Trouble When You Walked In (Contemporary Romance) Page 6
Cissie threw Nana an “I told you so” look. “Thanks for coming anyway.”
“Maybe write a letter to the editor next time,” the father suggested.
“But there isn’t going to be a next time,” Cissie said. “This is it. Now or never. The library will move if we don’t stop it.”
She handed the family an entire lasagna, waved them off, and swallowed a lump in her throat when they shut the door, which wasn’t easy. The wind was gusting pretty hard. How many more times would that library door open and shut before closing forever?
And then it opened again.
Boone stood there with Chief Scotty.
“You sure are here a lot lately,” Cissie complained to the mayor, but inside her heart leapt, mainly because he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. She had another reason to be excited to see him, too, a political reason.
If his stubborn jaw was anything to go by, this sit-in was about to get good.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The library meant the world to Cissie Rogers, obviously, and Boone wasn’t going to patronize her. He intended to follow correct procedure. While he was at it, he’d try not to be seriously turned on by how fierce she apparently was beneath that strait-laced librarian outfit. He’d bet a million bucks she’d picked it up at Party City on the stereotyped professions costume aisle and used it to disguise her true supergirl nature.
Scotty stepped forward. “Miss Rogers, I’m sorry, but you’re on property under the jurisdiction of the county, and the sheriff has authorized me to ask you to move. The library is closed for the evening.”
Boone was secretly touched at how she stood straighter and said, “I’m sorry, Chief Scotty, but I’m not going anywhere.” Everyone had gathered behind her. She looked back at them, smiled hopefully—they smiled back—then looked at Scotty again. “And neither are my friends.”
Mrs. Donovan raised her hand. “I actually want the library to move, but I’m a placeholder for my daughter.”
“Don’t make excuses, Ginger,” Nana told her. “You’re here, so you count.”
Scotty scowled. But Boone wasn’t worried. He’d already gone over with him what he expected him to do.
“If you refuse to leave,” the good chief said, “then I’ll be writing each one of you warnings”—not fines; Boone had already talked to the county commissioner about that—“for trespassing.”
Cissie’s face was red. “Well, all right, then.”
“Don’t you dare go to the newspaper and tell them we’ve messed with your plans, Mr. Mayor,” Sally said to Boone. “You’ve messed with ours. I don’t get my milk at the Harris Teeter. I get mine at the gas station. I’m not gonna switch just so I can pick up a book at the library. I don’t like Harris Teeter milk. That carton is ugly. No book is worth that purple carton.”
“Excuse me?” he asked.
“You told us we’ll be able to pick up our milk and books at the same time,” Cissie reminded him, “at the strip mall. You said it would be convenient.”
A little boy sucked his thumb hard and glared at him.
Boone stifled a laugh. “I’m sorry, Sally, but I might just have to do that. Contact the media.”
“Oh, no!” said Mrs. Hattlebury with mock dismay. “Now you’ve really caused us problems.”
Did she honestly used to be in Elvis movies? Because an actress she wasn’t.
Boone shrugged. “A mayor’s gotta do what a mayor’s gotta do.” He pulled out his cell and dialed Edwina.
She picked up instantly. “Oh, Lord, Boone, are you down at the library?”
“Yes’m.”
“Don’t make me come down there. I’m watching a good show on TV. I’m tired. Everyone knows we need a bigger library and that the waste management people need that building.”
“I think it’s important you record this event, Edwina,” he said calmly.
“Poop,” said Hank Davis.
The little kid broke into guffaws.
“You tell Edwina that Nana’s going to play the trumpet outside her window tonight if she doesn’t come,” Nana said, “and it won’t be pretty. I’ve never played a trumpet in my life. Someone donated one to the theater today.”
“Did you hear that?” Boone asked the editor.
“Yes.” Edwina sighed. “I don’t know why everyone calls her Nana. She’s a tough old bird. I’ll be down in half an hour.”
