I Want Candy Read online

  One of Lenny’s eyes narrowed as he frowned. She decided he hadn’t changed much in the last dozen years—still half bald and all round. His laugh hadn’t changed, either, and it rang through the mostly empty restaurant, which also looked exactly the way it had when she’d been in high school. If the place had been sparkling clean, it might have been considered retro. In its present condition, it looked just plain worn out.

  “You don’t want any job I got,” Lenny said, shaking his head and throwing a dish towel over his shoulder. “Last I heard you went down to Florida and got your degree and became a business tycoon or some damn thing.”

  “Hmm,” she said, fiddling with the tape still stuck on the sign. “I did, yes, but that was then and this is now. I’ve decided to reinvent myself.”

  “I see.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “And you want to reinvent yourself as a dishwasher?”

  Candy couldn’t hide it. She was disappointed, since she’d hoped the opening was for a waitress. There she was again—shooting for the moon. “Sure,” she managed, trying to keep her smile in place. “Sounds perfect.”

  “Aw, girl, I’m just messin’ with you. Hold up a minute.” Lenny came out the swinging door and made his way around the lunch counter. Before she could mount a defense, Candy found herself pressed up against his apron-covered belly, swallowed in his beefy arms. When he was done, he planted her in front of him and looked her in the eye. “I was pulling your leg. It’s a cashier job, seven A.M. to four P.M., with counter duties at lunch and a half hour paid break.”

  Candy felt herself bust out into a grin. “I’m in.”

  Lenny shook his head again. “I heard you were back in town. So where are you living now?”

  “What do you mean?” Candy didn’t like the way that sounded.

  Lenny scratched his chin and thought about it. “Well, first I heard you was stayin’ out at Gladys Harbison’s place, but that she kept stealing your underpants so you left. Then you landed at Vivienne Newberry’s but only lasted long enough to convince Tater to fix your car. And then you went out to Cherokee Pines and—”

  “Yes! Yes! Whatever!” Candy hadn’t meant to shout. At least she’d managed not to scream in frustration. This was just the way it was in Bigler, so what was the point in overreacting? It wasn’t like she had any more secrets to keep anyway—the whole world knew she was a broke failure who’d squandered her mother’s nest egg. What was there to keep private? “I’m staying with my mother, but only temporarily. I’m hoping that having a job will lead to better things, you know, like my own place.”

  Lenny didn’t bother to hide his surprise. “You’re staying in town? I assumed you were only passing through. I didn’t think you were serious about the job, honey.”

  “But I am!” Candy felt her eyes widen. “Lenny, I am serious about the job. I need this job.”

  He scratched his chin again. “Well, I’d have to have a three-month commitment from you, honey. This here ain’t a revolving-door kind of establishment.”

  “I understand.” Three months? She was thinking more along the lines of three weeks! “I promise I’ll give you three months. I’ll take the job.”

  “You don’t even know how much it pays.”

  “I’m assuming minimum wage.”

  Lenny chuckled. “You assume right.”

  “When can I start?”

  Lenny put his hands on his hips and stared at her. “You still bake? ’Cause I remember judging the county fair bakeoff the year you submitted that chocolate praline turtle cake. Honest to gosh, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven when I took a bite of that thing.”

  Oh, Lord. Is that all anyone remembered about her? Candy plastered a smile on her face. “I don’t really bake anymore, Lenny. Just not into it the way I used to be.”

  “A shame,” he said, shaking his head. The phone next to the cash register began to ring. “Lenny’s,” he said into the receiver, moving around to the other side of the counter. “Uh-huh. Sure, doll. Fire away.” He shoved the phone under his chin and looked up at Candy, suddenly gesturing wildly for her to join him. He pulled a pencil from behind an ear and started scribbling on a pad of paper while he pointed at a stack of freshly washed aprons.

  “You want me to put one of these on?” Candy whispered.

  He nodded. “You want cheese on that?” More scribbling. “And what kind of dressing on the chef’s salad? Uh-huh. No problem. See you then, doll.”

  Lenny hung up. “Consider yourself punched in!” he said, heading into the kitchen. “We’ll get to your paperwork after the rush.”

