Paige didn’t want to admit how long it took her to shake off Mr. McHotbody’s impact. Just because she didn’t have enough else to think about, that was all. The feeling lasted through her shower, though, that was for sure. She somehow couldn’t stand naked in Lily’s clawfoot tub and soap down her more sensitive bits without remembering how easily the man had held sixty pounds of squirming goat, or the size and strength of those hands.
She worked with men. Hard men. Tough men. She knew men. But he was something more. She needed to keep her distance, for Lily’s sake, or she was going to do something very stupid.
When she was rubbing down her newly waxed and buffed body with one of Lily’s fluffy pale-green towels, though, and smoothing on silky cinnamon-orange body butter from one of Lily’s containers of bottled decadence, her unruly mind went back to the way his hand had felt around hers. Who could blame her, really? Sad to say, it was the closest she’d come to a sexual encounter in some time. Civilians were intimidated by her, or they bored her, and cops sniffed around like dogs on the scent and made her think about gossip and perception and everyplace she didn’t want to go with that. Surely this mysterious Australian, with his accent and that hint of danger, was everything vacation flings were made of.
If only it hadn’t been for Lily. When she was standing in front of her sister’s lavender-scented lingerie chest, she finally gave in and picked up the phone.
It rang in her hand.
“Hi, baby,” Paige said. “I was just calling you. I’m trying to figure out underwear. Do you have anything that isn’t a thong?”
“I’m doing the same thing,” Lily said. “Do you have anything that isn’t a sports bra? Please?”
“Comfortable,” Paige said. “Supportive.”
“Ugly. Uniboob.”
“Well, there’s that. Ooh. This is all right.” Paige lifted out a blush-colored garment with a little more substance to it.
“The cheekster ones,” Lily said. “Yes. Those will be good for you.”
Paige, who’d been putting them on in front of the mirrored door, paused with her thumbs still in the waistband. “That’s what I just decided. Whoa. That’s booty time.” She turned and looked over her shoulder at her rear view. “I could definitely find some company in these. Bra?” She opened the second drawer down and put her hand on it. “Never mind. I found it. You wearing the black things? They’re not sports-related. Not a sport I’ve been playing, at least.”
“I just put them on,” Lily said, not needing to comment on how Paige knew, any more than Paige did. “How did it go with the goats? How are my babies doing? And did Brett Hunter get in touch yet?”
“Goats are fine. And nope. Unless…” Paige stopped in the act of shoving hangers aside and trying not to be overwhelmed by too many choices. “What does he look like?” Something had been odd about Mr. Milker. A whole lot of holding back, that hint of darkness under the surface.
“I told you. Good-looking. Dark.”
“Tall? Uh… dominant?”
“I told you he was.”
Paige expelled her breath, trying to ignore how good the skimpy bra and underwear looked in the mirror and how much her body wanted somebody else to see it, too. Preferably somebody not quite tamed. “Is he Australian?”
“Australian? No. Of course not. Why would he be Australian?”
Paige put the phone on speaker and set it on the top of the dresser before pulling on an underdress—slip—whatever—that wouldn’t have survived the first training exercise. Long enough to cover her scars, though, which was important. “So who’s tall, built, got black hair, and knows how to milk goats?”
“Is this a riddle?”
“No. Showed up this morning. Out running. With a Ridgeback. Dog,” she clarified.
“Oh. That’s the one I told you about. My neighbor. Hairy. Glares at you. He knows how to milk goats? He’s Australian? How do you know?”
“How? Because he told me. But he didn’t tell me his name.”
“He talked to you? About goats? Literally all he does is glare at me. I don’t know his name. I don’t think he likes women.”
Paige sighed and adjusted the slip. “You know what? I’m pretty sure you’re wrong. But I guess that means I don’t get to lick him all over.” Ooh. She’d bet he’d lick her. He’d looked like he had enough self-control for anything. For everything. She smoothed a hand down her side, gliding over silken material all the way to her hip, and that electricity zapped her again as if the body lotion had conductive powers.
Lily said, “You’re kidding.”
“Yeah, well, never mind. Next time, though, I’m going on vacation where I don’t have to behave myself.”
