Dangerous Lies Read online

  Just then I saw Chet's yellow Scout rumble down the street, and decided it just wouldn't do to pass up an opportunity to tease him. Practically skipping across the yard, I met up with him on the sidewalk.

  "Kissing booth?" I said sweetly, keeping step with his long, easy stride. He looked casual and comfortable in jeans, grass-stained boots, and a navy T-shirt that highlighted those striking jewel-blue eyes.

  He grinned. "Keeping tabs on me?"

  "Hard not to. When they wrote your name on the roster, girls within a ten-mile radius swooned and fainted flat on their backs."

  "But not you?"

  "I don't kiss friends," I quipped.

  He gave a snort, but the playful glint in his eyes dimmed a little, and I regretted that I might have hurt his feelings. Still. I had to make my intentions clear. I wasn't going to give him false hope. Or encourage any more behavior like the kind he'd displayed in the Scout last night.

  "Anyway," I added, hoping to repair his ego, "a kissing booth takes the serendipity out of the moment. I'm against them on principle. I mean, is there anything less romantic than paying for a kiss? It should happen when the time is right. It shouldn't be forced. It's the difference between kissing someone for the first time in Vegas . . . and Paris," I said in a burst of inspiration.

  "Have you even been to Paris?" he grunted, shifting two crates of glass milk bottles in his arms.

  For one half-moment, my heart raced wildly. I thought I'd said something that could jeopardize my cover. But no. The analogy was harmless. You didn't have to travel to Paris to know it was a million times more romantic than Vegas.

  Even though Estella Goodwinn had. Traveled to Paris, that is.

  "You know what I mean," I said.

  "Did you happen to see what time slot they gave me?"

  "Eight o'clock. All eyes, er, lips, will be on you." I dug in my purse for a tube of lip balm and tucked it in the front pocket of his tee. "A friendly deed for a friend in need. Halfway through your shift, you'll thank me."

  He dug out the tube and read the label--creme de menthe flavored. "For real? This is as close as I'm getting to touching your lips tonight?" He wagged his head pathetically and heaved a sigh of disappointment.

  I grinned. We were back to our old routine of kidding around and feeling easy with each other. This was what I wanted. It felt safe. "Just call me Little Miss Virgin Lips."

  "At least stop by the booth and say hi--and donate a couple bucks. Proceeds go to new toys for the women's shelter."

  "You just want my money so you can be the next Mr. Hot Lips."

  I expected Chet to respond with a wisecrack of his own, but he stopped in his tracks. It was like he'd walked into a wall. His eyes fastened on something across the yard. A little color crept up his neck, and he smoothed a hand through his hair, almost like he was worried it might be sticking up. It seemed to take him a second to breathe.

  "Chet?"

  He jerked, like he'd forgotten I was there. He smiled, but his eyes were faraway and moody. "Yeah. Sorry. You were saying?"

  I glanced at where he'd been staring, but wasn't sure what had distracted him. Surely he wasn't unnerved by the group of girls forming a line in front of the kissing booth. He had to have known what he was getting into when he'd volunteered. And anyway, Trigger had the first shift. Those girls might be gone by the time Chet took over the booth.

  And then I saw her. A redhead in a Huskers hat and a white tank top. She had a hand on her hip, and the stance showed off her toned arms and shoulders. It was hard to tell if she had great legs, too, because her skirt was one of those billowy, hippie kinds that fell below the knees, but I was betting she did. She had a sprinkling of freckles, and she was pretty in an effortless and enviable way.

  "Who is she?" I asked him.

  But I had his full attention now, and he smiled at me, only me. "Who's who? C'mon. Help me drop off these bottles at the ring toss."

  By eight I'd made the rounds, hitting most of the game booths. I thought it spoke volumes about how starved I was for a social life that I was able to amuse myself at a church carnival. In some small way it felt good to wander among strangers, but it also made me homesick. I missed Philly. I missed the life and the energy, the juxtaposition of the familiar and the anonymity of city life. I also missed Reed. In a way that made my heart feel like it had been squeezed into a box three sizes too small.

