by Maisey Yates
Except he shouldn’t be thinking of kissing. These days he was a good boy, and he didn’t date women from Jasper Creek. The place was too small and he didn’t want to mess around with anyone who might get hurt. When the urge took him, he went to the next town to scratch the itch.
He just wished that itch wasn’t itching now and he most especially wished it wasn’t itching because of Charity Golding.
Man, she better not be here to argue with him about the name of the yarn store again. He’d been pretty clear about his thoughts on the subject.
You were also pretty damn rude.
Yeah, he had been, and unfortunately for Charity, he didn’t feel any less rude now. Denial had never suited him.
“Well,” Brooks said, clearly noting her presence. “Look who’s here.”
At that same moment, Charity turned her head, her deep blue gaze locking with Garrett’s, making something deep inside him charge with a familiar heated electricity.
Dammit to hell. He’d really been hoping that chemistry in the yarn store earlier in the day had been an aberration. Clearly, it wasn’t.
Annoyed, Garrett leaned back in the booth and held her gaze, putting a touch of insolence into it in the hope that would be enough to make her walk away.
It wasn’t. Instead, a determined look crossed her face and she started walking purposefully toward him.
“If it isn’t your favorite yarn store owner,” Brooks murmured with some amusement, having listened to Garrett’s rant about the name change only a few minutes before. “What a coincidence. Doc Golding’s daughter, right? Isn’t she the one who used to tutor you back in high school?”
“Yes,” Garrett said through clenched teeth.
“What did you do to piss her off?”
Garrett opened his mouth to tell him not a goddamn thing, when Charity finally arrived at the table.
“Hi, Garrett.” Her voice was cool, her gaze still determined. “I hope you don’t mind me interrupting. Could I have a word?”
Brooks stood up before Garrett could say anything. “Hey, Charity.”
“Nice to see you again, Brooks.” Her smile was much warmer and more natural for Brooks than it had been for him, Garrett noted.
“You too.” He nodded his head toward the bar. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you,” she said politely.
Brooks nodded again, shot Garrett a pointed look that Garrett ignored, before heading toward the bar.
Charity sat down in Brooks’s vacated seat, absently tucking one red curl behind her ear, and Garrett found himself watching the movement, his gaze drawn to the elegant curve of her neck. Yeah, not good.
He scowled. “I didn’t say you could sit.”
She folded her hands on the tabletop, giving him that flat-out annoying smile again. “I’m sorry. It’ll only take a second, I promise. I just wanted to talk to you about the...ah...incident at the yarn store this morning.”
Damn, so she was here to argue with him.
His annoyance gathered tight. “What incident?”
A slight flush rose under her skin and much to his added irritation, it made her even prettier, highlighting the deep blue of her eyes and making her freckles stand out. He remembered those freckles. They’d given him a lot of trouble as he’d sat at her kitchen table, trying to puzzle out some math equation he wasn’t interested in. He hadn’t been able to concentrate, too busy wondering what she’d do if he kissed those little freckles one by one. Then, when she’d looked up shyly from the equation, she’d blushed.
That was when he’d known he couldn’t have her tutoring him anymore. He’d never pushed himself on anyone who didn’t want him, and he wasn’t about to start, but if she did want him... That had been the straw that broke the camel’s back of his control.
She’d always been so sweet and shy, the doctor’s daughter. She had serious written all over her, and he’d had his head full of dreams of being a bull rider like his old man, and no time at all for sweet and shy. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, so that day he’d walked out her door and he’d never come back.
And he hadn’t thought of her again until today.
Until he’d discovered her standing in the middle of his grandmother’s yarn store, the apparent new owner. Still sweet and sexy, though perhaps not as shy. Still just as much of a distraction as she’d ever been, and if he’d had his way, he would have been quite happy to ignore her all summer if he could.
But he couldn’t. He’d let his grandmother down once before when he’d left for the rodeo, and he wasn’t going to do it again. He had to protect her legacy somehow.
“You know what incident I’m talking about,” Charity said. “The slight disagreement about the name of the store earlier today.”
“It wasn’t a disagreement. It was you telling me you wanted to change the name of the store and me telling you that you couldn’t.”
Her smile became rather fixed. “I know you did. And I totally understand where you’re coming from. Change is hard and it’s only natural to be afraid of it.”
Garrett narrowed his eyes. “I’m not afraid of change.”
“Of course you’re not.” Her hands lifted slightly as if she wanted to pat the air around him in a soothing fashion. “Adjusting to new things takes a while and it can be uncomfortable, I get it.”
Was she messing with him? She had to be. No one could be that patronizing and mean it. Back when she’d used to tutor him, she’d been shy and sweet, not this...fake calm crap.
“Do you say this bullshit to everyone?” he asked, not caring how rude he sounded. “Or is it just me?”
Her smile disappeared, the glint in her blue eyes getting dangerous, which only made her even prettier. Some people didn’t suit the old cliché of being beautiful when they were angry, but Charity Golding sure did.
