Hot to Trot (Dancing in Texas #5)

Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

S CARLET WAVED HER ARMS. "Cut!"

Juan frowned. "What? I said it right that time."

“Juan, this is a tender moment. You've learned your grandmother, the dear woman who tucked you in your bed and told you lovely fairy tales, is the Magpie. Her spirit inhabits the bird and is guiding you in the quest for the jewel. We need more emotion. How do you feel? Imagine it is your grandmother," Scarlet said, stomping up the steps and stepping across the masking-tape lines stage of the Oak Stand auditorium.

"Yo, my abuela smoked unfiltered Camel cigarettes and ran a gas station. She was too damned tired to tuck me in," Juan muttered.

Tito snickered. "My abuela was a sex worker.”

Scarlet frowned at him, wondering if that was true. Not her business. Instead she snapped her fingers. "Focus. This is acting. Feel free to pretend your grandmother is a freaking fairy godmother. Summon tenderness."

Miguel Two raised his eyebrows. "Tenderness is for pussies. I’m hard. You can come see for yourself.”

Scarlet whirled around and stabbed a finger at Miguel One and Miguel Two. “That’s it. I'm tired of the sexual innuendos. You're not clever. You're not sexy. And I don't want to have sex with either one of you. So keep your hardness to yourself and your mouth shut.”

"Damn, dude. She smoked your ass," one of the guys said.

Scarlet blinked. “What you're doing is considered harassment. This center is preparing you for the world, a different world than the one you lived in. Women are people. They are colleagues. They are bosses. You cannot make those types of comments and not expect to be reprimanded, fired, or even prosecuted for it. Mind your tongue and put the brakes on your sexist comments.”

Silence fell. Miguel One looked, dare she say it, ashamed.

"Now, get your asses up here and let's get this scene right."

"I hope I get a boss like her," Marco said, trudging across the stage.

Scarlet closed her eyes and counted to ten.

"What, gringita? I hope I get a hard-ass like you. You want it done right. Perfect. I used to work at Subway for this dude who spent all day in the john, looking at porn. He blamed me and the other girl every time something went wrong. I hated working there."

"Just so you mean it in that way."

Marco shrugged. "Whatever. Let's do this scene."

"Places." She pointed out marks as Aunt Frances appeared stage right. "Okay, let's run it. Action!"

The guys started going through the motions of the scene without any real enthusiasm, so she stepped over to her aunt. "Thanks for asking the principal to allow us to use the auditorium. It really makes a difference."

Aunt Frances patted the curve of her hair and delivered a secretive smile. "I know how to get what I want from a man."

Scarlet arched an eyebrow. "I bet you do."

"He owed me a favor. Besides, he thinks it will be a good thing for the community. He was opposed to the book until he read it. Now he doesn't want others to do what he did - make a snap judgment."

"Funny how people make assumptions without really knowing what lies beneath. Facades. We're surrounded by them."

"We all wear them, don't we? Me. You. Especially you."

"Because I'm an actress?"

''Mmm." Aunt Frances watched the guys on the stage pull on the curtains. "You boys stop messing with those curtains. Do you have any idea how much those things cost?"

The former gang members straightened as if a drill sergeant had stepped on deck. It made Scarlet smile. Something she hadn't done since Adam had left her several nights ago. Thoughts of John, Adam, and her career swirled through her head. Her thoughts felt so heavy. The play. The probation. The fact Stefan hadn't answered her phone calls.

"Yo, can we go now?" Marco called. "We've done it eight times today. How many more run-throughs do we need? If Miguel don't get his shit together and learn his lines, we're gonna look like a bunch of-"

"Watch your language," Aunt Frances said.

"Yes, ma'am." Marco said.

Miguel Two’s response was to flip his fellow actor the bird. Marco reciprocated.

"Okay, enough," Scarlet called, moving onto the stage. "We need to adjust some lighting. Stand in your places for scene two."

The guys dragged their feet and stood at their marks so Scarlet could make notes on the clipboard she carried with her. This time the clipboard served a purpose. She scratched a few instructions for the high school kid who ran the light-and-sound booth. "Okay. Practice tomorrow at nine o'clock. Now, get out of here."

Her actors dispersed, their goodbyes moderately more polite than in the past. Aunt Frances drew the curtains into place, turned off backstage lights, then disappeared into the dressing room. Darkness descended, broken by the exit signs. Scarlet sank onto one of the auditorium seats and allowed her sigh to fill the space.

