Hot to Trot (Dancing in Texas #5)

Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

T HE RHYTHMIC THUNK of the glove connecting with the body bag soothed Adam. He punched the bag, rattling the chain that secured it to a beam in the garage. Right jab, right jab, block, feint left, left hook. Repeat.

Sweat rolled down his back, coated his arms. He blinked the saltiness away doubling his efforts as if the leather bag were the bundle of trouble that had fallen in his lap.

It was the worst sort of trouble-one that had bee-stung lips, curvaceous hips, and an inclination for trouble.

Scarlet Rose.

This afternoon, she had received forty hours of community service for her disorderly conduct. And he was assigned as her supervising officer.

Wasn't going to be easy. He had to prepare himself for trouble. For three reasons.

First, Scarlet was royally pissed. During the sentencing, everyone from one side of Oak Stand to the other had learned she "couldn't stay in their Podunk town." She had to audition for a role of a lifetime. In California. "For the hottest director in Hollywood." She'd nearly been held in contempt for her dramatic, pleading performance. Hell, if he'd been an Academy voter, she would have had his vote.

Second, Judge Sharon Kent had given a community-service project as part of the sentence when she could have given a fine.

And third, did he mention he'd been appointed her supervising officer? Even though he was the chief? That meant he'd be required to check on her. Which meant he'd have to see her. Which meant he'd be tempted to touch her. To kiss her. To bend her over his cruiser and run his hands over her spectacular ass.

He punched the bag harder, making it swing erratically.

"Shit," he said to the empty garage, dropping his arms to his sides. He tilted his head back and panted, taking shallow breaths that smelled like hot asphalt and burnt oil. "I mean, shoot."

He tried not to swear. Or drink. Or kiss sexy actresses with legs a mile long and breasts that made his mouth water. He also tried not to talk to himself.

Battle lost on all fronts.

He tossed the gloves on the workbench welded to the garage wall and opened the fridge he kept stocked with water and beer. He grabbed a Heineken, wrenched the top off, and took three long swallows of the icy beer. His body needed water. His mind demanded the beer.

No way he could keep his hands off her.

Worse, he'd screwed up and got caught doing something unethical on video tape. That little tidbit hadn't crossed his mind until he'd left Scarlet eating pizza and escaped to the outer office. The minute he'd opened the door, his gaze landed on the computer. He'd broken out in a cold sweat. He and Scarlet had been kissing right in front of the damn video camera which meant that his indiscretion had had to be removed. So now there was a hole in the footage.

He'd felt about as stupid as a cow for forgetting himself.

He wiped away the sweat dripping in his eyes and stared out the open overhead door at the darkening Texas sky. Brilliant pink laced the deep blue that pressed upon the earth. It was a nice sky as far as skies go. And the sun was a flaming orb sitting on the horizon.

"Got one of those for me?" his friend Rick Mendez said, strolling into the garage.

"You don't drink beer."

Rick shrugged. "I'll settle for water."

Adam opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and tossed it Rick's way.

Rick caught the beverage with one hand. "Wanna come out to the center and rid yourself of whatever demon’s riding your ass?”

"Who says I have a demon?"

His friend propped himself against the metal slide of the roll-up door and smirked. "We all got demons, man. Or vampire queens.”

Adam snorted.

Rick knew his story. He was the only person in Oak Stand who did. Adam had known from the very beginning he and the former gang member would hit it off. Most would have thought differently. Rick had gang ink spiraling onto his neck and an almost permanent scowl etched on his broad face. Adam was the antithesis. One of the girls on his swim team had once declared he looked like her Ken doll. Give him a pair of seersucker pants, a sweater tied round his neck, and he became as country club as Skipper Doyle, his father's golf partner.

But, yeah, Adam had demons.

And a persistent one had just attached itself to him.

Desire... for the absolute wrong kind of girl. "Not this evening. I've sweated enough beating out all the frustrations of the day."

“Summer?”

"Yeah, she's going to be a problem." Adam took the last two swallows of the beer and tossed the empty bottle toward the recycling bin.

