Falling For Gracie

“Let go of me.”

He didn’t and he started walking, dragging her along with him.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Inside. We have to talk. If my campaign manager is cheating on his wife, I want to know about it.”

“I don’t think he is. He just doesn’t seem the type. What time did your meeting with him end tonight?”

Riley stopped on the front porch. Light from the big fixture by the front door illuminated his perfect features—dark eyes, high cheekbones and the kind of mouth that made normally reasonable women want to run out and do something really, really sinful. He still wore an earring, but a diamond stud had replaced the gold hoop she remembered so well.

“We didn’t have a meeting,” he said flatly. “I haven’t seen Zeke in three days.”

The churning got worse. Gracie pulled free of Riley’s grip and rubbed her stomach. “That can’t be good.”

“My thoughts exactly. So come inside. I want you to start from the beginning and tell me everything you know about Zeke and his affair.”

“For one thing, I don’t know if he’s even having one. Alexis could be overreacting.”

“Does she usually?” he asked as he held open the front door and motioned for her to step inside.

“I don’t think so. Maybe. I live in L.A. I don’t actually spend all that much time with her.”

She walked into the house and came to a complete stop in the foyer. The place was huge. Old, but beautiful with high ceilings, carved moldings and enough furniture, knickknacks and artwork to monopolize an entire month of Antiques Roadshow.

“Wow. This is pretty cool,” she said as she turned in a slow circle. “I think my entire house would fit in the foyer.”

“Yeah, it’s big. The library’s in here.”

Once again he grabbed her arm and dragged her along. She caught a glimpse of a formal dining room and a parlor or living room before he pulled her into the library. He released her and walked to a liquor tray set up by the window. After setting the gun on the desk, he poured what looked like Scotch into two glasses. She set down her Polaroid.

“Let me say for the record—ouch,” she said as she rubbed her arm again. “I don’t remember you manhandling women before.”

He glared at her, then handed her a drink. “I don’t trust you.”

“It was fourteen years ago, Riley. You really need to let go of the past.”

“I was happy to until you showed up again. You tortured me for two years. They wrote about it in the newspaper. The ‘Gracie Chronicles.’”

Embarrassment made her want to squirm. “Yes, well, that part wasn’t my fault. Can we talk about something more relevant? Like Zeke.”

“Why does Alexis think he’s having an affair?”

Gracie shrugged. “He’s coming home late and not saying where he’s been.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“About six weeks. At first she figured he really was working on the campaign, but the nights got later and later and when he wouldn’t talk about what was going on....” She stopped and glanced at him. “Why are you running for mayor? You don’t strike me as the political type.”

Riley ignored the question and pointed to her drink. “Do you want something different?”

Gracie sniffed the glass, then put it on the desk. “No, it’s great. It’s just stress makes my stomach unhappy.” She pulled a roll of what looked like antacids from her pocket and popped a couple in her mouth. “Terrific room.”

Riley followed her gaze as she glanced at the twelve-foot-high bookcases filled to overflowing. He didn’t bother telling her that the library was one of the few places he felt comfortable in the oversized house.

“Tell me about Zeke,” he said.

“You tell me.” She walked to the leather sofa across from the ornate fireplace and flopped down. “He’s your campaign manager. Is he having an affair?”

“Hell if I know.” Riley paced to the desk and leaned against it. “He talks about Alexis all the time. I would say he adores her.”

“But your meetings don’t run until three in the morning.”

He smiled. “I’m running for mayor, not president.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. Well, I guess I have to tell Alexis that he wasn’t here. She’s not going to like that.”

Riley didn’t much like it, either. The election was only five weeks away and he couldn’t afford a scandal. Not when he was finally making progress with the good citizens of Los Lobos.

He set down his drink and tugged at the picture still hanging from the camera. After peeling off the protective layer, he stared at the Polaroid photo.

It showed the ceiling of the library and a few shelves, but nothing else.

“You’re not very good at this,” he told Gracie.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not trying to be. Despite what you think of me, I didn’t grow up to be a spy or a professional stalker. I bake wedding cakes for a living.”

She was annoyed and indignant, but also embarrassed. Color stained her cheeks and her bottom lip trembled slightly. She’d grown up, filled out, but the basics were still the same. Big blue eyes, long gold-blond hair and an air of determination that had scared the bejesus out of him back then.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “For this and for all that. You know. Before.”

“Are we talking about the itching powder in my boxer shorts?”

“Yeah. I guess. I just....” She leaned forward and traced a pattern on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “Looking back, I can’t believe what I did to you. It was horrible.”

“Folks around here are still talking about it.”

She sat up and looked at him. “Tell me about it. Everyone else gets to leave their past behind, but not me. Noooo. I become a legend. I have to say, it seriously sucks.”

He thought about the laxative she’d managed to sneak into his soup the afternoon before the homecoming dance. “You were creative.”

“I was a menace. I just wanted...” Color flared again. “Well, we both know what I wanted.”

“Date much now?”

She tossed her head. “Some. I’m careful not to bring them here.”

