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Evidently Julia thought so, too. When she looked at Laurel, her amber hazel eyes filled with sympathy, and something more. Perhaps a touch of exasperation? Nonetheless, she wound a comforting arm around the woman she’d known for years. “You don’t have to associate with him, Laurel.”
Laurel heaved a watery sigh and laid her head on Julia’s shoulder. Her moment of vindictiveness had dissipated into a kind of childish helplessness that Cathy had seen her employ before. “I don’t see how I can avoid it.”
Gwen’s eyes were avid. “You can bet he’ll be showing up everywhere, shaking hands, making amends. Heck, most of the town’s already forgiven him. They still think he’s the greatest thing since Oxie Shaw made the basket that beat Buxton.”
“It wasn’t for them to judge him in the first place.” Short, auburn-haired Allie Colton Spangler was staunchly proHeartbreak. Not even the circumstances of Laurel’s jilting had shaken her good opinion of the man. The Coltons and the Brodys had been neighbors; Allie had grown up with Zack. Their relationship had never been romantic—which may have been why she was the only currently married woman among them—but they had been extremely close. Even her husband accepted that Heartbreak would always own a special place in Allie’s heart.
“What Zack did was wrong.” Once roused, Julia’s disapproval was fierce. “It may have turned out that he had a good reason, with his brother and all, but to skip town on the day of the wedding without explanation, leaving Laurel to contend with all the mess and questions—” Lips compressed, Julia shook her head in censure. “No wonder she can’t forgive him.”
Laurel swept aside the lustrous wave of rich chestnut hair that had fallen across her face. “Oh, I hate to remember. It was so humiliating….”
Faith cooed with commiseration.
Idly, Cathy drew elaborate swirls and curlicues on her practice paper. No calligraphy tonight. Since Heartbreak’s actions had stuck Laurel with the role of tragic jilted heroine whether she liked it or not, the woman had chosen to play it to the hilt. There would be no quick end to the dramatic embellishments of her legendary trauma.
A temporary escape seemed advisable. Feeling guilty about the short shrift of her sympathy for Laurel, Cathy offered to make a quick run to the Central Street Café for coffee and sweets.
When she returned ten minutes later with a tray of steaming foam cups and a box of assorted baked goods, Laurel was in better shape. Or at least sitting upright, Cathy noted as she distributed coffee, plastic spoons, and packets of sugar and cream. Progress.
“He shouldn’t get away with it,” Laurel said, adding a minuscule sprinkling of sugar to her coffee. Color flamed high in her cheeks; her green eyes were unnaturally bright. “I’ve suffered. So should he.”
Cathy held her tongue. Laurel’s “suffering” included the condolence gift of a fashionable dress shop by her placating parents, considerable leeway from the townsfolk and a steady string of suitors eager to restore her faith in men.
Julia agreed—with caution. “A stern scolding is in order.”
Gwen snorted. “A scolding? How about a tar-and-feathering?”
Wide-eyed, Allie put down a half-eaten doughnut and wiped powdered sugar off the tips of her prominent nose and jutting chin. The unorthodox features were at odds with her bubbly personality and rounded figure. “Are we talking revenge?” Allie’s eyes glinted. She may have been Zack’s champion, but she was also an inveterate prankster. “Hmm. Well. Gee. Maybe one nasty turn does deserve another.”
“Teach him a lesson,” Gwen vowed, spraying cookie crumbs.
“Break his heart,” Faith put in.
The women turned toward Faith as one, clearly struck by the idea.
The quiet secretary’s gaze lowered. Her chin dropped. “Why shouldn’t he know what it feels like?” she murmured into her coffee, giving them a quick glance through her colorless lashes.
As far as Cathy knew, Faith Fagan’s only connection to Zack was the crush she’d been nursing ever since he’d rescued her from drowning in Mirror Lake during his suitably legendary stint as town lifeguard. The women’s description of Heartbreak in swimming trunks—handsome, tanned, sporting sun-bleached highlights, a mile-wide chest and a six-pack of tight, toned abs—was so vivid that Cathy could almost see him herself when she closed her eyes and concentrated. Which she found herself doing all too often.
Gwen gave one sharp clap of her hands. “Exactly.” Twice divorced, it was her contention that a formative junior-high fling with Heartbreak had ruined her for other men. Ordinary men.
Julia frowned. “Let’s not be harsh.”
“You know, I think Faith’s hit on something.” Allie was contemplative. “Now, I’m not saying I want to see Zack hurt. But it does make sense that if he were to have an inkling of how his ex-girlfriends feel, maybe he won’t be quite so cavalier in his treatment of the next woman.” Her long, narrow nose twitched. “And we all know there’s going to be a next woman.”
“With Zack,” Julia said, nodding, “there always is.”
