady speaks up—a lifetime farmer who’s never left Heartache—I’m going to pay attention.”

  “Harlan doesn’t speak unless he has something to say.” Heather had always liked him. All the more since he’d started dating Nina’s octogenarian grandmother. The two of them painted the town.

  “Right. But Tiffany has a way of cutting off people like that with a sentence that usually begins ‘When I was in charge of a Fortune 500 company budget...’”

  Heather laughed. “I’ve heard that one a few times. Once, when we couldn’t find the box of lost-and-found items for the Little League, she brought up her experience managing inventory for a Fortune 500 company. Because of that, she suggested she be in charge of the rec department stockroom. Which also happens to be one of the barns on the farm, by the way.”

  Zach lifted an eyebrow, his profile incredibly handsome.

  “You store the town equipment at your mom’s place?”

  “Always have. We don’t have storage facilities at the fields. The high school shop class built the shed on the property, and they keep school equipment there for team practices.”

  For a moment, she sensed he was concerned about it. But then they pulled into the fishing and boat launch area along the river just north of town. Cars and trucks filled every space. Country music played through a big pickup truck’s speakers, the back window featuring a pink sticker that read Redneck Princess. A small tow-behind trailer had been converted into a concession stand for the day, and it sat parked at the water’s edge. A big banner with the Upstream logo was tied between two massive hemlock trees. A van with the McCords’ company name stood open and transformed into a minishowroom next to a small canopy sheltering tables and shelves of gear. Fishing poles and colorful lures overflowed from the racks.

  “Wow.” Heather waved to Trish, one of the stylists at the Strand salon, as the woman hurried from her car toward the concession stand. She carried her own pole under one arm. “Maybe we should have given Tiffany the rec department inventory, after all. This looks great.”

  “I’m sure she spent a long time on it, especially after that fishing magazine signed on to send a reporter.”

  “I’m half expecting to see ESPN.” Heather gathered her purse as Zach shut off the SUV and walked around to her side. “There’s a tournament?”

  He held the door for her as she stepped out, their bodies coming close enough to remind her how much the man affected her.

  “It’s a small event. I think she said there were twelve boats signed up.” He reached for her hand, confusing her. “Take the keys in case you need to leave.” He pressed cool metal into her hand.

  Her fingers automatically closed around the keys. “I wasn’t serious about that. I’m sure we’ll be done long before my lesson with Megan.”

  “Just in case, okay?” He smiled, stroking the back of her hand lightly and making her pulse jump. “Plus, this way, I know you won’t disappear on me if you have my keys.”

  She gave a jerky nod, not trusting herself to speak. If her hand hurt just then, she’d never know it. Pheromones must block pain receptors or something.

  “Good. I’m looking forward to dinner.”

  “Aren’t you tired?” she reminded him, pulling her fingers away and depositing the key into her purse. They strolled toward the crowd gathering near the water’s edge. The stiffness in her hands had eased, the throbbing pain turned to a dull achiness.

  “Depends. I’ll probably be yawning on camera during the interview about fishing.” He lowered his voice. “But when I look at you? The last thing I’m feeling is tired.”

  Tiffany McCord called to him then, waving Zach over to the large yellow ribbon near the tournament sign, her neat blond ponytail capped with a crisp white fishing hat. Zach muttered something about getting back to work, but Heather’s mind still reeled from his suggestive comment.

  He’d made no attempt to hide that he wanted her. Was this merely part of his goal to sweet-talk her into staying and taking over the job he no longer wanted? Or could there be something genuine? With his keys, Heather could stay or go as she chose and make up her own mind. Sure, it would be safer to stick to less intimate places for a conversation. But part of her health scare had been a renewed determination to live a little and take a few more risks.

  Why play it safe with Zach, when she went a little breathless every time he came near?

  Given the fluttery feeling in her chest and the warm pulse of desire in her veins, she was tempted to see what he had in mind tonight.

