Читать книгу Third Time Lucky - Allison Leigh - Страница 8

Chapter Four

The moment the bell over the door went silent after Dane’s departure, Charlene sank onto the slipper chair next to the lingerie display.

Meredith handed her a tissue and Charlene pressed it against the tears collecting in the corners of her eyes.

“Why did you say no when he asked you to marry him?” Felicity sounded more curious than sympathetic. “You’re obviously miserable.”

She was miserable. But she also wished the town of Red Rock didn’t have such an active grapevine. The only one she’d told about Dane’s proposal had been—strangely enough—Emily Fortune. Now the whole town seemed to know, though she had a hard time believing that the cultured Emily would have gossiped. Not when she’d clearly loathed people gossiping about her.

Charlene knew Dane wouldn’t have talked, either. But that was Red Rock. Talk always got around.

Charlene crumpled the tissue in her fist and got up. “Because that’s what smart, capable women do when they’re entirely incompatible with someone.”

At least, that’s what she told herself every night when she went to bed alone.

“Incompatible shmatible,” Meredith tsked. “The man is rockin’ hot.”

Privately, Charlene agreed on that particular point. “Did you bring the chocolates?” she asked Felicity.

The young woman nodded and pulled several pretty aqua boxes out of the shopping bag by her side. “As promised.”

Charlene flipped open one of the boxes. Nestled inside was an assortment of Felicity’s beautiful handmade confections. She’d bartered the large order in exchange for the expensive sweater Felicity had picked out a few weeks ago for her roommate.

Even though the chocolates were intended for the boutique’s clients during the holiday season, Charlene pulled out a truffle and shoved it into her mouth.

The dark chocolate melted on her tongue. Music didn’t soothe the savage beast. Felicity’s chocolates did…though not even they could fill the hollowness inside Charlene.

“It’s too late, anyway. I told him we were too different,” she said huskily.

Rather than let the others see the tears still burning her eyes, she turned to fiddle with the sparkling costume jewelry hanging like icicles from the white Christmas tree.

“I was raised on a ranch and I hated it,” she said suddenly. “I’m allergic to hay and I cried whenever it was time to work the cattle.” When she’d been little, Dane had always teased her for being such a baby; he’d called her prissy for liking her ruffles and frills.

As an adult, though, he hadn’t seemed so averse to her affinity for all things feminine—particularly the frilly things that slid off her body before they made love.

She ruthlessly pushed aside the memories and pulled a necklace from the tree, turning to face the two women again. “To this day, my mother goes out and works alongside my dad, just as hard as he does, and when she’s done she still puts a supper on the table every night that would make Martha Stewart proud. Dane’s mother is exactly the same. He expects a wife like them.” The bangles around her wrist jangled softly as she held the necklace to her neck. Light from the front windows glinted off the oversize crystals. “Not someone like me.”