“You’re kind of an asshole,” she said. “You know that, right?”
She’s right. You are.
Okay, so he was. But maybe that was a good thing if it got her to go away.
He stared belligerently back and for a second the air between them seethed with a tension that shouldn’t be there. It made him very conscious of how much he’d like to make her eyes bluer and her cheeks pinker, and all the ways he could go about doing just that...
Something hot clenched tight inside him, which was a very bad sign indeed. Because that hot, tight feeling was a sensation he only got on the back of a bull. It was raw and addictive—part adrenaline high, part the thrill of a challenge—and he’d always liked it far too much for his own good.
He should not be feeling it now.
Then again, he wasn’t nineteen anymore. He’d made promises to his gran when he’d come home from bull riding to take care of her; he’d said he would put some much needed attention into his father’s ranch. Perhaps even one day settle down. He wouldn’t do what old John Roy had done, spending half his life riding bulls and neglecting what he had. Including his own son.
Yeah, Garrett wouldn’t be following his old man’s path. He was a solid rancher now and no one was going to distract him from it, still less one pretty redhead.
“I’m sorry,” Charity said all of a sudden, looking contrite. “That was uncalled-for.”
Not expecting it, Garrett gave her a suspicious look. “You’re sorry? What for?”
“For what I said about you being an asshole.” She was giving him that forced smile again, though anger still glinted in her eyes. “I’m not here to make this into some big thing, or to disrespect your grandmother’s memory.”
“What’s with the smile?” he asked before he could think better of it.
“What smile?”
“The one you’re giving me right now. It’s patronizing as hell.”
Color washed through her cheeks. “It’s not meant to be patronizing.”
; “Then what is it meant for? Because it sure comes across as patronizing.”
The smile vanished once more, her gaze full of hot blue sparks, and he felt that heat and anticipation sweep through him again, making his breath catch.
Perhaps arguing with her was a bad idea.
Yeah, he really shouldn’t have.
Charity took a breath, obviously making a monumental effort not to snap at him. “Okay, look, all I wanted to say was that I appreciate that your grandmother had a history with the yarn store, and perhaps we could come to some compromise over—”
“No,” he interrupted, furious with himself for sitting here and talking to her when if he’d had any sense in his stupid head, he’d have got up and left the moment she’d walked through the door. “There will be no compromise. Knitting and Thingz is the name and—”
Charity abruptly slapped her hands down on the table. “Right. That’s it. I’ve had it. You don’t run the store, Garrett Roy. I do. And I will be calling it A Simple Thread.” Her gaze was furious, her cheeks burning, her hair flaming like a sunset, and he couldn’t look away from her. “Do you understand?”
Oh, he understood all right. He understood that all he wanted right now was to reach over the table, slide his fingers into all that silky red hair, pull her to him, and get a taste of her anger. Let it wash the both of them clean away.
Which would be one hell of a mistake.
“No,” he said flatly. “I don’t.”
Charity’s eyes became electric, the patronizing smile a memory. One glossy red curl had come loose from its position behind her ear, grazing her jaw, and he wanted to pull on it, to see what she would do.
She’d probably punch you in the mouth.
“Tell me something, Mr. Roy.” Her jaw was tight, anger rolling off of her. “Are you single?”
Mr. Roy, huh? Oh, he’d definitely gotten to her.
“Yeah. Why?”
Her gaze sparked like cut electrical wires. “Did you know that the death rate of single men is twice that of married men?”
Garrett frowned. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
She leaned forward slightly. “Stay. Single.” Then she pushed herself up and walked out of the bar without another word.
CHAPTER THREE
CHARITY WAS STILL furious a few days later as she poked through boxes on one of the shelves in Knitting and Thingz. Her attempt to solve the issue of the store’s name had ended in disaster and that was solely due to Garrett Roy being an intransigent, stubborn ass.
She’d ranted about it at length at various times with her friends, detailing Garrett Roy’s various faults, including and not limited to his complete and utter disregard for the fact that she’d apologized to him—which she hadn’t needed to do, as Kit had pointed out—as well as her attempt to calm things down by being understanding of where he was coming from.
Her friends had all been shocked at her temper, which she supposed was fair since she rarely got angry. But somehow the fact that they were shocked only made her even angrier, because really, why shouldn’t she get annoyed about stupid Garrett?
After they’d all gotten over the surprise of Charity actually raising her voice, Pru had wanted to know whether she’d used the dating advice or not, and so Charity had told them what she’d said to him. They were all very admiring of how she’d used it as an insult, though Hope had told her that wasn’t the point of the advice. Charity had told her that she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to be dating Garrett Roy, and in fact, she sincerely hoped she never ran into him again.
Not wanting to see him again didn’t stop her from going over the night in the Rusty Nail again and again though. Dwelling on how he’d leaned against the back of the booth, all long, lean, and muscular, staring at her with that insolent silver gaze. Telling her that he hadn’t asked her to sit. That she was being patronizing. That the name of the yarn store was staying...