  I wondered if there was any chance I could slip away from the carnival without Carmina noticing. On foot, a trip to the library and back would take about an hour. If she realized I'd left, she'd press me with questions later. Worse, she might heighten her patrol of me or start asking questions around town. In the end, I decided leaving was too risky. As hard as it was to be patient, I had to be. If Carmina discovered the secret e-mail account, it was all over. I'd lose my only way to contact Reed.

  Across the carnival, Chet was relieving Donovan Pippin in the kissing booth. As promised, I headed that direction to donate a few dollars to the worthy cause of crowning him Mr. Hot Lips. On my way over, I bumped into Theo, the kid from the Red Barn gas station. He had his head down and was beelining with purpose through the crowd; he almost mowed me over.

  I jumped back a step. "Where's the fire?"

  His head sprang up. "Oh. Hey. Stella. What are you doing here?"

  "Trying to look like I fit in. Want to hit a few booths together? Anything but the rubber-duck races--I've struck out twice on them."

  "Uh . . . ," he began, glancing nervously behind him, almost like he was hiding from someone. "Afraid I can't. You haven't seen an older gentleman in seersucker shorts and a yellow polo, have you?"

  "Nope. Why?"

  "Oh, nothing," he said, still peering around anxiously. "He's my grandfather. I'm trying to, ah, avoid him for . . . reasons. I'll catch you later."

  I grabbed his shoulder. "Who's that girl in the Huskers hat by the cake walk?"

  Theo squinted through his thick glasses. "That's Lacy Parish. She must have come home for the weekend. She goes to UNL."

  "That's in Lincoln, right?" Before I came to Thunder Basin, it was the only city in Nebraska I could have named from memory.

  He nodded. "She graduated from high school last year. I heard she got a summer job in Lincoln as an au pair."

  Lacy graduated last year. The same year Chet graduated. In a town this size, he would definitely know her. But the look in his eyes as he'd watched her was more than familiarity. It was the kind of look you got when someone punched you in the chest and your body forgot how to breathe.

  "What's the deal with her and Chet Falconer?"

  Theo considered. "Well. They used to date, but they're definitely not together anymore. He was supposed to go to school in Omaha, it's not far from Lincoln, so he and Lacy could basically still be together, but then his parents were killed in a car crash. He stayed here to take care of his brother and she took off for college. But first she broke up with him. I heard she told him she didn't want to wait for him and she didn't want a long-distance relationship, either. Before the car crash, everyone in town talked about how they were destined to get married. What do they call those kinds of people? A golden couple, I think? But now they're more like an old divorced couple--I don't think they've said a word to each other since she left town."

  "That's a sad story," I murmured. Across the yard, Chet leaned out the window of the kissing booth, delighting a small girl with Shirley Temple curls as he pecked her on one rosy cheek. In return, she dropped a dollar bill into the donations jar and skipped away. It was a sweet picture, and in spite of myself, I felt my heart melt a little.

  As though sensing me watching, Chet turned his eyes toward mine. We held that gaze for no longer than three or four seconds, but in that moment, it felt much, much longer. I dropped my eyes to his mouth, which had more color from the repeated pressure of kissing, the same way slapped skin deepens with blood. Chet watched me back, a strange, wishful tension in his eyes. It put me on alert.

  Uh-oh
. I wasn't doing this.

  I made myself flash him a radiant smile. Then I blew him a goofy kiss, puckering my lips and smacking them apart dramatically. I knew the distraction had worked when he grinned and crooked his finger for me to come over. The moment, whatever it was, had passed.

  "Gotta run!" Theo gulped, dodging away before I could ask him any more questions.

  Tempted by what Theo had told me, I sauntered over to the cake walk. Studying the cake designs, I listened to Lacy Parish and the girls huddled around. From their group rose the hush of gossip, punctuated by the occasional spurt of laughter.

  "Have you talked to him?" one of the girls asked Lacy.

  Lacy stared knives at the girl like, Did you really just ask me that?

  The girl blushed. "Stupid question," she mumbled.

  "I saw him staring at me earlier," Lacy said, rolling her eyes. "Could he make it any more obvious? He still has a thing for me, but I'm so over him. Like, he can't compete with college guys, you know? It's harsh but true. They're doing stuff with their lives and he's"--she hesitated, searching for the word of impact--"a lawn boy."