He put away his phone. “The Bugler is on the way,” he told the little ragtag group. “And if you don’t like the publicity, well, it’s your own fault. Chief Scotty gave you a chance to leave.”
Scotty was busy writing out warnings at the front desk.
“That’s going to take you a while, Chief,” Cissie said primly. “Would you care for a cookie while you work? Or some chicken casserole? We have a lot of food.”
Damn. Boone was hungry.
“No, thank you.” The chief had a deep ridge on his brow. He was concentrating hard on scribbling those notices. “My wife’s got a pot roast waiting for me at home.”
Cissie cast a quick glance at Boone. “You probably have to rush off, too, Mr. Mayor.”
Well. Now that she’d gotten what she wanted from him—publicity—she was done with him. And hey, he’d had a long-ass day. Just finished up with the football players. An extra-tough practice. He couldn’t wait to get home.
But leave? Why should he give her the satisfaction?
“I’ll wait for the chief.” He tried to look more official than he ever had.
“You need to eat, Boone.” Mrs. Hattlebury looked him up and down.
“Since you’re a bachelor”—Mrs. Donovan gave him the same brazen stare—“your cupboards are probably empty.”
“Or them cupboards is filled with potato chips and Scotch. Like my ex-boyfriend’s,” offered Sally.
Boone pulled an ear. “Maybe I’ll take a cookie.”
Cissie’s eyes widened. She wanted him gone. Bad.
“Make that some casserole, too, please,” he said. “Why not?”
Cissie’s lips thinned.
Scotty finished up his last warning just as Mrs. Hattlebury came over to Boone with a plate full of all kinds of delicious: cheesy tater-tot casserole, three-bean salad, chicken casserole with mushrooms and artichoke hearts, a tossed salad, and a slice of home-baked bread.
“It’s a shame for this all to go to waste.” She gave him an approving smile.
And then Boone had an idea. The football parents assigned to provide a Thursday night meal for his first-string team this week had to cancel for tomorrow night. And it was a much-valued tradition. It kept the unit cohesive, like family. And here was a feast.
“Hey,” he said to the small gathering, “I have a way to get a bunch of people down here before Edwina shows up. Some boys from the football team. They can help eat up all this food and maybe make your crowd a little bigger. You know, more impressive.” He explained about the weekly dinner getting cancelled.
“This’ll fill ’em up,” said Mrs. Donovan.
“You must be on our side of this fight now,” said Sally. “We could use a strong, handsome man.”
“He’s helping the team and helping Cissie,” gushed Mrs. Hattlebury.
“He’s just being pragmatic, ladies,” said Nana. “Don’t get all starry-eyed.”
“But he’s cute,” said Sally. “And he didn’t have to come to the sit-in. Talk about nice.”
“You have to admit, he’s a good sport, Nana,” Mrs. Donovan said.
“He’s charming, I’ll grant him that,” Nana conceded.
“He came with the chief,” Cissie reminded everyone. “He didn’t bring food to support us. He doesn’t support us.”
Boone bit into a huge cinnamon cookie. “This is delicious,” he mumbled around the chewy morsel, and grinned.
“No,” said Cissie, her throat working. “No, Mayor Braddock isn’t going to take over here. Sir, I’d like to speak with you, please. Outside?” She indicated the back door.
But the back door was stuck.
“Oh, shoot. It always jams when it’s about to rain,” Cissie said. “How about here?” She indicated another door near the magazines.
“All right by me.” He tried not to admire her pert rear as she strode purposefully toward their destination.
It was a broom closet.
“Whoa,” he said when she had to squeeze in next to him to be able to shut the door.
It was pitch-dark until she pulled a string tickling his face. One measly overhead light bulb came on.
“This is the only place we can get any privacy,” she whispered hoarsely, and moved her elbow out of his stomach. “I’m mad, and I don’t want the others to see me this way. I-I’m supposed to be leading this movement, and it wouldn’t be right for me to … flip out.”