Alarm in Lily’s voice. “I knew this wasn’t a good idea. Look, I’ll come home. You can just be my… my moral support for the meeting. Then you can do whatever you want, too.”
“No, I was just joking. I’m warming up to use all our combined powers on Brett Hunter, that’s all. Don’t worry. I’m being you, I promise.” Well, almost.
“Are you sure? Because I can come home. Really.”
“No. I’m fine.” Paige pulled on the over-part of the dress and grabbed a pair of sandals that looked like they went. There. Good. Feminine. “What are you doing today?”
“Oh.” Lily paused a minute, then said, “Shopping. Window-shopping, anyway, walking around Union Square. Being lazy. You’re sure?”
“Sure I’m sure. I’m dressed. I’m you. I’m on it.” Out of the closet-room and down the stairs with the sandals in one hand.
“Earrings,” Lily said. “Necklace. Makeup.”
Whoops. Paige sighed as if she’d been remembering that and turned around. “I’m doing it. I’m there. I’m you.”
“Right,” she muttered an hour later. She adjusted the pink leather tote on her shoulder, clutched the key ring more tightly in her hand, and ran over her sequence.
Exactly like responding to a hot call. You decided on your approach first, and you didn’t park out front. You stayed out of the kill zone until you could go in fast and smooth and with a plan.
Which was perhaps a little extreme for a store whose sole threat presentation was three mannequins in a window. One, headless and legless, was sporting a delicate peach ensemble not too different from the things Paige was wearing, except for the addition of a lacy garter belt. And a peach blindfold draped over one white hand. Innocent, and then… not. Another was nothing but a pair of upside-down legs clad in sheer black stockings with a line of crystals that started two inches up the side of the thigh, presumably so you could flash them in your slinky skirt when you crossed your legs. There were other garments scattered around, mostly involving a whole lot of lace and silk, and another outfit on a mannequin standing discreetly at the back. Her nightgown was all fine white cotton, baby-blue trim, and pintucks, and looked like it was saying in a soothing voice, “It’s all right. Honestly. Come on in. It won’t be that scary. We have things for you, too. Come innnnnnn.”
The store looked dangerous, yes, but not in a bad-deal-going-down kind of way. More in an out-of-your-depth kind of way.
Paige took a deep breath, thought, You are Lily. After that, she glided up to the door, inserted her key in one smooth movement, stepped inside, and said, “Hi!” in as serene-yet-chirpy a Lily-tone as she could manage.
“Well, hey,” a woman said, coming forward with a beaming smile, taking Paige by both shoulders, and then giving her a tight hug.
Paige stiffened and thought Whoa, lady, back off. She wasn’t that much of a hugger. And then she just thought, Whoa. She’d assumed Lily’s assistant Hailey, hired a year or so ago, was a… well, a Hailey. Young and glamorous, like Lily. Instead, she was a neat but decidedly well-upholstered fifty-something blonde-from-a-bottle in black pants and a pale-green tunic, her black-rimmed half-glasses hanging on a beaded chain around her neck. Maybe this was Hailey’s mom, Paige thought wildly as the woman continued to clutch her. Here to help?
Whoever-she-was stood back, looked Paige over while keeping her hands on her shoulders, and said, “Fun time with your sister, hon?”
“It was great,” Paige said with her best Lily-smile. She headed toward the back room, kept her stride smooth with a major effort, and deposited her bag. “Everything go all right here?”
“Oh, about what you’d expect. Quiet, but it’s barely May.” Not winter ski season, not summer lake season. “So was Paige doing better? And did you get some time to relax?” This had to be Hailey.
“She was great. Healing up fine.”
“How about the rest of it, though?”
Paige stopped half-in, half-out of the doorway. “She’s doing well.” What rest of it? “Upset about the shooting still being under investigation, of course. A little restless, what with not being back at work,” she added cautiously.
“Hmm,” Hailey said. “That sounds like you’re really saying, ‘Still shut down to everybody and everything.’” She laughed, not unkindly. “Am I right? Did you get her to open up at all? She going for help?”
