Love In a Small Town (16 page)

What was she thinking? D.G. was a stunningly handsome man, well-off and single most of his life. With his experience, he already knew what she looked like underneath her clothing.

Yeah, but he kissed me, admitted his attraction, and wants to see me again—and, oh, how I want to see him. Like Violet said, why deny herself myself this? It might be the last chance I have to experience anything even resembling love.

Her musings were interrupted by angry voices. She saw Logan and Sarah, halted in the open doorway, belligerently staring at one another, engaged in an angry discussion.

"You say they're your friends, but they're really not," Logan declared, like he was trying to persuade Sarah to his point of view.

"Well, they're the only ones I have."

"Try new people. Sit at our table at lunch and meet my mains."

Logan placed his hands on Sarah's shoulders. She looked up at him as he gazed into her eyes intently.

"Ashley hurts people," Logan stressed.

It was time they knew she was close enough to overhear.

"Hi, Sarah. Hi, Logan. Come on in."

"Hi, Lynn," Sarah said, entering. Immediately she tried to enlist Lynn's support. "Logan doesn't think I should go shopping with my friends a week from Saturday. He thinks Ashley is up to something mean because her ex-boyfriend talks to me. But I don't see what's wrong with just shopping, do you?"

"Hey, leave me out of it. I suggest we change the subject to something less incendiary. What can I do for you two, today?"

"We have the information on Shakespeare's flowers," Logan said, showing her a small book. "We thought we'd like to use iris, rose, carnation, and honeysuckle, because he talks about them a lot."

"I can see some possibilities here. Iris is rarely used. I have a small sample we can start with, but I can order some, and the honeysuckle. I have the rest. Let's get started. My workshop is at the back of the store."

Leading the way to a door, she opened it, and turned on the light, revealing a long, narrow room with a counter along one wall, and above it, dozens of brown bottles on a shelf.

Taking a moment to study the array, Lynn selected five bottles. "Make six test strips of each one, being sure to write on the strip what it is. Then put each fragrance in one of those small plastic bags." She pointed to a box sitting on the counter.

"I know how to do that," Sarah said.

"Right. Take the strips home. There's too much scent to work here. Try combinations by holding them up to your nose.

"When you find a combination you like, be sure to mark each strip with the number of the combination, and put it in a plastic bag. Write down what you did and why you like it. Records are everything. Check it in one hour, then at about twelve hours, or so. It will change."

Bubbling over with enthusiasm, Sarah said, "Let's get started. Logan, you keep the records. You're better at being organized than me."

Working silently, while Lynn watched, they soon had their bags filled and labeled.

After checking their work, Lynn reminded them, "Plan on next Wednesday to work on this. We'll start over with fresh strips. My goal is to have two samples mixed by the end of the session."

She watched them leave, hand in hand, and realized how attracted they were to each other. She laughed, thinking of David.

"There's nothing to compare to true love."

David found Le Gourmand, a specialty grocery, his first week in town. It was an anomaly, founded by a Dallas expatriate, himself a gourmet cook, wanting to ensure a constant supply of delicacies to feed his hobby. David had become a frequent visitor, on good terms with the proprietor.

This Friday morning he was cruising the aisles, choosing items for a picnic lunch for two. A week had passed since the chamber of commerce dance, and he had yet to manage another evening alone with Lynn. If the excuse wasn't a committee meeting, it was a yoga class or something else. Cagey as a fox, was the elusive Miss Lindsay, but she had met her match.

Damn. They belonged together. He'd been spending his days imagining her in his house, puttering in the kitchen, cluttering up the bathroom with woman stuff, sharing his mornings on the porch.

Her attraction to him was as strong as his was to her. It was fear of intimacy, firmly entrenched, with good reason he admitted, that wouldn't allow her to agree to another date. She was avoiding the moment at the end of the evening when she had to agonize over inviting him in.

Finally, inspiration struck, an idea to outwit the wily female: a daytime picnic. How could she refuse Saturday lunch on the lake, in broad daylight, with a promise to be back in the store by three o'clock?

It fit perfectly into his plans, because he had to work a banquet at the Kensington tomorrow night.