“Flip out?” He was getting turned on again. She was close. Very close. “Why would you flip out? What does that involve exactly?”
“Losing my temper,” she hissed.
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“There is if you’re a librarian.” She hesitated. “Besides, a Rogers thinks with her head when there’s a problem.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“You are. You’re not on our side in this fight, and yet you’ve convinced some people here that you are. And they’ve become complacent. We can’t afford to be.”
“If you want, I’ll tell them I think the library should be moved.”
“You do that,” she said. “Because when I remind them what you think, no one seems to believe it.”
He opened the broom closet door. “The library should be moved!” he yelled.
And shut the door again.
She sent him a droll look. “You’re not funny.”
“Come on. It was funny.”
She refused to admit it.
“Is there anything else,” he asked, “before we leave this meeting?”
“Yes.” She looked down, her lashes fanning her cheeks. “You really need to stop being so…” She looked up and away. Bit her lip.
“So what?” He was honestly concerned.
“So”—she scrunched her eyes closed—“so sexy.” She opened them again, and her lids fluttered madly for a second or two.
“Hmm.” It was getting hotter in here. “I’ll try.”
“Don’t think that’s a compliment,” she warned him.
“It’s not?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“As for the boys”—her manner was brisk again—“yes, we need to look like we have a crowd. So they can come. But if they don’t actually want to participate in the sit-in, they’ll have to go home right after Edwina leaves and they get a meal.”
“Fine.” She smelled good. Like cotton candy and spicy fallen leaves mixed up. “How would you feel about them calling the cheerleaders? You could feed a whole marching band out there. We could call them, too.”
“But this is not a party,” Cissie said. “You shouldn’t even be here. Chief Scotty should have come on his own. I almost think you did it to torment me—because you have the upper hand, and you have to rub it in.”
There. She’d finally gotten that off her chest. He could tell she’d been bursting with it.
“Your parents did the same thing,” she added.
“My parents? What happened?”
“They showed up here this afternoon and tried to intimidate me.”
Surprise, surprise. “I should have guessed they would. Sorry about that.”
She looked small and vulnerable, and he felt sorry for her. And mad as hell at Becky Lee and Frank. “I’m not like them,” he insisted. “I didn’t come here to intimidate you.”
“But why would you be here?” Cissie’s tone had an edge to it. “It makes no sense.”
“It makes sense to me.” He put on his best wise-ruler face. “I’m mayor of this town. I want to be around when stuff happens.” Especially when an interesting woman was in charge, a woman he’d never noticed before, a woman who intimidated him.
“But nothing’s happened,” she said. “I’m not stupid. I know you and Chief Scotty are going easy on us. And I can guess that old Edwina doesn’t want to come down and report on this. She’s biased. She worshiped you in high school and probably still does.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Well, I do.”
“You were looking at me in high school?” he asked out of genuine curiosity.
She blushed. “Who wasn’t looking at you? You were the most popular boy. I couldn’t help seeing you everywhere. You were in the spotlight.”
“Well, now you are, so take advantage of it. Take advantage of me.”
Oops. That was a dumb thing to say. There was a split second of utter silence. Her pupils widened. And all he could think was that he was in a closet with a hot librarian, every man’s fantasy. Maybe she was wearing black lace panties and a plunging black bra beneath those frumpy clothes.
“I mean, of course, take advantage of my connections,” he segued smoothly. “I’m willing to share since I’m earning brownie points with my students. Starla must have donated six pies out there. And there’s banana pudding.”
Cissie studied his face for a second. “Okay. If your boys are going to call the cheerleaders, could they please also call some other girls? You know, some of the ones who didn’t make the squad? And they might as well call up the entire football team. I feel sorry for the second string. They should have a meal, too.”
“Deal.”
Fifteen minutes later, a bunch of cars and pickup trucks showed up. A whole bunch.
It was a party. No doubt about it. The noise level was through the roof. The food was decimated within twenty minutes. Some smart kid had brought a box of big garbage bags—“I told him to,” said Boone—and all the dirty plates and garbage went in there.
