Текст книги "Perfect Kind Of Trouble"

Автор книги: Chelsea Fine

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

14 Daren

Kayla looks positively forlorn. Her rosy cheeks have lost their color, her bright eyes are clouded with sadness, and her pouty lips are… well, they’re still sexy as ever. But the point is that she’s obviously unhappy and I don’t know how to change that. So I try to distract her.

“Well frankly, I’m disappointed,” I say in a righteous manner. “For the last time, Kayla Turner, we are not strangers.” I let out a dramatic breath. “Good God, woman. What does a guy have to do to achieve ‘friendship’ status with you? I thought tonguing each other would do the trick but clearly we didn’t do it right. So come on. Let’s try it again.” I sigh in mock weariness, waving her in. “I’m willing to rub tongues all day if that’s what it takes. Hell, I’ll tongue you all night if it’ll get me off your Stranger Shit List.”

She shakes her head and snorts through her downtrodden expression. “You are shameless.”

I place a hand against my chest. “I prefer to think of myself as an opportunist.”

“That too.”

“So what do you say?” I flash my dimple. “Are we friends yet?”

Amusement plays in her eyes. “Why do you care so much about being friends with me?”

I scratch my cheek, feeling more unsettled than I care to admit by her question. “No idea. I’ll get back to you.”

She straightens her shoulders. “Okay. Well while you’re pondering that, I’ll be over here trying to figure out this clue.” She pulls the note from my hand and examines it with a frown.

“What does ‘something you liked more than stickers’ mean?” I glance at her.

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. What about your thing? Something you looked forward to in February? What, like Valentine’s Day?”

I choke on a laugh. “Yeah, no. Valentine’s Day is my least favorite holiday. Too much pressure.”

“Oh-kay. Good to know where you stand on that,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “So it’s probably safe to assume this clue doesn’t have anything to do with Cupid’s holiday.” She mutters, “One possibility down. A trillion more to go.”

“Let’s head back to the car and do our sleuthing on the road. I’m starving.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

I tuck the paper clue in my pocket as we walk to the edge of the boxcar and stare down. “Do you want to climb down first or should I?”

Below, the ground declines into a steep hill just a few feet from the boxcar, but the drop to the flat area before the descent isn’t too bad.

Kayla says, “Let’s just jump.”

“All right.”

She takes off her shoes and grips them in her free hand while I wrap my cuffed hand around hers.

“On the count of three,” I say. “One… two…”

“Wait. Wait,” she says. “Are we jumping on three or after three? If we jump at different times and go flying in different directions, we could snap our arms off at the cuffs.”

Girls. So dramatic.

“Yeeeah, no.” I shake my head and press my lips together. “We might bruise a wrist—or two—but I’m pretty sure our arms won’t snap off.”

“Still.” She juts her chin. “On three or after three?”

“After three,” I say.

She nods.

“One… two… three!” I tighten my hand around hers as we jump out of the boxcar. But we overshoot it and jump too far out. We miss the flat area and land in the dirt with heavy thuds at the top of the hill. Then we promptly tumble over each other down the steep decline.

Our bodies flail in opposite directions as we roll, but the handcuffs force us to smack back together as we topple over each other, skidding through the gravel and dust in a tangle of limbs until we finally reach the bottom of the hill and come to a dusty stop.

Kayla lands sprawled across my chest with her long hair no longer tied back but now completely loose and splayed over my face. My right knee is wedged between her legs, where her skirt has ridden up and is now barely covering her ass. And our shackled hands are trapped between us, with my open palm pressing against her large, soft breast.

There are worse ways to fall out of a train.

Kayla raises her head and glances over our bodies before removing her breast from my hand and lifting her gaze to mine. Her blonde hair is tossed all around her face, tangled with tiny pebbles and twigs while smudges of dirt mark up her face and her clothes are covered in dust. Her blue eyes stand out against her flushed cheeks and throat, and there’s a dead leaf stuck to the shiny gloss on her pink lips as she tries to catch her breath.

I let out a low chuckle. “You’re a hot mess.”

Her eyes rove over my ripped clothes, dirty skin, and dusty hair with a sparkle. “So are you.”

We sit upright and stare up the hill at boxcar #23.

She sighs. “Well at least we can say we’ve been on a train now.”