He picked up a jar of black olive tapenade and considered it. Spread on sour dough crostini with goat cheese, it would make a tasty addition to the menu he was planning. Heading for the bread aisle, he called out to the store's owner, "Is there any local goat cheese, Denny?"

"In the dairy case. Delivered yesterday."

"I'll need a pound of Sumatra coffee beans. Use espresso ground."

He grinned, delighted with himself. Yesterday, when he showed up at her store to invite her, she hemmed and hawed, but couldn't think of an excuse, especially with Violet standing by, offering encouragement. Reluctantly, she agreed, but only for three hours. He'd take what he could get.

Inhaling the coffee-laden air while he wandered down an aisle looking for a decent olive oil, he spied sparkling grape juice. Just the thing. He wasn't about to be accused of plying his date with alcohol in order to seduce her. The seduction scene he had in mind would come later, and involve moonlight, roses, and whatever else he could think of, when the time was right.

Patience stretched to the limit, he plotted. He always got what he wanted, and he wanted Lindsay Keith. And Sarah liked her, which removed the last obstacle.

His anticipation mounted with everything he put in his basket. He needed peach chutney. He had a great chicken salad recipe using peach chutney.

"Where's the peach chutney, Denny?"

"Last aisle on the right, at the bottom."

There was time to make some chocolate covered strawberries, so he grabbed a bar of Hershey's Gold Label, and headed for the checkout.

Every man on a romantic mission has weak points. He wasn't good at expressing his romantic feelings with words; he hoped he could demonstrate his feelings by the food he offered. Cooking was his way of showing he cared.

The major hurdle in his plan would be getting her on the boat. The Lake Marina was holding a pontoon boat for him—a floating platform with a canopy and a motor. He'd supply the chairs, table, and whatever else.

Lindsay might balk at sunning, swimming, and eating alone with him on the huge lake, out of sight of anyone except passing boats. No matter, he'd deal with it.

Placing his choices onto the counter while Denny added ground coffee and goat cheese, he said, "This will do it."

After paying the bill, he loaded his sacks into his waiting truck and headed home.

The phone was ringing as he entered the kitchen.

"David Martin?"

"Yes."

"This is Caro Anson; principal at the high school. I'm calling on behalf of Logan Biesterman. I understand you are a neighbor and a friend?"

Logan?
"Yes, Miss Anson. What can I do for you?"

"This is for Logan. He's been involved in an altercation. We require a parent or someone in authority to be present in emergencies such as this. Logan asked us to call you. Neither his mother nor father is available. Can you be here?"

An altercation?
"What kind of trouble is he in?"

After a moment of hesitation, the voice said, "He has been fighting with another boy and has done some injury. This is a very serious matter, Mr. Martin, and we'll have to call the police if I can't get another adult up here for him."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Tell him to hold on."

"Thank you." She hung up.

Logan fighting?
It would take a lot for him to get to that point. Something really heavy must have goaded him.
Rapidly, David put together what he knew—Logan's attachment to Sarah, the trouble with kids lying about her at school, that girl, Ashley, and what's-his-name-Jim Holder. For certain, this had something to do with Sarah. He'd better get going.

On a hunch, he decided to drive the Jag. With the top down, and the white leather seats, in contrast with the deep purple body, it never failed to make an impression. You never know whom you might have to impress.

When he pulled up in front of the school, the final bell had rung and students were milling around in the yard. The Jaguar attracted immediate attention, but he was in too much of a hurry to care.

He spotted Sarah standing with a girl and two boys, one with dark-rimmed glasses, and a redhead.

"Dad, what are you doing here?"

"The principal called me because Logan is in some kind of trouble." He wanted to hurry on, but Sarah grabbed his arm.

"What trouble?" she asked.

The boy with the red hair said. "He gave Jim a bloody nose. Your dad drives a Jag? Uber, man."

"What trouble," Sarah insisted. "What did Miss Anson say?"

The boy with the glasses chimed in. "Ohmigod. Your dad owns that Jag? It's a classic. Awesome."