But there was no sign of Edwina.
“They can’t go yet,” Cissie yelled to Boone over the sound of teen voices. Every once in a while, she heard, “Boom!” from the children’s section. Sally, Hank Davis, and Charles were surrounded by cheerleaders watching the end of Frozen with them.
“Don’t worry,” Boone said. “They’re teenagers. They don’t want to go home.”
“Don’t they have homework? It’s a school night.”
“The football players and cheerleaders all have study hall before practice. A whole two hours to get schoolwork done.”
“Oh, good.” She felt better about that.
And then some music came from out back. Cissie peered through the window. Someone had parked a pickup in the dirt parking lot, opened all its doors, and turned up the radio to a hip-hop station.
“That’s Nana’s truck!” And there was Nana in her red-and-white-striped pajamas, outside chatting with some teens. Many more, both guys and girls, streamed out of the library through the door Cissie hadn’t been able to budge earlier.
“Who got this door open?” she cried.
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” Boone said.
“Outta my way, everyone. I gotta bust a move.” Sally hustled Hank Davis and Charles out the door.
“Hey, ho … hey, ho,” Hank Davis said over and over, louder and louder.
“Look at Nana and those kids dance.” Mrs. Donovan put her arm around Cissie’s waist. Together they basked in the refreshingly cold night air wafting into the room. “This is a sit-in?”
“It was,” Cissie replied. “It’s a party now.”
And it looked like fun. She couldn’t have fun, though. She had to protect the interests of the library.
“Don’t you fret,” said Mrs. Hattlebury. “It’s a sit-in, all right, although I prefer to call it a dance-in now. They’re on library property out there.”
“Yep,” said Boone. “And they’re raising a ruckus. Someone in the neighborhood is gonna call Scotty and complain.”
“Good,”
Cissie piped up from the depths of her despair, which was evaporating again. They needed trouble. They needed it badly. “As long as no students get arrested. I don’t want them to ruin their futures. Scotty can arrest me, if he has to.”
All she had to look forward to was being a librarian in a strip mall. And withering away like a prune since she probably was never going to have sex again. Think of all the youth-preserving hormones she’d be missing out on. Sex gave them to you. Nana told her that was why she looked sixty instead of eighty-two.
“Scotty’s not going to arrest anyone.” Boone’s voice was warm and titillating.
For a second, if Cissie didn’t listen to the words, she could imagine him talking dirty to her in bed.
“If I were you,” he said, “I’d think about having some fun at your sit-in.”
The words fun and sex each had three letters, so they were pretty closely related, right? What if he’d said, “I’d think about having some sex at your sit-in?”
Cissie almost giggled, but then she remembered she was acting absolutely deranged due to extreme sensual deprivation.
“No,” she told him, standing firmly in her Hanes white cotton bikini briefs. “This is serious business. As soon as Edwina shows—”
And then a country song came on, a slow one. Boone grabbed her hand. “Come with me,” he said, and pulled her out the door. “We’re gonna dance.”
CHAPTER NINE
A big gust of wind lifted Cissie’s skirt. “I don’t really know how to dance—” she began.
“Shush,” said Boone.
Wait—she was the shusher!
He pulled her up against him. “Don’t think. You just have to feel it. Like this northwest wind. It’s been blowing across the mountain all day.”
His warm drawl reminded Cissie of a scratchy wool blanket, the kind every Kettle Knob family kept in their car trunk in wintertime. You didn’t want it … but you did. No other blanket would do when it came to saving your family if your car was stranded in a snowstorm. It had to be the old army blanket or nothing.
“But if Edwina sees me—” She couldn’t get her foot action right.
“She’ll think you’re bold.”
The wind tugged at his hair, and Cissie felt its wildness, his wildness. In another life, maybe he’d been a Celtic warrior and she’d been a princess he’d kidnapped and made the cook in his camp, and they’d fallen in love inside his crude tent made of elk skin.