The Best Man

“I am.” He raised his eyebrows and waited.

“So? Give me a hand and stop being such a hemorrhoid.”

“Should half-dressed people wedged in windows call an officer of the law names, do you think?”

She huffed. “Officer Cooper, would you please help me?”

“It’s Chief Cooper, and, yes.”

He got back in the cruiser and pulled it up so the bumper almost touched the building, threw the car in Park and got out again. “I really have to wonder how climbing out the window seemed like the best decision,” he said, climbing on the hood of the cruiser. “Is Jeremy in there?”

“Just help me,” she ground out.

He’d take that as a yes.

They were at eye level—well, in Faith’s case, eye and torso level. It looked as if she’d been shot through the wall. She was stuck, all right. Short of smearing her with butter (Don’t go there, he warned himself), there was no way he was going to be able to do this without touching her. Which was always tricky, if you were the chief of police. Sexual harassment and all that.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll just...is it all right, Faith, if I hold on to your arms and pull you out?”

“Yes! Isn’t it obvious? Were you planning to use the Force instead?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I think you should be a little nicer, Holland,” he said, “given that I could call the fire department right now. Gerard Chartier lives for this sort of thing. And isn’t your nephew a volunteer?”

“I will castrate you if you call the fire department. You’re bad enough. Just help me.”

He took hold of her upper arms and immediately chastised himself. Her skin was freezing, as the night had gotten cool. “Count of three,” he said, bracing a foot against the building. “One...two...three.”

He pulled, and out she came, half falling against him, all soft and white and plump in the gloom. He took a step back as soon as humanly possible, ending contact, and jumped off the hood of the cruiser, then looked back up at her.

“What is that?” he asked, tilting his head. She was wearing some kind of weird, beige, shiny tank top or something that ended just below her bra.

“It’s a slip. Stop looking and don’t you dare say another word.”

He offered his hand as she climbed off the cruiser—imagine writing up that report. The half-naked woman then fell off my cruiser because I didn’t want to touch her. Her hand was cold, too. “Want my coat?” he asked, shrugging out of it.

Faith ignored him, going to Colleen O’Rourke’s red MINI Cooper. She tried the door. It was locked; that was good, as there’d been a few car break-ins lately. She sighed heavily, then turned back to him. He held out his jacket. “Thank you,” she said, pulling it on without looking at him. “Can I use your phone, please?”

“Sure.” He handed it over and watched as she dialed.

At that moment, Colleen’s face appeared in the bathroom window. “What the hell are you doing out here, Faith?” she asked, starting to laugh. “Did you actually climb out the window? Hey, Levi.”

“Colleen.”

“I really needed you five minutes ago,” Faith said. “Can you please get my purse so we can get the hell out of here? Pretty please?”

Colleen obeyed, and before too long, Faith handed him back his jacket and put on her own raincoat. They were gabbling away, laughing about the incident now. “See you soon, Chief,” Colleen said with a smile.

He nodded. Faith waved but didn’t quite meet his eyes.

Then they drove off, and though his shift was technically over, Levi walked over to the station. May as well finish some paperwork.

His jacket smelled like Faith Holland’s perfume. Vanilla or something.

Something you’d eat for dessert.

CHAPTER SIX

WHEN FAITH AND JEREMY BROKE up three weeks before the senior prom, it sent ripples of shock through Manningsport High. Who would be prom king and queen, if not the golden couple? Had Jeremy found someone else? If so, who was the lucky girl?

When Jeremy glumly informed Levi that he and Faith were “taking a break,” Levi asked if he wanted to talk about it and was relieved when Jeremy said no.

It was a strange time. All anyone could talk about was where they’d be in the fall. A couple kids were going to the community college, a couple would be going straight into the workforce, but most were headed away and talked endlessly about the need to buy supplies, clothes, a new computer.

As the only recruit in their high school class (though Tiffy Ames was going to the Air Force Academy, and George Shea was Navy ROTC), Levi didn’t have the same issues. His father had cemented the impossibility of college, and the Army felt like a good fit. But in addition to the sense of pride he already felt about serving in the military, a melancholy was descending. He tried to spend a night or two watching TV with his mom each week, knowing she was more worried than she’d say. He took Sarah fishing and read Harry Potter to her, hoping in the back of his mind that if something happened, she’d remember him. She was only eight.

He was ready. He wanted to serve, figured he’d be good at it. He’d passed all his tests, and his recruiter thought he might make a good sniper, based on the psych profile and his innate skill with a gun. Whatever the case, chances were high that Levi would be on the fast track to Afghanistan.

So things like Faith and Jeremy’s relationship status tended not to matter, aside from the fact that his buddy was glum.

Ted and Elaine Lyon had hired him for the spring. They made Jeremy do the same thing, though they didn’t pay him; said he was heir to the land, even if he did spit in their eye and decide to become a doctor (this statement was usually followed with a slap on the back or a hug). This week, however, Jeremy and Elaine had gone to California to visit relatives, so Levi was on his own. “If you don’t mind working solo,” Ted said, “the merlot trellises need checking. You just tie up the vines so the grapes won’t fall off or touch the ground. You’ve done that before, right?”

“Yes, sir. Jeremy and I did that last week in the Rieslings,” Levi answered. It wasn’t exactly brain surgery.

“Great! Thanks, son.” The lady from the tasting room gave him a bag lunch and a big bottle of water, and Levi headed to the western edge of the vineyard, close to Blue Heron, where the land got pretty steep, not too far from the woods.

He worked from the top of the hill downward, one row at a time. The sun beat on his back, and he pulled off his T-shirt after fifteen minutes. It was hot for early May, and he was glad he wore shorts. Might hit the lake for a swim later on, no matter how cold the water was.

He’d been working a good hour and was already damp with sweat when he heard the rumble of a truck. It was John Holland’s red pickup, identifiable anywhere due to its age and general filth...always mud-splattered and crusty. It stopped, and an enormous Golden retriever bounded out, followed by Princess Super-Cute.

She wore cutoff shorts, a white sleeveless shirt, the tails tied under her breasts, and a blue bandanna on her head. Levi felt a generic stir of lust. Nothing personal, Holland, he thought. He’d been stealing looks at her chest since he was fourteen.

The dog ran over to him, tail wagging, and barked once, then collapsed, rolling on his back. “Hey, buddy,” Levi said, rubbing the beast’s stomach.

Faith shaded her eyes and looked at him. “Hi,” she called tentatively. “What are you doing?”

“Tying up vines. You?”

She smiled. “Same thing.” She held up an apron, then tied it on. “My sister’s cracking the whip.” She paused. “I guess Smiley likes you.”

Smiley. Leave it to Faith Holland to have a dog named Smiley. Speaking of, the dog apparently had had enough of a scratch, because he leaped up and went romping through the vineyard rows, tail waving.

Faith, however, came to within two rows of where he was, and he braced himself for questions about Jeremy, or an explanation, or a discussion. Girls, he well knew, liked to talk about their feelings until they had nothing left to say, at which point they’d start repeating themselves.

Instead, she bent over and started doing exactly what he was. Except she was better at it. The apron held twist ties, and she didn’t have to check each shoot the way he did. She was kind of a pro, actually.

And when she bent over, there was that mighty rack on display. He didn’t have a lot of use for Faith Holland, but, man, that was a nice pair.

She glanced up. Busted. “I thought you were more of the princess type,” he said as explanation. “Run out of townies to do the grunt work?”