  Candy looked around her—there was an elderly couple sipping coffee at a table by the window, and a man, alone, stooped over at the end of the counter, reading the Bugle.

  What rush?

  * * *

  “Here, let me help you with all this.” The receptionist smiled at Candy and relieved her of two of the four shopping bags full of food. “I’m Bitsy Stockslager, by the way.”

  “Oh, hello! I’m Candy Carmichael.”

  “The sheriff has mentioned you. How nice to meet you.”

  Candy smiled weakly, realizing she’d begun to perspire, and it wasn’t just the stifling heat and the trip from the municipal complex parking lot with eleven lunches in her arms. She was nervous—horrified, really—that she was about to walk into Turner’s office in the capacity of a diner delivery boy.

  She looked down at herself, suddenly unable to remember what she’d chosen that day from the extensive haute couture wardrobe stored in her overnight bag next to Jacinta’s couch—jeans, silver hoop earrings, a light coat of mascara, flip-flops, and a simple white cotton peasant blouse that might have been a smidgen see-through and might have the tiniest stain near the hem. She should have kept the apron on!

  Why did it even matter? Turner had seen her a million times, wearing everything and anything and sometimes close to nothing. It wasn’t like she was trying to impress him.

  Was it?

  Bitsy held the door to the conference room open for her and she stepped inside. Immediately she was greeted with the expectant faces of what were obviously a bunch of law enforcement types, mostly guys in suits and one strikingly beautiful woman with dark hair, creamy skin, and piercing brown eyes. She was very feminine, but looked like she could whup Candy’s ass without rising from her chair. Shockingly enough, the woman was the one who smiled warmly and spoke first. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here!” she said.

  Candy froze. If she hadn’t felt Bitsy poke her gently, she probably wouldn’t have known to move into the conference room.

  Why was she melting down like this? She was dropping off bags of grilled cheese and coleslaw, for God’s sake. In her other life she’d negotiated real estate contracts, set up limited liability corporations, and intimidated lazy contractors, all in the course of a single day’s work.

  Just then, she felt Turner’s eyes on her. She glanced his way. He was seated in a conference chair, his big body leaning back, his lips parted and his arms hanging at his sides like he’d just been knocked backward by a stiff punch. The look in his eyes was a mix of surprise and pleasure.

  She glanced away and tried to catch her breath, her whole body tingling from being in the same room with him. And the strangest flood of feelings went through her—guilt, desire, regret, longing, sadness—followed by the most maddening thing of all, the awareness that she had no idea where any of it was coming from.

  “Okay, then. Bon appétit!” Candy unceremoniously dumped the bags on the large rectangular table and began to back out of the room.

  “Here. Wait.” One of the suits stood up and started rooting around in his front pocket. “This includes a tip, because I’d really like to tip you.”

  “Me, too,” said another guy. “Please. Take this.”

  Candy glanced at the pretty woman who mouthed the word “sorry” and rolled her eyes. It made her chuckle.

  “No, thank you,” she said, stepping backward. “Enjoy your lunch.�
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  Once she was out in the hallway she managed to catch her breath, which was good because she needed the oxygen if she was going to run out to her car as she planned. She’d just made it outside when she heard Turner’s voice.

  “Candy! Wait up!”

  She didn’t.

  “Hey! Hold on a second!”

  She saw her trembling hand fumble for the car door. She felt Turner come up behind her. She watched Turner’s fingers slip around the circumference of her wrist, his wedding ring glinting in the sunshine, his flesh hot against hers. And when he spun her around, she couldn’t seem to resist.

  The lust burned in Turner’s beautiful green-brown eyes, pure and fierce. But it didn’t quite hide the underlying sorrow. And Candy told herself that, yes, he was gorgeous and sexy and sweet, and, yes, she was incredibly lonely, but this could not happen. It should not happen.

  She didn’t plan to stay in this town a moment longer than necessary. And Turner was still in love with his dead wife!

  So. No. Just … no.

