Читать книгу Can't Fight This Feeling - Christie Ridgway - Страница 11
ОглавлениеNURSING HER BEER, Glory Hallett kept her attention on her glass and her back to the rest of the crowd at Mr. Frank’s. Angelica had just left after returning from the ladies’ room, looking wide-eyed and unsettled, as if a ghost had goosed her in the back hall.
Her father was a bastard for taking his daughter’s money—not just her trust fund, but money that she had earned and invested from her modeling days—and for putting her into this position. Glory might have her beefs with her own dad, but he wasn’t a criminal. She peeked over her shoulder to see him in a far corner at a table with his cronies. Even though he was an exemplary citizen, she didn’t want to engage with him tonight. A girl should get to enjoy a beer without having her pops come over to talk shop, which was exactly what he’d do if he spotted her.
Maybe she, like Angelica, should head for home. Another ladies’ night at Mr. Frank’s felt suddenly flat. If she hung around much longer, surely Hank Hallett would notice her presence and come out of his very tenuous retirement to decide it was time to once again intrude on the course the business’s new management had set.
“This seat taken?” a deep voice asked.
“No,” she answered, not distracted from the morose turn of her thoughts. Sighing, she decided leaving was the best option she had. She could spend the rest of the evening debating whether to join an online dating service—not for the first time—knowing from the outset nothing would come of registering even if she did. She already knew every eligible man living in the local mountain resort communities. Outside the area...well, given that she’d never be leaving it because of her ties to the store, finding a man with a life down the hill would be a big waste of time and only bring the potential for heartbreak.
“Great,” the newcomer answered.
His low-toned voice niggled at her, and her gaze flicked to the right. When she saw a rangy body climb onto the stool, she took a longer look. Her heart jumped in her chest. “Oh. You.”
His eyes cut to her. They were dark, to match his dark, shaggy hair. She refused to wiggle on her seat, despite the fact it seemed he was having trouble placing her. Embarrassing! She remembered his face.
His glance dropped down to her chest. She wore a button-up Henley over a tank top and, yes, she was revealing a bit of cleavage. After working in a hardware store sixty hours a week, on occasion she did like to remind people she was a woman. But maybe she should feel a little insulted by his ogling.
His eyes lifted to hers. “You’re...Glory. I remember your name’s written on the apron you wear at work.”
Yay! All was forgiven! She smiled at him. “Hello, stranger.” Holding out her hand, she introduced herself. “Glory Hallett, of Hallett Hardware.”
His handshake was manly and brief. “Kyle Scott, of...”
She mentally cursed herself for her introduction. Did it sound like bragging? When he’d come in for some Spackle, rollers and paintbrushes, he’d been wearing threadbare jeans with a T-shirt that was probably as old as he was. It wasn’t easy making a living in the mountains. With housing and groceries and gas at resort prices, those who did certain jobs—say house painting or general handyman tasks—didn’t have an easy time of it. But she came from mountain pioneer stock and knew well that all work was honorable.
“Kyle Scott of Evergreen and Piano Keys,” she finished for him, naming two popular paint colors.
He blinked, clearly astonished.
Glory grinned at him. “I work in a hardware store. We sell cans of that stuff. I recognized those splashes on your clothes.”
He looked chagrined. “I have to admit I bought that paint over at Murphy’s,” he said, mentioning one of their competitors in the bigger town on the north side of the mountain. “I didn’t know about Hallett’s at the time.”
“Well, now you do.”
He smiled, slow. “Now I do.”
Glory swallowed the last of her beer. Then she signaled to the bartender, Murray. “Can I buy you a beer?” she asked the new guy, signaling for two without waiting for his answer.
At his silence, she glanced over, hoping she hadn’t stepped on his ego. “It’s ladies’ night,” she said. “I get a break on the price.”
“Oh. Well, then.” A strange expression crossed his face. “I appreciate it.”
Upon arrival of their drinks, she tapped her full glass to his. “What should we drink to?”
“New friends?” he suggested.
Warmth curled like a kitten in her belly. “You in these parts for a while, stranger?” It was just a beer, she reminded herself. No need to get worked up about his permanent address.
“Kyle,” he repeated. “I hope to be here for some time, yes. We’ll see how it goes.”
