Chapter Six
“SO, FLYNN SEEMS TO be pretty settled in,” Abbey observed.
Pru used the excuse of digging in the china cabinet for platters to hide her face. “I suppose a gypsy learns to settle quickly wherever he goes.”
“Must be nice having that in the house.”
“That?”
“A guy who looks like that. I mean, damn. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed he’s hot.”
“A woman would have to be dead and six months buried not to notice that,” Pru conceded. She passed platters to Abbey and straightened, heading for the fridge.
“He’s certainly got an eye for you. He watches you whenever you’re in the room.”
Pru made a noncommittal noise and grabbed some bacon. What was she supposed to say to that?
“The air seems to crackle whenever you’re within ten feet of each other.”
“Crackle? Really?” Pru kept her voice dismissive as she began to peel some pears for an appetizer.
Abbey clutched a platter to her chest. “Oh, come on, Pru. Admit it! There’s something going on between you and the Irish hottie.”
She’d admit no such thing because the last thing she needed was something about that getting back to Kennedy. “There’s attraction, yes.” Pointless to deny that. “But Flynn will be leaving soon. What sense would it make to get involved with him?”
“Oh honey, being with a man like him would have nothing to do with sense. He’s the kind to make you lose your senses.”
He certainly was.
“Doesn’t make it any less worth it.”
Pru hoped she was right.
The front door opened. A moment later, the sound of Logan’s voice echoed from the foyer. “Pru?”
“In the kitchen!” she called.
He came straight back, his arms loaded down with two stacked cardboard boxes. With one look at the trays and platters scattered over the counter, he set the boxes to the side. “What’s the party for and why wasn’t I invited?”
“It was kind of a last-minute thing. Flynn met Ford McIntosh at the wedding and found out he was a fellow musician. Since he decided to stick around until Kennedy gets back, he invited Ford over for a jam session, and apparently Ford called every musician in the county. They’re all out back.” Even as she spoke, the tones of conversation and laughter gave way to more music as somebody began picking on a banjo. “Abbey, you want to go ahead and take those extra drinks to put in the cooler?”
With a look that said their discussion about Flynn wasn’t over, she grabbed up the bags of drinks. “On it!”
Logan strode over to the back door as Abbey slipped out and looked at the gathering. “Holy shit. There must be near to twenty people out there.”
“Twenty-two. Hence all the food.” Pru slid a tray of bacon wrapped pears into the oven and moved to the boxes containing this week’s farm share from Logan’s CSA program. “What have we got this week?”
“Some fresh broccoli, carrots, and sugar snap peas, if you wanna put together a veggie tray. Assorted greens, tomatoes, peppers. A couple of onions. Zucchini, of course.”
She mentally reviewed the other ingredients she had on hand and figured she could put out crudités with an herbed cream cheese—Athena had left an easy recipe—and maybe make some quick blender salsa to go with the bags of tortilla chips from the pantry. She grabbed what she wanted and took it to the sink to rinse. “Thanks so much for bringing this by this week. Things have been so crazy trying to juggle my clients and the inn with Kennedy being gone, I just couldn’t get down to the farm.”
“Not a problem. Everything going okay? Need me to pitch in with anything?” She loved that he’d offer.
“No, thanks. This was great. We’re managing.” Largely because of Flynn, but she didn’t see the need in saying that.
“Have you heard from the newlyweds?”
“Not a word, which is as it should be. They deserve a chance to be cocooned in their own little world.” And it meant she avoided any awkward questions about Flynn.
“So, Flynn’s still around.” It wasn’t a question but Pru was determined not to feel awkward.
“He is.” She scrubbed up the fresh carrots. “He’s been helping out, while Kennedy is away.”
“Helping out, huh?” He went quiet, his face set in what she imagined he thought of as non-judgment.
Pru just sliced the tops off the carrots. “Your therapist tricks won’t work on me, Logan. I have nothing to confess.”
“Who said anything about confession? Not me.”
Realizing he’d picked up on something, Pru said the only thing she could think of to turn the conversation. “No, I don’t suppose you do want to confess about what you got up to at the wedding.”
He played dumb. “And what would that be?”
“Two words. Opal. Springs.”
She glanced up in time to see his ears turning pink.
“How did you…?”
“Did you think nobody would notice the wet hair when you got back?” Pru took some pleasure in seeing the unflappable Logan Maxwell off his game. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you and Athena, but I’m staying out of it.”
He looked toward the door, where a blistering fiddle joined the fray. “Message received.”
“What message?”
“You stay out of my stuff, and I stay out of yours.”
It wasn’t what she’d been saying, but if that was his takeaway, fine. She didn’t want to answer questions right now.
“You’re welcome to stay for snacks and music.”
“Actually, I was thinking I’d see if Ari wanted to go riding tomorrow. If you didn’t have other plans for her.”
Pru softened. “She’d love that.”
“How bout I help you finish that veggie tray and carry it out and ask her.”
“Sure. Thanks.” She set him up with the rest of the veggies and another platter to arrange them on, while she whipped up the dip and salsa.