"Huh?"

"She's gonna-"

"Oh, you mean Scarlet. Or Summer. The actress. I meant the heat, but, yeah, that one's trouble. I told Kate to not meddle, calling the judge and all. But that's like telling a nun not to pray."

Adam straightened. "The community service was Kate's idea?"

"She's always trying to bring new things to the guys. She hates the boxing ring. We need culture she says. She forgets my guys think culture is drinking Hennesey at a strip club."

He tamped down the aggravation. Kate meant well, but having Scarlet teach acting classes at Phoenix, the gang-rehabilitation center that Rick operated, was a disaster waiting to happen. Mostly because if Scarlet showed up wearing a halter top without a bra around guys who hadn't seen any action in months, an all-out riot could occur. Plus, gang members studying Shakespeare? Acting out emotions? Not going to work. And when he showed up to check up on her? Suffice it to say Adam wasn't a crowd favorite at the center.

"It would be easier if she had to pick up trash on the highway." He sighed.

"Not if you don't want a pileup. She’s going to fill out an orange jumpsuit just fine.”

Like Adam didn't know that. “You're married."

“True, but not blind."

Adam gave a bark of laughter. “Scarlet is a problem, no matter which way you look at her."

"Yeah, but at least she's something to look at.”

Adam opened his mouth, but Rick held up a hand. "I know, I know, I'm married. But Kate's driving me nuts. I'm on an ice-cream run. Rocky Road. Not the store brand. But Ben & Jerry's. And I can't forget a bag of pretzels. She crushes those and sprinkles them on top."

Adam smiled. If there was a man in love with a woman, it was Rick Mendez. "How much longer?"

"Less than two months till the baby comes. Then I will be at the beck and call of two forces of nature." Rick pulled keys from his front pocket. "I better run before she starts calling me. Just saw the garage door up and thought I'd make sure no one was stealing the 'Vette."

Adam walked to the other bay in the garage and patted the muscle car beneath the padded cloth. "If anyone touches my girl, I'll rip his face off."

Rick's bark of laughter followed him toward his own fine piece of machinery-another passion that drew them together. Rick's cherry-red '66 Mustang made the driveway look classier. "See you tomorrow, gringo."

Adam held up a hand in a farewell gesture. Rick always called him gringo which might seem derogatory, but Adam knew it wasn't meant to be. Yet, he didn't dare call Rick anything slightly offensive. He'd been raised to mind his tongue and to know who he was. Having a family in the spotlight made a person cautious with his words, but not necessarily with his morals. His father had proven that, serving on the church building committee while screwing a member of the altar guild. Morals? What morals?

He pulled the door down and secured it with the padlock before entering the small house he rented. The place had been built in the twenties, and though it could use a fresh coat of paint and new doorknobs, it radiated charm. Age sat upon it well, giving it the faint odor of moth balls, lemon furniture polish, and years of home cooking. It was normal. Regular. Nothing special. And it suited Adam fine.

That was all he'd ever wanted in life. To be normal.

Not be Hal Hinton's kid. Not be Daphne's boy.

Just be plain ol' Adam Hinton. Small-town police chief living on Hickory Street. In a plain white house with black trim and a green lawn.

Because the first two-thirds of his thirty-one years had been a torture to be endured. Huge brick mansion. Mercedes Benz. Summer house on the coast. Prestigious boarding school. And lots and lots of time alone. Sitting in his childhood suite of rooms, called the nursery by his mother. As if she were running Downton Abbey or something. He’d been surrounded by the latest and greatest toys, video games, and gadgets while dreaming of eating fried baloney and fishing in a creek with a bunch of siblings. Adam didn't want to be a wealthy, influential Hinton. He wanted to be a struggling, happy Hinton. A regular kid on a normal street with a simple, salt-of-the-earth mom and pop. Mayberry. Mayfield. Pleasantville. Anywhere but River Oaks in Houston.