“Well, you know,” Paige said, feeling for a handhold. Lily was worried about her? Lily talked about her? Lily thought she was shut down to everything? Lily wasn’t the protective one, the tough one. That was Paige. It had always been Paige. She wasn’t vulnerable. Not when they were kids, going to school on the wrong side of the tracks amidst too many tough kids who thought they were easy targets. Not later, either, after their dad had died and things had gotten worse. Not even after their mom had died. And definitely not since then, not since she’d become a cop. Not ever. “Neither of us is exactly opening our hearts right now.”
“Oh, honey,” Hailey said. “I’m not being critical. If she’s your sister, I’m sure she’s special. Everybody has problems.”
Lily had always admired Paige, looked up to her. At least Paige thought she had. Was it not true anymore? Did Lily feel sorry for her? It was as if the earth had shifted.
Hailey looked at her watch, a delicate item on a gold bracelet, and back at Paige. What was Paige missing? Then the other woman asked, “Would you like me to open up?” and Paige thought, Oh.
“Sure,” she said with relief. “I’m still in vacation mode, probably.”
“I thought so,” Hailey said with a conspiratorial smile. “Because of your dress. But I love the darling new haircut,” she added in a hurry. “I’m surprised, because I thought you were growing it, and honey, that only works while you’re young, so you should take advantage—but it’s cute anyway. You know what?” she added in a clearly jollying tone. “I think it makes you look even younger. It does. You’ll get carded, you watch.”
Paige had dressed wrong. The dress was pretty. It was totally Lily, an ivory-colored slip covered by an overdress made of translucent material embroidered with tiny pink and silver flowers, with an uneven hem that dropped well below the thigh-high slip. The whole thing somehow looked sexier than a shorter dress would have, and showed her legs above the delicate ankle-strapped sandals, too. The dress was fancy, which had always seemed like the main point in Lily’s wardrobe. Too fancy, though? Too party-dress? She did not know how to do this.
“Sure,” she said randomly, and when Hailey stared at her, she added, “I’ll just…”
“I was unpacking the new shipment from Only Hearts,” Hailey said as she went to the front door, turned the key, and flipped the sign to Open. “If you want to ease into things today.” She didn’t add, Are you drunk? But she looked like she wanted to.
New shipment. Back room. There tended to be cardboard boxes back there, Paige remembered vaguely. She was sweating already. Two women came through the door, one of them saying, “Oh, good, you’re open. Karla, come see this.” Paige was probably supposed to know them. She fled.
When she was safely behind a closed door in the storeroom, she took a couple deep breaths and gathered her composure. Boxes. Right. Three of them, beside a work table. The open one was filled with ivory and pink somethings. She lifted one out, and it all but floated away. Camisole, she guessed you’d call it. Pale pink, and so sheer that it hid pretty much nothing. What would you wear it under? And what good was it, other than to look sexy? Not like that would give you any support. She picked another one up, but it was something else. Underwear.
She guessed. The packing slip said something else. Boy Thong.
Yeah, right. Because it was cut straight across the hips? It still wasn’t a Boy anything.
A rack nearby held a few of the camisoles on silky padded hangers, each with a hot-pink tag hanging from it, with dainty clips holding the “boy-thongs” underneath, which were also tagged. The tags seemed to have come from a green-colored plastic gun lying in a tub, a much-folded piece of white paper beneath it.
Instruction manual. Focus. Read. It’s a gun. That should put you at ease. She looked at the already-printed tags. Fifty-five dollars? For this? One piece of it?
“It’s a resort town. People want to spend too much money,” Lily had explained patiently the first time Paige had seen the shop. “They want to buy something they never would normally. It can’t be just a little bit better. It has to be a lot better. They’re on vacation, and it’s a piece of luxury they can take home with them.”
Forget it. Scan, push the button, print, repeat. Then you hung the items up. She could do that.
She’d gotten through twenty of the sets before she realized that she was supposed to have been changing the label according to size and would have to start over. She could hear voices outside the room. More than two, like there was a store out there full of customers. Early May or not, it was Saturday, and it was busy. She blew out her breath, considered jamming a couple of Kleenexes into her armpits, searched for scissors, and started removing tags, sticking the rejects into the bottom of the wastebasket and pulling crumpled tissue paper over them. Then she started over on the labeling.
