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“Not true.” One side of J.D.’s mouth lifted, and Tiffany’s heart skipped a silly little beat. As easily as if he’d done it a thousand times before, he wrapped his arms around her waist. “But people have to earn my trust, and it takes time.”
“Does it?”
His face was so close to hers that she noticed the webbing of colors—blue and green—beneath the gray of his eyes. “Yep. A long time.” He kissed her then, and her insides melted. His lips were firm and warm. So damned inviting. She and he were becoming familiar—way too familiar—and the feel of him, of his hands locked behind the small of her back, was a sensation she didn’t want to give up. Ever.
When he lifted his head, she smiled, sighed, then rested her head against his shoulder. “James Dean Santini, what in the world am I going to do with you?” she asked as the moon began to rise.
“Good question. I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
“They say that great minds think alike.”
“Do they?” he asked, his voice deep, his gaze so intense that she had to look away, at anything. She chose her watch and felt a frisson of dread. “Stephen’s so much later than usual.”
“He’s a thirteen-year-old boy.”
“I know, I know, and he’s chronically pushing his curfew back, but not by more than fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.”
“He’ll show up.” J.D. was confident. Always.
“I hope so.”
He folded her into his arms again and kissed her temple. “Worrying isn’t going to help.”
She knew it but couldn’t help the edge of concern that nagged at her. Lately Stephen had been getting into more and more trouble. It wasn’t the pack of cigarettes she’d found in his room that bothered her, but this business with Isaac Wells and the fight with Miles Dean the other day. Not to mention his general bad attitude.
“It’ll be all right,” J.D. promised, as if reading her mind.
“I hope you’re right.”
Somewhere not too far away church bells tolled, the chimes ringing through the town and echoing off the surrounding hills. Tiffany lifted her head and sighed.
“Something else is bothering you,” J.D. said, touching her chin with one finger.
“Hear that?” The melodic bells continued to peal, and Tiffany’s heart squeezed painfully.
“Late service?”
“Nope.” She rubbed her arms as if to ward off a chill. “I think my father just got married.”
CHAPTER NINE
“I’ve called everywhere,” Tiffany said, hanging up the kitchen telephone and leaning heavily against the wall. “He’s gone.”
“We’ll find him,” J.D. insisted. “Ask Mrs. Ellingsworth to watch Christina, and we’ll start looking for him.”
“Where?”
“You tell me.”
Don’t panic. He’s fine. He’s got to be. With trembling fingers she dialed Ellie’s number and tried to remain calm as the telephone rang. When the older woman answered, Tiffany explained what was going on.
“I’ll be up in a second,” Ellie said without hesitation. “Now don’t you worry.”
If only that was possible. These days, worry seemed to be Tiffany’s middle name.
True to her word, Ellie was at the back door within minutes and bustling them both outside. “You know how boys are, never can keep track of time. My Charlie, he was the worst. Gave me every gray hair on my head, I swear.” But the concern in her eyes betrayed her. She, too, was upset.
“It’s so unlike Stephen to be this late,” Tiffany said, once they were in J.D.’s Jeep and driving through the narrow streets and alleys of Bittersweet. Dusk had given way to the deeper shades of evening, and a few street lamps had begun to glow.