His wish had not been granted. He was a Hinton. His great-grandfather had dabbled in real estate, buying, selling and building a huge financial empire. His family owned oil fields, chains of furniture stores, a handful of shopping complexes, and fifty gas stations. He had millions languishing in a trust fund. His family owned a private jet, a yacht, a villa in Italy and more land per square foot than in all of Howard County. Adam wasn't only rich, he was loaded.

He switched on the light in the kitchen and set about making a sandwich for his dinner. Plain ol' baloney.

SCARLET STUBBED HER TOE on a root that peeked through the grass at the side of the Hamilton house. "Ouch!"

It was insult added to injury. She was grounded in Oak Stand for the next three weeks. She wouldn't be able to make the audition. How would she tell Bert? He'd be annoyed. Maybe furious. Probably would out-diva her in his temper tantrum. The only thing that had saved her was the possibility of sending in a tape as her audition. She'd phoned the casting director earlier and was awaiting the return call. Thank goodness, Rayne had a production company at her beck and call.

So much for making contacts in L.A. For soaking up sun. For catching a wave.

Scarlet's toe started throbbing.

"Yeah, I've hit my toe on that root before. It hurts," Henry said, tossing the ball to her despite the fact she hopped on one foot.

"Well, thank you, Mr. King of Obvious."

Henry smiled, the two big teeth that had recently grown in making him look like a miniature beaver. "You say that a lot. That's sarcasm."

"Again, I crown you King of Obvious," Scarlet said, hopping to where the uncaught ball had rolled.

Henry laughed. "You're funny."

"So they tell me." She pitched the ball toward her nephew. He caught it easily and threw it back.

"Are you mad you have to stay here?" Henry asked, his brow wrinkling, making him look like a small thundercloud. "I heard you talking to Stefan."

Her roommate had encouraged her to leave Oak Stand and pay the consequences later. The man thought a big check fixed everything. Sometimes it did, but she doubted the judge would look favorably on bribery. Stefan didn't get small-town values. He'd grown up in Miami and it showed. His tastes were sophisticated, expensive, and sometimes bit vulgar. "He's outraged for me, but I'm not skipping out or breaking the law. I did something wrong and I have to pay for it."

Scarlet gave herself an invisible pat on the back for being Aunt of the Year. She might be good enough to be a mother someday. Maybe.

"Well, I think it's cool you're staying for a while. I'll go to Phoenix with you if you want. I've been there before. They have a dog named Banjo. Dad says he's the ugliest dog he's ever seen, but I think he's kinda cute."

Dad?

So Henry had taken to calling Brent his father. Weird. But maybe not. She'd watched the two of them eat ice cream and watch the Rangers play on TV last night. They were pea podish. Brent seemed to love the boy, and the feeling was returned. A flash of shame flickered in her subconscious a moment before she dashed it away. She had apologized to Brent.

"Hmm, maybe you can go with me once or twice. If your mom says it's okay." She wasn't sure if a nine-year-old belonged at a gang rehabilitation center. She was a little uneasy herself. She had experience teaching acting classes. But that had been to Jewish grandmothers with unnatural hair colors at a Brooklyn YWCA. Come to think of it, those women were tough. They could probably reduce tough gang members to a passel of kittens in ten seconds flat. She’d be A-ok.

Scarlet pushed her bangs out of her eyes and caught sight of someone lurking behind the sweet olive bushes lining the side yard. Reporter? Likely.

She sidled closer. She tired of flashbulbs and microphones. Sure, she knew it was her fault. She'd brought all of their attention upon herself when she'd picked up the picket sign and joined the protest. But, still, she needed a bit of peace. She purposely overthrew the ball. It sailed over Henry's head and smacked the siding of his new grandparent's house.

"Jeez, Aunt Scarlet. You suck."

She clamped down the strange impulse to fuss at him for his colorful language and darted toward the shrub.

"Get out of there!" she hollered, tugging the arm of the Peeping Tom.

Harvey Primm stumbled from the bushes.

"You!" she said.

He glowered at her but said nothing.

"What do you think you're doing sneaking around, spying on me?" Scarlet felt her limbs shake with adrenaline. The good deacon was beyond creepy. Most thought him harmless, but there was something a little unhinged about the man. Something about the passion he brought to unearthing dirt on the people who lived in this sleepy community.

