Chapter Ten

Charlotte

Graham was standing at the door of his limo, which was about to take him to the private airfield where his jet would be waiting for him. It was a common enough refrain from him that I was used to it in theory, but I had never actually flown with him before. All of our dates, such as they were, had been in town, wherever we were. His offer to take me to Paris with him was enticing just for that alone, much less any possibility that I might change how I felt about him on the trip.

I needed to just let go of Jesse and move on. Which I could do once I saw him again and knew it was over. I was positive that was what was going to happen. I’d see him at the wedding, we’d make small talk, and that would be it. We’d part as friends who were once lovers, and that would be that. Then my heart would be free to open up to Graham, and I could go on with my life like it clearly seemed to be unfolding.

Right?

“Well, I hope you enjoy your evening with the girls,” Graham said, holding his door open, almost as if he were hoping I’d change my mind. “Are you going to drive?”

“Yes,” I said, realizing that it still hadn’t dawned on him that not everyone in his immediate life had access to private planes. “Leaving from right here, actually. Should be about a six-hour trip.”

“Be safe,” he said. “No need to rush. And let me know about tomorrow.”

“I will,” I said.

He smiled, and a twinkle of what I thought might be a real emotion, an excited bubbliness, came through. Like a little boy who has a secret.

“You will come, or you will let me know?”

“I’ll let you know,” I said, grinning. “Honestly, I think I’ll end up coming. I could use some time away. Even just a couple days.”

“Yes, you could. And dare I say, we could make some good use of some time away… together.”

There was no note of lasciviousness in that remark, which was different than every other man I’d ever encountered if he said those same words. It was pure. Innocent. He really just wanted to spend time together. Why was this so hard for me?

“I think that would be very nice,” I said.

“Also, and this is just in addition, if you do come, I have something very special for you. A few somethings, actually.”

“Oh?”

“I won’t tell,” he laughed. “But they may help you forget your troubles here and wind down from the stress of helping plan a wedding.”

“Sounds great,” I said and realized I meant it. I was sure Amber wasn’t going to be a Bridezilla or anything, but being around Tamara at a wedding sounded like torture.

“Goodbye, sweet,” he said, and leaned forward to peck me on the cheek.

“Goodbye, Graham,” I said.

As he got into the car and shut the door, I took a step back and tried to analyze why this all felt so strange. Was it just that he was older and that he wasn’t particularly warm? Was it that he kissed me on the cheek and called me ‘sweet’ instead of trying to stick his tongue down my throat and calling me ‘babe’?

Or was it just that he wasn’t Jesse?

Frustrated with myself, I made my way back to my car and started the engine. I’d filled up on gas last night in preparation and had also filled up the two coolers in my passenger seat. One had ice and drinks in it, the other had a little bit of ice and a bevy of road snacks. Chips, candy bars, all the things I usually avoided eating, packed into one tiny cooler. Road trips were my weakness. I did not believe in eating healthy during them.

The drink cooler was full of water, sodas, and a few cold coffees, and I pulled one of the coffees out before I put the car in drive. I wanted a little caffeine hit before I left. No sooner had I gotten a sip in than the loud ringing of my phone blaring through my Bluetooth speakers in the car startled me enough to almost spill it all over myself.

I hit the answer button without even looking at who it was, but if I had to take a guess, I probably would have nailed it on the first try.

“Sis?”

“Hey, T,” I said. “What’s up?”

“Are you coming?”

“Yes,” I said.

Tamara squealed in the background.

“I can only stay tonight this time, though,” I said. “I have some stuff I have to do, and I fly out tomorrow.”

“Fly out? To where?”

“Paris,” I said.

“Oh, right, the boyfriend,” she said. “Well, then you need to get your butt here now. Amber is already here, and we have a lot of stuff planned for today.”

“Hon, I am at least six hours away.”

“Three hours away,” she corrected. “We are heading toward you. There’s a bridal show we want to go to that starts in three and a half hours. I’ll text you the address. We should get there about the same time.”

“Oh lord,” I said. “All right. Send it to me.”

“See you there, sis,” she said.

Four and a half hours later, I was weighed down by bags full of samples and brochures from what seemed like every bridal group in the country. When they’d mentioned it was a bridal show, I don’t know what I thought the size would be, but it was nothing like this. It was a whole damn mall turned into a massive wedding-centric theme park. There were even rides. A company had a fleet of horse-drawn carriages that they were taking people around the venue on.

