Page 72 of Hot to Trot

Maybe, for once in his life, his mother made sense.

He was tired of gray curtains and white walls.

A little color never hurt.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

SCARLET SHIFTED THE picnic basket into the crook of her elbow and looked for her sister and Henry among the sea of blankets, lawn chairs, and tailgate tents.

"Scarlet!" She heard her sister's voice but could not locate her. She craned her head and felt very un-Scarlet like. Damn. No New Yorker showed up to a tiny park and acted lost. Hell to the no. But she didn't feel very New Yorker at the moment. She felt lost.

"Over here. By the zinnias," Rayne called.

What were zinnias? Scarlet swiveled her head and finally saw her sister waving her arms as if she were guiding in a jumbo jet. Scarlet picked her way through the crowd, very well aware everyone stared at her. In fact, conversations died as she passed by.

Maybe the whole country-girl-with-a-twist look had been a bad idea. The denim shorts skimmed her upper thighs and the gingham shirt knotted between her breasts bared her midriff. She'd parted her hair and braided it, finishing off with grosgrain ribbon. She'd purposely left her flip-flops in the car.

Brent gave her a once-over as she stepped onto her aunt Frances's quilt. "Did you just escape from a country-music video?"

Scarlet scowled. "It's a festive look."

Rayne snorted. “Hee Hawhootchie mama?”

“Shush.” Scarlet dumped the picnic basket at her sister's feet. "Aunt Frances said I looked perfect. She sent chicken salad sandwiches and extra lemonade."

Rayne glanced at the small table laden with food. "Set it on the table, I guess. And you look... cute?"

Scarlet had been going for hot. Drop-that-sweatered-bitch-because-I-can-rock-your-world hot. But she guessedcutewould work. She rifled through the contents of the basket, withdrawing the plastic-wrapped plate of sandwiches from the depths, along with the jug of lemonade. She used the busyness to secretly comb the area for a glimpse of Adam with his little friend.

She didn't see them.

"So," she said, pretending to casually survey the gathering, "looks like everyone in town showed up."

She didn't see Adam on the right side of the gazebo, either. Maybe he was behind the structure. Next to the bridge. It looked like a romantic spot. A little hideaway, perfect for some privacy. "Yeah, everyone usually comes. Mostly to see their kids sing or clog. Jasper Boyett will be doing his ventriloquist act in ten minutes. After that, the Dance Factory will perform a tribute to the Beach Boys."

Brent didn't look overly excited. Henry stuck his finger down his throat and pretended to gag.

"Has Roz's granddaughter sung yet?"

"I don't think so," Rayne muttered, fussing with the lid on a plastic storage dish.

''I think I'll go look for her. You know, to say hello to little Mary Ellen."

"Mary Claire," Rayne corrected her.

Scarlet pulled out cherry lip gloss and swiped it across her lips. "Yeah, whatever."

She stepped over Henry's feet, walked around a tent of older ladies playing gin rummy, then skirted the gazebo. A few people waved and one moron gave a wolf whistle. But she focused on finding Roz, which was totally her cover for finding her sexy lawman.

Scarlet spotted Roz near the temporary stage, dabbing rouge on a pudgy girl who looked to be about ten years old. But she didn't see Adam. Where in the world was he? Aunt Fran had said he had a date. Maybe he'd backed out. Maybe after their little adventure in the backyard, he'd realized no other woman compared to her. Maybe he'd canceled.

But then she saw the car.

She stopped right in the middle of Kate and Rick Mendez's quilt. And stared.

It was bright yellow and gleamed against the green shrubs sitting behind it. A classic muscle car with shiny rims and a fresh coat of wax. And sitting right on the hood was a thin blonde in a strapless sundress and thong sandals. In her hand was a plate holding a piece of pie... and she was feeding it to Adam.

Scarlet felt her heart drop to her toes.

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