Trouble When You Walked In (Contemporary Romance) Read online

  The guy struggled to his feet. “I was with her. You come over like you’re this big badass—”

  “He is! He’s mayor of this town!” yelled Cissie, and saw one of Anne’s camera’s trained on her. She’d forgotten all about that dumb Morning Coffee show. “He’s also the football coach at the high school. He’s a good man. And if you are, you’ll stop right now.”

  But the guy went over to the stage, ripped a cord out of the wall, picked up a black box about the size of a cooler, and lifted it over his head.

  A collective gasp came up from the crowd.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Boone said.

  The crowd backed up even farther—everyone but the cameramen. Cissie saw Anne’s eyes widen and her cheeks pale. This was Southern drama at its redneck finest.

  “You break my amp, and you owe me five hundred bucks,” the banjo player yelled.

  “This is ridiculous,” Cissie said. “You can’t hurt his amp!”

  She stalked over to her former dance partner, who was looking like a dazed, dumb giant at this point—like the Abominable Snowman on her favorite Christmas special—and pointed to the ground. “Put that amp down right now,” she said in her best librarian’s voice.

  “Cissie.” Boone’s voice was cold. Scary. “Back away before I pick you up and carry you out of here.”

  “Do it,” she told the man. “Or that TV camera will catch you committing a heinous crime on national television. You’ll land in jail faster than a cat can chase its tail, but worse, you’ll be on YouTube forever. People can be so cruel in the comments. Have you noticed?”

  “Shit.” The man put down the amp.

  “That’s better,” she said.

  “Now, little lady, I think you owe me a dance.” He grabbed her arm.

  “I don’t think so.” Cissie noticed his grip wasn’t at all gentle. “Not after—”

  Boone socked him in the jaw, and the guy went straight down.

  There were screams, one of them from Cissie, then everyone was quiet.

  Boone marched over to a table, grabbed a pitcher of beer, and poured it on the prone man’s face.

  He groaned. “What the—?”

  “He’s okay!” Cissie called out to Sally, who was moaning, “Lawd save us,” from the floor, where she’d flung herself because of all the drama.

  “Get the cameras out of here,” Boone said to Anne Silver, then to the band: “Start playing.”

  They struck up an old Ralph Stanley tune.

  “You okay?” Boone asked Cissie, his tone clipped.

  She felt small and fragile all of a sudden. “I’m fine. What about you?”

  “Fine.”

  She wanted to hold his hand and thank him. But embarrassment held her back. Plus, there was a tender feeling very deep that made her look away from him.

  Chief Scotty approached, his expression wary. “Just what the hell is going on? I got a call that the mayor was involved in a fight.”

  “It was his fault—” Cissie pointed at the guy spread-eagled on the ground. He was wide-awake now, and she got the feeling he just didn’t feel like moving. Maybe because a Florence Nightingale had appeared from behind the bar, a girl in Daisy Dukes with a rag filled with ice.

  “I can explain,” Boone told the chief.

  “Who hit first?” Scotty asked.

  “He did.” Boone was so damned good-looking, even with a fleck of blood beneath his nose.

  Cissie wished everyone would go away. This little feeling deep inside her needed protecting.… She wanted to be somewhere quiet, like lying on her bed, her cheek on the pillow, her gaze on something simple and sweet, like a flower in a Mason jar.

  Scotty’s mouth thinned inside his big jowls. “Did you hit him back?”

  “Yes.” Boone stuck his palms in his front pockets. Thumbs stayed out. “But I had to.”

  He was adorable. Cissie wanted to sigh. And jump his bones.

  “Did you provoke him?” Scotty wouldn’t let up.

  Boone arched a brow. “He was dancing with Cissie, and when I tried to cut in—”

  “Why’d you do that?” Scotty’s jaw jutted out.

  “The reason anyone cuts in,” Boone replied patiently. “Because I wanted to dance with her.”

  OMG, he wanted to dance with her! She almost bit her thumb and twirled. Thank God she didn’t. She would have twirled right into Janelle, who stood behind her with her arms crossed.

