Troublemaker (25 page)

T
HE WEATHER HAD BEEN CLOUDY FOR THE FEW DAYS
before the Heritage Parade, but parade day dawned clear and warm—unfortunately. Bo had kind of been hoping for rain, which was bad of her on the kids' account. She resigned herself to sitting on a flatbed trailer in the sun, but at least everyone else would be having fun.

She put Tricks in the shower with her, which Tricks actually loved because cavorting in the “rain” was one of her favorite things. There wasn't room for much cavorting, but Tricks didn't care. She whirled, she danced, she tried to catch the water drops in her mouth. Bo tried to stay on her feet with the dog bouncing around like a delirious dervish, and get Tricks clean and thoroughly rinsed. Then she used three beach towels to get the excess water out of the plush golden fur; after that, Tricks stood patiently while Bo finished drying her with a blow dryer, as if she knew she needed to be extra pretty for the day.

Bo huffed out a tired breath when she was finished. She needed to shower, too, and even though she hoped she wouldn't be on display, she wasn't betting the farm on it, no matter how much the kids reassured her. That meant makeup and something dressier than her usual work garb: not a dress, because she'd be climbing on and off the flatbed, but nice pants and shoes, and a pretty blouse. Part of her looked forward to dressing up a little, but being in a parade had never been on her bucket
list. Tricks and the kids, though, would have a ball; if Tricks had a bucket list, being queen of a parade would definitely be on it.

She let Tricks out of the bedroom so the dog could visit with Morgan while she herself returned to the shower to begin getting herself ready. She dried her long dark hair into a sleek fall that reached the middle of her back. She put on earrings and makeup. As she dusted blush on her cheeks, she wondered if Morgan would notice—then she mentally kicked herself for wondering. Whether he noticed or not shouldn't matter to her. She couldn't let it matter. Damn it . . . it mattered. She wanted him to find her attractive. She wanted to be pretty for him.

She was as bad as Tricks. But while Tricks was supremely confident that she was the prettiest dog in the world, Bo had no such illusion. She wouldn't break any mirrors, but neither was she a beauty queen. She liked that she had nice thick hair and big eyes, but her figure was nonexistent. If she let herself be self-conscious about anything it would be her lack of boobs; the only cleavage she'd ever have was butt cleavage, and—and Morgan had said she had a sweet little ass.

A wave of heat engulfed her, and her legs were suddenly so weak she had to lean against the bathroom sink. Remembering what he'd said, and the laser focus of his eyes when he said it, leached the strength from her muscles so that all she wanted to do was lie down—preferably with him.

She pressed her palms over her eyes. She was in so much trouble. The only hope she had of coming out of this devil's arrangement unscathed was for Axel to call
today,
so Morgan could leave immediately. The temptation to simply forget about her well-founded reservations was growing every day. And even if he left today, would she be unscathed? Would she be able to promptly forget about him? The answer was no. She might never completely forget him; he might linger for the rest of her life in the area of her heart and soul reserved for regrets.

Before she got so bogged down in
what ifs
and
maybes
that she couldn't function, she shook herself out of the doldrums and finished dressing. It was going to be a long day, and she didn't have time to dawdle.

Long or not, the day should be interesting and could possibly be downright fun, once the parade was over. After the parade there would be a huge picnic in the town park; some vendors had already set up their booths to sell soft drinks, cotton candy, popcorn, and other treats. Every year, something happened that gave the townsfolk something to talk about for months, such as Mayor Buddy falling in the pond, or one of the kids thinking it was a good idea to tie his daddy's car keys to a helium balloon and let go of it. The kid had thought the keys would weigh the balloon down so it would drag across the ground. The balloon had been a big one, and he had been wrong.

Since becoming chief, she'd spent all day at every Heritage event, as did Mayor Buddy, all the town council members, and at least one patrolman. Things usually ran fairly smoothly with only minor bumps, though year before last there had been some excitement when a barbecue grill had caught on fire and also caught the tree shading it on fire. That had caused a rule to be put in place that no grills could be positioned under trees or close to structures of any kind. She was only surprised the town had gone that long without a grill catching something on fire.