I smile. “We sure can.”

15 Kayla

I’m hungry. I’m handcuffed. And I’m covered in dirt and dust.

Today isn’t going as smoothly—or as quickly—as I imagined.

I glance at the afternoon sun as we drive through Copper Springs. The day is almost over and we’ve hit a dead end. My father’s scavenger hunts never lasted this long. There would sometimes be lots of clues and, therefore, the game took longer, but never an entire day.

“Where should we eat?” I say as I turn down Main Street.

He shrugs. “Someplace that’s not too fancy.”

“And somewhere affordable,” I add.

“Yes.” He nods. “Affordable is good.”

We cruise past the grassy park in the center of the town square and find it bustling with people who are milling around a large Ferris wheel. Happy music plays from speakers perched on the tall park lampposts while street vendors and performers show off their goods and talents under colorful tents and canopies.

A large banner strung across the grassy town square reads COPPER SPRINGS 32ND ANNUAL CONFETTI CARNIVAL.

A smile curls up my mouth. I almost forgot about the Confetti Carnival. Once a year, the local vendors put on this merry festivity as an excuse to show off their latest merchandise and promote their businesses. They put on carnival games, petting zoos, and concerts. They also give away free things. Like food.

“You know what’s better than affordable?” I say, finding a parking spot at the end of the street.

“What’s that?”

I grin at him. “Free.”

He looks back at the carnival—where vendors are handing out free bags of popcorn, complimentary soft pretzels, and unlimited candy samples—and brandishes his dimple. “Brilliant idea.”

The first place we head is the pretzel cart followed by the popcorn machine. Daren scarfs two bags of popcorn down before I even finish one. I’m not really one to judge, though, with my mouth stuffed with pretzel and both my fists filled with junk food. Daren washes down his two bags of popcorn with a giant pretzel, which he eats in three big bites. I freeze with a Red Vine halfway to my mouth and stare at him.

Damn. Looks like Daren was just as starving as me.

Next, we head to the cotton candy cart and wait in line. Above hang two confetti cannons, which will go off at midnight to mark the end of the Confetti Carnival. It’s like colorful snow, falling on the town in the midst of summer. I always loved the confetti snow.

Across the park, two girls with ample cleavage on display catch Daren’s eye and smile. They can’t tell he’s handcuffed to me because the cart is blocking our wrists but, based on the come hither looks on both their faces, I doubt a handcuffed third party would be any kind of deterrence.

I glance at Daren and watch as he gives them a little smile and a chin nod. Their faces brighten and one of them licks her lips while the other wiggles her eyebrows.

Wow.

I tilt my head. “More friends of yours?”

Daren looks at me and the cocky smile is quickly replaced with a look of indifference. “It’s a small town. Everybody knows everybody.”

I nod. “Right.”

I bet not everybody “knows” those girls the way Daren Ackwood does.

“Next!” calls the cotton candy man with a smile.

As we step up to the cart, I recognize him as Charles Abernathy, one of my father’s old buddies.

He smiles at us. “Hello, Daren. Good to see you.”

“You too, Mr. Abernathy.” Daren nods.

“It’s a shame about your dad. How’s he doing?” he asks in a serious tone. “Is he still up at county—”

“I haven’t spoken to my dad so I have no idea how he’s doing,” Daren says. The sharpness in his expression is a stark contrast to the smooth cockiness he was wearing just a moment ago. He was like this with the lawyer yesterday, too. Tense and closed off about his dad.

I slide my eyes to him, wondering what the deal is with his father.

Daren slips on another casual grin. “We’ll take two cotton candies, please.”

Mr. Abernathy nods sympathetically. As he reaches for a paper cone, his eyes bounce off me and he looks back.

“Kayla Turner?” His face instantly lights up. “Is that you?”

I smile broadly. “Hi, Mr. Abernathy. How are you?”

“Well I’m doing wonderful now that I’ve seen you. It’s been, what… five years? And now you’re all grown up and just as pretty as your mother.” He sighs and shakes his head sadly. “I’m so sorry about your father. He was a great man and will be deeply missed.”

His words are genuine and laced in mourning. I try not to let that upset me as I nod. But the bitterness seeps through like an oozing wound nonetheless.

Mr. Abernathy twirls two paper cones around inside the cotton candy machine until he’s formed identical balls of fluff.

