Читать книгу The Rule-Breaker - Rhonda Nelson - Страница 10

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WELL, THAT SURE AS HELL could have gone better, Eli thought, watching Shelby and her pig, of all damned things, walk back toward her shop. So much for thinking he was ready to face her again, that he could look at her and not want her with every damned fiber of his being.

His best friend’s “It Girl.”

Talk about breaking a rule. He mentally snorted. Somehow he didn’t think that was the kind of rule Micah had been referring to.

“Only Shelby,” Carl remarked, following Eli’s gaze. He shook his head. “Everybody else looks at that pig and sees a pork roast. She looks at it and sees a pet.”

Eli felt his lips twitch. “I have to admit it’s the best dressed pig I’ve ever seen,” he conceded. Actually, it was the only dressed pig he’d ever seen outside a story book—the Three Little Pigs had been one of his favorites as a child—but it was the truth all the same. And it wasn’t enough that she had to dress the pig—she had to make sure their outfits were color-coordinated, as well. The yellow skirt and matching bow on Dixie’s head perfectly matched the flowers on Shelby’s dress.

And naturally, because she’d made it herself, that dress showcased the very best her body had to offer. Beautiful lush breasts, a tiny waist—one that he could easily span with both hands, an unbelievable turn-on—and especially generous hips. She in no way resembled the starved praying mantislike figures that were so popular on the covers of today’s fashion magazines. She was toned but curvy, her shape reminiscent of a 1950’s pin-up model. Completely, utterly feminine.

But more than how she looked, it was the way she moved that never failed to captivate him. There was something so innately graceful about the way her body went about the everyday ordinary things. The tilt of her chin as she listened to someone, the easy slide of her ripe lips into a smile, the rhythmic swing of her hips as she walked. The fabric hung like air in that sweet spot high enough on her thighs to be sexy, but not so low to be inappropriate and it fluttered with an exaggerated little pop with every step that she took.

Mesmerizing.

And a quick glance around the square concluded that he wasn’t the only man who’d noticed. Irrationally, that made him want to roar and break things, preferably a few jaws. It was ridiculous the way she affected him, the way he’d wanted to feast his gaze on her, catalogue every little detail about her face the instant he’d seen her again. Every mole and freckle, every dip and hollow, every eyelash around those amazing green eyes. Eyes that were so clear a green they put him in mind of a piece of stained glass he’d one seen in a store window. And the hesitancy and vulnerability he saw lurking in that remarkable gaze? Awful...especially knowing there was nothing he could do to remove it. Much as it pained him, he had to stay away from her.

He’d failed Micah by not getting him the help he needed sooner—he could not fail him in this, too.

Shelby Monroe, no matter how tempting, was off-limits.

He felt Carl’s gaze—one that was shrewd as well as kind—and gave himself a little shake. “You were going to show me those plans?”

“Are you sure you want to get started?” he asked. “I figured you’d want to go to the cabin and get settled in.”

Rather than impose and stay at the house—where the only available room had been Micah’s—Carl and Sally had offered to put him up at the family cabin out on Holly Lake, for which he was eternally thankful. Aside from not wanting to disturb the shrine that had no doubt become Micah’s room, he and Micah had always stayed at the cabin together when he’d come in for a visit. A lot of laughter and beer had passed their lips out on that front porch overlooking the water. While it was going to be odd to be there without Micah, he knew he’d be much more comfortable there...and so would Sally and Carl.

Eli shook his head. “No, sir. I came ready to work. I’ll go out there when we finish up for the day. It’ll give me a chance to settle in and shower before coming back for dinner.”

“If you’re sure,” Carl said, a question in his voice.

“I’m sure.”

The older man nodded. “All right, then. Let’s take a look at the plans.” They walked over to what Eli imagined was command center, where a tent, a couple of tables and a few chairs had been set up. Coolers of cold drinks and various platters of snacks—Sally’s work, he knew—sat on one, and a printout of the drawing as well as what looked like the volunteer schedule lay on the other.

A thought struck. “Where’s Colin?” Eli asked. He’d expected Micah’s little brother to be on-site throughout the entire project. Despite the differences in their ages, the two Holland boys had been exceptionally close and Colin, he knew, had hero-worshiped Micah.

Carl hesitated. “Probably off with some of his friends,” he said. “I thought he’d want to help out with this, but he didn’t have a lot to say when I asked him to come down here with me this morning. Said he’d already made plans.”

Eli frowned, mildly surprised. “How’s he holding up?”

“Not good,” Carl confessed, lowering his voice. “In fact, I was hoping that maybe you could talk to him. He’s always looked up to you, kind of sees you as an extension of his brother.”

Eli didn’t know about that, but now that he thought about it, he was surprised that Colin hadn’t been around this morning, if for no other reason than to see him. They’d always gotten along well and had a good rapport. Eli had no illusions of taking Micah’s place, but he’d kept in touch with Colin since Micah’s death, hoping to build a better relationship with the boy. He’d made that promise to Micah years ago, long before the disaster in Mosul. In return, Micah had promised to oversee the care of his mother should anything happen to him.

“I’ll certainly try,” Eli told him.

Carl nodded, relief relaxing the tension around his eyes. “Thanks, Eli. We’d really appreciate it.”

That settled, Eli bent forward and inspected the design.

It was not at all what he’d expected.

“Wow,” he murmured, stunned.