Hmm. Good acoustics.

Scarlet pulled the cell phone Adam had insisted she carry from her pocket and stared at the message icon. She had one message.

John.

She pressed the button, opening the screen where his voice mail sat awaiting one little tap of her finger. Before she could think too much about it, she pressed Delete. She didn't want to talk to him anymore, not after what had occurred between her and Adam in the backyard. Something had changed her as she stood not quite in Adam's embrace. It was as if the very meaning of the bed-and-breakfast had taken hold of her. Finding things where least expected.

Adam had wiped her clean so that she was a blank slate, awaiting a new story. John was a book she’d already read. Closed. Tucked away. Done.

After all, he’d had plenty of time to say something to her. To answer her question of why he’d ended their relationship. But he hadn't bothered then. Instead, he'd refused her calls and turned away from her when she'd seen him at a premiere, giving no other explanation than "It's over."

Scarlet shook her head, as frustrated now as she'd been over a year ago. Which was stupid because a man who walked away for no reason didn’t deserve second or third thoughts.

She shoved the phone into her pocket as someone sat down beside her. "You've got your work cut out for you, chickadee."

"Ugh, stop scaring me like that, Aunt Frances."

"CIA, remember?"

"But do you really have to sneak upon people? Wear a charm bracelet or something."

"I recognize that little wrinkle in your forehead. You were deep in thought, staring at that phone of yours. What's got you upset? The play?"

"Nope, I don't expect perfection from these guys. Just something passable."

Aunt Frances smiled. At least what seemed to be a smile. Could have been a grimace. It was dim. "That doesn't sound like you. Passable? Ho hum? Not my Sum-Scarlet."

"I can't make them care about this. Acting isn’t important to these guys."

"So make it important. Give them a stake in it. Do they know how the town feels about the book? It's pretty much the way the town felt about the center and Rick when Phoenix was being built. People gave it the side eye.”

"What do you mean?"

“A lot of folks around here didn't want the rehabilitation center near our town. Terms like thieves and lowlifes were tossed around. They sure changed their tune when those fellows showed up to help rebuild the community after the tornado. Rick and his ex-gang members were a godsend. So compare The Magpie's Jewel to the center. Let them create a platform about judging a book by its cover."

Scarlet studied her aunt's hands as they tapped a tune on the wooden arm of the chair. "You're pretty darn smart."

Her aunt grinned. ”Yes, darling, you get it from me."

“And my sass.” Scarlet paused, thinking about who she was and how she was perceived. “Still, when it comes to some things, I'm as dumb as a... as a..."

"Post? Brick? Sick camel?" Aunt Fran said.

"Sick camels are dumb?"

“Sorry. Got carried away."

For a moment, they sat in silence. "Can I ask you something, Aunt Fran?"

"Shoot."

"What do you think of Adam Hinton?"

"The chief?"

"Yeah."

Her aunt gave her a piercing look. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't really know much about him. Like how he ended up in Oak Stand."

Aunt Frances seemed to be digging around Scarlet's psyche with that gaze. Scarlet hated when she did that. Hated more the thought of what she might uncover. "You're not trying to get dirt on him or something, are you? Because he's a good man."

"You know me better than that. I don't have a grudge. I guess I sorta like him."

''As in like him like him?"

She didn't want to answer. So she didn't.

“Well, the council hired him out of a pool of applicants. They were smart for once and brought in someone from the outside. Let's face it, Dan Drummond was a good ol' boy and some changes needed to be made."

Scarlet had deduced as much. But she wanted to know about Adam. Who was he? Where had he come from? And why had he chosen Oak Stand?

"He's divorced. I got that tidbit from Roz. She says his ex-wife calls every now and again, which makes Adam grumpy."

Scarlet almost blinked. Now, that was something she'd not known. His words about making something work, building a relationship on sand, came back to her.

"Roz also said his family is loaded to the gills with old money. His mother came to town a few months back, wearing fancy clothes and driving an expensive Audi, but Adam certainly doesn't act as if he's wealthy. He lives in a small house and the only expensive thing I've seen is his classic Corvette."

"Old money, huh? I'm surprised girls aren't lining up."

"Oh, they have. Don't think for a minute there aren't some mamas around town pushing their daughters toward the good chief. In fact, the mayor's daughter has a date with him for the picnic Monday."

Pain struck her hard and low. Adam had a date? Monday? She hoped her aunt couldn't see her shock. Her hurt. She swallowed. "Oh."

