Honey and Smoke Read Free Page B

apology,” he repeated, gazing at her curiously. “Are you all right?”
    Distracted, she nodded. “This was obviously just one of life’s fiascos. A quirk of coincidence and misunderstanding. I accept your apology.”
    “Does this mean that I’m allowed to learn your first name?”
    “Betty.”
    “Nice. I’ve never known a Betty before.”
    “Not one under eighty years old, at least. It’s not a fashionable name anymore.”
    “Were you named after a relative?”
    “No. My father insists that I was named after Betty Rubble, on
The Flintstones
.”
    “I think I’d like your father. And what’s the stealth cat’s name?”
    “Faux Paw. It’s a play on the French phrase faux
pas
, which means—”
    “I know.” He looked at her with mild rebuke. “Yes’m, I done learned a little French myself.”
    “Sorry. I was just—”
    “Judging a book by its camouflage.”
    She shifted awkwardly, feeling like a nervous teenager under his assertive attention. “I’m sorry. Good-bye. Meeting you was an interesting experience.”
    “I take it that now is not the time to say that you look great in dirty overalls and that you’re very pretty despite the bat poop on your face. Or that I’d like to take you to dinner tonight.”
    “That’s right.”
    “Bad timing. I’ll try again later.” He picked up his rifle and hitched the strap over his shoulder. “Well, it’s a long hike back to my Jeep. If you change your mind about filing charges, you can find me in Webster Springs.”
    “I accepted your apology. I don’t go back on my acceptances.” She couldn’t resist. “Do you work in town?”“At the courthouse. Part-time. Monday through Friday, nine to one.” He nodded to her graciously, but his eyes were less subtle as he scanned her one last time from head to toe. “And where can I find you?”
    “At the old Colton house. Right off the square.”
    “You bought one house in town and another outside of town?”
    “I’m turning the Colton place into a restaurant. I’m a professional caterer. I’m expanding my business.”
    “Terrific. I’ll see you again. Soon.”
    Very soon
, she suspected, and her mouth went dry.
    He nodded to her. “Good-bye, Betty. Au revoir, Faux Paw.” Smiling, he started into the woods.
    “What kind of work do
you
do?” Betty called.
    He turned, framed by the beautiful golden poplar trees, imprinting himself on her mind forever. His smile widened, cheerful and irresistible despite his harshly painted face. “I’m the justice of the peace.”
    He pivoted and walked away whistling, while Betty stared after him in astonishment.

Two
    “He really is the justice of the peace,” Grace Larson told her as they watched workmen fit a stainless steel smoker into a niche of the restaurant’s kitchen wall. Grace, trim and neat in designer jeans, a gold-braided belt, and a cashmere sweater, was the mayor’s wife. She was also head of the chamber of commerce and the owner of the clothing shop next door to Betty’s restaurant.
    “The state legislature changed things a few years ago,” Grace continued. “The position is really called ‘magistrate’ now, but it’s the same as justice of the peace. Max was elected last month. His father was justice of the peace in this county for more than forty years.” Grace stroked a gray curl coyly and laughed. “Bartram Templeton was a legend, let me tell you.”
    Betty, her jeans and workshirt already coated with a film of dust, frowned as she knocked more dust into the air while scrubbing a countertop. “A good legend or a bad legend?”
    “Depends on your point of view. If you were the husband of one of Bartram’s lady friends, you might say it was a bad legend.”
    Betty halted and stared at her. “Are we talking ‘town lecher’ here?”
    “No, honey, we’re talking ‘town Romeo’ here. Bartram never stole a heart that didn’t want to be stolen.”
    “He cheated on his wife, Max’s mother?”
    “Oh, no. She died when Max