She left her bedroom to find the downstairs empty; through the wall of windows she could see Morgan strolling around the yard with Tricks. He was wearing jeans and a white tee shirt, and a pair of brown Vasque multisport shoes instead of his usual boots. As she watched, he squatted down in front of Tricks to say something to her and scratch behind both her ears. Tricks lifted one paw and laid it on his arm, her expression blissful as she listened to whatever he was saying.

Stopping in her tracks, Bo simply watched him for a moment. The way he moved was powerful and lithe, as graceful as a ballet dancer but in a completely different way, as if his balance and strength were so intertwined that he could attack from either left or right without losing anything in speed. His bare arms were roped with sinewy muscle, his skin tanned from all the time he'd been spending outdoors. He'd been with her just a month and his recovery was nothing short of spectacular, especially when she considered how weak he'd been when he got here.

He was completely able to care for himself now. Heck, he was even caring for
her.
He was doing the lion's share of the housework: laundry, most of the cleaning, some of the cooking. If it weren't for the situation he was in, he would likely already be gone.

She had always treasured having her house to herself, her sanctuary where she could shut out the world and be alone, just her and Tricks. But now, when he left, there would be an empty place that she hadn't noticed before, that he'd filled with his grouchiness and humor and
guyness
. The house even smelled different now: a man lived here, and it was obvious. She felt as if she should bring in fresh flowers to offset the musky scent of man, sweat, the leather of his shoes, the oil he used to clean both her pistol and his, plus sometimes the sharpness of gunpowder that told her he'd been practicing while she was gone. She'd never noticed anything like this before, during her marriage, but now all of her senses seemed to be acutely attuned to Morgan in ways she'd never thought possible.

While she was gathering the supplies Tricks would need for the day—food, water, a chew toy, a soft blanket—Morgan came back inside with Tricks. “You ready to leave?” he asked.

“Almost.” She put the food, water, and toy in a small cooler and set the cooler on the blanket. “Now I'm ready.”

He tucked his Glock inside his waistband, in the slim-carry concealed holster, and pulled a blue shirt on over his tee shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. “So am I.”

A little taken aback, she said, “Why the weapon? You've never taken one to town before.”

He lifted his brows. “There'll be a crowd there, right?”

“Well, yeah. Most of the people in town try to show up.”

“That's why I'm armed. The probability of trouble goes up exponentially, the more people there are.”

“We've never had any trouble before—not anything that required firearms anyway.” She paused, then smiled. “I take that back; someone had to shoot down a helium balloon year before last.”

“Escaping, huh?”

“With some car keys tied to it.”

He chuckled. “Wish I'd seen that.”

“Watching a grown man jump up and down like Rumpelstiltskin and scream ‘
Get it! Get it!
' was definitely the highlight of the day.” She paused, then sighed. “I suppose I should get my weapon from the Jeep. I hadn't thought about it.”

“Firearms are like hospitals. If you have 'em and don't need 'em, that's a good thing. If you need 'em and don't have 'em, that's a very bad thing.”

She grumbled inwardly because the pistol would have to go in her bag and would get heavier and heavier as the day wore on. She'd never bothered getting a holster that could clip to her waistband, rationalizing that she was just administration instead of a real police chief, but this last month had made her realize that for better or worse, she
was
the police chief, a real one, and she had to accept the responsibilities that came with the job. She could have used better training when it came to the Kyle Gooding incident, and the “mob” scene could have turned out much worse if the people had been different. She'd been lucky; now she needed to be smart.

Morgan stuffed Tricks's leash in his pocket, then took the cooler and blanket from her. While he was putting everything in the Tahoe and loading up Tricks, she retrieved the pistol from the Jeep and stowed it in her bag, which was now as heavy as she'd anticipated.