  “That was outrageous,” Janelle said.

  “Yeah. It kinda was.” A trembly smile formed on Cissie’s mouth, but she shut it down fast.

  “Don’t get your hopes up.” Janelle’s glossy upper lip curled a fraction. “Chalk this one up to too much beer and testosterone on the dance floor.” She stalked off in her red high heels before Cissie could say anything back.

  She turned around to hear Scotty say, “You couldn’t wait your turn? You had to be disruptive?”

  “Come on.” Boone frowned. “I wouldn’t call cutting in disruptive.”

  “Aggressive, then.” Scotty’s gaze roamed over his face. “Have you been drinking, Mr. Mayor?”

  “Yes.” Boone’s big, brown eyes glinted with challenge. “But not to excess.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Scotty slipped his little notebook in his pocket.

  “It’s not Boone’s fault.” Cissie felt compelled to defend him. “I was the one drinking to excess. I got onstage, and I got off. I danced alone, and then I danced with a stranger. I think Boone was a little worried about me. And when that man hit him, I had to jump on his back.”

  “You jumped on his back?” Scotty arched both eyebrows.

  “Yes,” said Cissie. “He was out of control.”

  “And jumping on his back isn’t?” Scotty’s tone was dry.

  “I guess it is.” Cissie bit her lip. “If you don’t have a reason. But I did.”

  Scotty looked between them both. “Can you pass a sobriety test?”

  “Just give me another half hour,” Cissie said.

  “Why?” Scotty put his hands on his hips.

  “Because”—misery engulfed her, and she looked at the floor—“I-I drank too much.”

  She’d been so stupid.

  “I’m ninety-nine percent sure I can pass,” said Boone. “But I drank more than usual, I’ll admit. I wasn’t planning on driving for a couple hours yet.”

  Scotty let out a gusty sigh. “How do you think Kettle Knob will look on national TV now?”

  Speaking of the TV crew, they were still there, getting drinks at the bar.

  “I hope they’ll minimize what happened here.” Cissie felt guilty. “Maybe Boone can talk to Anne. She likes him way better than she does me.”

  “I’m not talking to Anne,” said Boone. “We have nothing to apologize for. Let America see what they see. Kettle Knob can hold its own.”

  Scotty’s expression was severe. “You’re both coming with me in the squad car under protective custody for disorderly conduct while under the influence. Normally, I’m required to drive you home, but you’ve pissed me off, calling me away from town when you should know better. You’ll have to contact someone to come get you at the station.”

  “You’re not serious, are you?” Cissie couldn’t believe it.

  “Let this go, Scotty. The other guy started it.” Boone’s tone was calm, cool. Even so, cranky was the word Cissie would use to describe him at that moment. Seriously cranky.

  “And he got his punishment.” Scotty wasn’t backing down. “But you two? Let me just say I’m disappointed in you both. Now you come quietly with me. I don’t want to miss the rest of the Steelers-Titans game.”

  Boone’s expression was inscrutable as they left the bar. He walked quietly, with casual assurance, his boots slapping the hardwood floor.

  Anne followed them with a cameraman to the squad car. “Boone! Cissie!”

  Boone inhaled and turned to face her. “What is it, Anne?”

  “I just want to know if you’d hav
e done anything differently in there.” She held out her microphone.

  “No,” said Boone. “And that’s my final word to the audience of Morning Coffee.” He got in the back of the car.

  Anne angled the mike toward Cissie. “How about you, Cissie?”

  “Yes,” Cissie said instantly. She would have kissed Boone. She would have thanked him for making her feel alive, and … and hot.

  “Can you tell us a little more?” Anne asked.

  Cissie shook her head. “Sorry.” No way would she divulge those feelings to the world.

  She got in the backseat with Boone. Scotty took off, and thank God, he didn’t put on the lights.

  Boone’s shirt gaped open at the neck, and he slouched low, those massive denim-clad thighs parted wide. The heat at Cissie’s collarbone made her suddenly aware of her own subtle gardenia perfume. Every girl part of her jingle-jangled. Their thighs touched, and he didn’t move away.