He hands them to us merrily. “You two take care.”

We walk away with two pink clouds of happy spun around paper cones. Finding a shady spot beneath the tall oak tree in the center of the square, we try not to draw attention to our handcuffed wrists while we eat.

“This is the best lunch I’ve ever had,” he says, shoving the last of his pretzel into his mouth.

“I know,” I say over a mouthful of popcorn.

Two middle-aged women walk past us with looks of confusion. I glance over our appearance and try to see us through their eyes.

We have dirt on our faces, candy in our mouths, and metal restraints around our wrists as we stand in a corner of the park.

We look like two jacked-up toddlers in time-out.

“Okay. Ick. I’m done.” I hand Daren the rest of my cotton candy, my stomach now feeling grossly full. My nutritious lunch consisted of salted butter fluff and colored sugar fluff. I totally wouldn’t blame my heart if it just decided to quit its job.

Daren finishes off the rest of my cotton candy and nods to a nearby bench. “Want to sit?”

We sit down and watch Mr. Abernathy hand out more cotton candy for a moment before I turn to Daren. “So what’s the deal with your dad?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “What?”

I take a Red Vine from his hand and bite into it. “Your dad. Why do you get weird when people bring him up?”

He gives me a crooked smile. “Did Lana not fill you in on all things Luke Ackwood?”

“Apparently not.” I swallow my bite.

He scratches his cheek. “Did she tell you about my dad’s tendency to drink like a fish?”

I hesitate, feeling guilty for listening to gossip about Daren’s family. I never really gave it much thought before, but listening to gossip is an ugly thing to do. “She might have mentioned something about that.”

“She’s a reliable source, that one.”

I shake my head. “You don’t have to tell me. I shouldn’t have asked in the first place. That was nosey of me. God. I’m sorry.”

“No. It actually might be nice to get to tell someone the truth. Everyone in town has just always known what was going on so I rarely have a chance to tell the story.” He looks away and even though his lopsided smile stays in place, his inhale is strained. “My dad is in jail for an aggravated DUI. He got hammered, went driving, and nearly killed a guy named Conner Allen last year. So he’s been doing time at county for the past eight months.”

I sit frozen with the Red Vine in my hand. “Whoa.”

He laughs quietly. “Whoa is a good response.”

“That’s heavy, Daren,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugs and looks up at the Ferris wheel. “No one died so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.”

“Yeah, but still.” I chew off another bite of the Red Vine and stare out at the townspeople in the park. A couple across the way eye Daren and mumble to each other, which reminds me of the ladies at the cafe this morning. “Is that why people sometimes look at you and whisper?”

He sighs. “That and the fact that my harlot mom lured the good preacher into her bed of sin seven years ago.”

I make a face. “People still whisper about that?”

“You’d be surprised how eternal some gossip can be. What about you?” He turns to me. “Last night, Eddie mentioned that something happened with your mom. Any scandalous gossip there?”

“Oh.” My heart starts to pound as I deliberate on what to say. “My mom, uh…” I shift my weight. “She passed away. A few months ago.”

His lips part. “Oh God. I’m sorry. I—I didn’t know.”

I swallow. “It’s okay. No one did. She was—she was sick for a long time.” I quickly add, “Not sick like my dad, but just… she wasn’t well.”

He inhales deeply and slowly shakes his head. “Wow. You lost both your parents in the span of only a few months.” He leans back and lifts our adjoined wrists. The handcuffs clink together. “Kind of makes all this seem petty.”

I consider. “Not really. Believe it or not this”—I jangle our restraints—“is the most exciting thing I’ve done in a long time.”

He laughs under his breath. “Then you need a life.”

“God, tell me about it.” I smile. “It’s on my To Do list, trust me. I’ve just been so busy these past few years with my mom that I’ve hardly had time for myself.” I flash back to the bank statements from earlier, and anger simmers in my chest. Those Chicago withdrawals had to have been my mother. No one aside from my parents would have had access to an account opened in my name. I mutter a curse and shake my head. “I still can’t believe my mom knew about the trust fund and didn’t tell me. And then she drained it completely? Ugh.” The simmer becomes a low boil as I think about the money. I know what she did with it and the idea makes me sick to my stomach. Especially since that money could have bought us—bought me—a better life.