“It’s something, isn’t it?” Carl asked, seemingly equally proud and pleased. “That’s why I asked Shelby to put it together. Most everyone knows she can sew like nobody’s business, but not many people realize that, had she not followed in her grandmother’s footsteps, she would have pursued a career in architecture.”

He whistled low and continued to marvel at the design. “I’m not so sure she didn’t miss her calling.” He looked up at Carl. “This is amazing.”

Carl beamed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Not your typical town square gazebo, that’s for sure.”

No, it certainly wasn’t. Rather than the quaint white shape with lots of fancy fretwork and gingerbread trim, Shelby’s design more resembled something from one of Tolkien’s novels, but more modern. Shaped like an octagon with a steep-pitched shingled roof complete with a weather vane, the plan called for natural material left in its raw shape.

Taking inspiration from the town’s namesake, Shelby had incorporated lots of corkscrew willow branches in place of spindles, giving it a fanciful flair. Old gas lamps inside and out would provide ample lighting, and a fire pit, surrounded by a fountain, would take center stage. A row of wooden benches lined the inside walls, giving plenty of seating and recessed, glassless windows added additional character.

“We’re going with a concrete floor, so it’ll be easier to clean and maintain,” Carl told him. “But we’re going to stain it and stamp it with willow leaves so it’ll look more like a forest floor.”

Eli merely shook his head, almost at a loss for words. “It’s incredible.”

“Micah would have loved it,” Carl remarked, a palpable ache in his voice. “And that’s what counts.”

Yes, he would have, Eli thought. Micah had always said he’d wanted to build a bigger version of the cabin, had planned on logging the lumber himself. Shelby no doubt knew that, too, and had managed to create something that would honor her former fiancé, but capture the spirit of the town, as well. It was a delicate equation to balance, but she’d managed it beautifully.

His gaze strayed to her shop across the street. Though the windows were crowded with well-dressed mannequins featuring her designs, he caught a glimpse of her behind the counter and felt a bolt of warmth land in his chest and spread through the rest of his body, most particularly his groin. Awareness slid down the length of his dick, making him shift to find a more comfortable position. He gritted his teeth as need bombarded him, that of the relentless variety, the kind that he imagined ruined kings and started wars.

He was about to mount the biggest battle of his career, Eli thought...and God help him, it was with himself.

* * *

SHELBY WAS JUST ABOUT to lock up and close the shop when the bell above the door tingled, heralding the arrival of another customer. Though she typically didn’t mind staying late—and had been known to meet clients down at the store after hours in order to help out in a fashion emergency or to accommodate a schedule—today wasn’t one of those days.

She was emotionally wrung dry after her reunion with Eli this morning. She’d also had a steady stream of clients in and out all day, and she had just enough time, if she left now, to go home and freshen up before heading over to the Hollands’ place. As a result, she was not happy when she looked up and even less pleased when she saw who was standing there.

Katrina Nolan.

Micah had briefly dated Katrina during college, before he and Shelby had reconnected, and Katrina, who’d never been one of Shelby’s biggest fans, positively hated her now. She’d never set foot in Shelby’s shop, never spoke to her and had glared white-hot daggers at her during Micah’s service. Sally had told her that Katrina had tried to rekindle things with Micah when their engagement ended, but that Micah hadn’t been interested. Shelby hadn’t been the least bit surprised—that Katrina had made the effort, or that Micah hadn’t been interested.

Katrina had recently gone to work for the local paper and fancied herself some sort of small-town Lois Lane. She was constantly digging around in people’s trash, had supposedly paid spies to troll the beauty parlor and post office for juicy gossip, and just generally made everyone uncomfortable. It was widely suspected that the only person Katrina had any real dirt on was the editor of The Branches, Les Hastings, because any other paper would have fired her by now. Shelby didn’t have any idea why the woman was here, but knew that it wasn’t to plan a sleepover.

This wasn’t going to be good. A skitter of foreboding tingled down her spine.

Shelby didn’t ask if she could help her because she didn’t want to. She lifted a cool brow. “Yes?”

“I didn’t catch you at a bad time, did I?” Katrina asked, completely unrepentant.

“Actually, you did. I’m closing in—” she glanced pointedly at the clock above the door “—two minutes.”

Katrina’s lips slid into a hard smile. “Not to worry,” she said. “What I have to say won’t take that long.”

Shelby returned the same insincere grin, the kind that Southern girls learned to perfect from the cradle. “Wonderful. Because I’ve got to get over to Sally and Carl’s for dinner and it would be rude to be late.”

The dig landed, making Katrina’s mouth harden. While the whole town might be invited to the dedication of the memorial, only the people Carl had picked to help build and design it were invited to their home. Willow Haven was a small town, so there were very few people not on that list...but Katrina was one of them. Mean? Petty?

Yes.

But very satisfying all the same.

“Yes, I wouldn’t want to keep you. Funny how that’s worked out,” Katrina mused, strolling forward. She stopped and picked up a sundress—one of Shelby’s favorites—then grimaced as though she’d smelled something bad and returned it to the stand. “Even when you aren’t part of the family—and never intended to be—you still manage to have a seat at that table.” She looked up, her gaze almost triumphant, knowing. “I wonder if you’ll still have that spot when they find out that Micah’s gun didn’t misfire, that he killed himself because of you.”

A cold sweat broke out over the back of Shelby’s neck and her throat went instantly dry. She’d wondered if it had been Katrina sending the letters, but it had seemed out of character. Katrina, as evidenced, wasn’t sneaky. She was direct. She liked to play with her victims before pouncing.