“You don’t want them hearing about the time you lured a skunk into my car, then locked it inside for a couple of hours?”

She winced. “I paid for the cleaning.”

“My car was never the same. I had to sell it. At auction.” He raised his glass to her. “You were hell-bent on breaking up me and Pam.” Based on what had happened, maybe he should have listened.

Gracie’s knowing expression had him thinking she would agree with his assessment. But instead of commenting on that she said, “So what happens next?”

“I find out what Zeke’s up to. I don’t need any trouble right now. Can you get your sister to back off until I have some concrete information?”

When Gracie hesitated, he stared at her. “You owe me,” he reminded her.

She shivered. “I know. Okay—I’ll do what I can with Alexis. But I can’t promise more than a couple of days. She’s a woman on a mission.”

“And we all know what happens when you Landon women set your mind to something.”

“Exactly.” She stood and looked at him. “I’m really sorry, Riley. I know the apology is about fourteen years too late, but I mean it from the bottom of my heart. I never meant to make your life hell.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Do you want me to leave my cell number so you can get in touch with me about Zeke or do you want to call Alexis directly?”

Riley decided on the devil he knew. “Your number is fine.”

He handed her a pad of paper. She quickly wrote on it and passed it back.

“My camera,” she said.

He gave it to her.

“How long are you in town for?” he asked.

“A few weeks. My younger sister, Vivian, is getting married. I’m here to help out with all the details and to make the wedding cake. I rented a house at the edge of town. I need a kitchen to complete my other orders.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

She nodded, then turned the camera over in her hands as if she wanted to say something else. He waited, but she only shrugged, then walked toward the hallway.

He followed her to the front door. She stepped out into the night, then glanced back at him.

“I wasn’t wrong about Pam,” she said.

“I should have listened.”

Her lips curved up in a smile. “Really?”

“Sure. Even a blind squirrel finds an acorn sometimes, Gracie. Good night.”

He closed the door, but didn’t step away. Sure enough he heard a thud, as if she’d just kicked the door.

“That was a low blow, Riley,” she yelled. “A real low blow.”

Despite everything that had happened and everything he had yet to do, he found himself grinning as he returned to the library.

* * *

GRACIE FUMED AS she stalked away from Riley’s house. “A blind squirrel,” she muttered. “My opinion on Pam wasn’t based on dumb luck. Talk about ungrateful. If he’d listened to me, he wouldn’t have married her in the first place. But no.”

She stomped her foot once for good measure, then stopped on the sidewalk. No sign of Alexis or the car. While Los Lobos wasn’t huge, the distance from the Whitefield manor side of town to her mother’s more middle-class neighborhood would definitely qualify as a serious workout.

She turned left and started walking. The night was pleasantly cool with a hint of brine in the air. Even though she’d been gone forever, the town felt familiar. She liked the closeness of the ocean and the quiet residential streets. She might live in a suburb back in Los Angeles, but it was a whole lot louder than this.

At the corner, she glanced back at Riley’s house. He might have grown up poor, but he fit in there now. As she walked across the street, she smiled. Man oh man, had he looked good. She supposed she could take comfort in the fact that even at thirteen she’d had fabulous taste in men. Riley had only gotten better with age. He had the brooding, dark, good looks of a fallen angel. An angel with a diamond stud earring.

Despite her shock and embarrassment at seeing him again, she’d felt something. Sparks. Attraction. No doubt as completely one-sided as it had ever been, which meant she had to make sure she didn’t even pretend to act on it. No way was she willing to be stalker girl again.

A car pulled up beside her. Gracie glanced over and saw Alexis’s Camry. Her sister rolled down the window.

“You got away,” she said quietly. “I’m glad. Get in.”

“What do you mean I got away?” Gracie asked as she opened the door and slid onto the passenger seat. “Were you seriously concerned Riley would take me prisoner and torture me for information?”

“I didn’t know what would happen. I can’t believe your flash is that bright and loud.”

Gracie glanced at her aging camera. “Me, either. Guess it’s really not what I should use for my undercover work.” She returned her attention to her sister. “You left me back there. What’s up with that?”

Alexis hunched over the steering wheel. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t risk being caught.”

“Oh, and I could? Do you have any idea what Riley thought when he found me lurking outside his windows?”

“Nothing he hasn’t thought a million times before.”

That hurt, Gracie thought. “I would like everyone to remember I’ve grown up since then.” She sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I have the information you wanted.”

Her sister looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“I asked Riley about Zeke.”

“What? No!”

Alexis slammed on the brakes, making Gracie grateful she’d fastened her seat belt securely.

Gracie braced her hands against the dashboard. “I talked to him about the problem. He has answers. Why is this a big deal?”

“Because it’s private,” Alexis shrieked. “I didn’t want anyone to know. It’s family stuff and supposed to be a secret. Not that I would expect you to understand that.”

Gracie flinched. She didn’t know if her sister meant the family part or the secret part, and she wasn’t sure it mattered.