He hoped to be here for some time! It was good, though, that he appeared to understand that earning enough to pay mountain prices wouldn’t be easy. “I can put your name and number in our files,” she offered. “And we have a bulletin board near the front of the store where you can post a flyer. Customers often ask if we know of workers who do general home maintenance. That’s your gig, right?”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Sure.” She shrugged, pretending it was a casual proposal. Something she’d do for anyone she happened upon in Mr. Frank’s. But the truth was, she had a sudden stake in his ability to make a mountain living. There was something about the man and his dark, intense eyes that caused her heart to race. Her whole body felt as if it was coming alive.
If he could afford to stay in the area...
She slid another quick look at his handsome face. There was a sudden change in the air, too. A first-day-of-school feeling. A first-day-of-the-rest-of-your-life feeling that sensitized the surface of her skin and made the oxygen she sucked in seem even thinner than normal.
No way was she going to ignore it.
Turning toward the new guy, she placed her elbow on the bar. “So...tell me about yourself. You really want to put down roots in the mountains?”
His gaze shifted from her to his beer and he hesitated.
Too long. Mortified heat crawled up her neck. “Um, sorry,” she mumbled, and turned back to her own drink. “I’ll shut up now and let you enjoy your evening in peace.” Stupid, she thought. Stupid, stupid. He was probably married or gay or simply not interested in her in any way. Just because she’d been instantly attracted...
She remembered the day he’d walked into the store. The bell over the door had rung with its usual cheery sound, and she’d looked up from dusting the boxes of wooden matches that her dad insisted they stock but nobody ever put in their basket. The stranger had looked a little lost and a lot hot and she’d smiled to herself as she approached and asked if he needed help. There was something about a man and any kind of shopping task—even when it was hardware stuff. They always roamed the floor with an air of bafflement, as if the entire process confounded them.
Whether a woman was browsing or knew exactly what she wanted, she walked through a store with the confidence of a general on a battlefield.
He’d asked to be pointed toward the painting supplies and then he’d strolled off in the direction she’d indicated, leaving her to admire the set of his shoulders and those long legs. But she’d dismissed him from her mind immediately after he’d made his purchases, however. Because mooning over a visitor wasn’t a practical thing to do.
Yet now that she’d run into him at mostly locals Mr. Frank’s and he said he was hoping to remain in the area...well, that seemed promising.
Not if he wasn’t interested, however.
The proprietor of a locally owned and operated hardware store had to be nothing but practical. So even if he wanted to be more than temporary to the mountains, if the spark wasn’t mutual, she wasn’t going to waste a moment worrying about it.
“Glory.”
“Hmm?” She chirped it, faking happy and unconcerned. Her gaze stayed stubbornly glued on the TV above the bar. The coverage of an early snow in Wisconsin was fascinating.
“I’ve forgotten the steps,” he said.
“Mmm.” She made a mental note to check on her order of snow shovels. You never wanted to be deeply discounting surplus in April, but you’d better have plenty in stock between New Year’s and Valentine’s Day.
Kyle released a sigh. “So it’s no wonder I’ve already stumbled on them. Give me another chance?”
She shook herself and shot him a quick look. “What?”
His expression was sheepish. “Is there a way to tell a woman you’re rusty when it comes to bar pickups?”
Rearing back, she felt another hot flush overtake her. “I wasn’t trying to pick you up!” It was sort of a lie, but still.
“Hell,” he muttered, slapping his palm to his forehead. “I did it again.”
“Did what?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
“I...work a lot. Don’t get out much.”
Which sounded like Glory. “So...?”
“So, it was more like I was trying to pick you up.”
Her eyes rounded. “You really are rusty. You’re not supposed to admit the pickup intention right out loud like that.”
He laughed.
She liked the sound of it. “Though to be truthful, I’m not into that kind of thing anyway.” Yes, she’d wanted to talk to him, feel out the boundaries of the attraction she felt for him, but a pickup implied sex and she didn’t jump into anyone’s bed.
He grimaced, and as if he could read her mind, he said, “Yeah. I bet it sounded like I was after sex, huh?”
“Um...it did.”
His hand slapped his forehead again. “I’m terrible at this, see?”
He was too good-looking to be “terrible.” She figured he’d had plenty of opportunities to know women in every way possible.
“You’re looking skeptical,” he said.
“It could be just a good line,” she told him honestly and lowered her voice to a manly tone. “‘I’m inexperienced and utterly harmless despite my good looks and fabulous smile.’”
His mouth curved upward.
Yep, fabulous smile, Glory thought.
“I didn’t say I was ‘inexperienced.’” Mischief sparked in his eyes. “Just out of practice.”
Smiling herself, she shook her head. “Looks like the rhythm is coming right back to you.”