“It’s about time—” Gwen snapped her chocolate-chip cookie in half “—for Heartbreak to experience heartbreak.”
“But how?” Faith asked.
“Hmm.” Laurel’s eyes narrowed. “All we need is a woman. A beautiful woman, obviously. Someone to attract Zack, seduce him to his begging knees, then cut him down cold. Without explanation. Leave him wondering what the hell happened.” She smiled.
“That sounds kind of mean,” Faith murmured.
Laurel’s eyes flashed. “No meaner than what he did to me.”
“I don’t know…” Julia started to say, but Gwen cut her off.
“Where are we gonna find the woman?” she demanded. “Not in Quimby. Heartbreak’s already scorched the playing field.”
“I’m sure there are a number of younger girls who’d be more than willing,” Laurel said through gritted teeth.
Julia shook her head. “A twenty-year-old won’t do. Zack is attracted to more than a pretty face and a nubile body.”
Laurel conceded the point. “I suppose the woman has to have a degree of substance.”
“And intelligence,” added Julia. “Let’s throw out some names.”
“Karen or Kelly?”
Gwen made a face. “Naw, he’s known them forever.”
“Caitlyn Dumbrowski?”
“Bleach job,” Laurel sneered.
“Erica James?”
“Already hooked up with Heartbreak, like, ten years ago.”
“Suzy Maki?”
“With those teeth? She should be seducing a dentist.”
“Then who?”
“Sara Carlisle will be vacationing at her family’s cabin next month,” Julia suggested. “She’s absolutely gorgeous and smart enough to have made it through law school. And a feminist, too. I bet she’d be game, for the good of the cause.”
Allie waved a hand. “Nope, not Sara. Zack already went out with her—somewhere in between you and Laurel. But she was too smart to fall for his smooth moves.”
“Unlike us,” Gwen said, dourly eyeing a fudge bar.
“We need someone new.” With a sigh, Laurel scanned the women at the table for further suggestions. Her gaze skidded to a halt when it reached Cathy’s face, temporarily filled with cherry streusel. Brows arched, she glanced back at Julia. “Someone like Cathy.”
Julia nodded immediately. “Yes. Zack would go for Cathy.”
“Ohh—” Flushing hotly, Cathy put down the streusel and licked her sticky fingers. “Oh, no. Not me.” She threw up her hands, fingertips glistening. “Don’t even consider it. I’m not the type.”
“You could be.” Laurel studied Cathy’s stark ponytail, horn-rimmed glasses and loose, shapeless clothing. “Take off your glasses. And that awful apron.”
Defensively Cathy wrapped her arms around the denim apron that bore evidence of her close working association with paint, glue, papier-mâché and clay. “No.”
Laurel snatched off the glasses. “Uh-huh. See that, girls? Those are good bones. The brows desperately need tweezing, and makeup will make a world of difference, but I see definite possibilities.” She rose gracefully, walked around Cathy and with a tug loosened the ponytail. Cathy’s long wavy hair fell across her shoulders, such a rich shade of sable it was nearly black.
“Ahhh,” the women chorused.
“Why, Cath, you’re beautiful,” Allie said. “I never realized.”
“I’m not—” Cathy swallowed the denial, though it went down like a sticky lump of clay. Objectively, she knew that she was…attractive. Or could be, if she cared to make the effort. After a bit of trial and error in her younger days—a time that had included a brief audacious-babe stage and a mistaken marriage of equally short duration—she had reached the conclusion that she wasn’t comfortable with the attention and perks that came with being a beautiful woman.
“I’m not the type,” she insisted, shrugging Laurel’s hands away from smoothing out her hair. “Please don’t ask me to do this.”
“You won’t have to actually sleep with Heartbreak,” Julia assured her. “In fact, the plan would be more effective if you don’t. Getting him all worked up and then leaving him frustrated would be quite a shock to the guy’s ego.”
Allie chuckled. “No one’s ever done that before.”
“We’ll coach you,” coaxed Laurel. “For one thing—” she grasped a bunch of gauzy fabric at Cathy’s midriff, pulling taut her batik Balinese blouse “—new clothes from my store would make a world of difference. Something sleek and stylish. There’s a waist and hips under here… I think.” She stepped back, considering.
Cathy shifted on her chair, uneasy with the assessment.
“What’s your bra size? I’ve got a new line of lingerie that’s just…” Laurel kissed her fingertips. “Heartbreak will never recover.”
Cathy tightened her crossed arms. “Forget it. Nobody, least of all Zack Brody, is getting a look at my lingerie.” Or lack of it, she thought. Jockey for Her underwear was good enough for this woman. Satin and lace, corsets and garter belts weren’t her style. Or at least she was pretty sure they weren’t.
“I can give you the right look,” Laurel said as if Cathy hadn’t spoken. “Julia and Allie can give you insight into Heartbreak’s mind. We’ll put the whole thing together. All you have to do is follow directions.”