Right. Done. That was half of one box. The rest of the carton was filled with silky white nightgowns with a little more substance to them. Crumpled nightgowns. She hung them up and used her label gun on them, working frantically now.
When the door opened, she whirled, crouched, and dropped the nightgown she was holding. Hailey put a hand to her chest, sucked in a breath, laughed, and said, “That doesn’t look relaxed. But then, I’m not sure I’m relaxed either. The nice weather brought out the mob.”
“I’ll be right out,” Paige said. “Just finishing these.”
A long moment, a crease between Hailey’s arched brows. “Oh, sorry,” she finally said, in what Paige recognized as some more stealth-tact mode. “I put the steamer back into the closet. Are you feeling all right, hon? You look a little flushed.”
“I think I picked up something on the plane,” Paige said. “Not contagious,” she hurried to add. “Food poisoning.”
“Oh, no,” Hailey said. “You want to go on home? I can manage here for today.”
Paige wanted nothing more. Unfortunately, all of this would be here tomorrow, and Sunday was Hailey’s day off. If she were going to learn this stuff, it was going to have to be today.
Or she could close the store tomorrow. It was closed on Mondays anyway, which would give her two days to wander around and figure everything out without customers. But that would be losing, and besides, the point was to seem normal, to take on everything and everybody that was bothering Lily. If she hid, how was that going to happen? “No,” she said. “Just ate a bad hot dog at the airport. It’s about out now. I mean, I’ve just about, ah, gotten rid of it. You know how that goes. Doesn’t take long.” She added a “Ha ha” for good measure.
Hailey looked even more taken aback. “Oh,” she said faintly.
“I know what you’re thinking. Hot dog. Why? Extreme hunger. Too many vegetables at the spa. Serves me right. Whew, pork has sure taken its revenge now. Out in a second, though! Let me just, ah, steam these.”
Hailey finally closed the door, probably to shut out the babbling, or perhaps further details of exactly where the hot dog had gone, and Paige opened the closet door, wiped her hands on her dress, and stared at the blue-and-white contraption. No instructions on this one. She wrestled it out of the closet, wheeled it over near the clothes rack, and finally grabbed her phone and pushed the button for Lily’s number. Her own number. Whatever.
And got her own voicemail. She whispered a series of very bad words, shoved her phone back into her purse, closed her eyes, and summoned her Lily-magic.
It’s a steamer. Steam is water. You have to fill it with water. It looked like a vacuum cleaner, but there would be a reservoir for water. Ah. There. She’d seen Lily doing this on past visits, she vaguely remembered. You ran the nozzle up and down over the clothes, like ironing standing up. Paige didn’t iron, but it wasn’t like she’d never done it. Not never ever. She filled the reservoir at the sink in the bathroom, spilled half of it figuring out how to fit it back into the machine, then plugged the steamer in and pushed the switch.
Ironing standing up, or like you’d vacuum curtains, maybe. She pulled the trigger, and steam came out. Perfect.
She smelled it first. What did that remind her of? The firing range. Same acrid bite. She yanked the nozzle away and stared in dismay at the result.
The garment was still white, except for one place where it was wrinkled and brown. And the tag said $125.00.
That was when the phone rang.
“Help,” Paige said, even as she ripped the garment off the hanger and stuffed it into the wastebasket, pulling the tissue paper over it once more.
“What did you do?” Lily asked. “What happened? Something happened.”
“I melted a nightgown. Never mind. Never mind. I’m fine. I thought you were supposed to steam, though.”
“As long as it doesn’t actually touch the clothes,” Lily said. Oh. “I’m coming back,” her twin added. “It’s too hard for you.”
“It’s not too hard!” Paige snapped. “It’s lingerie.” She got herself back under control with an effort. “I am going back out there. I am selling underwear. Watch my smoke. Not literally. I’m done burning up your stock. I’ll talk to you tonight.”
