“Oh my stars, I’d heard you were in town, but folks thought you’d already come and gone. I cannot believe it’s you.” Sidestepping her chair, she scurried out from behind the desk and rushed over, her eyes and smile wide. “I am such a fan. I hope you don’t mind my saying, and I know you aren’t here to be mobbed, but I honestly love every single one of your movies. Starlight Surprise is by far my favorite.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed it, her gaze dreamy and unfocused. “You brought me to tears at the end, when you lost y’all’s baby.”
“Thank you.” I slipped into the character I assumed when chatting with individuals who hardcore enjoyed my work. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”
The woman’s gaze grew more unfocused. “Good Lord, you are just too gorgeous to be real,” she said on a croaky sigh, giving me the sense she was speaking mostly to herself. “You’re like an angel.”
“You are too kind.” I found my smile growing more sincere, her words a boost to my faltering resolve and doubts. An angel never looked desperate, right? What could this woman possibly gain by lying to me? This was a compliment I could trust. “I don’t suppose you could point me in the direction of Deputy James, could you?”
“Jackson?” She blinked, giving her head a little shake. “I’m sorry. Are you here to see Jackson James?”
Okay, so, good. Sienna hadn’t called ahead, Jackson had no idea I was coming, the plan was still in play.
“I am.” I withdrew my fingers from hers and supported the pie with both hands, lifting it up between us. “Sienna asked me to bring over the deputy’s favorite pie while I was out today. Is he here?” This was the story Sienna and I had decided on, and a bold-faced lie. I had no reason to be out and about today other than buying pie for bribing and then propositioning the good deputy.
“Oh! Well, yes. Absolutely, yes.” She nodded, turning suddenly and calling over her shoulder, “The big room is just through here. We don’t usually let civilians inside—unless they’re under arrest—but I think we can make an exception in your case.”
I jolted into action as soon as she pushed through a set of swinging double doors, rushing to follow her inside. She hadn’t waited for me but had marched halfway down the aisle around the perimeter of what she called the big room.
It was clear why it was called the big room, as it was a big room. Packed full of desks—some occupied by women or men in tan uniforms, some empty—the only way through the space without disrupting the buzz of movement and activity was to walk around the perimeter. Bringing the pie closer to my chest, I power walked to catch up to the older woman, and she sent me a grin once I pulled even with her shoulder.
“Jackson’s over there, at the corner.” She pointed to a desk that was the farthest spot from the double doors leading into the room, and I saw him, a fissure of nerves zinging through me as my eyes greedily devoured the sight.
He leaned back in his chair, a phone receiver caught between his shoulder and cheek, his elbows resting on the arms of an office chair while he. . . peeled an apple?
Yes. As I drew closer, I confirmed Jackson was indeed peeling an apple. He held what looked like a small paring knife in one hand and an apple in the other. His eyes were on the piece of fruit, absorbed in his task, and his movements weren’t slow, but they were careful. The apple’s skin dangled in one solid piece, a spiral below where his fingers worked.
“Look at that, he’s finally got it,” the woman next to me said, gesturing to Jackson. Two deputies—also on their respective phones—glanced up as we passed. Like the woman who’d been leaving the station earlier, they both did a double take.
I ignored them. My eyes were fastened to Jackson as heat spread through my body at the sight of his big hands and meticulous movements skillfully slicing through the apple skin. Unlike most of the other deputies in the big room, he wasn’t wearing his uniform. I surmised this was because it was his day off. Instead he had on a plain black T-shirt and jeans. He didn’t spare us a glance as we approached, clearly listening to someone on the other side of the phone, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“I understand that you’re allergic, and I will certainly be glad to check on that, sir,” he said as we drew within earshot. “But if the flowers aren’t over the property line, you can’t remove them. Mrs. Templeton is right, it’s damaging property.”
My stomach gave a little flutter at the deep timbre of his voice. I’d forgotten how wonderful his voice was. Somehow, the deputy sounded firm and reasonable and sympathetic. How did he do that?
My escort halted a few feet away from his desk, just out of his eyeline, and so did I. She clasped her hands in front of her and glanced at me, a creaky smile on her lips. “We’ll just wait ’til he’s finished. Shouldn’t take long.”
I nodded, thankful for the extra time, because I suddenly needed a moment. Swallowing convulsively, I repeated my lines in my head. I just needed to get him alone, flirt a bit, and then make my request. That’s it. That’s all.
Another deputy walked past us as though in slow motion, her mouth hanging open, and her eyes widened as she looked me up and down.
“Holy . . .” the deputy said on a rush of breath, a young-ish woman with her brown hair pulled back in a tight bun. She stopped, gaping at me, and whispered, “Are you—”
“She is,” my escort whispered back harshly, straightening her spine. “And she’s here to see Deputy James. Get back to work, Mable.”
I gave the female deputy a friendly grin as I wrestled with my frazzled nerves and then ended up offering the same grin to three other male deputies who’d also stopped their work to stare at me.
Jackson’s brows pulled lower, and his mouth formed a stiff line. His movements stilled, the apple three-quarters peeled. “Sir, if you can prove they’re over the property line, I’ll be happy to oversee the relocation myself. But you know those are blue ribbon roses and she makes a bundle on prize money during the season. If you touch, remove, abuse, or otherwise molest Mrs. Templeton’s flower beds , she will be justified in pressing charges.” His tone was firmer this time, deeper, tinged with a hint of anger.
My breath caught, a renewed spike of heat flared outward from my chest. God, he was so sexy when he was stern. I guess listening to Deputy James reprimand faceless civilians about the placement of roses really did it for me.
Chuckling a breathless laugh and gritting my teeth, I shook my head at myself, earning a curious side-eye from my escort.
“It’s the reverend,” the woman said in a lowered voice, like this would explain everything.
“The reverend?”
“He and the missus just moved next door to Mrs. Templeton and her acre of rose bushes.”
“A—a whole acre?” My mouth fell open.
“Yes. They’re blue ribbon every year and she supplies the lodge. Her husband planted the garden before his passing—may he rest in peace—and Reverend Seymore is allergic to all flowers. Roses, lilies, peonies—every single kind. Never has any in the church. He uses ferns and branches, I’ve heard.” My escort leaned closer, her tone that of a person who was practiced in the art of gossip. “Why he bought the place, no one knows, but now he wants her to remove the roses and she near pitched a fit, showed up in tears earlier today, inconsolable.” She lifted her chin and sniffed, her dark brown eyes shrewd. “If you ask me, Seymore is a bully. Jackson will put a stop to it.”