Читать книгу Secret Admirer - Karen Rose Smith - Страница 17

Wednesday evening

Jane seethed as she swallowed a nervous breath against the panic that threatened to overpower her. She tilted her chin upward, fighting not to glance at Matt, who was surrounded by kids and their mothers, all wanting to buy tickets to his armadillo races and chicken-flying contests.

Harper was good. What was the use of even trying to compete with him? He could beat her with both his hands tied behind his back. Once again he’d proved that her hard work and discipline and careful planning were nothing against his gut instinct, common touch and savvy charisma. While he was too busy to believe manning his armadillo races and chicken-flying contests, she’d hardly sold a pie. Anytime he had a free second, he strode up and down among the throng hawking his wares.

She clicked her nails against the counter and tried not to feel bored or depressed at her failures or resent the excellent job Matt and his brother, Jerry Keith, had done building booths for her under the bleachers of the baseball stadium. They’d worked cheerfully until nearly 2:00 a.m. last night. Even though Matt had been exhausted, he’d insisted on following her home, which was out of his way.

“Just to make sure you get there safely,” he’d said.

“Like you really think there might be a criminal lurking behind every mesquite tree and cactus bush,” she’d replied.

“Is it a major crime I want to protect you?” His handsome face had been touchingly earnest as she’d slid behind the wheel.

She was fighting to be a good sport about his popularity. After all, he was outdoing himself for a good cause. Her cause. The nagging question was—why? To help her? For the cause? Or to improve his position as contender for director of market research?

She was afraid she knew the answer.

While stragglers trickled by her booth to buy cakes or pies or bicker about her prices, Matt patiently answered his young fans’ nonstop questions in between armadillo races. For the most part, Jerry Keith was manning the chicken-flying booth, which was almost as popular. Feathers were flying, chickens were squawking and kids were running wildly about inside the screened booth, screaming in delight.

Upon the rare occasions when Jane sold a cake or pie, she couldn’t help glancing at Matt, hoping he’d see she wasn’t a total loser. He always smiled back at her.

“Are armadillos really really fast, Mr. Harper?” squealed cute little ten-year-old Susanna Hays, who was jumping back and forth, causing her red pigtails to bounce.

Matt knelt so that he was at eye level with the excited little girl. “When they think you’re tracking ’em down to carve out their insides so you can sell ’em on the side of the road as baskets, they can skitter away over the rocks mighty dern fast.”

Susanna stilled. “Do bad people really do that?”

“Mostly they’re slow though,” said Beaver Jackson, pushing his rumpled black Stetson back. His tone was authoritative because he was in the sixth grade. “I got one. Wumpus I call him. He’s my pet.”

“I’ve got one too,” Matt said, looking up and winking at Jane.

Oh, why didn’t somebody, anybody, come up and buy a pie?

“I got a scorpion for a pet,” another little boy said. “In a bottle with holes in the cap.”

“Well, don’t let him out in the house,” Matt warned, patting him on the head.

Pretty Annie Grant, the bank teller, and Greg Flynn, a local cop, were ambling among the tables side by side, pretending not to be too interested in each other as they eyed the items to be sold in the silent auction. Annie wrote her name down beneath several items, including the card to buy Jane’s cooking services.

Matt watched Annie and then nodded at Jane.

Good. She was glad he’d noticed that at least somebody appreciated her cooking skills. She said a quick prayer that somebody would buy more of her pies so she could sell out and leave. Just being around Matt made her hot and edgy.

“Got any ideas about who wrote that love letter?” cracked a voice to her right as he slapped a ten-dollar bill down. “Two strawberry pies, please.”

Jane turned. Ol’ Bill Sinclair’s weather-beaten face looked like a human road map, but his bright blue eyes twinkled at her with more mischief than most youngsters. Obviously he knew Matt wrote it.

“I have an idea or two,” she said, not looking at him as she rung up the sale.

“A lot of people do,” he said, glancing toward Matt. “You two did a mighty good job together on these booths.”

“Matt and his brother did most of it.”

“Matt damn sure has a way with kids.”

No sooner had Ol’ Bill Sinclair paid for his stacks of pies than Matt left his own booth and fans. He stalked straight to the display that described her cooking services, which were to be auctioned.

Feelings of triumph turned to horror when he leaned over and studied the paper with an air of intense interest. A lock of inky hair fell across his dark eyebrow when he lifted the paper and took out a pen.

No! No! Don’t you dare!

Bending lower, he scribbled something on the paper, glanced her way and smiled wickedly before returning to his cheering horde. Soon afterward a crowd began to gather around her display. She sucked in air.

What had he done?

Soon, she was so curious and terrified to know, she was wringing her hands when Ol’ Bill patted her shoulder and said, “Don’t you fret. I’ll go check it out.”

