his views on everything from prohibiting the sale of alcohol to this newest cause—the removal of a children’s book containing witchcraft from the county library. Adam tired of the man shadowing his doorstep nearly once a week.
“I’m aware, but this is neither the time nor the place. Come by and we’ll talk,” Adam said, trying to slide past Harvey.
The man’s hand clamped down on his arm. “There is no better time than the present. The library board voted. It’s done and all the protestors in the state of Texas can’t stop us from removing that filth from the shelves of our library. Away from the hands of our innocent children.”
Adam removed Harvey’s hand. “Mr. Primm, if you wish to discuss potential problems that might arise as a result of the library board’s vote, stop by my office.”
With that, Adam turned and plowed through a small crowd of people, many of whom likely overheard the exchange if their silence was any indication.
Harvey didn’t follow him, but Adam could feel the hard stare of the man burrowing into his back. A prickle of unease crept up his spine. Harvey, who had wholeheartedly supported Adam’s hire as the new police chief, was turning out to be trouble. Adam supposed the man thought a younger appointment would be easier to control.
Guess he hadn’t done his research.
Adam was definitely by the book, but he also wasn’t a man to be pushed around by the whims of an egotistical, right-wing looney bird.
A flash of red caught his eye.
But it wasn’t Scarlet. It was Betty Monk wearing a lavish red sequined dress paired with matching cowboy boots. Not quite fitting with the homespun, earthy decor of the reception. How he knew it was homespun and earthy was beyond him. Must have been something he picked up from the decorating magazine Roz had left in the john at the station.
Time to shake Brent Hamilton’s hand, then get out of Dodge. Go to the station. File a report. Drink a cup of Roz Lane’s bitter coffee. Forget about buxom beauties and how splendid they looked in black leather and red lipstick.
Betty raised her painted-on eyebrows and started barreling toward Adam.
He slid to the right, ducking behind a cluster of occupied tables. He didn’t want to hear about how no one picked up after their dogs when they walked through the downtown park. Nor could he tolerate her incessant touching. She flirted as if she were a twenty-year-old. And seemed absolutely convinced he was into her.
To hell with shaking Brent’s hand. Adam would grab cake and head for the hills.
He was a good cop, but he wasn’t a saint.
CHAPTER THREE
SCARLET LEANED HER HEAD against the fluffy pillows on the bed and studied Rayne. The last time she’d seen her had been four months ago when she’d come to New York City to meet with producers and TV execs. At that time, her older sister had looked thinner and more stressed. Scarlet had concluded the wear and tear to be caused by her career and dealing with being a single mother. She hadn’t known Rayne had been seeing Oak Stand stud-muffin-extraordinaire Brent Hamilton. When Rayne mentioned she’d been seeing the man, Scarlet had nearly gone through the roof of the upscale bar they’d sat in.
It was obvious Rayne had given little credence to Scarlet’s warning about how men like Brent never changed, since she sat in a ladder-backed chair, wearing an ivory wedding dress.
Scarlet had to admit. Rayne looked good. She’d gained weight and as she’d glided down the church steps, hand in hand with her new husband, she’d been glowing most radiantly. God, Scarlet hoped Rayne wasn’t pregnant.
Now, as the shadows fell and the party-supply workers packed up the tents and folding chairs outside, Rayne looked…uncomfortable, like a kid who faced the dreaded flu shot.
Scarlet crossed her arms and glared at her older sister until their gazes finally met across the room.
“I called you,” Rayne said. “I left two messages this past week alone.”
Scarlet sniffed and tossed her hair over one shoulder.
“Summer,” Rayne said, her words plainly apologetic. “I called and left a message on your answering machine. And I sent you an email. Have you checked your messages?”
“My name is not Summer. Not anymore.”
Rayne frowned. “I know, but you’ll always be Summer to me.”
Scarlet shrugged, dismissing the mushy sentiment. She’d changed her name to Scarlet when she started acting. She preferred it over the misnomer her parents had given her. Nothing light and sweet about her. Especially now that her heart had been broken into a billion throbbing pieces. “You know my cell-phone number. Any thought I might be on the move, since we’re on hiatus?” Scarlet drawled. She wasn’t buying her sister’s story. She had an inkling Rayne hadn’t wanted her here for the wedding. Which hurt like hell.
“You never answer your cell. I called the number you gave me. I did.” Rayne spread her hands apart. “You never called me back.”
“That’s not tr—” Scarlet snapped her mouth closed. Okay. She vaguely remembered a call from her sister several weeks ago. She’d been at a party. She’d had two gin and tonics in her attempt to have fun. She hadn’t accomplished her mission. And she’d forgotten about Rayne’s call. Damn.
“See.” Rayne gave her the I’m-always-right older-sister nod. The one Scarlet hated beyond all others. Rayne clung to the power she wielded as the eldest.
“Fine. I remember it now. I was at a party in the Village. The cute guy from that hospital show was there. Sober, but still yummy. I, on the other hand, had a few drinks too many. I forgot about the call.”
Rayne closed her eyes. “Good gravy, you are a piece of work.”
Scarlet tossed her sister a smart-ass smile. “Why, thank you.”
Rayne opened her eyes and leveled her gaze. “Look, I know you have reservations about Brent, but—”
“Reservations? Yeah, you could call them that,” Scarlet said. “Rayne, he tried to pick me up at a bar three years ago. Slimy pick-up line and he didn’t even buy me a beer. He’s not the marrying kind. Guys like him don’t change.”
Rayne waved her left hand in front of Scarlet. The diamond on the wedding band caught the sunlight streaming into the room. “I beg to differ. He is the marrying kind.”
Scarlet shook her head. Rayne had no clue what she’d done. She’d married a veritable slut. No way would Brent be faithful. Scarlet knew his kind. They smiled, cajoled and had a gal’s ankles over her head before she could even get his digits. No way this ended well. “I’m sorry I can’t be happier, but this has heartbreak written all over it.”
Rayne laughed. “Says the girl who has never been in love. What’s your longest relationship? A month? You flit from one thing to the other. Deep Shadows is the biggest commitment you’ve made thus far, so I don’t think you’re qualified.”
Little do you know, big sis.
“I don’t have to be in love