  “Scotty should have taped the game,” she whispered, hoping to make Boone laugh.

  But he didn’t. All he did was look at her, his eyes that dark, dark brown. She wanted to look away because he was so quiet, but she couldn’t. She looked back. And she vowed that when they got home, she was going to tend to his bruises.

  Scotty wouldn’t let them call anyone until they got to the station.

  “That’ll be Nana,” Cissie said to Boone. “Not your parents. Not Laurie. Nor any of your friends from school or work. Nana’s the one.”

  “We’ll owe her,” said Boone.

  “I hope she’s good and angry.” Scotty clicked on a TV set. “I just saw her an hour ago leaving the theater. You two can go sit in the cell until she gets here. It’s open. I’ll bring her back. I want her to see you suffering in there.”

  “Scotty?”

  “What, Mr. Mayor?”

  “Remind me not to give you a Christmas present this year. Or budget for a new police car for the department.”

  Scotty laughed—not nicely, either—and shook his head. “If you win. I can’t believe we have an election coming up, and I have both mayoral candidates in protective custody. What’s this world coming to?” He pointed at both of them. “Y’all better be on your best behavior from here on out. The citizens of Kettle Knob deserve candidates who care. Not someone who’s going to throw the town’s reputation to the wolves.”

  “We did really well today,” Cissie said, “until we got to The Log Cabin. Except for me and Boone, Kettle Knob is going to look excellent on national TV. And Boone still might. Anne had a crush on him. But I’m screwed for sure.”

  Scotty just stared at her.

  “Oh, shoot, I don’t know what’s going to happen on that TV program!” She threw her hands in the air and let them fall to her side.

  Scotty sat silent as a stone, propped up his feet, and turned away to look at the football game.

  “Let’s go,” Boone told Cissie.

  She was glad at least one of the men in the room wasn’t treating her like a criminal. Together, they walked around a corner and entered the lone cell at the station. In the tiny space, she was more aware than ever of everything about her partner in crime: his frayed shirt cuffs (it must be one his favorite shirts, which she found endearing); his temples, tanned and smooth; and his perfectly shaped sideburns.

  There were two cots, both made up with gray wool blankets. It was cold. Definitely not cozy.

  “Here goes.” Cissie called Nana and asked for a ride. Nana, good soul that she was, barely asked for an explanation. Vastly relieved, Cissie put her phone away.

  Boone said nothing. He had a sort of mysterious vibe about him. He was somewhere else. He hadn’t even fought her about who to call to pick them up.

  “I thought all cells had windows,” she said to pass the time.

  “I guess not.”

  “Apart from the lack of window, this pretty much looks like what I thought a cell would look like. Very boring. I’d want outta here fast if I got locked in.”

  “That’s the idea.” He lifted his chin, exposing a tanned, muscular neck. “What’s the score?” he called to Scotty.

  “I’m not telling,” the chief called back.

  Misery and irritation were written all over Boone’s face.

  “Are you going to sit?” she asked.

  “Nope.” He extended a palm. “Feel free.”

  There he was being cold and removed. She wished she understood it. She took a peek at her phone. “Nana will be here in ten minutes. She was just getting out of the bath.”

  “I hate that we had to disrupt her evening.” He didn’t seem to want to look at her.

  “Is something bothering you?”

  “You mean, apart from the fact that we got taken into protective custody?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not enough reason?”

  She hitched a shoulder. “I don’t know. I think it’s kinda fun. In a strange way. I doubt I’ll ever forget it.” She looked at the cell door. “It’s not even locked, though. So it’s not like it’s a real adventure.”

  “Damn!” yelled Scotty.

  Boone adjusted his stance.

  Cissie wished she could get closer to him. “Are you dying to know who just scored? Or maybe intercepted?”

  “Yep,” he said, then paused. “No, not really.” He finally looked at her. But he wasn’t happy. That was for sure.

  She came up to him. “I’m sorry,” she said low. “About tonight.” She reached up, curved her palm, let it hover by his nose but didn’t touch it—surely, it was sore—then brought her hand back down.