Daren frowns. “She probably didn’t tell you about it because she spent all the money.”

“No doubt. But God.” I exhale through my nostrils. “Steal someone’s money and keep it for yourself? What a shitty thing to do to your own daughter.”

“Very shitty and very low.” He flexes his jaw. “You really didn’t know?”

I shake my head again. “We were dirt poor, Daren. I mean, we had a little money when my dad was still sending alimony and child support, but once those payments stopped we were nearly destitute. Meanwhile, he was back here swimming in money.”

He studies me for a long moment then looks away. “Hmm.”

I stare at him. “What?”

He shrugs. “Obviously, your dad knew your mom was dipping into the trust fund, right? So he probably assumed you and Gia were living comfortably. Which means…” He leans in. “He didn’t purposely leave you and your mom broke. He thought he was taking care of his family—or at least taking care of you. So maybe you should cut him some slack on the money front.”

I start to argue but stop when I realize Daren’s right. Mom was making large, consistent withdrawals from the trust fund, so my dad had every reason to believe we were financially secure.

“You’re right,” I say as guilt weighs down on me. “I guess I got so used to blaming my dad for everything tough in my life that I just directed all my financial bitterness toward him. Wow.” I bite my lip. “I’m a brat.”

“No. Your mom is a brat,” he says, shaking his head.

I slowly nod. “Yeah.”

We sit in easy silence for a few moments as I think about my mom and all the trouble her selfishness has caused me. I loved her. Dearly. But she made it hard sometimes. And now this? I wish I could say her stealing from me is a shocking revelation, but it’s not. It pretty much falls in line with her behavior these last few years.

I look up at the statue of the town founder, Lewis Copper, just a few yards in front of us and wonder if he ever had a crazy mom—or a nutty dad, for that matter. Probably not like mine.

I shift on the bench and glance down at our locked wrists. It’s nice sitting beside Daren. Easy. I can’t remember the last time I was so relaxed around a guy. Then again, it’s been a while since I’ve been around a guy at all. But Daren feels different. He’s too pretty for his own good, probably, but he’s not a bad guy. I’d even go as far as to say he might be one of the good ones.

He looks over and smiles at me with a piece of cotton candy stuck to his lip. He’s handcuffed to me on a park bench in public, while we feast on all things unhealthy, and he seems perfectly content. Yeah. He’s definitely one of the good ones.

“Right here.” I brush a finger over my lip to show him where the cotton candy is stuck on his mouth.

“Are you asking for a kiss? Again?” He sighs and leans over. “Okay, fine…”

I laugh and push away his face. “No, you arrogant weirdo. You have cotton candy on your lip.”

He darts his tongue out and swipes the sugary goodness from his mouth. I stare at his lips.

“Did I not get it all?” He licks his lips again.

“What? No. Yes. It’s gone.” I cut my eyes away and stare at anything other than his lips. Or tongue. My eyes settle on the statue. “Why do you think they do that?”

He follows my gaze. “Erect giant stone replicas of old white men who demanded things be named after them? No idea.”

I toss some popcorn in my mouth. “I bet Lewis Copper wasn’t even a cool guy. I bet he was a grumpy old man with a drinking problem.”

“And a wife who hated him,” he says.

“And an irritable bowel.”

“And really bad body odor.”

I shake my head. “But yet he got a friggin’ statue made of himself.”

“With a plaque.” Daren tips his chin at the foot of the statue.

On the plaque is an engraved picture of a steam engine, which brings my thoughts back to the clue at the train station.

“Bust out that clue again,” I say. “Let’s see if we’re any better at deciphering it when we’re hopped up on sugar and carbohydrates.”

He pulls the note from his pocket and we stare at it.

“Are you sure you don’t remember what you liked more than stickers?” he says.

“I don’t even remember liking stickers,” I say. “My dad once bought me a sticker book when I was like six, but instead of decorating the pages with the flower stickers inside, I stole a roll of stamps from his office, licked every last one of them, and stuck them to the pages.” I laugh thinking back to how his eyes bulged when he saw what I’d done. “He was so mad.”

Daren scratches his jaw. “Maybe that’s the clue.” He looks at me. “Stamps.”

I consider for a moment. “Maybe… but what would that mean for your part of the clue? Are there special February stamps that you looked forward to getting in the mail each year?”