Together, they carried the thrown-together feast out to the long table set up beneath the old bodock tree. All the picnic tables and most of the chairs had been arranged in a horseshoe around it, and musicians sat on every surface. Strings were well-represented, with multiple guitars, three banjos, two mandolins, a couple of other fiddles, in addition to Flynn’s, and even a stand-up bass. There were also a couple of harmonicas and even a dulcimer. The Talbots and the Simpkins—the sweet, older couple from Milwaukee—were camped out in loungers from the porch, grinning broadly as the group finished up a rousing rendition of “Rocky Top”.
“Wonderful!” Joanne Simpkins applauded with enthusiasm. “Oh, this is such fun. Do you always have live music?”
“We’re trying something new,” Pru told her.
“You ought to make this a regular thing,” Kenneth Talbot said. “This would be quite the draw.”
“We’ll give it some thought,” Pru promised. She supposed the other musicians might be talked into coming for a jam session with each other, even if Flynn wasn’t around anymore. But she didn’t know if she wanted the reminder. “We’ve got some light appetizers to tide you over. Please, enjoy!”
A few people set their instruments aside and came to fill a plate.
Done with her work for a bit, Pru perched on the edge of one of the picnic tables to enjoy the music.
“Ari and I have one to share that’s a bit more from my part of the world.” Flynn looked to Ari. “Are you ready, cailín beag?”
She nodded, and Pru watched in fascination as Flynn drew his bow across the strings and Ari began to sing. “There were three old gypsies came to our hall door…”
On the second verse, some of the guitarists picked up the tune, adding rhythm beneath her sweet, sassy voice. Pru hadn’t even known she could sing. When had she learned this?
“Then saddle for me my milk white steed, my big horse is not speedy-oh.” Flynn’s voice rose, as smooth and dynamic as his fiddle. The sound gave Pru chills.
They sparked off each other, hamming it up as they alternated verses, clearly having an absolute ball. Pru was torn between bursting with pride and wanting to burst into joyful tears. Her girl was performing. When the song was over, she stood up, clapping and whistling with all the others.
Joanne Simpkins leaned over. “You have a lovely family.”
The smile and, “Thanks,” were automatic. It wasn’t until she caught Logan’s raised brow that the implications sank in. With them came both pleasure and pain, because she could see it, too. How the three of them looked as a family. They’d slipped into it so easily, and the seduction of that picture was greater than all of Flynn’s skill in bed. But it was an illusion. A temporary state of affairs that would be over before she could blink. Pru knew, then, that she wasn’t walking away from this affair unscathed. Despite her best intentions, she was falling for Flynn, and she didn’t think she could stop herself.
~*~
Flynn admired the smooth expanse of Pru’s bare back as she plucked her shirt—or what was left of it—off the lampshade. “I’ll buy you a new shirt.”
She bent to pick up the scraps of her panties. “Mmhmm. And these?”
“What if I prefer you without them?”
Her arch look was entirely ruined by the color that leapt into her cheeks. “Well, as I can’t very well wear any of this downstairs, you’re donating a shirt to the cause.” She bent to grab one out of the drawer. One he’d found neatly folded and put away earlier in the week because she’d tossed his laundry in with theirs. The shirt dwarfed her, hanging down to mid-thigh. She wasn’t the first woman he’d ever seen in one of his shirts, but she was the only one who’d made him salivate and stir at the sight.
Pru pointed a finger at him. “No.”
Grinning, Flynn rolled off the bed, still naked, and stalked her across the room. She feinted left, dodged right and tried to get to the door, but he caught her around the waist and tumbled her back onto his bed. Her laughter bubbled up like champagne and made him feel about as intoxicated. This woman…
He trailed kisses across her cheeks, down her throat, pressing his face into the V of the shirt as his hands snaked beneath the hem.
Pru swatted at him. “You can’t possibly.”
“Not for a bit yet, but you can.” With erotic intent, he set out to prove it.
“Flynn Bohannon, you’re going to kill me. Stop. Seriously.”
His hand stilled on her thigh.
“Much as I appreciate being well and truly ravished—”
“Three times,” he said, smugly.
“—we don’t have time for this. Ari will be home from Logan’s soon, and there’s no telling when the Talbots will be back from Gatlinburg or when the Simpkins come in from their afternoon hike. I need to shower, so I don’t smell like sex. And we need to change your sheets.”
“How about I join you in the shower and we deal with the sheets after?”
“If you join me in the shower, that will lead to shower sex, and, as appealing a thought as that may be, we don’t have time for that either.” She wriggled away from him and began to gather her clothes.
Accepting that their afternoon tryst was over—for now anyway—Flynn rolled off the bed and tugged on his jeans. “Fine. I’ll strip the sheets and come down with you to start laundry.” Maybe he could talk his way into her shower from there.
As he’d expected, she stayed to help him strip the bed. He gathered the linens together in a wad and nodded toward the door. “After you.”
“You should put on a shirt.”
“I’ll get one when I come back up.” To solve the issue, he scooted by her and headed for the stairs.