  “Don’t apologize,” he said. “I’m the one who butted in. You were having fun.”

  “No,” she said, “not really.” She dared to lift her hand again and brush a lock of hair behind his ear. “The whole time I was there, I was looking to see where you were.”

  “No, you weren’t.”

  “Yes, I was. I was only pretending to flirt with the fiddler.” She put her hands on his chest, stood on tiptoe, and gently pressed her lips against his. Then pulled back. What could she say? She wasn’t sure.

  He pulled her close. Nudged her mouth with his. Slid his tongue across her lower lip.

  She greedily took advantage of the moment, and opened up to him.

  God, he tasted good. And he felt like heaven, all warm skin and stubble. Sexy, rhythmic caresses with his thumb across her back made her melt even farther into him.

  He pulled back. “We had a talk in the truck,” he said low. “We’re already breaking our rules.”

  “Don’t blame me,” she whispered. “You started it. I was doing really well at The Log Cabin, but then the fight happened, and you told Scotty you wanted to dance with me.”

  Boone sighed. “Yeah.”

  “You damn fools!” Scotty yelled as a roar came from the television set. “What kind of call was that?”

  Boone cupped both Cissie’s sheathed breasts in his palms and kept his eyes on hers. “You’re trouble, Miss Rogers.”

  “No more than you are.”

  “Are you sure? Jumping on a man’s back and blowing out his eardrums with your screaming is pretty crazy.” He slid both hands to her backside and inside the back of her skirt and underpants to cup and knead her bottom. She snuggled closer, against that rigid line in his jeans that made her thrill with wanting him.

  “That was my Girl Scout training.”

  “I didn’t know they made y’all into ninjas.”

  “But you nearly broke his jaw.”

  “No wonder we’re in this cell,” he said gruffly.

  She smiled up at him.

  His mouth stayed cold, but his eyes warmed.

  They both looked at a cot, then at each other.

  Oh, the possibilities!

  Which were not possible at all but fun to imagine, so when they pulled back at the same time, there was no weird tension between them. Only a companionable silence. They were cell mates. Cell mates making do. And they had, considering w
hat they had to work with.

  They’d grabbed a little fun.

  So there, Scotty!

  Cissie crossed her arms over her chest and sat down. Boone walked up to the cell door and gripped a vertical bar.

  Two whole minutes went by. Cissie admired Boone’s back, how long and strong it was. She imagined that well-toned back looming above her on a bed—seeing it in a mirror on the ceiling. The very idea was so outrageous and wonderful she couldn’t help but squeeze her thighs together in pleasure.

  The TV noise blared, and she looked down her blouse, remembered Boone’s hands on her blouse cupping her breasts beneath it.

  She could have happily sat in the cell daydreaming about all the sexual possibilities between them for hours.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “You don’t have to say it,” he said without looking back at her. “No more messing around.”

  Ouch. That hurt. She was actually going to ask him what his favorite song had been at the bar. But he was right. They weren’t supposed to mess around.

  She sighed. “We’ll move out tomorrow. I just need to tell Nana.”

  He turned to face her, the lines around his mouth etched deep. “That’s a good idea.”

  Oh.

  Her heart broke right then and there. How could he affect her so?

  Another long, lonely few minutes passed.

  When Nana finally came, Cissie could tell right away that she should have called Laurie instead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “Let’s spring you two jailbirds outta here,” Nana said mildly. Yes, she was annoyed to have to drive to the police station at night. However, she would be patient. She remembered how stupid you could get when you were in love and didn’t want to admit it.

  “I’m so sorry,” Cissie said.

  “It’s all on me.” Boone shut the cell door behind them.

  The look Scotty threw the two culprits as they passed his desk confirmed what Nana had guessed: they knew better.

  They filled her in on the details on the car ride home. It all sounded pretty ridiculous.

  “Lord, this Morning Coffee show is gonna have a field day,” she said from the driver’s seat.

  She hoped they felt like idiots being chauffeured by a little old lady, but it was what it was. Boone was in the backseat. Cissie was up front.