Hot Pursuit - Denise A. Agnew [27]
“Vic, be careful.”
“Always.”
After he hung up and grabbed his coat again, he wondered, What the hell am I doing? Letting my Johnson tell my story? “Maybe you are, old man.”
He didn’t care.
Chapter Seven
Mrs. Frances Maryweather, who owned the bed and breakfast, corralled him at the front of the Victorian house. She was what his grandmother would call blowsy. He didn’t know what her blonde wig hid, but it wasn’t a very good wig if he could tell she wore one. It wasn’t that she wasn’t pretty. She looked about forty, and yet her face had few lines. Her grey eyes were silvery and as predatory as a wolf. She appeared perpetually surprised, her mouth an O of amazement no matter what he said. She’d flirted with him every time she saw him. Rather than being repulsed, he treated her with amused respect.
She put her hand on her generous hip, the jumper she wore dotted by paint stains. She’d been working on painting the downstairs washroom apparently. “Mr. Moore. How are you this evening?”
“I’m fine.” He smiled and nodded. “And yourself?”
Her grin turned from flirtatious to curious. “You’re going out in this weather? I heard there’s a big snowstorm coming tonight. A blizzard. You don’t want to get caught in it.”
“I’m not going far. But thanks for worrying.”
She cleared her throat. “Listen, normally I’m not nosy, but I heard about that fight you got into.”
Amazed she hadn’t mentioned it before, he nodded. “Wasn’t much of a fight. He tried to put my lights out. I just blocked him from doing it.”
She fluttered her artificially long lashes in old-fashioned female appreciation. “That’s what I heard. You must be in very good shape.” She sauntered closer and he stiffened. “I mean, there aren’t enough men around Clarksville like you.”
He tried not to laugh. “I’m sure there are. Look, I need to get going.”
She stood at an angle that looked blatantly artificial, like a mannequin or model at a photo shoot. She smiled and her large breasts pushed against her turtleneck. “Sure you don’t want a thermos of hot coffee to take with you?”
He grinned. “No, thanks. I’ll get something at my friend’s.”
“What friend? Maybe I know them.”
“Lucy Creed. She owns the photography shop just off main.”
Once again her mouth opened, eyes widened. “Oh. Her.”
Her cool, almost contemptuous tone took him off-guard. “Her?”
“She’s…well, there are a couple of rumors.”
He was damned ashamed to say he wanted to know the rumors. “Oh?”
“She’s been hanging around with that man who beat you up.”
He gave her a half-amused laugh. “Do I look beat up to you?”
“Uh, no. Of course not. I mean, people were saying he tried to beat you up, but he couldn’t and well, anyway…” She flapped one hand in dismissal. “Lucy’s been seen with that man. So I didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”
Vic came this short of telling her to mind her own business.
“That’s Lucy’s business, I’m sure.” The woman’s mouth opened, as if she planned to add more, but he cut her off at the pass. “Well, I need to go. See you later.” He waved and headed out the front door as quickly as he could.
Wind caught the door and slammed it behind him as if to punctuate the disgust he felt for the inn owner’s gossipy personality. He shivered as another heavy gust of wind blew snowflakes across the ground, swirling at his feet. His stocking hat, parka and thick sweater fought off the rest of winter. He was nuts for traveling when snow promised to turn into a blizzard. At the same time, he wanted to see Lucy, and she apparently wanted to see him. He wondered if Lucy had gone back to the ass wipe who’d treated her so badly, and he hoped the hell not. He doubted it if she’d invited him over.
With that in mind, he drove his SUV slowly as the night closed around him. Two inches of snow had already accumulated in the short time he’d been in his room. Wind picked up, howling as it bombarded his vehicle. Damn, this was coming on quickly. No one with any sense moved on the roads. A police cruiser made its way down the street and drove as slowly as Vic did. It didn