Their gazes met and she had to suppress a little shiver. Truly, she hadn’t felt this sense of something-good-about-to-happen since she was twelve and found she was assigned to a seat beside Harper Adrian, the cutest boy in the seventh grade.
Of course, Harper had cheated off her the entire year and written a nasty note about her on the bathroom wall the last day of school.
She sighed.
Frowning, Kyle redirected his gaze to his beer as if he had his own heavy thoughts. “I like it here,” he said. “I like working with my hands and I like that it’s...simpler. Not like down the mountain.”
“I like that you like it here,” Glory said, smiling. “But it’s down the hill.”
He glanced over at her.
“You’ve got to use the proper locals’ lingo if you intend to become one. We call it down the hill.”
“Locals’ lingo...” He drained the remainder of his beer. “About that—”
A meaty hand clapped on her shoulder. “Glory girl! I didn’t see you come in.”
She stifled her groan and half turned. “Dad. Having fun?”
“Sure. But I’m glad I caught you. I think we need to have a little chat.”
“Oh, gee, Dad. I’m just about to...” What? Make another move on the total stranger? Or leave the bar and lose out on learning any more about him?
“This won’t take long.” The stool on her other side was unfortunately empty and her father slid onto it.
Glory peeked at Kyle and saw him stifle a yawn. Then he stood and withdrew some bills, leaving a nice tip for the bartender.
She was losing out on him, anyway. Her dad started yammering in her ear as Kyle sent her a smile and then tapped two fingers to his forehead in a silent goodbye. In return, she pinkie waved, saying farewell, most likely, to the most interesting thing that had come her way in months. Possibly years.
“About that bin of pumpkins...” Her father droned on. “I think they do better at the back of the store, where we’ve always kept them, not out on the sidewalk where you have to drag them in before closing every night.”
Hank Hallett didn’t like change. Glory supposed she shouldn’t be looking for anything in her life to alter either, not when she’d already predicted this very serious discussion regarding pumpkin placement.
She snuck a look over her shoulder in the direction of Kyle Scott’s exit. His hand was on the door. As he pushed it open, he glanced back. Their gazes tangled once again.
And Glory felt a new rush of hope, despite how impractical and nonsensical it might be. She sighed. Likely nothing would ever come of it.
* * *
AS THE BROTHER OF three younger sisters, Brett had a keen appreciation of male companionship. It was why he enjoyed the little ritual he’d established with his brothers-in-law-to-be. A couple of times a week, they met for morning coffee and he always looked forward to it.
It was a no-stress way to start the day, hanging with the two men who didn’t expect any more from him than the occasional comment on the news playing on the TV hanging in the corner. Brett was no less relaxed now, even though it was the first time he’d been in Oscar’s Coffee since buying Angelica hot chocolate.
He’d banished her from his thoughts.
That he dreamed of her, well, he wasn’t going to beat himself up for that. A man didn’t have control over his sleeping self. But in his waking hours he had disciplined his mind not to linger on her big brown eyes, silky hair, bountiful breasts. He didn’t think about the way her long lashes swept the pink-edged apples of her cheeks.
Her small hand, cool in his.
“What’s got that expression on your face?” Ryan Hamilton asked. “Do you need a muffin or something? The breakfast burritos are good.”
Brett glanced over. “Huh?”
“You look hungry, man.”
Guilt poked at him. Made him grouchy. Small hand, cool in his. Yeesh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, wanting to soak his head in cold water. She’s supposed to be banished from your thoughts!
A server approached, their coffees on a tray. She slid them onto the table, plucked their number from the silver holder, then sent Brett a bright smile. “Long time no see, honey.”
Blinking, he noticed it was Danielle Shore. “You’re working here now?”
She nodded, her blond hair swirling around her shoulders. “Just one shift a week. Not getting enough hours at the boutique.”
A tough time of year for the full-timers. Autumn and spring were the slow seasons in the mountains. “I hope you can stay busy, Danielle.”
Tucking the tray under her arm, she edged nearer, close enough to nudge his thigh with her knee. “I can think of things we can do to fill my spare time.”
He considered her obvious proposition. They’d dated for a few months a couple of years before. But it had faded and they’d gone their separate ways. But Danielle’s good looks hadn’t diminished in the least. She was California-mountain-girl pretty, with that blond hair, those blue eyes and the dash of cute freckles over her nose. A round two might not be a bad idea.
Some vigorous sex might be just what he needed.
He opened his mouth to suggest a dinner later that week.