“You dragged me into this,” she reminded her sister. “I went along to help you.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just...” Alexis sighed. “What did he say?”

“That to the best of his knowledge, Zeke loves and adores you. But he wasn’t working on the campaign tonight.” She thought about mentioning that Riley was going to talk to Zeke about his extracurricular activities but wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the screeching again.

“Anything else?”

Gracie hesitated.

Alexis pulled up in front of the Landon family home and turned off the engine. “What?” she demanded.

“Riley is going to talk to Zeke about where he goes.”

Alexis dropped her head to the steering wheel and moaned. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I’m not, but it’s not such a bad idea. You’re not willing to talk to your husband about it and someone has to get the truth. Once you know he’s not running around, you’ll feel better.” Gracie touched her sister’s arm. “If you’d just talk to him yourself,” she began.

Alexis opened the driver’s door. “You don’t understand. It’s not that simple. I’m not sure I want to know what he’s doing. If he is fooling around...” She swallowed. “I don’t want to have to leave him, but I will.”

Gracie didn’t want to be having this conversation or any other, at the moment. She had only been home a couple of days and already a week of root canals seemed so much more pleasant.

“Why don’t you wait and find out the truth?” she asked softly.

“Good point. I will. Are you coming in?” Alexis jerked her head toward the house.

At this point Gracie was more than ready to escape to her rental, but she nodded and stepped out of the car. She would duck inside, yell out a greeting and leave. She could rationalize the decision by saying she had to unpack, but the truth was she wanted to be gone because she needed some distance. Too much family stuff too quickly, she thought.

They walked toward the house. As Alexis pulled open the front door, Gracie realized she could hear shouting inside.

“That can’t be good,” she said.

“Sounds like Vivian.” Alexis shook her head. “I hope the wedding isn’t off again.”

“What? Off?” But before Gracie could press for details, her sister had stepped into the house. Gracie trailed after her.

Vivian stood in the center of the room, her face streaked with tears and bleeding mascara, her hands on her hips, her mouth petulant. Their mother sat on the sofa, several brides magazines open on the coffee table.

When she saw Gracie and Alexis, their baby sister sniffed. “I hate Tom,” she said defiantly. “He’s selfish and mean and I’m not going to marry him.”

“Of course you are,” Alexis said soothingly. “You just had a fight. Now tell me what you were arguing about.”

“The bachelor p-party,” Vivian said over a sob. “He said I couldn’t come. But if I’m not there, how will I know what he’s doing? I don’t care about movies and drinking and stuff, but I don’t want him to have s-strip-pers.”

“Does he want to?” Alexis asked.

Vivian hiccupped. “He s-said it wasn’t up to me. He s-said until we were married, he didn’t have to do what I said.”

Gracie wanted to be anywhere but here. She didn’t know if she should simply excuse herself and make a quick dash for her car or pretend an urgent need to use the bathroom. Then she stunned herself by opening her mouth and talking.

“Did you explain that your being at the bachelor party isn’t so much about you telling him what to do as it is about making sure you can begin your marriage in a state of love and trust? I’ve never understood the need for men, or women for that matter, to have a big party where plenty could go wrong that could potentially destroy the relationship they’re trying to celebrate with a wedding.”

Everyone turned to stare at her. Alexis shook her head, as if trying to discourage a not-very-bright child, her mother rose and walked over to Vivian, who had started a fresh storm of sobbing.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Gracie murmured, feeling more out of place by the second.

“It will be fine,” her mother said as she pulled Vivian close. “You and Tom will talk in the morning and things will be better.”

“I g-guess,” Vivian mumbled against her mother’s shoulder. “I j-just want him to love me.”

“Of course you do. It’s all right. Everything will be all right.”

Gracie waved toward the door. “I should leave you to deal with this. I’ll just be going.”

“Good idea,” her mother mouthed.

Gracie did her best not to feel as if she’d made a difficult situation worse and headed back out into the night. She drove across town to her rental house and gratefully walked into the dark quiet.

A few clicks of light switches took care of the gloom and a glance around the kitchen restored her spirits.

She’d already put away her special cooking pans, slipping the ones that wouldn’t fit anywhere else into some open shelves meant for cookbooks. Her cooking schedule was magneted to the refrigerator and she’d used poster tape to tack up her two-page spread from People magazine. The one with the headline What’s Gracie’s Secret?

She crossed to it now and traced the picture of the popular sitcom star from Olive’s Attic as she fed a piece of luscious Gracie-made wedding cake to her husband at the wedding. The second page showed several of Gracie’s cakes, along with a picture of her carefully decorating one of them.

That was her world, she reminded herself. Her house in Torrance, her orders, her perfect kitchen with three full-sized ovens, built-in cooling racks and southern exposure. It was a world she understood—where she was just Gracie. Not anyone’s sister or daughter. She didn’t mess up there. She didn’t feel as if she didn’t belong.

Had it been a mistake to try to come home? The decision had been made and there was no unmaking it.

“Just a few weeks,” she reminded herself. Then she could walk away from all of this and never look back.

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