"You think you can turn people against me? You can't, missy. What you've done is a mortal sin. You oppose God. You support the devil's work." He virtually spat the words at her.

"You have a lot of nerve coming on my family's property, lurking in bushes, and throwing accusations at me. Accusations you know nothing about. For the second time, this is not about religion. This is about taking away people's right to decide for themselves. Stop judging me. It's hypocritical."

Scarlet crossed her arms and glared at the stooped older man. She might have felt sorry for him if he had not been so bitter.

"I'm no hypocrite. I stand on my principles and oppose presenting innocent children with filth."

He held up a newspaper. Looked like a Dallas one. The Local/State section showed a picture of the protest. "You're trying to make me look crazy. Trying to turn people against me, using your fame. Well, it won't work. God is on my side."

"I doubt it.”

Harvey lurched toward her. "You better think twice about who you go up against, girl. You may have the liberal media on your side, but good people know what is right."

"What is right? Trespassing? Harassment? Bullying? Is that what you preach? Is that your example of good living?" Scarlet stepped closer. She could smell his breath, see the spidering of red veins rimming his cold eyes. "I'm not scared of you, Mr. Primm. I know plenty of good people who don't agree with you. Isn't there a saying about throwing stones when you live in a glass house? Or removing a plank from your eye?”

"You better watch yourself, girl."

"Are you threatening me?" Scarlet felt the slightest tremor of fear mingle with the anger inside her. She'd lived in New York City long enough to build strong self-preservation instincts.

"No, I'm warning you."

As Scarlet studied the embittered man in front of her, something poked her psyche, and suddenly she could see what had caused Harvey to hit the warpath. She'd known his late wife. Mary had smiled often, loved theater, the arts, and wearing flowers on her hats. She would not have approved of her husband's crusade. "What would Mrs. Mary say about what you're doing, Mr. Primm?"

Harvey paused, seeming momentarily taken aback. "I'm doing what's right."

"Maybe in your mind, but I knew your wife. I'm not sure she'd approve of yanking a children's book off the shelf the way you have. And hiding in the bushes?"

He took a step away. "I wasn't hiding. I was..." His words trailed off.

Scarlet didn't retreat. He needed to hear her words. Someone needed to show him he'd colored his beliefs and shaded his world with grief. "Maybe you should take a hard look at what you're doing. At your intentions. You can't fix the world. That won't bring Mrs. Mary back."

"Don't say her name. You don't know anything about her. A redheaded Jezebel like you couldn't hold a candle to my wife. No matter how you cut it, witchcraft, wizards, and magic is wrong."

"So quick to judge. Those books are make believe. Fiction. Maybe you should do some reading of your own. Either of the books you held up in that photo would do.”

Anger caused the man's face to redden. "Watch the way-"

“Aunt Scarlet?"

Scarlet turned her head. Henry stood, holding his glove and ball. He'd been listening to their conversation and he looked worried.

"Mr. Primm was just leaving, Henry."

Harvey gave her one last hard look before slinking toward an older Lincoln Continental parked down the street. Scarlet shoved her trembling hands in the pockets of her shorts. She didn't want her nephew to know how affected she'd been by the exchange.

"What was he doing, here, Aunt Scarlet?" Henry jogged over to her, as if he could sense her unease.

"I don't know," she said, curling an arm around his neck. "But I bet that's the last we see of him."

"He's kinda scary. He always wears black and he never smiles. He's like a bad guy in a movie."

Scarlet steered him toward the inn. "I don't think he's a bad guy. He's a scared guy.”

Henry stopped. "Of what? He's a grown-up."

She paused for a moment, trying to recapture her Aunt of the Year vibe. "Well, all people are scared of something. Mr. Primm is afraid of the world he lives in, so he tries to control it."

"I don't get it."