  It all seemed so clear and convincing inside her head, but she wasn’t able to say the word with her lips. Instead, she blinked, fidgeted in the rush of conflicted feelings, and stared at him. Then she began to surrender to the pull of Turner’s lust, drown in the depth of his eyes, fawn over all the wonders of his handsome face—that powerful chin, those sensual lips, the strong cut of his cheekbones.

  “What’s going on here, Candy?”

  She regained her focus. “Okay. Well, I just got hired at Lenny’s Diner and he asked me to deliver your lunch.”

  He laughed. “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”

  “I gotta go.”

  “No more running.” Turner’s grip tightened on her wrist and she felt her arm being bent and pressed into the small of her back. She wasn’t sure if she was being arrested or seduced, but the sweet shiver she felt between her legs made her think maybe it was seduction.

  Then he nudged her butt against the car and pressed the front of his body into hers, chest to chest, belly to belly, pelvis to pelvis.

  Now she was sure it was seduction.

  “You make me fuckin’ crazy,” he whispered, his face pressing close to hers, his gaze searching hers before dropping to her mouth, her throat, her chest.

  She nodded.

  “You’ve always done this to me, Candy.”

  She frowned. “What do you—”

  That’s when Turner closed in and kissed the living sweet hell out of her mouth, pushing harder against her, and his lips and thighs and everything in between began seeking, pressing, wanting, taking …

  Candy brought her free hand around his waist and spread her fingers wide, moving up along his sides to his back, fusing the flat of her palm against his muscles. Turner felt so solid in her grip, so real and warm. Her knees began to give.

  He grabbed a handful of her hair and tipped her head back so that his mouth could have full control of hers, so that his need was the dominant force. It was all fire and slippery wet hunger and it seemed to go on forever.

  When the kiss got rougher, she heard herself moan.

  Turner released her wrist, but only so he could slap both his hands on her ass. He lifted her up against the car. She spread her thighs and threw her legs around his hips.

  “Lord have mercy, girl,” he groaned, dragging his lips across her cheek, down the line of her jaw, across her throat. He pushed her harder, trapping her body between the old car and his tight body.

  “Oh, my God,” she whimpered. “Oh, my God, Turner. You feel so good.”

  “You feel fuckin’ incredible.” His hands slid up her sides, across her ribs and up to her breasts. He cupped them gently, then rougher, his thumbs grazing over nipples that were far too erect for public.

  And then it was over.

  Candy was suddenly, shockingly, sliding down the side of the car to her feet. Turner began backing away. He rubbed his face, took big gulps of air, blinked his eyes. “Oh, damn,” he mumbled.

  Candy suddenly felt foolish. She pulled at her top. Smoothed her hair. “Uh, was it something I said?”

  Turner closed his eyes and laughed. It was a low and sexy laugh, and Candy wanted nothing more than to feel him on her again, but clearly, the moment had inexplicably passed.

  “Yes? No?” she asked.

  He opened his eyes and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry to tell you, but that whole encounter was captured on video. There’s a security camera trained on this lot at all times. I completely forgot.”

  Candy looked up at the building, noting the small black unit mounted at the corner just under the roof. “Fabulous,” she said, sounding especially sarcastic. “I’ve always wanted to star in an adult video—especially one set in Bigler. Preferably in the police station parking lot. It’s been a lifelong dream, really.”

  “We need to talk.”

  Candy pulled the car door open, shaking her head. “I’m not sure talking is going to come naturally to us at this point, Turner.” She got inside. “I think maybe we should just keep our distance. You’re lonely. I’m lonely. But screwing around with a man I truly like and respect just doesn’t seem like a smart move at this point in my life.”

  Turner raised an eyebrow.

  “Oh, you know what I mean!” Candy turned the ignition and waited for engine to catch in its embarrassingly loud fashion.

  “Have dinner with me.”

  “I can’t. I’m busy. Good-bye.” She backed out of the parking lot, the engine backfiring as if to add insult to injury, and she looked back only once. Turner stood with his palms out and his eyes wide.

  When she returned to the diner, Lenny was waiting for her. “Just got a call from Bitsy over at the sheriff’s department. Seems you ran out of there without letting them pay for their food. Sheriff Halliday gets a free slice of pie every once in a while, sure, but a hundred-dollar takeout order ain’t free.”

