Chapter 19
Lindsey fumbled with her key before she finally got it right side up and then actually into the lock. She turned to wave good-bye to Helen and her friend, Henry, who had come to rescue them when they lost track of the number of margaritas each had consumed. Pitchers had probably not been the best idea. Well, one pitcher had been a fine idea. But then that one got empty somehow, and they had to get a new one.
Fortunately, Henry had been on call in case Helen needed rescuing from her bad date. When he texted her to see whether she was having fun or being ax murdered, her response was so margarita-garbled that Henry rushed right over. He was cute, and a history professor, and he and Helen started talking about some papers that had been donated to the Pembroke Library and Lindsey’s eyes started to glaze over until she realized that these two spoke the same language, and surely they would speak the same language in bed.
The sudden stunned silence made her realize she’d said that out loud.
Oops. Well, what was the worst that could happen? Helen and Henry could reveal non-mutual romantic feelings and their relationship could be ruined. Or . . . or they could realize that the mad, passionate love each carried like a secret torch was the same mad passionate love carried in the heart of the other. And they would name their first baby Lindsey.
Or, she could just not drink so much.
The problem with margaritas, in addition to severely impeding her driving, was that they amped her up. Maybe it was the sugar, or some magic in the tequila, but when she drank margaritas, if there wasn’t a dance party nearby, Lindsey was apt to create her own. She needed to find her iPod.
Instead, she found Booger staring mournfully at the back door. “Poor baby,” she said, and let him out.
He made a beeline for the fence, and while she watched him sniff and huff like a crazy beast, she couldn’t help but notice the lights on in the garage.
Old habits die hard, she chided herself.
She and Walker weren’t in a fight. He just needed some space. That was hours ago. Surely hours was enough space. And he had a radio in there, she was sure of it. Iron Maiden radio. They could have a dance party, and then they could do her second-favorite thing to do when she drank tequila.
This would call for seduction. If he was in a funk, the only way to get him out would be some slinky lingerie. He hadn’t seen any of her slinky lingerie. She knew it cheered her up. Had to work on him too.
Propping the screen door open so Booger could come back in when he was done being Booger, Lindsey skipped up the stairs and dug around in the back of her pajama drawer for the robe and teddy set she’d bought when she broke up with Brad. It was a deep burgundy with lace around the edges, very low cut and very short and very silky against her skin.
The effect was somewhat ruined by her flip-flops, but she wasn’t going into that garage barefoot. Besides, if Walker was smart, he wouldn’t be looking at her feet.
She walked out into the yard and stood at the open garage door, listening. He was being pretty quiet. Maybe he was concentrating. Maybe he was napping. “Walker?” she called softly, then stepped inside. She saw a movement in the corner, near the big doors of the garage. “Ha. You can’t hide from me, you know.” She slid the robe off of her shoulders and listened to it whisper against the concrete. “Walker,” she cooed.
But when she rounded the table, the man crouching down at the roots of Walker’s tree was not Walker at all. He was big and bald and had a short beard and suddenly Lindsey didn’t feel so drunk anymore.
Instead, she screamed.
Walker woke up to the scream.
He had been really, really asleep, and it took him a second to process what the sound actually was. Was it even real?
Then the scream came again, followed by Booger barking like crazy.
Lindsey.
He shot out of bed and out the back door. He saw the lights in the garage and all he could picture was Lindsey in a freak air stapler accident. He skidded through the open door.
Lindsey was standing at the base of his tree, screaming at it.
And she was wearing . . . what the hell was she wearing?
He almost said, damn the danger. He wanted to fling her over his shoulder and lock her inside until he could get a really good look at the short, strappy, shiny thing she was wearing. And he might have, had he not caught a movement from the ground.
Someone else was there.
Which explained why Lindsey was wielding a lead pipe.
God, she looked hot.
He took a step forward, and she must have seen him because she turned and opened her mouth again, but this scream died out into a whimper. She was scared, and that drove him into action. In one step, he was in front of her and her pipe, and reaching for whoever was skulking around his garage.
He saw the back of a head, but didn’t take in more than that before he pulled the guy up by the neck of his shirt and shoved him back to the ground.
The guy turned onto his back and put his hands up. “Walker!” he yelled.
The voice stopped him cold.
“Red.”
Goddammit. His father was here.