She should’ve gone with the sprained hand idea instead of the mythical hot dog. Too late now. Closing the storeroom door behind her, she advanced into the shop with a smile pasted onto her face and hoped her makeup wasn’t running. Lily would have checked before she’d come out. A couple women were standing in front of the racks of clothes, fingering them hesitantly, and Paige reminded herself that she knew how to use a cash register. Also that she wasn’t a moron. She smiled harder at Hailey and said, “Trade you. I got a little lightheaded back there.” She didn’t need Hailey observing her customer interaction.
That part was easier. She greeted the women, kept an eye out as they browsed, and in between, wandered around and “arranged” clothes on the hangers, doing her best to memorize. She ushered one customer into a dressing room and closed the dusty-rose curtain behind her, rang up a scarf for the other one, and wondered if she should have encouraged her more in her shopping. She seemed… scared. Intimidated, almost. Like Paige wasn’t the only one who found lingerie daunting. And then the fiftyish woman who’d vanished into the dressing room poked her head around the curtain and asked her, “Can you give me an opinion?”
When Paige got over there, the woman let the curtain drop a fraction and said, “Tell me honestly.”
That would be a bad idea. The white nightgown ended well above the knee. It was a little snug around the middle, too low, too… everything. Paige thought fast, then said, “You know what? You’re not really loving that one, or you wouldn’t have asked. Not my favorite, either. I’ve got one I think you’ll like better. Hang on.” She went over to one of the racks she’d been “checking,” brought back two gowns, one in large and one in extra-large, handed them in, and said, “These tend to run small, so I’ve brought you two sizes.” In reality, she had no clue, but it would’ve sounded good if somebody’d said it to her. “This runs small” ranked right up there with “I love you” when it came to appealing three-word phrases.
The woman, still holding the curtain across her body and looking like she wished she could leave, looked dubiously at the crimson garments Paige held out and said, “Red?”
“It’s a simple… uh, design, though,” Paige said. “Not like you’re a hooker.” The woman looked shocked, and Paige hurried on, “I mean, there’s red and red. Some women think it has to be short to be sexy,” she added in a burst of inspiration. “Can’t it be long and slinky, like… like…” She tried to think of an actress. A movie. She blanked. The last movie she’d seen had had Captain America in it.
“Katherine Hepburn,” the woman suggested, Paige said, “Exactly!” like she had more than a vague idea who that was, shut the curtain, started putting clothes back on the racks, and thought, Breathe.
A couple minutes later, the woman came out, beaming, handed back four nightgowns while still clutching one of the red ones, and said, “You were right. It’s our anniversary this week—well, tomorrow, actually—and we’re on our way to Glacier.” Glacier National Park wasn’t any code word for impossibly romantic to Paige, but she put on an encouraging face as the woman went on. “I’ve put off buying anything because I didn’t want to feel… well, stupid. But I think my husband might think this is sexy, even on me. You think?”
“I’ll bet he will,” Paige said. “The color’s wonderful with your skin tone,” she added, like somebody who’d know that.
“You know…” the woman said as Paige folded the garment as carefully as she could manage, wrapped some white tissue paper around it, fastened it with a gold sticker, set it into a carrier bag, and thought, OK. You did it. You sold a nightgown. Tagged and bagged, and only then remembered that she had to scan it first. She took it out in a nonchalant fashion, scanned it, and resumed the whole folding-and-bagging thing again. The woman watched her in a bemused fashion, but didn’t comment. “You know,” she said again, “I wasn’t even sure about coming in here at first. And I’ll admit that I feel better when the sales clerk looks more normal, especially in a store like this. But you were actually very helpful.”
Paige stopped in the middle of pushing buttons. I don’t look normal? she wanted to ask, but didn’t. “This dress a little over the top?” she asked.
“Oh, no,” the woman said, and Paige thought, Oh, yes. “Of course you’re beautiful,” the woman added, “but it’s easier to ask for another size from somebody who’s still carrying some of her baby weight, isn’t it?” She laughed. “You don’t know how lucky you are. I tell my daughters, appreciate that you’re young and free. The stretch marks will come soon enough.”
For the first time today, Paige was glad Lily wasn’t here. Lily didn’t need to hear about how lucky she was not to have kids. The stretch marks weren’t coming anytime soon for either of the twins. Paige had decided she was going to be fine with that, and Lily never mentioned it. She didn’t have to. Paige knew.