  CHAPTER SIX

  EVEN MORE THAN she hated stupid anonymous texts, Megan Bryer hated upsetting her father.

  “I’ll be fine, Dad,” she said to him for the tenth time since breakfast. She tugged her blankets higher on her hips as she sat up in bed. “It’s only a cold. You can still go to your fishing thing.”

  She couldn’t face school today after the crap that had gone down at the wedding breakfast. Not that she thought of herself as a coward or anything. She just needed a break from high school BS for a day. But her father—a nice normal man in so many ways—had always been a hypochondriac by proxy, where she was concerned. Ever since she was a preschooler, he’d been convinced a sneeze would turn into pneumonia if they didn’t put her on antibiotics right away. Her aunt had told her he’d gotten worse when her mother left him the year after they’d adopted Megan. That counted as one of many things she held against her “mom,” who rated as just a random woman in Meg’s mind. What kind of woman stuck around for only twelve months after convincing her husband that adopting a kid would be a good idea? Thankfully, her adoptive mother had a supercool life in New York now as a set designer on Broadway, and her supercool family kept her too busy to bother Megan more than once a month with an interminable Skype call.

  But Meg’s dad was awesome, figuring out how to parent on his own. Sure, it had been embarrassing to be the kid who learned how to ride a bike long after her friends because of Dad’s nerves. And yeah, it had sucked to be outfitted with every safety device known to man. Elbow pads, rash guard shirt, shin guards under her knee pads, goggles. Yes, goggles.

  For killer bugs, maybe.

  Still. At least her dad gave a crap about her, unlike her crack-addicted birth mom, unnamed biological father and the runaway adoptive mother who’d enjoyed Megan’s baby methadone treatments a little too well.

  Normally, Meg would rather go to school and hack up a lung in class rather than stay home and have her dad worry she was at death’s door. But nothing about threatening, anonymous texts had been normal. Even for her as Crestwood High’s “Most Antisocial” senior. She needed to regroup. Use the time at home to research her options for catching the person trying to scare her. If her ex-boyfriend had done it, she wanted to know. If it was Bailey and her friends, she needed to find out.

  “How can I leave my girl when she’s no
t feeling well?” Dad put a hand on his hip, his plain brown belt and brown dress pants the same work uniform he wore every day with little variation. He hardly ever videoconferenced with his students, but he dressed the part just in case.

  “You don’t even teach today,” she reminded him. “Go enjoy the fishing thing, and that way I can keep my germs to myself.” She pointed to the over-the-counter medicines she’d placed strategically on her nightstand. “I’ve got everything I need and I promise it’s nothing serious. Just sniffles.”

  If he worried this much about a cold, how flipped out would he be if he knew that someone at school wanted her to kill herself?

  “I could make you a doctor’s appointment.”

  “Dad. I want to go back to sleep.” She yawned, hoping she could get the house to herself to research in peace. Back in the summer when the harassment had started online, she’d hoped it would settle down with time.

  But nothing had settled. It had gotten worse.

  “I’ll come back at lunchtime with something for you to eat,” he said finally. “Something healthy.”

  “No. I want fish for dinner. Preferably a freshly caught smallmouth bass.” Folding her arms, she stared her father down. He loved to fish, damn it. “I’ll even clean it.”

  “Honey, you’re sick. No cleaning fish for you.” He frowned. “What if you needed me and I floated out on the water fifteen miles from here?”

  “I have the number for the B&B,” she reminded him. “Mrs. Whittaker is always telling me to call if I need anything. Remember?”

  Dad stared her down before coming to sit on the end of the bed.

  “You have her number in your phone?”

  Excitement thrummed through her, which said a lot about the sorry state of her life. Seriously? Her dad leaving her alone so she could research cyberbullying was the thrill for the day?

  “Yes.” She clicked on the screen and scrolled through her contacts. “Do you want me to send it to you so you have it?”

  Dad laid a hand on her foot through the quilted coverlet, on the obnoxious yellow sunflowers she’d chosen for her tenth birthday and hated ten months later.