She didn’t understand why he was being so stubborn about a simple name change. Had she offended him somehow? And why should her wanting to change the name of the store be such a big deal? He didn’t have to be so rude about it.
He really didn’t need to be so incredibly sexy, either, though maybe that was just her and her terrible taste in handsome, silver-eyed bad boys.
Picking a box up off the shelf, Charity carried it over to the counter and put it down. Then she got out her notebook and pen, and began going through the box, noting down what was inside. She wanted to see what stock there was in the store already before she went out and ordered anything, because there was no point in ordering things she didn’t need.
But it was difficult to concentrate with her brain replaying Garrett’s deep voice asking her whether she said “this bullshit” to everyone or whether it was just him.
The ass. If “this bullshit” meant her trying to be understanding then yes, she did say it to everyone. And everyone liked it. They found it calming and reassuring—or at least that’s what all her patients had told her.
Why are you getting so angry about it? Does his opinion matter that much?
No, of course it didn’t. She’d long since gotten over the massive crush she’d once had on him. He’d ignored her back then, and since time had clearly not improved him, she cared not one iota about his opinion now. She was here to de-stress and take some time out, not get into horrible arguments with terribly attractive men.
Finishing up her list, Charity put her pen down then lifted the box again in preparation for putting it back on the shelf. The damn thing was heavy and she was busy trying to get a good grip on it, so she didn’t notice when the front door opened then closed, or hear the sound of a footstep behind her.
Oblivious, she turned around and ran straight into a hard, male chest.
She gave a little gasp of shock, and then two large hands covered hers where they gripped the box, helping her retain her hold on it. Inexplicable heat raced through her, and she glanced up into a pair of familiar gray eyes.
Garrett.
For a second neither of them moved, tension humming in the air.
She was very conscious of his hands covering hers, of how large and warm they were, how strong they were too. It was disconcerting in the extreme, and to make matters worse, she could feel her cheeks start to get hot.
Irritated at herself and her reaction, not to mention him, she took a step back, wrenching her hands away from his and almost dropping the box in the process.
Garrett muttered something under his breath and before she could protest, he’d taken the box away from her entirely.
“Hey,” she said crossly. “I was carrying that.”
“No, you weren’t. You were dropping that on your foot.” He moved back to the counter with the box.
“Don’t put it there,” she snapped, irrationally annoyed with him and at her own reaction to him. “It has to go back on that shelf.”
“Which shelf?”
“That one.” She pointed. “Though don’t put yourself out. I can manage.”
He ignored her, moving over to the shelf she’d indicated. She tried not to notice the way the black T-shirt he wore pulled tight over the powerful muscles of his shoulders as he bent over the shelf, or how his biceps flexed as he put the box down.
Her hands where he’d covered them with his tingled, her heartbeat gathering speed. She was very conscious of the fact that he’d never touched her before.
She really hadn’t wanted him to touch her now, either, especially if this insane physical reaction was the way she responded when he did.
It made her so mad.
Mad that he was here. Mad that her body wouldn’t act normally when he was around. Mad that she was even thinking about him when thinking about him was the last thing she wanted to do.
“You startled me.” She tried to make it less of an accusation and more of a st
atement of fact, though she didn’t think she’d succeeded.
He straightened and turned around, giving her an impenetrable look that somehow made her blush yet again. “Sorry.” He did not sound sorry in the slightest.
Restless and twitchy, she pushed an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “What are you doing here?”
He kept on staring at her, making the heat in her cheeks get even worse.
“Look,” she said when he didn’t speak. “If you’re not going to—”
“I owe you an apology,” he interrupted. “That’s why I’m here.”
Charity realized her mouth was hanging open. She shut it.
So. That was unexpected. And annoying, because she was full of irritation and was desperate to dump it somewhere. She didn’t normally take it out on people, but for some reason she really wanted to take it out on him.
He eyed her. “You’re still pissed at me, aren’t you?”
“Of course I’m still pissed at you. You were incredibly rude to me that night in the bar.”
“Yeah. I was.”
Charity blinked, not expecting that. She shifted on her feet, the wind taken out of her sails. “Yes,” she said lamely. “You were.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice was very level. “I was out of line.”
There was no doubt he meant it; she could see it in his face. But she didn’t quite know what to say. Him coming in to apologize for his behavior was the last thing she’d expected.
“Well, thank you,” she said stiffly.
A heavy silence fell.
Charity folded her arms, suddenly awkward and feeling like she needed to apologize for her behavior as well. “I shouldn’t have said that about single men and their life expectancy,” she offered. “Or about you being an asshole. That was offensive.”
“I wasn’t offended.” There was something in his voice she didn’t quite understand, an almost rough edge that made her breath catch. For some reason, she didn’t want to look at him directly, which was just silly.