The Thing About Trouble Page 2

  She stretched, a long lithe strand of muscle and delicacy, honed from years of ballet, and, well, the Vegas strip, before whirling around and gliding back to her bedroom. It was early, barely past six in the morning, and her white puffball of a cat, Giselle, followed her down the grand staircase, meowing steadily until they reached the gleaming kitchen. The tile floors were cold on her feet, and she shivered slightly. Once the cat’s food bowl was full, Blue grabbed a premade yogurt with berries and granola from the fridge, and slid onto a seat at the granite island to eat.

  She looked around with disinterest. The ultra-modern kitchen gleamed with stainless steel appliances, white cupboards, and lots of glass. There was enough white granite to make Fred Flintstone proud. Blue swung around on her chair. This space was filled with the latest, most expensive gadgets. Appliances hooked up to her phone so she could command them to do her bidding at the touch of a finger. Everything was state-of-the-art. Built to make life easy. Built to make room for more time spent with family.

  Since she lived here alone, what was the point of it all? The only folks who stepped foot inside her home were Dani, the maid, and Mason, the kid she’d hired to cut her grass. After the way she’d behaved the day before, she wouldn’t be surprised if Cam Booker decided to pass on the outdoor project altogether.

  She’d acted like a spoiled rotten arrogant bitch, and her cheeks burned just thinking of how dismissive and bossy and privileged she’d been. And though it was a weak excuse at best, the only thing she could come up with was the fact that her late husband’s son, Edward, had dropped by unannounced, and that was never a good thing. The man despised her and was always threatening some new legal action in a bid to challenge David’s will. It was exhausting.

  Feeling as blue as her name, she jumped to her feet, suddenly full of restless energy. An hour and a half in the customized gym did nothing to take the edge off, and by eight o’clock, she was climbing the walls of her million-dollar prison.

  She quickly showered and, not bothering with makeup, pulled her long blonde hair up into a ponytail, then dug through one of the drawers in her walk-in closet. It was the one tucked away in the far corner—the one that held a lot of her past. She found a white T-shirt with The Rolling Stones’ logo emblazoned across the chest, and a pair of old Levi cut-offs. They still fit perfectly, and her long, manicured nails grazed the soft, worn fabric.

  Blue was so far from the girl she used to be, even if she wanted to, she doubted she’d ever be able to find her way back. A sudden yearning rose up in her, and she looked into the mirror above the customized vanity. Without the carefully applied makeup she favored these days, or the perfectly sculpted hair and expensive clothes, she looked the same as that girl from her past. She touched her freshly scrubbed cheek, and a wistful smile crept over her features. The girl who used to wear these clothes didn’t exist anymore.

  “Stop being so damn melodramatic,” she whispered to herself. Jumping to her feet, she headed back downstairs. After making sure Giselle had lots of fresh water (she didn’t top up the food bowl because Giselle was on the tubby side), she headed to the garage. Not the large six-car monstrosity across from the circular drive that housed cars worth more than a lot of homes in town, but the two-car garage attached to the house. Parked inside here was the sleek Mercedes she usually drove and an old, beat-up Honda Civic.

  It was the first “adult” purchase she’d ever made—bought it from another dancer her first month in Vegas—and it was a reminder of her humble roots. The paint was chipped, there were several dents that had started to rust, and the dove-gray cloth interior had seen better days. The mileage was sky high, but it was still great on gas and her mechanic kept it in working order. He’d been bugging her to let him take it to a body shop, but she liked it just as it was.

  Blue smiled as she hopped inside and eyed the stick shift with a smile. Automatic transmission was so overrated. She opened the sunroof, backed out of her garage, and headed down the driveway. She had no idea where she was going, but eventually found herself circling the entire lake and coming back to the small town of Crystal Lake. She drove aimlessly for a bit and, as the tension along her shoulders gave way and loosened, decided to do something she hadn’t done in ages. She found a spot to park along the small river that ran through the town and hopped out before she could change her mind.

