2 Days 'Til Sundae (2 'Til Series Book 1) Read online

  She could name about eighteen reasons, none of which she wanted to divulge right now.

  “I’m coming over,” Tara said, not waiting for an answer.

  “Shit, Tara, no!” she blurted loudly. “I have… uh… plans.” She eyed the table next to her, a family of four. The parents were staring at her accusingly as their kids chattered and played with the toys from their kids’ meals. She mouthed sorry and turned her head away shamefully, filling her tray with trash and getting up to dump it.

  “What do you mean plans?”

  She was out the door and at the car before she spoke, grabbing onto the first reasonable excuse that floated by in her brain, “It’s a… family thing. I’m… helping my parents move.”

  “They’re moving now? The other night you said it wasn’t—”

  “They just called me today,” she said quickly, cutting her off and getting in the driver’s seat. “You’re right, I did spend the day on the couch… and that was my plan for the week. Believe me, I totally would have done Vegas instead of Chesterton,” she added, “but I’m already in the car.”

  The only truth in the whole lousy conversation.

  -17-

  By the time she got back to Joel Trager’s house, the day was closing up shop. She stole a glance at her watch, momentarily surprised by the lost hour, and then looked back at the clock on the dash where she found it all over again. She’d believed she would be in and out of Minnesota in the blink of an eye, so making a change to central time had seemed totally unnecessary. But now she was caught in between two time zones as evening was crushing in on her, squeezing the life and hope from her day. The whole thing had seemed so simple and innocent, even exciting, on the ground in New York….

  After idling in neutral in mind and body at the mouth of the driveway, trying to figure the best plan of attack—a frontal assault or covert ops; a battering ram or an ambush from the hedges—she wound her way down into the spot she had commandeered earlier, intent on claiming victory with honor and integrity… and flirtatiousness.

  Within moments déjà vu took over as Magnus came from the far reaches of the yard, gums flapping, to see her again. By the time she had parked and gotten out onto the gravel drive, he was throwing his paws upon her in another awkward hug. And as she was kissed more thoroughly than she had been in quite some time, she heard that buttery voice.

  “Magnus, down boy,” Joel Trager said, his voice seeming to emanate from everywhere all at once. But there he was, a vision coming around the house from the garage side. She looked him up and down, taking in the grease on his exposed arms and a smudge on his plain white T-shirt. His jeans rode low on his hips and scrunched perfectly around the boots at his feet. His teeth shown even whiter in the duskiness, and his blue eyes still looked slightly clouded. She felt a slight shiver inside and told herself it was the sudden drop in temperature what with the sinking sun.

  “Oh, it’s you,” he said by way of greeting. “You wearing some kind of jerky toilette today?” He pulled up just short of her and wiped his hands on a rag—an old dishtowel really, much like her mother always had on her person, though his was covered in grease spots. So help me if he folds it up. Her mind skipped even further from his biceps to the safety of Elizabeth Hemmings’ ways and means, certain her mother would have that rag in the wash by nightfall because even work rags should be kept clean and tidy for each new day.

  It took all of Catherine’s strength to form words—any words. “You remember me?” Her voice came out girlish and coy, and she consciously focused on looking irresistible—stomach sucked, chest high, butt perked. “We spoke earlier—”

  “You were just here a couple hours ago; a case of amnesia would be the only way I could forget that.”

  She pulled back slightly, shocked by the force of his words. It wasn’t that he said them with anger; it was his total nonchalance. He should be completely chalanced just like I am right now. But he seemed entirely unfazed by her feminine wiles—even put off by them.

  She tried again, fluttering her eyelashes and biting her bottom lip all sexy-like. “I just thought that maybe—”

  “Listen, Catherine, you can save your breath. We finished this conversation earlier.”

  “No, actually, we didn’t. You walked away earlier,” she pointed out, reeling inside a little that he remembered her name. It sounded good spread like butter.

  “As is my right,” he said brusquely.

  “Certainly,” she agreed, as magnanimously as she could. Her whole “cute” act was now in a shambles at her feet, and it was all she could do to swallow back the invective she suddenly wanted to start spewing. “I just don’t think you understand. I’m not—”

  “No, I think I understand perfectly,” he interrupted. You thought you could come here all the way from—where did you say you came from?”

  “I didn’t,” she said stonily.

  “Okay, all the way from there to come here and sweet-talk my property right out from under me. Is that about right?”

  “First of all, it’s a toy. And I am trying to buy it,” she stressed, wishing she had thought to have the cash in hand to fan out before him rather than leaving it in her purse which she had left in the passenger seat—mere feet, yet seemingly miles away from here at the same time. “You make it sound like acreage. It’s just a simple toy.”

  “Maybe you need to be reminded that it’s just a simple toy,” he pointed out. “Especially considering you’ve traveled far enough to rent a ridiculous vehicle for the occasion.” He motioned to the front of her bumper car where the telltale TruAuto license plate was proudly affixed.

  “I wasn’t going to sweet-talk anything. I wanted to pay you for it—more than you bought it for. Just name your price,” she added, reminding herself never to gamble as she was apt to show her whole hand at the least sign of trouble. Her voice had begun to rise in indignation and she knew she needed to temper herself. She would never have to see this guy again. She just needed to maintain her cool with him long enough to win his trust or wear him down—one way or another.