We’d entered several contests, of which Mrs. Miller had won a couple, and were feeling we might be about done with the venue. I had expected to spend the entire evening there when I saw how massive it was, but Amber and Tamara went in with a game plan that rivaled any football coach in history.

Now with a host of samples, winnings, and pamphlets, we headed back out to the cars and stuffed them all in the one Mrs. Miller had driven. Tamara was driving her ancient convertible, and I was leaving in the morning, which meant Mrs. Miller got stuck with all the swag. She didn’t seem to mind. She just kept looking at her daughter with an expression of pride and a twinge of bittersweet memories.

Tamara and Amber decided to ride together, leaving me alone in the car for the last chunk of the drive down. Deciding to stop and stretch my legs at a rest area, I let them get ahead of me for a bit and took my time coming back. Sneakily, part of me was hoping Mrs. Miller had something planned for dinner. She always made the best food and was the primary reason I’d never had a problem babysitting my sister and Amber when we were kids. She always left something for us to eat.

By the time I rolled into Louisa County, it was getting dark, and when I crossed the Foley city limits, I had to have my lights on to navigate the backroads toward their house.

A small part of my brain kept reminding me that the Millers were right across the street from the Galloways. As in, you could see the main gate of their property from the Millers’ front porch, and in the distance, you could see several of their barns. Jesse had often been on top of one of them when he was home. Meaning he’d be able to see right over to me, if I stood in their yard.

Cranking the radio to drown out thoughts that I knew were following that particular realization, I sang with the pop tune until I got to the Millers’ residence. There was a small problem, however. There were too many cars. Only six cars could fit in the driveway, and Mr. Miller’s old sportscar was always one of them. Then they had two other cars as well. Then there was Amber’s beat-up jalopy of a car, Tamara’s sports car, and…

A cop car.

I rolled my eyes. Not the Andersons. Anyone but the damn Andersons.

The Anderson brothers were three of the meanest, dumbest men I’d ever had the displeasure of knowing. Having grown up the sons of the sheriff, they went into law enforcement themselves as adults and immediately began to wreak havoc on the town. Now the only reliable police force were state troopers, since the Andersons ran Foley like their own personal playground.

It didn’t help that the Andersons and the Galloways had been feuding since as far back as anyone could remember, and the Galloways’ ranch was one of the largest and most profitable pieces of land in the county. The Andersons at one time had a lot more land themselves but somehow ended up with just a small plot that butted up against the Galloways’ on one of the far edges. I wasn’t sure of the whole story, but I knew there was one, and it was deep and twisted and brutal, all the way to the present-day kids.

Of course, that didn’t touch on the very personal reason an Anderson might be at the Millers’ place when Amber was preparing for her wedding, either. Arnold, the eldest of the boys and the current sheriff, had been pursuing Amber since high school. His rivalry with Luke Galloway over her affections only added to their historic family feud, and it had all apparently blown up a few months ago.

People had spent time in jail, there were lawsuits, and the Andersons had been investigated by the FBI. Apparently, Arn had gotten out on a technicality and was back home in Foley, though no one had seen him. I had a feeling that he might be making himself vividly visible now. If nothing else other than to stop a wedding that I was sure he thought he was supposed to be the groom in.

A part of me wanted to back up, head over to the Galloways', and let them know what was going on. If I did that, though, that meant leaving them alone with whichever Anderson boys were in there now. As much as I knew Tamara could likely take any two of them on herself for a while, I didn’t want to risk anything overtly bad happening to anyone. Even if that badness might be what would happen to an Anderson if they put hands on Amber in front of Tamara.

Groaning at the impending situation, I put the car in park just outside of the driveway, hoping no one would sideswipe me on the curvy road, locked it up, and headed for the porch. I could hear voices as I stepped onto it, and it was like a visceral memory walloped me in the ears when I heard a deep, angry male voice.

It was Arnold Anderson, all right, and he was giving it one more go with Amber.

I grasped the doorhandle of the screen door and pulled it open, stepping through into the lamp-lit living room that smelled heavily of pot roast and clean cotton. Arn turned to see me, and his eyes narrowed, like he was trying to work out who I was, then it dawned on him, and his brows furrowed.

“Charlotte Garafalo, as I live and breathe,” he said.

“Arnold Anderson,” I said defiantly. I’d never liked Arn, and I’d never held back letting him know it. Not when we were teenagers and not now either. Sheriff’s badge be damned. “To what do I owe the curse of seeing your ugly face around here?”