  Blue had a credit card in her front pocket, cash in her back, and sunglasses to shield her eyes. The sun was shining, the warm breeze was just enough to take the edge off the heat, and she stepped lightly as she followed a manicured path along the river.

  The entire waterfront had been redone in the last few years with extensive repaving of the bike trails, up-to-date landscaping on the generous amount of greenspace, a boardwalk with boutiques and eateries, and a brand-new playpark. Blue knew this because she’d donated considerable funds to the projects, not because she’d ever been down here.

  Already families were setting up for a day of picnics and fun, and she didn’t blame them one bit. It was lush and green and perfect. A group of young men, probably age eighteen or so, looked her way as she approached. They were about to cross the bike path with a kayak and made no effort to hide their interest as she walked by. One of them waved at her, and she smiled to herself but kept going.

  Up ahead, she spied the boardwalk and detoured from the paved path to window-shop. She was impressed with the quality of boutiques and eventually found herself inside a quaint store called Bella & Hooch. It smelled like heaven and was filled with a wonderfully eclectic assortment of décor items. Among them were handmade pottery and art. Soft woven blankets and one-of-a-kind candles. Unique frames and pillows and throws.

  She picked up a small piece of driftwood that had been carved out and filled with wax. The scent was lovely.

  “That’s one of my favorite pieces.” A young woman smiled at Blue from behind a stack of vintage crates filled with art. A pretty girl, she was a bit of a bohemian, with a flowing moss-green-and-yellow sundress and long auburn hair that fell in soft waves to her waist. Freckles adorned the bridge of her nose, and a wide, welcoming smile made Blue at ease. Her eyes were a deep green fringed by long lashes, and a scar was barely visible along her right cheek. It ran upward and disappeared beneath her hairline.

  “I love it,” Blue responded. She moved toward the sales counter and placed it there before taking her time to explore the rest of the store. Several customers came in, and all seemed to know the young woman—Poppy was her name. They stared at Blue, but it was more curiosity than anything else.

  She picked out a few essential oils and returned to the front of the store to grab a soft gray-and-white throw.

  “I’ll take these,” Blue said, adding to the candle.

  “Those are our best sellers,” Poppy said, taking the essential oils from her. “Are you new in town, just passing through, or a vacationer?” At the look of surprise on Blue’s face, Poppy smiled. “I know pretty much everyone in Crystal Lake, and I don’t recognize you.” Her face fell a bit. “I hope you don’t find that creepy?”

  “No,” Blue replied softly. “I’m sort of new to town.” Okay, it was a small white lie. She wasn’t exactly new considering she’d lived here for three years, but she found herself making the statement anyway.

  “Where you from?” Poppy was busy wrapping the items and paused as she looked up at Blue.

  “Nowhere.” The answer was automatic, and she blushed. “Everywhere.”

  Poppy laughed. “I’ve lived my whole life in Crystal Lake. When I was twenty, all I wanted to do was leave, and I did. I went to Los Angeles because I wanted to be an actress. When I was twenty-five, all I wanted to do was come back. Now that I’m thirty, I can’t remember why I wanted to leave in the first place.” She placed the items in a beautiful antique-looking bag and gave Blue the total.

  Blue reached for her platinum credit card but then, at the last moment, grabbed her cash instead. As Poppy rang in the order and made change, Blue spied a s
ign on the wall behind the woman. She stared at it intensely as a crazy idea began to unfold.

  “You’re looking for help?” she asked lightly, taking the change and shoving it in her back pocket.

  “I am.” Poppy nodded and smiled. “Are you looking for work?”

  Blue found herself nodding. Okay, the crazy idea was taking hold. It was growing roots and doing something pretty incredible. She was waking up.

  “I think so…”

  Poppy laughed at that. “Well, it’s only part time. Two days a week.”

  “That’s perfect,” she answered quickly. “I mean, if you’re offering. I have retail experience.” Again with the lies. What the hell was wrong with her?