  “Wow! Well it seems I’ve stumbled onto quite an investment. I might just want to hold onto this toy for a while and see what it does.”

  “It’s not an investment. It isn’t worth squat in the real world,” she said dismissively, while inside the intense weight of her aggravation with him was threatening to break her.

  “But in your imaginary world you’re willing to pay anything for it?”

  “Exactly—I mean, it’s important that I procure one of these immediately and seeing as how yours is the only one I know of in existence at this time—”

  “So it’s scarce?” he prodded.

  “No, that’s not what I mean. It’s just that yours is the only one on the market.”

  “But mine isn’t actually on the market.”

  “But it was just on the market, so I was hoping that—” She stopped, breathless. She was totally flustered by the speed of the assault and had to fight to control her desire to shriek and run pell-mell into his house and ransack it for the little dollhouse.

  Joel Trager was silent and seemed completely calm. His lips were a straight line across his face—offering nothing. He was waiting for her to burrow even deeper into trouble.

  She settled herself under his gaze and decided to try on her previous lie for size—it had gotten her this far. “Actually, it’s about a dog,” she said, personalizing the message by pointing toward Magnus sadly. The golden retriever was rooting around in the grass nearby and then happily snapping in the air at invisible opponents. “There’s a dog that I take care of while his owner is away. He got into some shenanigans and destroyed a collection of toys that his owner displays. This Caramellie doll, in her sundae house, is one of them….” She trailed off with her head down in a show of mourning that also allowed her to slip from under his gaze which seemed to burn right through her.

  “And this poor dog….” he prodded her to continue.

  “Winston.
His name is Winston,” she said, catching the smirk on his face as she lifted her eyes back to him.

  “What self-respecting dog is named—oh, you mean a rich big city dog, right? You’re trying to tell me that he will be put out on the street. Is that about the gist of it?”

  She was incensed at his correct assumption about her being from the city. She was in jeans and a blouse like anyone anywhere would wear, except hers had cost the better part of a paycheck when you included the shoes and even more than a paycheck when you included the purse—not that he knew anything about anything, and he certainly couldn’t see her damn purse, trapped as it was in the car… filled with his cash if he would just cough up the toy.

  “Or is the problem that you will end up on the street?” he added.

  “Let’s just forget Winston for a moment here,” she said quickly, abandoning the lie that wasn’t getting her anywhere. She wasn’t good at it. You have to own a lie in good times and bad and she didn’t have the shameless pride to do that.

  “Forget Winston? But who could forget—”

  “Seriously, I just want to know if you would be willing to make a deal on the little sundae dollhouse.

  “No.”

  Her head snapped back like the word hit with whiplash force. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m not interested in selling. Winston or no Winston. I’m not looking for a buyer.”

  “But—”

  “You know the way out.” He slipped the greasy rag over his shoulder, whistled for Magnus, and turned to walk away.

  “Can’t you be reasonable about this?” she called out, unhappy with the pleading tone that escaped from her lips.

  He refused to turn around but called over his shoulder, “I think I was very reasonable. I heard you out, and I don’t want to sell. Thanks for the visit. Say hi to Winston for me.”

  And then he was gone, leaving her alone with her frustration at the boiling point. Who the hell does he think he is with that smug smile? What if my story about Winston were true? What then? Then he is a heartless bastard who doesn’t care what happens to a defenseless dog. I should show him. Come back here with Winston and let him see the damage he caused with his callous disregard—wake up, Catherine! Don’t go any farther down that road.

  She kicked at the gravel huffily and grumbled under her breath, the sound of her own annoyance drowning out the sound of his footsteps until he was right beside her. Her heart almost stopped when she looked up to see him standing mere inches away—too close. He smelled like everything wonderful about the opposite sex. Somewhere deep inside she swooned, hoping it didn’t show.

  “Listen, I just wanted to—”

  “Oh, no, it’s alright,” she said, quickly. That voice was mesmerizing. “Is cash okay?”

  He looked back at her, blankly.

  “For the dollhouse,” she offered.

  “I told you I wasn’t selling.”

  “Then why did you come back?”

  “To tell you that I would be closing the gate at the end of the driveway and need you to move along.”

  As she watched his lips move she wondered how beauty could be such a beast.

  -18-

  The darkening streets seemed much less quaint and inviting without enough streetlights. Everything looked unfamiliar again in the new environment of night, and she longed for the comfort of airport lights outside her hotel room. But that would mean giving up. She still wanted Caramellie, and now she felt challenged to win her too. She wanted to succeed—beat Joel Trager at his game if only for the beating’s sake. Perhaps there was a hotel nestled amid the suburban sprawl in the new part of town.

  As she came around the bend she was greeted by the glowing lights of civilization in the form of advertisements. Up ahead she saw the beacon to weary travelers, a Best Western sign. At least she knew what to expect there, the usual comforts of standard hotel room fare—cable or satellite, clean sheets, heating and air, a bathroom with a sanitary strip on the toilet guaranteeing her hygienic safety… a tub and shower. All for a sum that wouldn’t add too much to her growing credit card balance.