But Aunt Frances was like a hound dog on a scent. "Oh?"

"Don't say it like that. I have a little crush. No big deal." So what if Aunt Frances knew she had a thing for the chief?

"That's not like you, either. Sounds like a challenge. An opportunity. Don’t accept defeat so easily.”

"I'm not accepting defeat." Scarlet felt the sting of irritation. She wasn't giving up. She didn't have a chance to begin with, no matter what they'd done, or not done, in the shadows of Mr. Hines's maple tree. "I can't mix it up with him anyhow. It would be misconduct."

"Why?”

“Because. l'm under like under his jurisdiction or whatever for my community service. He’s not the type to risk his career for a little horizontal mambo with the trashy actress."

"That's how you see yourself? And is that all you want from him? Sex?”

Scarlet deflated. "I don't know what I want. Everything feels so backward. My professional life is going gangbusters but my personal life is sucking…is sucking…like, uh…”

"I'm not going to touch that one."

At that Scarlet smiled. "Yeah, I'd let it go, too."

Aunt Frances pushed a strand of hair behind Scarlet's ear. "Listen, baby, life ain't no fairy tale, no matter what you read in a book. It knocks you around sometimes and just plain hurts. Sometimes a girl can't wait on a guy to rescue her."

"That's the last thing I need, Aunt Fran. I don't want a guy who thinks he has to save me... even if it's from myself." Her thoughts flitted to John. Was that what had happened? Had she relied on John to save her? To guide her career? To give her direction at a time when she lacked her own game plan? Maybe he'd seen the writing on the wall and abandoned ship. "I'm not looking for a knight on a white horse or police cruiser."

"That's not what I meant, child. I meant, sometimes a girl has to go after what she wants. Some men are worth that. Your uncle Travis was, and the good Lord knows I had to make him sit up and take notice. I actually had to ask the man out myself."

Scarlet smiled at the thought of her aunt giving chase to the quiet, humble man who'd planted blueberry bushes on the property line of the elementary school so the kids could eat the berries at recess. It had pissed the teachers off...and a couple of mothers who couldn't get the stains out of their kids' clothes. Uncle Trav hadn't thought of anything other than pleasing the kids of Oak Stand Elementary. It was Scarlet's favorite Uncle Travis tale. Oblivious. That was what her aunt had always called him. "That man didn't stand a chance."

“Nope, he didn’t. And you’re more like me than you know. I'm thinking you need to go to that picnic."

Scarlet didn't answer. She hadn’t planned to attend the town's annual event, but the thought of Adam with another girl messed with her intentions. She could see Sophie. Probably blond hair, cut in a shoulder-length bob. Blue eyes. Rounded cheeks. She probably smiled a lot and knew how to tell homemade cookies from store-bought ones. She would wear a floaty skirt and a demure top, spread out a patchwork quilt her grandmother made, and set the chicken she'd fried that morning on a platter in the center. Sophie would laugh at all of Adam's dorky jokes.

Scarlet hated her already.

"Sophie's a sweetheart. Teaches at Oak Stand Elementary and has such a way with kids. She's perfect for Adam. Already half in love with him."

She knew what her aunt was doing, but couldn't stop herself from falling in the trap. "Really? Half in love with him?"

"Uh-huh. If it were me, I'd do whatever it took to step over Sophie's broken body to get to that man. You’re only under his supervision for a few more community service hours.”

Scarlet didn't respond. The spring of hurt gushing from her heart had joined forces with jealousy and was mixing it up with anger. She and Adam had had phone sex, or whatever the hell it was. The man had virtually screwed her with his eyes, and now he was going out with some paragon of virtue? What the hell?

"If you're merely interested in fulfilling some urges, you might as well leave him to the girl. He'd probably be perfectly happy with milquetoast. He seems to look for that in everything he does. Like he's afraid to color his life too much."

Her aunt’s assessment seemed to be true. Everything about the man was discreet, neat, and orderly. No bright colors. No coloring outside the lines. No mess. Yet, she sensed he'd so enjoy the wind in his hair, blasting Metallica on the radio, and sex on the hood of his Corvette.

"You know what color would look good on that man?" She turned to her aunt and lifted an eyebrow, a la Bette Davis.

"What?"

"Scarlet."

ADAM FIDDLED WITH THE CORD of the telephone on the wall of his kitchen. It had been a while since he'd had a phone with a cord. The retro style suited him fine, even if it did mean staying in the one room while talking on it. "No, Mom. I appreciate you wanting to come to Oak Stand for the picnic, but it's not necessary. I actually have a date with a nice, acceptable girl."