The main street had already been blocked off in anticipation of the parade. Morgan had so quickly learned the area that she suspected he'd been studying Google Maps, and without asking for directions he took secondary streets that led them to the staging area along the park where the parade floats and marchers were lining up.

“Holy shit,” he said as he got out of the Tahoe and surveyed the scene. “I didn't expect it to be this big.”

“I think there's thirty-something entries, but not all of them are from Hamrickville. The Shriners aren't; they're based in another town, but they do all the parades.”

The local VFW led the way, followed by the Shriners on their motorcycles, then the Ladies' Club on a short-trailer float that looked
as if they were having a tea party because all the ladies were seated on delicate chairs around an ornate wrought-iron table. One year Mayor Buddy had ridden a Segway at the head of the parade, but it had gotten away from him, dumped him on his ass in the middle of the street, and mowed down a trash can. That was before he'd broken his ankle skiing. After the broken ankle, Mayor Buddy had decided riding the Segway was like asking for trouble so that idea had gone away, to the disappointment of the townsfolk.

The high school seniors' float was seventh in line, and the kids came running when they saw her and Tricks. “This is going to be so awesome,” said one of the girls. She was wearing a floaty summer dress and a tiara and had glitter all over her face. They were all dressed in their party best, boys and girls, and the whole bunch wanted to get Tricks “dressed.” Despite efforts to get her accustomed to a tiara, no way was Tricks having any part of it, but they'd prepared for that possibility by having a glittery pink bow with long dangling ribbons that they stuck on top of her head. At least it matched the pink boa they draped around her. Bo swallowed her laughter; she glanced over and saw that Morgan had turned his back, though there was a betraying shake to his shoulders. The kids were laughing too, so she didn't think their feelings would be hurt. Tricks's expression was blissed out; all that attention was right up her alley.

“We tried to hide a chair for you to sit on,” one of the boys told Bo apologetically, “but that would make your head stick up out of the decorations, so we put a cushion on the floor for you. Is that okay?”

She smiled. “A cushion is fine.” Truthfully, she'd expected to be sitting on the trailer floor, so the cushion was a big step up.

“Want me to take your bag?” Morgan asked.

The thought of him with a purse hanging from his shoulder was entertaining, but she shook her head. “Thanks, but I'll keep it with me. I'll be sitting.”

They all trooped to the float to take their places because the parade organizer had blown a whistle and bellowed “Five minutes!” through a bullhorn. Bo prepared to climb onto the trailer, but Morgan forestalled
her by clamping his hands around her waist and swinging her on board as if she were a child. While her heart was still pounding in reaction, he picked Tricks up too and placed her on the trailer because all the tissue-paper flowers meant she didn't have a clear shot for jumping up. Tricks darted to Bo and indulged in some excited licking because she was going for a ride. Bo found her place on a fat cushion in front of the raised dais where the male and female class favorites were standing. She could even lean back against the plywood dais. The decorations completely hid her from view on both sides though she could still see what was going on directly in front of her. The closeness of the decorations stopped any breeze from reaching her, but she'd asked to be as hidden as possible. The parade wouldn't last that long anyway, maybe forty-five minutes—an hour if they stretched it out.

Up ahead came the roar of the Shriners' motorcycles as they were started. The VFW vets in their mismatched odds and ends of uniforms marched out in precision form, and the parade began.

Morgan kept pace with the float, walking on the right; the parade was
moving at a crawl, with periodic pauses for the marching band to do a dance routine or something. He wasn't certain exactly what was going on up ahead because his focus was on watching Tricks. The crowd was sparse at first, with most people gathered down the main street, but the dog didn't care. As soon as the first applause and calls of “Tricks!” started, she began her routine of woofing as she turned her head left and right, a happy expression on her face. Every woof generated more applause, which brought on another woof, so it was self-perpetuating.

The girls positioned on each side of her were laughing and smiling as they waved, the boys were hamming it up with body-builder poses, the other girls were throwing candy to people. The kids were having a blast, maybe as much of one as Tricks was having.