Fugitive Heart - By Bonnie Dee Page 0,11
she caught his smell—clean and sweaty at the same time.
“I know you said I should keep it, but the fridge isn’t working. You take the rest. I’m saving my appetite. I’m looking forward to tonight.” His voice was low and held promise—or maybe that was her libido.
“Me too,” she murmured.
He backed away, and she revved the engine, rolled down the drive and nearly knocked into his mailbox, she was so distracted by his image in her rearview mirror.
Ames pulled onto the road and headed back toward town. Damn, she was in trouble. The stranger who’d taken over her house had taken up residence in her mind too. He was a squatter she couldn’t dislodge, and that was troubling. The last thing she needed was to develop a crush on some guy nursing a broken heart, especially this guy, because something deep in her gut told her he was a boatload of woe.
The scene in the park was right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Apparently there was still a slice of Americana in existence once you drove through the Holland Tunnel and into the rest of the U.S. Nick hadn’t left the greater New York area for years. This was like falling through a rip in the space-time continuum to land in Pleasantville. He wondered if the citizens knew what lay past Main Street.
Camp chairs and blankets dotted the open area of the park. Families and couples sat in clusters or intimate, smooching duos, while herds of kids and a few dogs wove around them and in between the trees. Shouts of “You’re it” and “No, I’m safe!” brought back vivid memories. A pang of melancholy shot through him as he thought of boyhood friends, baseball games and a time of innocence before he’d learned that the safety of his world was an illusion and his relatives weren’t the kind you wanted to be connected to.
There was a big screen hung against the brick wall of one of the storefronts facing the park. Actually, the movie screen looked like a number of white sheets sewn together, but the flickering images on it were clear enough—Bogey and Bacall, those iconic figures. Unfortunately, the sound system was crappy. It was loud enough to be broadcast through the night air, but the dialogue was garbled and indistinct.
Nick hurried along the edge of the park, aware that he was drawing more than a few curious glances. But no one stopped him as he made his way to the diner. How weird was it that he was excited about this date with Elliot’s sister? Answer: really weird.
For one thing, his focus should be completely on his mission in Arnesdale. He didn’t need any distractions from the danger on his heels. Plus, there was the fact that this nice, wholesome, cute, curly-headed woman was related to Elliot. Elliot! The reason Nick was involved in this mess to begin with. That sure as shit added a level of complexity to the situation—particularly since Ames was worried about her brother’s disappearance and Nick could tell her a thing or two about what had happened to him.
But the last reason he shouldn’t be excited about seeing Ames again was because she was completely wrong for him. They had no common ground. She was a hometown girl, and he was only here for a brief time. He’d move on to whatever life he made for himself, because it wasn’t likely he’d return to New York. Still, he was a city dweller to the core. Somebody like Ames was probably looking to hook up with a guy who’d stick around.
Jesus, wasn’t he arrogant, thinking he might hurt the poor small-town girl’s feelings when he drove away. Talk about putting the cart before the horse, fabricating a whole scenario of a relationship from beginning to end. This was only one date and a chance for him to check out the town. Anyway, it wasn’t as if he could’ve kept digging in the woods all night. For one thing, it was damned dark out there, and for another, his shoulders were killing him and his hands were blistered.
Maybe if he met a few of these Arnesdale folk, he’d learn some other clue about Elliot’s past that would lead Nick to the money he’d promised to recover for the goddamn Espositos.
The brightly lit windows of the Back Porch Diner glowed before him now. Waiting on the front porch—yes, there actually was a porch complete with rocking chairs—stood Ames. He recognized her petite body and