"Not now, Anthony," Sarah said. "Dakota, focus. Was Logan hurt?"

David could see this was going nowhere. Sarah was becoming frantic. "Honey, let me go inside, and find out what happened. You wait here."

"Somebody better tell me right now what happened to Logan," Sarah shouted. "Logan doesn't fight."

"He did today," the girl standing with them said, smirking. "Punched out Jim Holder. Probably broke his nose."

"Sarah," David said, his voice not allowing for argument. "I'm going inside to help Logan. I can only take one passenger in the Jag, so you go on home and wait for us. I'll bring Logan home." He turned and walked toward the entrance.

Inside, a crowd had collected in the hall, by the door marked 'Principal.' Without stopping to knock, he entered.

Surveying the room, David saw Caro Anson and several other adults, probably teachers, plus a uniformed security guard surrounding a boy sitting on a chair, holding an ice pack to his face. The soccer shirt he wore was torn and bloody. Jim Holder, he presumed. He remembered the boy had been with Phil Holder when he had been at the bank one day.

Anger and resentment showed in the boy's eyes as he glared at Logan. But when he saw David, his expression changed to guilt.

This didn't escape David's notice. When he caught the look he immediately suspected that this had something to do with lies some students were spreading about his daughter. From the way Jim avoided looking at him, it was a sure bet he was one of the guilty parties.

Logan sat on the other side of the room, staring fixedly at Jim, clearly ready to start another fight. One side of his face was red, beginning to swell, on the way to becoming a black eye.

The door opened behind David, and Sarah rushed into the room and over to Logan.
Damn. She should have stayed out of this. Logan was embarrassed enough.

"Logan, what happened? You're hurt."

"And you're going to hurt a lot worse, scumbag," Jim yelled, removing the ice pack long enough to give Logan a sneer, and revealing a bloody nose, slightly out of kilter. "You're going to pay, big time, Biesterman."

Sarah yelled, "Oh, shut up, derp. If you got into a fight with Logan, you started it. You deserve what you got."

David watched, stunned at the outrage exhibited by his gentle daughter.

Her voice softened as she touched Logan gently on the swollen side of his face. "Your eye looks terrible. I'm going next door to the nurse for ice."

"Sarah," David said, as she started to leave, "You stay out of this."

She gave him a disbelieving look. "Logan is hurt, Daddy. What? You can't expect me to let him sit there without ice for his eye? As if…" With a determined glare that defied anyone to get in her way, she went out the door.

Her belligerence stunned him. Sarah hadn't shown that much spirit since she moved here. He shouldn't have been pleased, but he was.

By the time she returned with the ice, Marion Holder, Jim's mother, had arrived, rigid with anger and clearly seeking vengeance for her abused son. Sarah handed the ice pack to Logan and stood protectively behind him, her hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, Logan," David heard her whisper. "My dad's here. Nobody ever gets the best of him. He always wins an argument. There's nobody better to have on your side."

David raised an eyebrow at this, gratified at Sarah's faith in him.

"This delinquent," Jim's mother said, her voice shaking with scorn, "should be expelled for attacking my son." She glared at Miss Anson and crossed the room, kneeling to examine Jim.

The degree of righteous anger David felt, and his need to protect Logan, surprised him, but this was a good kid and he didn't deserve the scorn heaped on him by Jim's mother.

"Marion, we meet again." David adopted his smoothest manner. "It might not be wise to jump to conclusions until we know the facts. We're trying to get to the bottom of what happened."

A surprised Marion Holder paused in her examination of Jim's eye, and stood, saying cautiously, "Mr. Martin, of course. We met at the chamber event last weekend."

Her voice had changed from one less confrontational, to one always politically aware of the need to maintain rapport with the public. "Hello, again, Mr. Martin. Whatever are you doing here?"

"I'm here on behalf of Mr. Biesterman. It seems he had an altercation with your son."

"He punched me," Jim whined, begging for sympathy, "for no reason. He's crazy."

Ignoring her son for the moment, Jim's mother smiled at David. In a voice considerably softened, she said, "And how are you involved?"

"I am a friend of the family, and I'm trying to help."