  A couple of girls snickered.

  Lacy grinned, pleased with herself, then sobered her expression and added, "I mean, I felt super guilty when his parents . . . you know"--she gestured for her audience to fill in the blank--"but I'm not going to put my life on hold for some guy I made out with in high school. If he thought we were forever, he had the wrong girl. I'm doing something with my life. College is amazing. You guys will see. It's a different world. There's something happening every night. Parties, dances, football games." She laughed. "More parties."

  "So do you have a boyfriend?" a girl with a red bandanna tying her hair back asked. She reminded me of Rosie the Riveter. Her voice was tough, a little challenging.

  "Nobody dates in college." Lacy flicked her hair over her shoulder, all casual. But she was lapping up the attention. Her green eyes glittered and she spoke loudly and with authority. "It's less serious than high school. You don't feel pressure to belong to anyone. It's all about random hookups and having fun. You hang out with different guys every weekend. You don't do the same boring stuff with the same guy. Commitment is for, like, people who don't know better. Chet didn't get the memo," she finished, her mouth all twisted and wicked.

  I'd heard enough. Originally I'd thought Lacy had a valid point in leaving Thunder Basin and Chet behind. She couldn't be expected to put her future on hold for him. But after hearing her talk, I was firmly on Chet's side. Lacy didn't feel bad about hurting him. Worse, she was talking crap behind his back and putting him down to build herself up. I hoped he wasn't in love with her still. She wasn't good enough for him.

  I was about to walk away when Rosie the Riveter said, "Don't be so sure of yourself, Lacy. Maybe Chet has moved on. You should ask him to his face, instead of talking trash behind his back."

  "Jealousy isn't very attractive on you, Dawn," Lacy shot back. "Who asked you, anyway?"

  Dawn shrugged and walked off, but the smug little smile on her face never wavered. Inwardly, I sent her a high five.

  "Who would go out with Chet now?" Lacy said to the remaining girls. "He knows you guys are my friends. He's gonna have to get his butt outta Dodge if he wants any lovin'."

  Now I'd really heard enough. Striding past her, I shot her a black look, but she was too busy laughing at her put-down to notice.

  I walked to the kissing booth and leaned an elbow on the window. "Happy to see your lips haven't fallen off yet," I told Chet. I eyed the donations jar, which was crammed with bills. "Looks like you're in the lead for Mr. Hot Lips."

  Pastor Lykins, who was standing nearby, perked at my words. After confirming we didn't have any extra ears bent our way, he said in a hushed but excited voice, "He's raised over one hundred dollars. That's double what the first two kissers earned combined, but don't tell anyone I said so. We don't want to bruise any egos." He chuckled. "Suffice it to say, Chet is the star of the show."

  Chet shrugged at me as if to say, You can't argue with the facts, ma'am.

  "And to think he tried everything humanly possible to get out of volunteering when I said this would be the perfect place for him," Pastor Lykins pointed out.

  Chet gave me another shrug, but this time the tips of his ears turned pink. He was the only guy I knew who could pull off modest and not be annoying. If anything, it made him more attractive. It was hard not to appreciate a guy who had a sensitive, vulnerable side, even if he tried to hide it.

  "I haven't seen you in line yet, Stella," Pastor Lykins said. "I can't vet Chet as a kisser, but for what it's worth, I haven't seen one unhappy customer."

  To my mortification, I felt my face warm. Was I blushing? Why was I blushing? I'd had no problem blowing off kissing Chet before, but something had changed. I didn't know what. Dammit, I was blushing! I fiddled with my earring. "Oh. Well. Actually--"

  "Stella's saving her money for Theo," Chet provided. "He got the last time slot, and everyone knows that's a disadvantage, because by now most people have spent their money. She wanted to make sure he had something in his jar."

  I cast Chet a look of sheer gratitude. He tipped me the slightest nod.

  "Good thinking, Stella," the pastor said. He checked his watch. "Looks like your shift's over, Chet. Now, where is Theo . . . ?" Shielding his eyes from the setting sun, he searched the crowd.