  “I am.” She came around the counter. “I’m looking for Tuesdays, noon until five. And Saturdays, noon until six.”

  “Okay. I can start Tuesday.”

  She laughed and winked. “I’m Poppy Fairbanks, by the way. It would be good if I knew your name.”

  Blue hesitated for a second and held her breath as she answered. “Blue.” No recognition. She wasn’t sure why it was so important to her that Poppy not know who she was, but for the life of her, she didn’t want to be known as the notorious widow Barnes. It was a tired, mean-spirited label, and she was sick of it. She knew what most people thought of her, that she was a gold-digging Vegas showgirl who’d managed to snag an elderly millionaire. They whispered behind her back, and some had the audacity to whisper in front of her. They all thought she was trash and that David had been swayed by her charms.

  It was insulting to David. He’d been the smartest, kindest man she’d ever known, and she missed him every minute of every day.

  “Blue? That’s an unusual name. I like it.” Poppy grabbed a piece of paper from a folder on the deck. “Here. Take this home and fill it out so I have all your details on Tuesday.”

  The two women walked to the door, and Poppy followed Blue outside. A man stood across the way on the boardwalk. Dressed in tan board shorts and a black T-shirt, his tall athletic build was hard to miss. He held a large pink bag, and beside him, a young girl happily licked a mint-green ice-cream cone. Dark curls sprang from the little head in all directions, and the yellow dress she wore was at least two sizes too big. A dog sat at her feet, eyes glued to the ice-cream cone, anticipating a drop.

  Poppy followed her gaze and gave a low whistle. “Cam Booker. That right there is the most beautiful man in Crystal Lake.”

  Blue’s heart skipped a beat when she realized who it was. “Is that his little girl?”

  “You know him?” Poppy asked, though she didn’t take her eyes from the man.

  “No, I…” She exhaled. “I was just wondering.”

  “I don’t know who the little girl is, but she’s definitely not Cam’s.” Poppy turned to Blue. “One thing you’ll notice is that there is an overabundance of hot men in town. Like, smoking hot. And that one right there?” She pointed with a grin. “He’s at the top of the ladder.”

  Cam turned slightly, giving the women a glimpse of his profile as he bent into a squat so that he was face-to-face with the young girl. She offered him her cone, and when he smiled at the little girl, Blue was pretty sure every woman within a mile radius was having a meltdown of some sort.

  She glanced around, and sure enough, every woman on the boardwalk was tuned in to the man and the little girl.

  “What’s he like?” she found herself asking.

  “Cam?” Poppy shrugged. “Back in the day that boy was every mama’s worst nightmare. A real charmer with no desire for commitment. But then he got into some trouble a while back, and that seems to have calmed him down.”

  “Trouble?”

  Poppy blushed. “I don’t know if half of what I’ve heard is true, so I don’t feel comfortable passing it along. Lord knows most of the stuff they say about me isn’t true either.” She shook her head. “The thing about a small town is that the gossip mill runs twenty-four seven. The problem with gossip is usually there’s a small kernel of truth, but that truth gets diluted as it’s passed around. By the time you hear the latest news on”—Poppy air quoted—“‘whoever,’ it’s all wrong anyway.”

  A couple of teens walked past them and into the boutique. “I should get back inside, but I’ll see you Tuesday?”

  Blue nodded. She took a few steps, her eyes drawn to Cam and the little girl. He was still squatting, talking to her, and the child was listening intently. Her head dropped, and she scraped her toe along the ground, slowly, back and forth. Something about the way she looked tugged at Blue’s heartstrings. She was so small. So delicate and precious. So incredibly vulnerable.

  So much like…

  Blue trembled so badly, she nearly dropped her bags. No. She shook her head violently, exhaled, and looked away. She wouldn’t go there. She couldn’t go there. She closed her eyes, and it took a bit for her to reach a place of calm. When she opened them again, a jolt of energy ran through her, and she flinched. Cam Booker was looking straight at her. He was standing now and had the little girl by her hand, but his eyes were on Blue.