By the second-floor landing, Flynn’s stomach was making itself heard. “If I can’t talk you back into bed, can I at least talk you into a snack?”
“Well, we certainly worked up an appetite. I’ll see what I can—”
Flynn stopped dead halfway down the stairs, so fast that Pru ran into his back.
A woman stood in the foyer. Not one of the guests. She wore a skirt and blouse, with shoes that said sensible rather than Saturday. A briefcase hung from one shoulder, and the expression on her face made it obvious she’d overheard their conversation and knew exactly how they’d been spending their afternoon.
Shite.
“Pru Reynolds?” Even the woman’s voice sounded pinched. It was nasal and full of disdain.
Pru tucked in closer to his back, using him to shield her pantsless state. “Yes. May I help you?”
Flynn had to give it to her—despite the compromising position they found themselves in, her tone was as smooth and friendly as it would be for any guest.
“I’m Lydia Coogan, with the Department of Human Services. I’m the new social worker assigned to Ari Rosas.”
“New social worker?” Pru’s voice went sharp with concern. “What happened to Mae?”
“Miss Bradley is out on extended medical leave.”
“Is she okay?”
“I believe she’s having some kind of surgery.” Clearly, she didn’t really know her predecessor and didn’t care. Lydia’s gaze shifted from Pru to Flynn. “And you would be?”
This woman controlled Ari’s fate. He couldn’t imagine how bad it looked for Pru to be caught sleeping with a guest, so he said the only thing he could think of. “Flynn Bohannon. Pru’s fiancé.”
Pru’s fingers dug into his back—because of his words or because, at that moment, the front door opened, Flynn wasn’t sure. The newcomers came in on the tail end of the statement.
Ari gave a whoop. “You finally asked her! Yay!”
What the hell?
Logan’s mouth dropped open as he shut the door. “Man, what’s in the water around here? First Kennedy and now Pru.”
“I—” Pru finally moved around him on the stairs, looking like she was about to keel over. “Excuse me for just a few minutes.” She disappeared back toward her bedroom, presumably to get dressed. Realizing he still held the wad of sheets, Flynn excused himself as well, high tailing it to the laundry room and dumping them in the washer. He grabbed a t-shirt from the hamper and tugged it on, before hurrying back to do damage control.
Lydia was giving Logan the side eye now. “And who are you?”
“Family friend,” he said easily.
Pru came back, dressed in her own clothes, her hair brushed and pulled back into a tail. Whatever color their afternoon of lovemaking had whipped into her cheeks was gone. “Logan, thanks for bringing Ari home.”
“No problem.” He shot her a look that might have been an apology for the timing.
“If you could keep the news under your hat, I would appreciate it.”
“I can do that. Congratulations.”
She opened her mouth as if to say thank you, then closed it again without a word. Instead, she just nodded.
Logan shot a look at the social worker. “You need anything, just let me know.”
“Thanks.”
Once he was gone, Pru turned to Lydia. “Can we start over? Would you come into the living room?”
The woman looked as if she wanted to refuse, but she followed.
Ari caught Flynn’s eye and gave him a double thumbs up. Jesus, what had he set in motion?
“I don’t think we need you for this just now,” he said. No doubt Pru was about to set the social worker straight. They could explain to Ari later. “Why don’t you go wash up for supper? You smell like horse.”
“’K.” She ran up the stairs.
Flynn hurried into the living room, joining Pru on the sofa and taking her hand in his. He expected her to jerk it away and explain to the woman that it was all a lie. Instead, she curled her fingers around his. He could feel her shaking.
“Miss Coogan, I apologize for our introduction. I assure you, that’s not…usual.” Flynn thought for a moment she’d go on. But, really, what else was there to say?
Lydia took out a notepad. “Well, this changes things.”
Pru’s cheeks went impossibly paler. “What do you mean?”
“There's nothing about Mr. Bohannon in my case records. If he's going to be a part of the household, he'll have to go through the same approval process you did before we can do the home study.”
“But that's months more waiting!”
Flynn had no idea what she’d already gone through to get approved thus far, but this sounded very much like starting over. A sick feeling set up in his gut. “Is there nothing else to be done? She’s already come this far.”
“Well, you can apply for an exception.” The admission came grudgingly. “It's still sixty days, but it's quicker than all the other certification processes.”
“Then we’ll do that,” Flynn said.
“And if the exception isn't approved?” Pru asked.
“Then we find Ari a new placement.” Lydia’s lips pursed with disapproval. “She shouldn’t have been in the home in the first place without all these certifications complete, but Mae seems to be rather lax about such things.”
“She was friends with my mother for twenty-five years. And my mother took in more foster children than any other single person in all of Stone County.”
“Rules exist for a reason,” Lydia insisted. “But we’re working with the situation we have. You’ll need to go down to the Department of Human Services to pick up the paperwork to file the exception to policy.”
“And once that’s done?” Pru asked.
“Get the exception filed. I’ll be in touch about the rest.” With a few more notations on her pad, she shoved it into her briefcase. “I’ll see myself out.”