Was she so obvious?

Ol’ Bill was back at her booth before she could blink twice. Not that she much liked the mischievous glint in his blue eyes.

“Looks like your Harper’s done gone and bought himself the prettiest little cook in town.”

“He’s not my Harper.”

“Well, maybe you’re his then. He bid five thousand dollars for your cooking services.”

Her cheeks flamed. Her heart raced. She’d kill Harper for this. She would!

“With conditions,” Ol’ Bill amended softly.

“With conditions?” she parroted.

“Girl, I knew you was a cook, but he must want your services mighty bad. Ain’t nobody but a fool with money to burn gonna top that bid. You and he go back a long way, don’t cha?”

She could feel her cheeks heating now. “We don’t go back at all. And don’t you dare print a word about this in the Gazette. And don’t you dare tell my mother about this either.”

Ol’Bill chuckled. “She’s psychic, remember. She predicted you’d be born in a special way, just didn’t see how.”

“Don’t you dare go into the particulars of that event either.”

“What I’m trying to say is everybody in town already knows about you and Matt.”

“Did he write that love letter?”

Ol’ Bill winked at her. “He’s never been one to declare himself. But don’t you worry none. It’ll all come out in the wash, sweetheart.”

He had written it.

Well, that didn’t give him rights over her!

“It certainly will come out in the wash,” she said as she lifted the wooden door to her booth, slammed it down so hard the whole booth shook and strode over to the display that offered her cooking services. Sure enough, Matt’s name was a sloppy swirling scrawl of livid black ink ten times bigger than the other neatly written names. In addition, he’d penned, “Five thousand dollars. With conditions.”

As she read the enormous black letters and reread that incredible figure, the home team struck a home run, and the crowd in the bleachers began to stomp and roar again. The sound was so deafening, she covered her ears.

Suddenly Matt was beside her. When he put his arms protectively around her, she began to quiver even as she pushed him away.

“How could you bid five thousand dollars for a few meals? Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Going after what I want.” He slid his checkbook out of his hip pocket and uncapped his pen. “After all, it’s for a cause we both believe in.” His bold gaze drifted from her mouth to her neck.

She gasped, afraid they’d drift lower to her breasts. They didn’t. Instead he leaned over the table and wrote her a check for five thousand dollars.

After a moment or two she caught her breath.

He handed her the crisp blue check, which was indeed made out for five thousand dollars.

“Don’t play games, Harper. What do you mean by…er…conditions?”

“I want breakfast in bed every morning up until the Spring Fling. I’m not picky when it comes to food. Just geography, which is you serving me breakfast in my bed.”

“What?”

“Don’t look so shocked. Villains like me always prefer to lure the damsels they want to their den to seduce them.”

She pushed her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose. “I will not sleep with you! Or kiss you! Or…or…”

“Oh, and wear your hair down, darlin’, and lose the glasses. You’re much prettier without them—as I’m sure you know.”

“I’m blind as a bat without my glasses.”

“Your mother bought you contacts years ago.”

“You have no right to know that.”

“Everybody in Red Rock knows everything, darlin’. It’s part of the town’s charm. Lose the glasses.”

She was wondering what to do when her friend Annie, who happened to work at the bank Matt’s check had been drawn on, walked by again.

“Oh, Annie!” she cried, afraid to be alone with Matt for another second.

Annie turned and smiled. She was pretty and tall. Her lush red hair was down tonight, and her brown eyes were warm and friendly as she made her way toward them.

“I heard you two were working together on this,” she said, looking pleased. “You did a great job. Everybody’s so happy you finally made up.”

“We have not made up,” Jane said.

“Oh. I thought—”

“Yes, we have,” Matt said.

Jane handed her the check. “Is this good or not?”

Annie looked up at Matt, her sweet face uncertain now.

He nodded.

“As good as gold,” Annie replied sweetly.

“I guess that settles it then,” Matt said. With the swiftness of a swooping hawk, he grabbed her hand. “You’re mine, darlin’.” His green eyes darkened possessively as he pulled her closer.

Usually she applauded people who were clear about their goals, but he was too much, and she was drowning.

“Starting tomorrow,” he persisted, “I want breakfast in bed every day until the Spring Fling.”

She yanked her hand free. Speechless and quivering from too many overwrought emotions, she turned to walk away.

“And, oh, Jane—”

She whirled. “What else?” she demanded in a contemptuous breath.

His fathomless eyes were boring holes into her. “I can’t wait,” he purred, “until tomorrow morning.”

Her nerves leaped. Her heart beat faster. She was slow to answer, but when she did, her mouth curved seductively and she could see she’d surprised him.

“Neither can I,” she whispered. “You’re in for quite a surprise.”

“Good. It’s about time you decided you have a right to have some fun. We’d be good together.”