The Truth About Tate by Marilyn Pappano

Author:Marilyn Pappano
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Silhouette
Published: 2001-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Burning Bow was, quite possibly, the most unusual town Natalie had ever seen. It was, not to put too simple a spin on it, perfect. Perfectly designed, laid out and maintained. Perfectly clean, efficient and lovely. Perfectly…creepy in a Stepford Wives sort of way. The sign in the town square announcing that it was a planned community was unnecessary. Only someone who’d lived his entire life in a cave couldn’t guess that. Every house, every shop, every patch of grass—emerald green in spite of the unending drought—was designed to support the vision of an affluent, turn-of-the-last-century, never-never-land town, and they succeeded.

J.T. pulled into the first empty parking space they came to downtown, and she slid out of the truck. She half expected the temperature to be perfect, too, but unfortunately, it was 111 according to the thermometer attached to the outside wall of the hardware store. Even planned communities couldn’t mandate the weather, though she wouldn’t be surprised to find out they’d tried.

Stepping onto the sidewalk—the flawlessly smooth, un-cracked, level sidewalk—she turned in a slow circle before facing J.T. “This is incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it. Even the lake—” she gestured toward the water visible two blocks and a slight decline away “—couldn’t be more perfect if they’d…” Noticing his grin, she trailed off. “They built the lake, too?”

He nodded. “There’s a real lake about five miles north, but it wasn’t picturesque enough, so they designed this one instead.”

“Amazing. Can you imagine living here? They must require you to check your free will and individuality at the town limits.” When she would have turned toward the hardware store, he caught her elbow and steered her toward the heart of the town.

“I’ve got a few friends who live here,” he said as they strolled. “It’s not so bad.”

“Yeah, until the day you decide to paint your house sunshine yellow, or dig up the yard and put in a rock garden instead, or come home from vacation with a tacky pink flamingo to stick in your flower bed. Then I bet they either force you to move out or they brainwash you into conformity.”

Laughing, he traded her elbow for her hand and pulled her across the street and into a Victorian house whose ruffly and flourishy sign identified it as Miss Mirabelle’s Tea Room. “Not hardly. They’re just people who like things to be just so.”

“Fussy, nitpicky people.”

“I bet Thaddeus would fit in here just fine.”

Probably so, she admitted as the hostess showed them to a table. He loved a sense of order, except when it came to his work space. For him, clutter in the office translated into creative energy. Clutter elsewhere—his or anyone else’s—was intolerable. This place would delight him.

“It’s all very pretty and charming,” she said as she spread a lace-edged linen napkin over her lap, “but I’d take what little I saw of Hickory Bluff anytime.”

“Me, too.” J.T. handed her a menu, waited until she opened it and had scanned the first few lines, then asked,

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