"The world around us constantly changes. We have to learn how to change with it. But that's hard for a lot of people. They want to have their own version of how the world should be. Mr. Primm wants to go backward, to rewind to a time he understood, a time when he was happier, but he can't do that. None of us can go back in time. Gotta remember there are plenty of things wrong with the past, and there are things-"

Henry's eyes took on a glazed appearance as he zoned out. She'd rattled off coffee-shop philosophies to nine-year-old. What was she thinking?

"What I'm trying to say is people need to be able to choose. Mr. Primm wants to take that right away because he's scared of where it may lead. He doesn't have faith in other people, and that's no way to live."

Even as she said the words, she wondered if she'd done much the same. Hadn't she clung to the past, holding fast to empty love for John? Hadn't she lost faith in people? People like Brent... or even Adam?

"Oh," Henry said, scratching his head. "I get it. It's like making someone play a position without giving him a chance to play what he wants. Like when Coach Armbruster made Hunter play on the offensive line just 'cause he's big. That wasn't fair. I like giving people chances. I like being fair."

Scarlet wasn't sure her nephew completely got what she meant. But whatever. "Yeah, something like that, Tiger." She ruffled his close-cropped hair and withdrew a damp hand. Boys sweated. A lot.

"Okay, let's head in. And, Henry, if you see Mr. Primm hanging around again, don't talk to him. Go inside and tell someone. Okay?"

"Sure," he said, pounding up the back steps of the porch. Not only were little boys sweaty, but they were loud, too.

"Mo-om!" Henry called as he banged open the door that led to the kitchen. “Aunt Scarlet got in a fight with Mr. Primm!"

Oh, no, he did not.

Scarlet sped up the steps, hoping to do damage control. Little boys were sweaty, loud, and had big mouths.

Rayne met Scarlet at the door. "What's he talking about?" Rayne had braided her hair and wore a snug polka-dot apron with a ruffle at the hem. Her label. She also wore a frown.

"Oh, nothing. Harvey stopped by to give me his regards."

"Was he harassing you?" She slapped a wooden spoon against her palm. She looked like a mob boss ready to mete out justice to anyone crossing her or hers. It made Scarlet smile. "What are you smiling about?"

"Nothing. You. What are you going to do? Whack him with a spoon? I think you being arrested for assault will do more damage to your show's reputation than your passionate sister handcuffing herself to a flagpole during a protest."

Rayne rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to hit anyone. Yet."

"He's upset I'm destroying his credibility or whatever. He waved a Dallas newspaper at me. The picture of him holding the book and pointing a condemning finger wasn't very flattering."

"We better watch him. I don't trust him. No one does. A man like that digging up dirt on his neighbors and then sitting on the pew beside them every Sunday, holier-than-thou. Something's wrong with him." Rayne went back to the saute pan on the huge Viking range.

The kitchen smelled like bacon. And cake. Two tantalizing smells that complemented each other.

"I'm not worried. He's a bitter, grieving old man. Not a criminal."

Brent came in. "Man, I'm starved. Writing about swim meets gives me the munchies." He nuzzled Rayne's neck, sneaking a hand down to her bottom.

"Um, hello? I'm sitting right here," Scarlet said from a stool on the other side of the kitchen island.

Brent snatched his hand away from his wife's tush. "Oh, so you are."

Scarlet slid off the stool and headed away from the two lovebirds. They could have their moment together. She would rather not imagine her sister getting it on with Brent. Shudder.

But she could imagine herself getting it on with tall, blond, and tight-assed.

The only silver lining to having to stay in Oak Stand was the judge putting Adam in charge of her case. If she had to perform community service, at least she could do it under him. Or she could do it on top of him.

She was flexible. Literally.

Her dirty thoughts made her giggle.

It was unlikely she would act on anything. Adam was the chief of police, a position he obviously took very seriously. After the kiss in the jail cell, she doubted he would allow temptation to overcome professionalism again. Even if temporarily losing their heads had been mutually pleasurable.

Kissing Adam had accomplished what she'd been searching for. He'd unstuck her. Given her back the piece she thought she'd lost when John had abandoned her. For that, she'd be grateful. And she would try to behave herself.

Try being the key word.