But then the image of dark-haired, dark-eyed Angelica popped into his thoughts. Her mouth pursed like a kiss as she blew on the surface of her hot chocolate in this very establishment.
Their actual kiss.
It had been a very bad idea. He’d said so...out loud. But that hadn’t stopped him from reaching for her. From taking her mouth, certain and sure, as she wound an arm around his neck and pressed eagerly against his body.
It was her hair that had finally stopped him. He’d buried his hands in the silky strands and the fragrant stuff had seemed alive, winding around his fingers as if it could bind him to her.
Keep him tied up until he was helpless against her and what she could do to him.
Crush him. Suck the life from him. Break him into a million little pieces.
He’d been hurt like that once before, but he sensed that the havoc that beautiful, spoiled princess Angelica could wreak would be so much worse.
With a little smile for Danielle, he patted the pocket that contained his phone. “Maybe so,” he said, keeping his tone neutral. His interest in a date with her had evaporated. “I have your number.”
She sashayed away in tight jeans and a little T-shirt, but Brett couldn’t drum up an ounce of regret.
Across the table, Jace chuckled into his coffee. “That’s a first. Ryan Hamilton’s pretty face completely ignored in favor of Brett’s grunts and grumbles. Poppy must have put out the word that the other women around town better not even glance at you.”
Ryan, looking like the movie star he’d been, settled back in his chair and eyed the still-smirking Jace. “I’m going to tell Shay you’re dying to discuss the flower arrangements for your wedding.”
Jace winced. “Ouch. That’s pretty harsh, brother.”
“Could be worse. You don’t watch it I’ll tell her you have an opinion on her Big Day hairstyle.”
The other man groaned. “Don’t. I beg you.”
Brett shook his head at the other two. “I tried to tell you both. I counseled you, even. You shouldn’t have popped the question. There’s no need for a wedding, or a marriage even. My sisters would stick with you guys without all that hoopla.”
Jace placed his coffee on the table and turned to Brett. “I want to make promises to your sister,” he said, his voice low. “And I want her to make them to me. Publicly.”
Ryan nodded, looking equally serious.
What Brett wanted was to scoff. Call them fools. But that seemed too damn rude, even for him, and he really did wish the best for the two couples. He didn’t think Poppy or Shay would ever do a number on the hearts of these two men.
Too bad his choice of female companions hadn’t always been so stellar.
Looking around the room instead of looking at them, his gaze snagged on the TV. As if to underscore his condemnation of his own lousy instincts, Lorraine Kushi’s face appeared on the screen. She’d worked for years at an LA news affiliate, and when she came on he always switched the channel to avoid the sight of her sharp beauty and the memories it dredged up. He stood now, bent on doing just that, when a name flashed on the screen. Ralph Rodriguez.
Ralph Rodriguez was the name of Angelica’s father.
Brett sank back in his seat as Lorraine reported the latest financial scandal. Angelica’s father had stolen millions of his investors’ dollars in a Ponzi scheme that had finally gone bust. The Feds had kept him in custody—for several days now—and the news had finally leaked.
His personal accounts and property had been frozen or put under the government’s control. Rumor was he’d even robbed his own daughter while trying to cover up the crisis.
Angelica. Her father jailed. Her money gone...or at least inaccessible.
Did she know?
Of course she knew. It all made sense now. The darkened house. Her creeping around inside it. He’d suspected something was off. Then there was the job at Hallett Hardware.
In this very coffee shop, she’d told him she’d once wanted to work with her father but she hadn’t been welcomed. All for the best, she’d said. I’m not suited for that kind of risk.
Not suited for the things her father did. Breaking the law. Cheating other people. Betraying family.
“Where are you going?”
He glanced at his companions, realizing he’d jumped up from his chair and was heading for the door. The two men were staring at him. “Where are you going?” Ryan repeated.
“I’ve got to go check on someone—I mean something.” He needed to see her. To make sure that she was okay. While he cursed this drive to protect her, he couldn’t deny it, either.
The morning air, as crisp as a pippin apple, didn’t cool the heated urge. But as he unlocked his truck, he realized he had no idea where to find her. Where was she living now that the mansion on the lake was in government hands?
He slid inside, trying to think it through. Hallett Hardware. It was his best bet.
But a dumb idea, he realized, as he pulled into its small parking lot. The place was dark. It wouldn’t open for another couple of hours. Frustrated, he banged on the steering wheel with the heel of his hands. Did she know the story was out?
If so, would she look for a new place to go?
Maybe she’d run from the mountains and he’d never see her again. She’d banish herself. That made sense, didn’t it?