“I can’t,” Cathy said plaintively. Good thing they had no idea how much she wanted to. “Honestly.” She gestured at herself. “There’s no use. I could never pull it off.”
“Not even for womankind?” Allie asked.
“Or for plain old-fashioned revenge?” Gwen chimed in.
Cathy’s heart clenched. “No.”
“Yes,” Laurel said. There was iron in her voice, which belied the hurt expression she’d assumed in begging Cathy’s favor. “C’mon, Cath. You’re my only hope for retribution. Imagine for one minute how terrible I felt when that—that—smooth operator jilted me.” Laurel’s eyes shifted. “Think of how delicious an appropriate payback would be.”
The women murmured in agreement.
Cathy closed her eyes. “I couldn’t. No…” Her denials were losing strength. But not because of Laurel’s devastation or the future of womankind.
Because of Zack.
Twenty-odd years ago, she’d taken him to her tender, wounded heart. The thought of seeing him again, attracting him, seducing him, maybe even loving him—
And making him fall in love with her in return.
Cathy’s eyes opened wide. Of course. That was it. She was being handed the chance of a lifetime!
The women watched her expectantly.
Cathy made a snap decision.
Disregarding both the legend behind Zack’s nickname and the genesis of her own insecurities, she took a deep breath and said with all the courage and conviction she could muster: “All right, then. I’ll do it.”
The women cheered.
For my own reasons, Cathy added silently, smiling weakly as Laurel hugged her around the shoulders.
2
ZACK BRODY hung off the side of the Eighth Street Bridge, staring down at the scalloped river. The water looked as black and hard as polished obsidian, each facet glistening coldly in the light from a crescent moon.
The drop was harrowing.
He hesitated, considering, where once he’d have leapt without fear.
This early in the summer, the water would be cold. Shockingly cold.
Deep. Dark. An oblivion.
His fingertips scraped over rough stone. Bare feet shifted on a narrow ledge of rock, sending a pebble toward the water. Too small for him to hear its splash.
Adam, he thought, his gaze rising to the glowing slice of moon. Laurel.
Suddenly Zack propelled himself off the old stone bridge, his body arching as it sailed through the dark night. For one frozen-snapshot instant, he saw only the blue evening sky, dotted with stars. Then dense treetops, the blur of house lights. A slab of black water seemed to rush up to meet him.
He sliced into it like a blade, his form lacking from his swim team days, but adequate nonetheless. Darkness swirled all around, silvered with tiny bubbles. The harsh cold bit into him, reaching the marrow of his bones, the shock of it driving every thought from his head.
He hung suspended in the depths for one instant, then shot upward, lungs bursting, blood pumping. Home, he thought, breaking the surface, gulping air through an open mouth. Home at last.
And this time he was glad of it.
He began to swim, leaving the keys in his unlocked Jag without a second thought. He’d been gone not quite a year; Quimby wouldn’t have changed. It never had before. This was something he liked about his hometown. Excitement and challenge he’d found elsewhere, with his job as an architect at a cutting-edge Chicago firm. Quimby was for friends, family, bedrock values and lazy Sunday afternoons. Now that he was back, he and Laurel would establish a mutually workable truce. The town, though small, was still big enough for both of them. Even if he decided to stay for good.
He swam briskly, his muscles loosening even though the river was colder than he’d expected. Vastly unlike the heated pool at Adam’s gym in Twin Falls where they’d swum five days out of seven for many months. That had been like being dunked in a bucket of warm soup. This was better.
It had jolted him back to life.
Zack put his head down and plowed through the water, leaving only a narrow furrow of wake.
The memories churning inside him were more disruptive. On the eve of his wedding to Laurel Barnard, a serious car accident had put his estranged brother in the hospital and then in a wheelchair, fighting to regain the ability to walk. Despite the complications of the situation, perhaps because of them, Zack’s first obligation had been to Adam. Each day, each month of therapy had strengthened his younger brother’s body and eased Zack’s guilt, until, finally, both of them were healed. Both of them forgiven.
Now to mend other broken fences. Zack lifted his head from the water, checking his progress. He’d swum past the bend. The Brody house was another seventy yards away, though only the peak of the roof and an expanse of dark shingles were visible amongst the lacy, draped foliage of the weeping willows lining the riverbank.
Already the homey, comforting tranquility of Quimby was sinking into Zack’s pores. The still of the night was broken only by a smattering of porch lights, the blare of a television set near an open window, the shush-swish of the water as he cut through it. A lone bird called from one of the trees. Loop-loop-de-loop.
One foot touched bottom. The other. Cold mud sucked at his ankles. He crashed through the reeds, rising from the water with the heavy denim of his jeans plastered to his thighs.