“Acceptable? In Oak Stand?" his mother’s voice suggestion there was not such thing.

He closed his eyes and counted to only three. "Yeah, they have some of those around here. Go figure."

"Don't get smart, mister. You may be nearing thirty, but-"

''I just turned thirty-two, Mother."

“Heavens! Let's keep that between you and me."

His lips twitched. His mother sometimes made him want to stab his eyes out with a pin, but he'd forgo the whole Oedipus thing. She was a giant snobby pain in the ass, but she was still his mother... and he loved her.

"I'll leave you to your acceptable girl and come another weekend. I have swatches of fabric I'd like to test against the walls in the living room. You did call the painter, didn't you? And that handsome contractor? I've already paid him to refinish those floors."

"Um, no. I like white walls and the floors are fine."

Her huff of breath was all too familiar. Why did she have to meddle? And try to decorate his life with curtains, paint, and women?

"It's bad enough you're living in a veritable shack, but to refuse to spruce it up... I don't understand you, Adam. You settle for the ordinary when you could have the extraordinary."

"I like ordinary, Mother. It suits me."

"Does it really? Or have you convinced yourself playing Average Joe will solve all your problems? You're not average. You're something pretty special, and I'm not talking money here, sugar. I'm talking about who you are. Why in the world would you desire to fade into the background?"

He studied the refrigerator hunkered against the stove that rattled when he boiled water. Rust formed on the bottom of the appliance, marring the white surface with a spot of undesirable color. "I'm not settling. I like this town and who I am in it. I know you don't understand, but I've always been a Hinton and that's not easy. Here, I’m the chief. I go to church. I fish. I mow my own grass. I-”

"I understand that you want to be Andy Griffith or whatever. But I feel as though you're searching for something you won't ever find. Your life as a Hinton wasn't perfect, but your life as Adam, the chief of police, won't be, either. You can't line up your life and expect it to fall into place as pretty as you please because that’s how you wish it. Doesn't work that way. You’re creating a make believe world that you think you can control. You’re intentionally making yourself into a character and that’s not living.”

He chewed on her words for a moment. Guilty as charged. Maybe that's why the idea of taking Sophie to the picnic had never sat right with him. Not only because he'd tumbled into something he didn't want to put a name to with Scarlet, but because Sophie seemed made to order. Cookie cutter perfect for him. But not what he wanted to eat. "You're right, Mom."

"Lord have mercy! Let's mark this day on the calendar."

He chuckled. "I'll get my pen out."

"Adam, I love you. And I want the best for you, even if I’m bougie, somewhat shallow, and too concerned with the color of your walls. I'm still planning to visit. With my swatches."

His mother's voice had grown soft, sweeter than he'd ever remembered. Was there something wrong with her? A thread of fear squeezed his throat. ''Mom? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I simply don't say that enough to you, and I should."

Adam twisted a knot into the cord. "I love you, too. And I might even unlock the door if you leave those curtain samples in Houston. I don't want anyone girling up my bachelor pad."

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll just order gray curtains. You measure the windows.”

They said their goodbyes, he hung up the receiver, and stared at the rust spot. He needed to get some paint to cover the stain or it would spread. Or he could get a new fridge. And maybe he should cancel his date with Sophie. Wasn't fair to lead her on. Yet to bow out at such a late date would be ungentlemanly. Besides, Sophie was a nice girl. Maybe she'd grow on him.

Because Scarlet couldn't be the right woman for him. After next week, she'd be gone. Back to New York. Maybe even back with the man she swore she still loved.

Jealousy flooded him, hot and vicious. He had no right to feel envious of a phantom lover. Yet he did. He hated whoever had broken Scarlet's heart. The man should have his damn head examined to toss her over. She was extraordinary.

His mother's words floated back to him.

You settle for ordinary.

Maybe he should go for extraordinary. Allow life to fall outside the lines he'd drawn for himself. He could end up hurt. Or fired. But could he truly be happy sitting between his plain white walls with the knowledge that he settled for ordinary when he might have had a chance with a woman who made his heart pound? A woman who made his hands sweat. Made him laugh. Made him want to take a walk in a thunderstorm. Make love beneath the night sky. And paint his front door to match her gorgeous hair.

Maybe, for once in his life, his mother made sense.

He was tired of gray curtains and white walls.

A little color never hurt.