Page 24 of Call it Reckless

I shrugged and pretended to be disinterested. “So she told me. I’m surprised she came here to start over. Can’t be as exciting as what she left.”

Zane leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach as Sammy moved on to another officer. “I feel sorry for her, you know? It had to be hard, losing her dad like that.”

I played with the pencils on my desk. One didn’t have to follow the world of racing to know about Bristol and the tragedies she’d been through the past several months. The news had primarily centered around her dad, the racing legend Brock Allen’s tragic death. But by telling the story, they included how Bristol had been severely injured when a car lost control and slammed into her at outdoor café.

“Anyway,” Zane shook his head as if to clear away the gloom, “it’ll be good to see a new business start here. Hell, maybe she’ll breathe some life into the rest of town, too. She always was a bit of a firecracker.”

I stared at him over the lid of my coffee. “Firecrackers are trouble. Easy to get burned by them.”

“Oh, she wasn’t that bad. She had her daddy’s zest for adventure, that’s all. Plus, from what I picked up from Chase, she felt left out when he moved them here to live with their grandparents. Good family, but she was always itching to get out.”

He smirked. “I remember one day—it was the first day of hunting season and the day of the contest for the largest rack—and Rich Bowen came in with a twelve-point buck. He was beaming, pleased as hell with himself. He was about to claim the prize when in rolls Bristol’s granddaddy. Bristol wasn’t even old enough to drive.” He chuckled. “At least legally. Everyone knew it was her racing up and down the back of her uncle’s farm in a car her daddy and granddaddy had been working on.”

I’d met Bristol’s grandparents a few times before they died. They always seemed like the epitome of good citizens, so it was hard to imagine them allowing their granddaughter to run so wild.

“Anyway, they opened up the back of his truck and pulled out a sixteen-pointer. Bowen wasn’t happy to lose, but he was downright pissed when he found out it was Bristol, not her granddaddy, who shot the buck. Bowen jumped up and down, saying she wasn’t old enough to register for the contest and couldn’t win. He got the prize money, but she completely stole his thunder. Most folks thought he should have been a good sport and given her the money. But you know he’s a stickler for rules, so instead, he kept it. I think he held that grudge for years. Shit,” he added, leaning back in his chair, “he probably still does.”

The thought made me grin. I could almost picture our current mayor stomping his foot and trying to get the attention he thought was owed to him. “I heard Bristol’s the reason we have Mayor Sterling.”

When I’d first arrived in town and went to the town hall to interview for my current position, I’d been shocked as hell to learn Mayor Sterling was an honorary title for a beautiful African Gray Parrot. No one knew the details, but somehow, ol’ Mrs. Bowen’s pet’s name had gotten onto the local election ballot. Richard Bowen had never quite gotten over that the bird had gotten more votes than him.

“That’s the story, but it’s never been proven.” Zane chuckled. “I remember one time in high school when Richard Bowen was still the principal. He liked to sit in his car and honk at students if they lingered too long. Someone rigged his horn so that it played the first notes of “Dixie”, like inThe Dukes of Hazzard. Didn’t take a long leap for folks to decide it was Bristol. And then in her senior year, someone released three goats into the high school as the senior prank. They were marked one, two, and four. Bowen and his staff spent hours searching for number three. Bowen could never prove it, but he’s still convinced it was Bristol getting back at him over the prize money. It’ll be interesting to see how they get along now.”

I grunted, more than tired of talking about Bristol Allen. She’d already taken up more of my thoughts in a few days than just about anything else. “Maybe she’s matured since then.”

He looked across our desks, his smile more of a sly grin. “She sure is pretty. Actually, I’d have to go more withhot. Something about a woman who knows how to take care of herself.”

I glared back. “Any point to this conversation, or should I ask Ruth to reserve you a seat with the other gossips who hang out at her diner?”

“Seemed like there were some sparks flying between you two.”

I rolled my eyes. “Are you taking up Kelly’s job and trying to matchmake?”

His hand slapped across his chest. “Me? I’m just trying to help my best friend move on with his life. She seems like she might be fun to hang out with. Speaking of fun…”

Simone sauntered to my desk again. “Hey, Reid. Hans Zimmerman is here and wants to speak with you.”

I sighed. “He probably wants to file another complaint against Tillie.”

Zane saluted. “Better you than me. They’re both a little crazy if you ask me.”

“He’s not so bad.” And right now, he was a welcome distraction from whatever crazy idea Zane had about me and Bristol.

CHAPTEREIGHT

Bristol

Slipping back into this house hadn’t been as difficult as I’d expected. In the morning, I still missed hearing Gramps’s electric razor and the clatter of pans from the kitchen as Grams cooked breakfast first thing in the morning. But in the past week, I’d found my peace. There was something about the quiet with only nature to interrupt that I now appreciated after years of engine noise.

I sipped my coffee, staring out the large kitchen window to the field behind the house. It was early enough the sunlight still glistened off the dew on the tall grasses, and a spiderweb stretched across the uneven leaves of the boxwoods under the window. Beyond the fields, the rise of the mountains made a picturesque background. It was a view I’d seen for years, but it still humbled me.

This house was too big for one person; it was meant for a family. It was meant to have the front screen door slam constantly as people came and went, to have feet pound up and down the stairs, and to fill all the chairs around the large table in the kitchen.

Not that I didn’t want that for myself, but I’d about given up on finding someone. My elevator pitch for reasons to have a relationship with me was as inviting as ants at a picnic. I wasn’t as pretty and feminine as Emalee and Cameron. My cooking skills were passable at best. I was argumentative and hated being told what to do.

Maybe, once the time limit was up on this house, I’d sell it, or at least rent it, to a family who would appreciate everything this house offered.

A chime from my phone distracted me.

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