  She pulled in the full lot, finding a spot that shared its square footage with an industrial-sized lamp-post—the type of space that remained empty for good reason, as only a vehicle her size could fit. She took her purse and got out, grabbing her bag from the hatchback and trudging into the lobby, suddenly exhausted from the day’s events.

  There was a line at the front desk and she dutifully took her place at the end, behind first an older couple and then an entire extended family of women with reservations for four rooms—Reservations? Here? In the middle of nowhere? When she finally reached the front, a line had reformed behind her.

  She draped herself across the counter for strength. “One room. Whatever you’ve got,” she said, pulling her wallet out of her purse to pay.

  “Your reservation is under what name?” the young man tagged Timothy asked, his eyes focused on the computer rather than her. His face was mottled with acne that made her wonder if he was even a legal adult yet.

  “I don’t have a reservation.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, we don’t have any vacancies, ma’am.” He looked up, gritting his teeth as if fearing an onslaught, perhaps physical blows in return for the news.

  There’s that word again. Do I look older in Minnesota somehow? In New York she was hip and trendy and now; no one called her ma’am—miss maybe, sometimes bitch or lady, but not ma’am.

  “Seriously?” She almost laughed, like she was the victim of a practical joke. “But how can that be poss—”

  “There’s a convention in town,” he said, cutting off her snobbery swiftly. “Actually, it’s just next door in Dobbs. We don’t have a convention center but we’re the bigger town, so we share the event.”

  “This is the bigger town?” she reiterated slowly.

  “Yes,” he said curtly, ruffled at the assault on what was probably his hometown. “It’s an annual event. There’s a lot of great stuff going on and the May-gnificent festival tops it off. Got to book well in advance. Every room in Dobbs and Nekoyah fills up and the spillover ends up in Anderson,” Timothy topped off his spiel proudly.

  “How far is Anderson?”

  “They’ll be booked too.”

  “So how about the next nearest town?”

  “Oh, you don’t want to go there.” He shook his head sadly. “They don’t have a hotel there at all.”

  “So what am I supposed to do, Timothy?” she asked, blinking her brown eyes sadly, sticking out her lower lip in a pout, rubbing her fingers along the countertop suggestively. Come on, help a girl out. Just one teeny tiny room to match my teeny tiny car…a broom closet will work… anything.

  “You should have booked early.” Obviously he wasn’t falling for her wiles either, just like Fynn or Joel or what’s-his-ass who had forced her into this situation in the first place.

  “I’ll remember that for next time,” she said, acid in her voice.

  She turned to go, seeing that the line of travelers behind her had grown even longer, probably all people who actually had reservations. I have reservations all right, about the sanity of the people in this town. She gave each of the other patrons the evil eye in turn, letting them know they had crossed her and they better hope never to find themselves in her neighborhood back in New York.

  “Wait a second,” Timothy called out.

  She turned back quickly, hoping his new excitement wasn’t going to be an offer to let her stay at his place—in his twin bed, in his room down the hall from his parents for the night. He leaned over the counter between them as if what he had to say was top secret. She winced, trying not to show the distaste she was already feeling for what she feared might be coming.

  “There is a place on the other side of town that rents cabins. I think they’re closed up right now, but the owner lives on the property. Maybe he’ll let you rent for the night….”

  *****

  Back in the car, she rem
inded herself that it was just one night. She would be back on the road to the airport tomorrow in time for her flight and her dinner with Georgia. She drove back through new Nekoyah and then on through old Nekoyah. Main Street was awfully quaint, although slightly eerie with everything closed up for the evening but for the pizza parlor. Even the diner was closed, making its name a lie—twenty-four hours was a must for a true diner as far as she was concerned. This place was nothing more than a café, not that she would be sharing that pearl of wisdom with Mel.

  Once she passed the train tracks that bordered old Main Street on the other end, she turned right and followed that street all the way, where she found the cabins easily enough at the top of the crossroads that met at a “T.” She breathed a sigh of relief that Timothy hadn’t been yanking her chain; the largest cabin near the street had lights on inside. She parked on the cracked old asphalt lot that had no parking spaces to speak of, and walked to the door hoping for clemency at this stranger’s house while at the same time trying to quell the memory of Friday the 13th as she took in the otherwise desolate space dotted with darkened cabins among the trees. The sign out front wasn’t even lit—no neon welcome to “Rustic Haven Cabins.”

  “Can I help you?” The man who answered the door was hunched with age but spry enough that she only had to wait seconds for him to answer her knock.

  “Hi, sir, I was wondering if you might be able to rent me a cabin for the night.”

  “We don’t open ‘til mid-May this year—at the latest, God-willing. We’re in the middle of renovations.”

  “Anything will do.” She tried to put the right mix of need and I’m-a-woman-who-knows-how-to-take-care-of-herself-and-have-the-pepper-spray-in-my-purse-to-prove-it into her voice so he would give her a room and not break in to kill her in her sleep. “I’m stuck in town unexpectedly for an extra day and the hotels around here are all full.”

  “Oh… the jigsaw convention.”