  “Oh!” Candy felt like a complete idiot. “I’m really sorry, Lenny.”

  He laughed. “Hey, everybody has a first day.” Lenny patted her on the back. “Bitsy said she’ll drop it off on her way home.”

  Candy didn’t have much time to dwell on her mistake. The rest of the afternoon at Lenny’s went by in a blur, and she got her first taste of lunch-hour rush. In the process, she learned all there was to know about the cash register, the daytime cleaning checklist, the menu, and the two lunch-shift waitresses. Afterward, she filled out her paperwork, picked out a couple medium-sized Lenny’s T-shirts that would serve as her uniform—to be paired with jeans or a skirt that was no more than one inch above the knee, as per Lenny’s instructions.

  “This here ain’t a Hooters,” he’d pointed out.

  At five, she clocked out and headed home to Cherokee Pines.

  An unfamiliar face was at the front desk. Candy introduced herself and the woman pursed her lips and said, “Yes, I’ve heard all about you.”

  Feeling thoroughly unwelcome, Candy continued down the hall to Jacinta’s apartment and found the door unlocked, which was a relief. All Candy wanted to do was collapse on the couch and try to sort out everything that had happened that day.

  She was confused. Aroused. Unable to shake the fantasy she’d been carrying around in her mind’s eye all afternoon—Turner, naked and glistening with sweat, sprawled out in all his milk-chocolate, muscled glory, in relief against a set of bright white sheets. That image had shaken her so badly that she’d barely been able to sort Lenny’s clean silverware.

  Jacinta greeted her immediately, looking particularly fetching in a chartreuse and magenta sundress.

  “You look very nice,” Candy said. “Are you going out?”

  “No, you are.” Jacinta looked at her watch. “You’ll need to be gone right after dinner.”

  “What? Why?”

  She smiled. “It’s Tuesday, dear.”

  Chapter 7

  “I heard your car coming a mile away,” Cheri said, giving Candy a warm hug.
“You want a beer?”

  “Oh, God, yes. Thank you.” Candy collapsed into the porch rocker and sighed with the relief of being somewhere she was wanted. She’d forgotten how good it felt. While Cheri was inside the house, Candy enjoyed the lovely sunset over Newberry Lake. This cottage had been in the Newberry family for four generations, and it had been a second home for Candy when she was a kid. All four of them—J.J., Turner, Cheri, and Candy—had spent every summer of their lives swimming, boating, and fishing out here.

  The partying had come later, in high school, and by then Cheri and J.J. were an item. Candy started bringing her boyfriends into the mix. Turner brought his girlfriends. And she’d never once thought it should have been different.

  Why, then, did Candy suddenly remember that arrangement with a twinge of shame? Was there something more to this? And why was she suddenly sure it had something to do with that phone call Turner mentioned the other night, the one she couldn’t remember.

  “Here you go.” Cheri handed Candy a cold bottle of Miller and took a seat next to her. “I’m so glad you got the job at Lenny’s. What are your hours going to be?”

  “Uh…” It took a second for Candy to drag herself back to the present moment. “The day shift Monday through Friday and an occasional Saturday half shift. I think it’ll be fine. I’ll just have to save every penny to put toward an apartment.”

  “Too bad Tanyalee is still in rehab,” Cheri said, a wistful smile on her face. “She’d hook you up with a place no problem.”

  “Maybe when she gets home,” Candy offered, knowing full well that was unlikely. Tanyalee had run her boyfriend’s real estate leasing office, but now that the boyfriend was in the federal slammer, it was doubtful Tanyalee would have much pull in that area when she returned.

  Cheri sighed. “There’s sure gonna be a lot of shit to sort out when my little sister gets home.”

  Candy patted her friend’s hand, deciding she’d let the understatement go by without comment. Tanyalee had checked herself into a six-week inpatient program in Arizona to deal with her self-proclaimed kleptomania, love addiction, and codependency. The girl had gone berserk with jealousy when Cheri returned to become temporary publisher of the family newspaper, especially when it appeared that Cheri and J.J. were picking up where they left off after high school.