His hands thumped the steering wheel again. Then he cursed, because there was no reason for that idea to bother him so. It was what he wanted. Distance from gorgeous Angelica Rodriguez who fascinated him in a way he was sure would only lead to disaster.
A knock on the driver’s side window caused him to jump. His head whipped around to see Vaughn Elliott, dressed in dark jeans and a wool coat. Brett had never warmed to the guy, but then again he had a knee-jerk distrust of Richie Rich types. Vaughn was certainly that. As far as Brett knew, he lived off family money and got off by playing cop. The sheriff’s volunteer patrol car that he so often cruised around in was parked beside the truck.
Vaughn knocked again on the glass.
Brett unrolled the window. “Yeah?”
“Good morning.”
“Uh-huh.” Brett stared at a shiny piece of metal that was pinned to Vaughn’s lapel. “You wear a badge now?”
The other man shifted on his feet and looked a little embarrassed. “The sheriff thought it was a good idea.”
“Right.” Wrong. Brett would bet this particular volunteer liked the—fake—authority the emblem conferred upon him. Everything about the arrogant jerk rubbed him the wrong way. “You here to arrest me?”
Vaughn looked back coolly. “Have you done something wrong?”
An image of Angelica popped into Brett’s mind again. That kiss in the shadowy hallway at Mr. Frank’s. What he’d been on the brink of doing. Sex in a public place was against the law, right? Shoving the idea of it out of his mind, he shrugged for Vaughn’s benefit. “Nothing I’m willing to share,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“Thought I’d pass along the word about a burglary last night.”
Brett straightened in his seat. “Another house was broken into?”
The other man’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve heard?”
“Don Fleming clued me in a few days ago,” he said.
“Ah.” Vaughn nodded. “Well, this does seem part of the same string.”
“What was taken?”
“I don’t know all the particulars. It was the Smithfields’ vacation home. There were some silver pieces missing for sure and an antique globe in a walnut stand.”
Brett frowned. “Silver? An antique globe? That doesn’t sound like the kind of loot kids would take.”
“There was cash missing, too, I’m told. And, uh...” Vaughn seemed to think. “The medicine cabinets were rifled. A TV is gone.”
“Hmm.” It seemed to him an odd assortment of plunder, but Brett didn’t know anything about what items could be fenced. Or the criminal mind.
The sheriff’s volunteer patted the roof of the truck. “Keep vigilant.”
Brett resisted rolling his eyes. “Will do,” he said, and succumbed to the urge to mock salute.
The other man didn’t appear to sense his irony and returned to his vehicle. Brett watched him roll slowly out of the parking lot and onto the highway.
As he did, he saw Angelica’s vehicle drive past the hardware store. Most of her face was hidden behind a pair of celebrity-sized sunglasses. Without thinking, he pulled out after her. If she wasn’t working at Hallett’s today, where was she going?
More important, how was she faring?
At the next turnoff, an SUV took advantage of the gap he’d left between their vehicles and slid into place behind Angelica. Brett didn’t mind. He could watch her just as well from here. Their short parade continued on for half a mile until her lights signaled and she hung a right into a parking lot bordering a rustic set of buildings that housed a branch of the county library, a gourmet market and a fancy day spa.
He followed at a sedate space, wondering about her destination.
Was she intending to massage her worries away?
His mind got busy again, picturing her naked on a table, a towel covering the delectable curve of her butt. Maybe he’d sneak in, pay off the real masseuse and help himself to the wealth of her golden skin.
He’d warm his hands by spreading coconut oil between his palms and then he’d stroke her shoulders, knead the tight muscles there. After long minutes he’d work his way down her back.
She’d moan.
At the thought of the sound of her pleasure, he had to shift on his seat and adjust the tight fit of his jeans. Damn, he thought, watching her exit her car as he idled behind a commercial-size Dumpster. Could he do it?
But instead of the spa, she approached the library and pushed some books through the mouth of the outside depository. Then she returned to her car, those big dark glasses still obscuring most of her face and all of her mood.
He’d go to her, he thought. Shove up the shades and look deep into her eyes. His hand went to the door handle. Then he’d tell her—
Just as a law enforcement vehicle whizzed by on the highway, the bar of lights on its roof flashing, and he caught himself. His hand jerked away from the door.
Maybe he was a criminal. Because it was criminally stupid to forget the promises he’d made to himself.
She wasn’t for him.
She wasn’t his concern.
This unfamiliar need to serve and protect would only cause him trouble.