He shakes his head. “The only thing I ever looked forward to getting in the mail was the swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course.”

He pauses. “But it did come out every February.”

“Really?” I say. “Huh. Do you think that’s the clue then? A magazine?”

He shrugs. “I can’t think of anything else it would be. And if the clues are stamps and a magazine then we need to go…”

My mind races. “To a magazine store.”

“A magaz—in Copper Springs? You’re not in the big city anymore, Blondie.” He shakes his head. “Maybe we need to go to a stamp museum or something.”

“Oh sure.” I sneer. “A stamp museum in this tiny town makes total sense, but a magazine store? Preposterous.”

He squints at me. “God, you’re sassy. I’m just trying to draw a connection between stamps and magazines here.”

I gather all our junk food trash and toss it in the garbage can beside the bench as I shrug. “Well, they both come in the mail.”

We whip our heads to face each other and say, “The post office.”

He says, “Turner probably left the money in a postal box for us.”

“Yes!”

Quick as lightning, we dart up from the bench and take off in opposite directions—only to be whipped back into each other by our linked wrists. My chest slams into his rib cage as his knee pushes into my thigh.

“Seriously?” I pull back from him and huff. “Where are you going?”

He points behind him. “The post office is that way.”

“Since when?” I make a face.

He juts his jaw. “Since the old one burned down and got moved from Main Street to Langley Drive.”

“Oh.” I straighten my skirt, which has once again ridden up my thighs. I don’t know why I even bother.

He looks up at the sun hanging low in the sky. “It’s almost closing time. We need to hurry.”

As we speed walk through the park toward my car, people everywhere turn and stare.

Don’t mind us, folks. We’re just a couple of kids bound together with metal on the hunt for what may or may not be a twenty-dollar bill. We’re not desperate or anything.

We reach the car and quickly climb in. The drive to the Copper Springs post office takes less time than it takes for us to get our linked bodies out of the car as Daren climbs over the console with the grace of a one-legged chicken, cursing and thwacking his elbows and knees against the dashboard.

“You’re like a bull in a china shop,” I say.

He tries to fold his long legs into the driver’s seat one at a time but ends up kicking the steering wheel and honking the car horn.

“A very noisy bull.” I shake my head.

He climbs out of the car with a scowl. “Well maybe my bullhorns wouldn’t make so much noise if they weren’t being crammed into an Oompa-Loompa-sized car.”

“If you complain about my car one more time,” I say, “I will track down your precious Porsche and draw all over it in lipstick.”

“Easy, tiger,” he says. “There’s no need for violence.”

We walk toward the post office’s entrance, but stop in our tracks when we see the CLOSED sign on the door.

“Shit,” Daren mutters.

“We’re too late?” I say, wanting to scream. This day has been a complete waste. “What now?”

A muscle flexes in his jaw as he shakes his head. “I don’t know. Come back in the morning?”

“And what are we supposed to do until then?” I say, lifting our joined wrists. “Stay locked together all night? I don’t think so. We need to find Eddie.”

“Okay.” Daren pulls out his phone and calls the lawyer. “Hey, Eddie. It’s Daren… Yeah, so Kayla and I haven’t been able to find Turner’s money yet… Oh yeah, it’s been super fun, but we need to get into the post office and the post office is closed. So it looks like we’re going to have to delay this scavenger hunt until morning. Do you mind if Kayla and I swing by your place in a few minutes so you can unlock the handcuffs? Just until tomorrow of course. We’ll put these babies back on first thing…”

Daren listens to Eddie on the other end of the line for a moment. “Uh-huh… uh-huh… I see… Right, well of course… True, but… uh-huh… uh-huh… okay, then.” He smiles at the floor. “Thank you so much. You have a good night too.” He hangs up and purses his lips.

“So…?” I prod, waiting.

Daren rocks back on his heels. “So Eddie says he can’t unlock the cuffs until we’ve found the money. No exceptions.”

My mouth drops open. “You have GOT to be kidding me. Doesn’t he know that being handcuffed together means we can’t leave each other’s side?”

“I’m pretty sure, yes.”

“Then how does he expect us to sleep tonight?”

Daren holds up our chained wrists with a grin. “Side by side?”

Un. Believable.