Jennifer Greene: Irresistible Stranger

Some days, that struck Griff’s sense of humor, since it made no sense to him why women would be attracted to scoundrels. When he looked in the mirror he saw nothing particularly interesting, just an ordinary six-three guy who shaved every other day-when he remembered-had his dad’s chiseled bones and his mom’s sloe eyes, and a head of black hair that never stayed brushed. He owned the small-scale ice cream parlor, as if he didn’t have a serious ambition in the universe, never publically got involved in anything meaningful or troublesome-except for women, of course, but a guy had to have some vices. Yet, without knowing a single good thing about him, the women flocked. It was an amazement.

This particular soft sweetie, though, took the dazzle off the smile faster than most. Still, she didn’t send him packing altogether. “I take it you’re a fan of this ice-cream flavor?” she asked.

“I’ve kind of been hired by the owner to do the focus group thing. You know. Find out why a customer chooses a certain flavor. Then, whether they’re happy they made that choice. And I know what pretty much every kid in town thinks, so it’s nice to have someone new, get a fresh opinion.” He was in the chair across from her before she could object, and once he’d put out that agenda, she seemed to relax again.

“Well…I chose the flavor because it sounded interesting. And looked interesting. And so did all the others, so I just figured I couldn’t go far wrong. But the first taste of this-” Alarmed, she saw a drop of ice cream start to slide down the cone. Her tongue found it faster than a soft little whip.

He was in love. That fast.

Not for the first time. He always fell in love fast, got over it just as fast, but man-she was adorable.

“This taste,” she murmured, and hesitated. “You just can’t know if you haven’t tried it. But-”

“Tell me,” he coaxed.

“Well…there’s a hint of dark chocolate. And vanilla bean. Then a little burst of fruit-like sweet cherry, maybe, or that sweetness in the skin of a ripe purple grape? But there’s still something else.” She took another lick, closed her eyes, thought. “A crunch. Like maybe just a pinch of almond. It’s all there, in the smells, the tastes, the textures. Like putting every fabulous flavor in the universe together in one ice cream. Yet it’s subtle.”

She looked at him, as if to make sure he wasn’t bored by her analysis. He wasn’t remotely bored. He was beyond interested. He was prepared to listen to her all afternoon-at least until the kids started piling in.

“Are you in town for long?” he asked.

“Just the summer. I used to live here when I was a little girl. I just came back…to see what I remembered.”

“Bring your husband and kids with you?”

She wagged a finger at him. “You’re good.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“You already looked, so you know I don’t have a wedding ring. But I’m only here for eight weeks-for absolute sure, not a minute longer. And I think you’ll find, after a few days, that I’m not a friend you’ll want to have.”

“Come again?”

“I strongly suspect people won’t appreciate my being in town. Still. Unless you ask me not to, I’ll be back for more ice cream.” She stood up, pulled the strap of her purse to her shoulder. “Can I ask your name?”

“You bet, cher. Griff Branchard.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “So it’s yours? Griff’s Secret?”

“All mine. And I’m easy to find, so when you get the urge the next time-well, the next one’s on me.” He couldn’t imagine her doing anything that would offend people. Her eyes were as honest as sunshine; the way she walked and moved was characteristic of a woman easy within herself. Except for the greed and lust thing of course, but that was about temptation. “And you are…?”

“Lily. Lily Campbell.”

“You’re welcome here any time. Might as well know now that I’m real likely to ask you to dinner one of these days.”

“I won’t hold you to it,” she promised him, and with a smile, aimed for the door.

He almost followed her out, wanting to ask a few more questions-she’d raised more curiosity and interest than he could simply let go of-but then Jason showed up from the back room. Jason was scruffy and scrawny and looked chronically underfed. The kid worked harder than a dog, never back talked, never looked up if he had a choice. The shiner on his right eye was new since yesterday, and he was walking too careful, like something hurt out of sight.

Griff turned away from her and aimed for the kid. The stranger was pretty and puzzling and appealing, but when push came down to shove…well, there just wasn’t a choice. The kids had to come first.

By the time he had a chance to glance back, Lily Campbell was already out the door and had disappeared from sight. But he knew damn well he’d track her down and find out the story before another full day passed.

Recharged and renewed, Lily felt as if she’d gotten her pluck back. Even heading outside into the furnace heat and humidity didn’t dent her determination this time. She jogged across the last street and headed up the steps to the old, redbrick police station. Only then did her heartbeat catch up with her, and she had to suck in a gulp of air.

She’d felt alone before. She’d been alone before. When it came down to it, she’d felt alone ever since she was eight years old. Her two sisters meant the world to her…but this was different. Either they didn’t remember the fire, or they didn’t remember the tragic events of that long ago night the way she did.

She was tired of being haunted.

Quietly, she pulled open the door. The view inside might not be familiar, but it seemed triter than truth, nothing unexpected. Likely, every small-town police department had a similar long counter, a range of battered gray desks, linoleum that was always going to look scuffed. The place smelled vaguely of disinfectant and perspiration.

“Yeah, honey, what do you need?” The uniformed woman behind the counter had amazingly bleached hair, old eyes, and a printed tag that read Martha. Even though she looked buried in paperwork to the gills, she took the time to offer Lily a patient smile.

“Hello. I…well, I don’t know who the sheriff is now, but I was hoping to talk to whoever may have replaced Herman Conner-”

“Chief Conner’s right here, honey, nobody’s likely to replace him until he gets around to retiring…which he said he was gonna do five years ago and still hasn’t. Chief, ” she hollered, “pretty lady’s here to see you.”

“I’ve tole you and tole you, not to shout like I’m working for you. You buzz the phone or you come here to get m-”

Lily never expected to recognize him-and heaven knew, he’d aged-but one look and she was transported back in time. The sheriff probably never noticed her that night, but her memories were mirror-clear.

She and her sisters had been huddled on the curb; someone had dropped a scratchy blanket over all of them, but still they all shook. The sheriff’s face had been backlit by fire as he was talking to the firemen. The sirens, the heat, the cold, the fear, the smoke-Lily remembered every taste, sound, texture. She wished she didn’t. Her sisters had been mute like her, in shock like her. Cate, the oldest, had an arm tucked around Lily. Sophie, the youngest, was crying her heart out.

And Lily couldn’t stop looking at the sheriff’s face, because she’d identified him as the one adult who could give them some hope. Herman Conner was skinny as a blade back then-sharp nose, sharp bones, a fast, sharp decision-maker-some said impulsive. Some said, once he judged you on the wrong side, he never forgot. Everybody said he could make a body jump when he got riled up.