“No, you had to give me double points for those last two—”

She slapped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t you dare say it. Besides, you shouldn’t gloat. I earned three hundred points for those last two...you knows.”

He plucked her hand away and smiled so tenderly she almost melted. “That you did.”

She glanced around to distract herself from his sexiness. People and kids dressed as everything from a zombie clown to a snow queen crowded inside different tents. Red and black balloons stretched from buildings on the left to buildings on the right, forming an arch in the center. Though the street had been blocked off to vehicular traffic, an old-timey green truck inched along the center, the current Miss Strawberry Valley standing in back, dressed as a sexy strawberry and waving.

Well over a decade had passed since Harlow had actually attended the festival. As a teenager she’d been too “cool,” and as an adult she probably would have been stuffed in the dunk tank. Oh, how times had changed. She soaked up every moment of this.

“Harlow! Harlow! Over here!” Brook Lynn called. She wore a flesh-colored bodysuit with strategically placed fig leaves. She waved from inside the You’ve Got It Coming booth, a crowd stretching out a mile long to buy bowls of casserole, different sandwiches and slices of pie.

Harlow waved back. Jase, Jessie Kay and Daphne were working inside the booth, as well, and when they heard her name they glanced up to smile at her. Jase wore a similiar flesh-colored bodysuit with a single fig leaf between his legs, and oh wow, he looked good. His muscles stretched the suit’s fabric, making it ripple.

Jessie Kay had come as a sexy zombified version of Alice in Wonderland, and Daphne as a sexy Harpy with glittery wings.

As Harlow acknowledged each of them, so happy she could burst, Jessie Kay called, “If you’re hungry, get over here. I promise not to spit in your food.”

“No, thanks. I’m good for now.” Besides, if she cut to the front of the line, the crowd of ax murderers and skeletons would mob her. Ever since she’d started working at the inn, they’d been more tolerant of her. Maybe because they’d had closure...or because they’d gotten to spoon-feed her a little of her own medicine. Whatever it was, she would take it over being the town pariah. But there were just some things she dare not risk.

West, who flanked Harlow’s other side, mumbled, “That woman is a menace.”

“Who? Jessie Kay?”

“As if there’s anyone else even half as dangerous.”

Dangerous? “She’s awesome,” Harlow snapped, defending her friend. “One of the best people I know.”

Beck kissed Harlow’s temple. “He’s just bitter because he hasn’t been able to get into her pants yet.”

“Watch your mouth,” West said. His tone was firm, but not so firm she worried they’d break out in fisticuffs anytime soon.

Beck held up his hands in surrender. “How are things going with your relationship search, my man?”

“You’re finally ready to settle down?” Harlow asked. “Well, make sure any girl you date knows you have no taste and wouldn’t recognize perfect girlfriend material if she bit you. Oh, who am I kidding? She’ll figure it out on her own after a few minutes in your presence.”

Beck laughed.

“You guys annoy me,” West grumbled.

Carol Mathis, dressed as a vampire’s bride, ambled past Harlow and nodded, publicly acknowledging her presence. Dottie, looking gorgeous in a pink sequin gown with teardrops painted under her eyes, kept pace beside her mother. She smiled and waved, and Harlow eagerly returned the greeting.

When Dottie disappeared around a corner, Harlow’s gaze collided with Scott. He stood across the street, dressed as a cowboy, watching her from the Dead Again booth.

Beck stiffened, gritting out, “I swear that man wants me to help him.”

“He isn’t cursing at me. I’d say he’s backed off,” she said.

“Doesn’t matter if he’s backed off or not,” West said. He’d gone all out with his pimp costume, wearing a rainbow-colored faux-fur coat and bell-bottoms, even carrying a gold cane. “He still looked at another man’s property, and that’s a crime deserving of torture.”

With the bitter twinge in his voice, he sounded as if he knew a little something about that.

“Property?” she said.

“I prefer the word toy,” Beck said, and nipped at her ear. “Let me play with you.”

Tawny and Charlene bounded over. Both women wore lingerie. Or scraps of material trying to pass themselves off as lingerie. They each held a gourmet corn dog from Brook Lynn’s booth, and Harlow made a mental note: next stop, Brook Lynn’s booth, whether the town revolted or not. I want.

“Hi, Beck. Hi, West,” Tawny said, her gaze locked on Beck. She twirled a lock of pale hair between her fingers and licked at the tip of her corn dog.

If she gave that tasty treat a blow job, Harlow might just go nuclear.

“You’re looking good, Beck,” Charlene said. She was a young, newly divorced brunette who’d once helped Harlow terrorize the town, becoming the new queen bee when Harlow retired.

“Gotta say, you are absolutely adorable as a pussycat tamer,” Charlene added, shooting Harlow a gleeful smirk. “You can wrangle me anytime. Again.”

Tawny nodded enthusiastically. “I second that.”

Harlow stiffened.




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