Читать книгу Third Time Lucky - Allison Leigh - Страница 7

Chapter Three

Dane strode across the shop, imagining that he could feel Charlene’s gaze burning into his back.

He put on a pair of mental blinders and stepped around the white Christmas tree that stood in the middle of the shop, dripping with glittering jewelry, and edged past the rustic wood ladder that was draped with sheer lacy panties and bras. He finally reached his mother, who was deep in discussion with Meredith over the merits of a red sweater over a blue one.

“Which do you think?” Nanette held both sweaters up for Dane’s opinion.

All he wanted to do was pay for whatever his mother figured Becca would like best and get the hell outta Dodge. But he knew his mom. She’d figure his hurry to leave Charlene’s would have to do with the shop’s owner. And since she’d be right, he stifled his impatience. “The red one.”

“Scarlet,” Nanette corrected, smiling impishly. “Excellent choice, honey.” She handed it to him. “I’m going next door to the boot shop.”

“Don’t be bringing home any more Castleton’s,” he warned. “That new puppy of yours’ll chew them up, too.”

She just smiled and hurried through the garland-draped entrance. Now that he’d done the deed—talked to Charlene about the party—she was smiling at him again. As if one five-minute conversation with Leenie would magically solve anything.

“Wish I could afford a pair of Castleton’s.” Meredith was smiling good-naturedly as she rang up the stupidly expensive sweater. “Out of my budget, I’m afraid.”

“Out of most people’s budget,” Dane murmured, but from the corner of his eye, he was watching the archway leading to the workroom. Willing Charlene to appear. Wishing she wouldn’t. “Sort of like shopping at this place.” He was proud of Charlene’s accomplishments. Though he’d rather chew glass than admit it and have her leave Red Rock—and him—all over again when her ambitions took her off to some other place again. He was a rancher, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly how successful she was becoming.

Meredith was laughing lightly. “Your sister will love the sweater. Cashmere never goes out of style. It’s worth every penny.” She looked past him to the young blonde who was carrying the same sweater—only this time in blue—up to the register. “Felicity, tell him I’m right.”

“Cashmere’s worth every penny,” the other woman assured him. He recognized her and her sunny expression from the chocolate shop his mother loved.

“Dane prefers the feel of flannel,” Charlene said smoothly, sauntering in from the back room. She was wearing skinny brown pants, a flimsy gold blouse—through which he could easily see a scanty brown camisole that was a whole lot more underwear than shirt—and about a dozen gold bracelets. And her blue eyes, lighter than the pale winter sky outside, seemed to drill into him. “Isn’t that right, Dane?”

What he preferred was the feel of her ivory skin lying warm and naked against him. But all of that had come to a screeching halt six months ago when she’d tossed his marriage proposal back in his face.

He was forty years old. You’d think he’d have learned a few things since the first time he’d proposed, when he’d been so afraid of losing her that he’d asked her to marry him two hours after she’d graduated from high school.

She’d laughed, as if he’d been joking, and then she’d hustled her shapely rear on out to California, not returning until a few years ago.

At least this last time she hadn’t laughed, though the results had been the same. Him alone. Left wanting a woman for a wife who had no wanting for him as a husband.

It was just his own bad luck that he couldn’t seem to get the woman herself from beneath his skin. “Flannel keeps a man warm,” he muttered and slammed the cowboy hat he’d been holding at his side on his head.

Then he spun on his heel and got the hell out of Charlene’s.