  "Can I get you a drink?" Chet asked me, coming around the booth. "I think they've got fruit punch and lemonade at concessions."

  Why not? I clearly needed something to cool me off. "Thanks for saving me back there," I said, once we'd walked out of Pastor Lykins's earshot. "I don't know what came over me."

  He flashed a lopsided grin. "I guess if there's only one girl at church who doesn't want to kiss me, I can handle it."

  I laughed, relieved he wasn't going to push the issue, and made a concerted effort to hide from my expression any hint that he might be wrong. I didn't want to kiss him. I really didn't. I had a boyfriend, a serious one, and I was committed.

  The concessions table was picked over, only a few cups of punch and crumbled cookies left. I boosted myself onto the table and nibbled one of the cookie pieces. "I heard Lacy is here."

  Chet watched me as he sipped his lemonade. "Who told you about her?"

  "Small town. News travels."

  "I could tell you I'm over her, but I'm not sure you'd believe me. No one else seems to. Whenever she comes home, everyone watches me closely, like they expect me to crumble."

  "Does it hurt to see her?"

  "Hurt?" He shook his head no. "But it flings me into the past. Takes a moment to remember I'm not back there anymore."

  I understood with eerie perfection. When I was struck by flashbacks from that night, they yanked me back to Philly. No amount of reasoning or common sense could convince me I wasn't there; I just had to wait it out. In those instances, time couldn't move fast enough.

  "She's pretty," I said.

  He shrugged noncommittally.

  "But she's kind of bitchy, too." I flipped a palm up before he could protest. "Just sayin'."

  "I don't think she feels comfortable when I'm around. She knows some people blame her for the way things ended between us, even though it was inevitable."

  I didn't tell him that she seemed perfectly comfortable making him the brunt of her jokes.

  "I always wanted red hair like hers," I said wistfully.

  He elbowed me affectionately. "I like your hair the way it is."

  I could feel him watching me, could feel the pull of his eyes. He smelled earthy and enticing. Warm, golden light glinted off his dark curls. He was leaning back against the table, his hand not far from mine. He had amazing hands, strong and tanned and calloused from outdoor work. They were hands with purpose. The kind of hands a girl might dream about.

  When I could avoid his gaze no longer, I saw something restless in it, and I struggled to not let it get to me. He was breaking down my barriers
. This slowly building heat between us was trouble. I had to end it.

  But it was Chet who broke the moment, not me.

  With the familiarity of an old friend, he broke off a piece of my cookie and popped it in his mouth. "I should get home. Make sure Dusty's not causing trouble."

  And with that, he left.

  As I watched him drive away, I couldn't stop thinking about him. I realized I must have known there'd been someone in his life. He was too good-looking to have gone unnoticed by girls. As far as I knew, there hadn't been anyone since Lacy. Despite the talk around town, I knew he was over her. When he saw her, he hadn't looked wounded. Startled, yes. Jerked into the past, yes. But not damaged. And that made all the difference.

  I could think of another reason he'd moved on, but it made me uncomfortable, so I brushed it aside.

  Deciding to make an honest man out of Chet, I went to find Theo at the kissing booth.

  He was slumped on the stool, misery etched in every line of his face. He wore a pink bow tie that matched his flushed cheeks. When he saw me strolling over, he ducked his head and hid his face behind his hand.

  "Hi, Theo," I said brightly. "How'd you get roped into this?"

  "My grandfather volunteered me," he mumbled. "You don't happen to have a cyanide capsule?"

  "I left it with the KGB when I resigned, sorry."

  He dabbed his brow with a pocket square. "I still have twenty minutes of this torture." Seeing the empty donations jar perched on the window ledge, he snatched it and shoved it by his feet. "I want to help the women's shelter, really I do, but not this way. I could have donated something I'd sewn. A men's jacket. They could have auctioned it."

  I opened my purse. "Put that jar back up here so I can add my donation."

  Theo blinked at me in surprise. "But--I'd have to kiss you. You want me to kiss you?"

  "If you're going to be direct, well, yeah. I do."

  "But. Well. Ahem. You know I'm . . . I'm . . ." He cleared his throat, the flush deepening.