  She stopped breathing, and the world narrowed down to one beam of vision. There was Cam and the child, and nothing else. She didn’t know how long they stared at each other, but one of the teenagers exited the boutique and slammed into the back of her, breaking the spell and nearly sending Blue to her knees.

  There were embarrassed apologies and smiles and assurances that all was good. When Blue glanced back, Cam was gone. She took a few steps and turned in a full circle, but there was no sight of him or the little girl. Which was probably a good thing considering Blue didn’t do well around young children.

  At least, not since she’d lost her own child.

  3

  Cam Booker’s mother was the kind of woman who stuck to routine and rarely wavered from it. Maybe it was because of her job as a nurse at the hospital—routine was a way of life there. Or it could have been part of her upbringing. Her father was a military man, after all. Whichever the reason, her life was predictable, or as much as a person’s life could be. Today was no different. On every Sunday she wasn’t working, Lisa Booker pulled into her driveway at exactly half past twelve, after attending church with her sister Tish.

  At exactly twelve thirty-five, Cam pulled in and parked behind her car. His father’s truck was missing from the garage, but he didn’t think on it too much. It was his mother he’d come to see, after all. He cut the engine and glanced at Tawny. She’d gotten ice cream in her hair, and the sad excuse for pigtails he’d managed hours ago looked sadder. And tangled. And uneven. He frowned. Who knew that brushing out a five-year-old would be harder than using a miter saw?

  The little girl sat there with her hands clasped in her lap, small legs dangling over the edge of the seat, thin shoulders hunched forward as she looked out the window. Her pink bag she’d insisted on bringing was on the floor, and the stuffed bear hung out one of the pockets. Cam wasn’t exactly sure what else was inside, other than the yellow dress Tawny had pulled out this morning. He didn’t know much about fashion—he was a jeans-and-T-shirt kind of guy—but even Cam could tell the little girl needed some new clothes.

  From the backseat, Rufus nudged Cam’s elbow, and he cleared his throat, reaching for the door. “Let’s go, kiddo.”

  “Who lives here?” she asked, a solemn expression on her face as she gazed up at the house.

  “My parents.”

  Slowly, she turned to him. “Are you going to leave me here?” Her voice was small, but the words hit him like a sledgehammer.

  “No,” Cam replied carefully. “But I need to speak to my mom, and I thought you might like to meet her.”

  Tawny seemed to mull over his words. She picked at the frayed edge of her dress and shrugged, reaching for her bag. “Okay.”

  And that was that. She climbed out of his truck and waited for Rufus to follow. When Cam rounded the vehicle, she clutched at his hand, her small fingers digging into his palm with a strength
that surprised him.

  They walked through the white picket fence that encircled the house and up the stone path that led to the porch. Cam didn’t knock, but walked inside and called for his mother.

  “In the kitchen, hon.”

  He led the way down the wide hallway to the kitchen, which ran the length of the back of the house. It was his mother’s pride and joy, and the main gathering place for the family. It was warm and inviting, with lots of natural light, and he smiled as the scent of fresh apple pie reached his nostrils. He could almost close his eyes and go back in time to when he was a kid, running in from Sunday school, eager to dig into his mother’s famous dessert.

  He stopped just inside the entrance to the kitchen and spied his mother at the sink. She had a tea towel tossed over one shoulder, and her blonde hair was up in a loose bun. She was still in her church clothes, a light pink floral dress that complemented her complexion and figure. She turned with a smile, and her eyebrow rose questioningly when she spied Tawny. She dried her hands, tossed the tea towel, and made her way over to them.

  “Cam. This is a surprise. I thought you’d be at your brother’s place.”

  Shit. Cam grimaced and shook his head. Now Cam knew why Nash had called him twice in the last hour. He’d declined each call and let them go straight to voicemail because he didn’t feel like answering a million questions in front of Tawny.