by Maisey Yates
Pru shuddered. Who wanted to talk to people about that? Let alone strangers.
But she wasn’t living with strangers now. She was living with her best friends, which was also way better than being under the same roof with her parents and brothers. She loved her family but she also wanted to strangle them. Then there was the whole ranch thing, which she preferred not to think about.
She got in her truck and began the drive to the quaint town of Jasper Creek and her store. She enjoyed the drive, taking in the beauty of the little Oregon town she’d always loved. Historical brick buildings lined Main Street—many were on the national register. A lot of them were shops, some were restaurants. But being a tourist town meant the ebb and flow of disrepair and revitalization. While it was doing well these days, there were still some pockets of town that had empty buildings as the owners had lost their businesses over the years.
The four buildings she and her friends were revitalizing sat on the corner of Main and Maple. The big brick building had long ago been split into four separate stores that shared a common basement.
Her building stood on the corner, taller than the rest. The end side was exposed brick with old advertisements faded but visible. She parked her truck and got out.
The sun shone on the brick, the sky above a bright summer blue. The mountains in the distance made a pretty horizon. She’d worked here in high school before Mr. Simmons had closed up shop.
Now it was hers.
They’d done it. She was going to open a feed store. It wasn’t ranching, as had been her dream as a girl, but it was supporting ranchers and that mattered to her.
She’d spent years in agricultural sales, and while it wasn’t the same as owning a business, she knew her product. Being a hometown girl who’d grown up on a ranch, she understood her customer, and together with her friends they were learning the ins and outs of business ownership.
Their grand openings would be in August in time for the centennial of when Horace Jasper found gold in the creek and seceded from Gold Valley to become Jasper Creek.
The previous leaser of her building had used it mostly as a catchall for stuff since it was open with high ceilings. Having to deal with all the junk that had come with the building had been more of a chore than she’d anticipated. Two weeks in, and it felt like she hadn’t made much progress at all. Especially with the Fourth of July looming next weekend.
But the worst part was actually getting rid of some of it. Pru loved old things. Especially old ranch things. The more pointless the better. She was happy to toss rusty nails and faded feed sacks, but it had been tough to part with little pieces of history.
She’d kept the antique cash register that needed a good cleaning and probably would never be in working order, but looked right sitting on the checkout counter. There was the creepy goat statue she hadn’t been able to part with next to the front door. It was too weird and made her laugh every time she looked at its eyes which were painted the oddest shade of pink.
She figured she’d dress it up for the seasons like old Mrs. Mooney had done with her goose lawn ornaments back when they were kids.
She gave the goat a pat as she stepped inside. She blew out a breath and refused to be overwhelmed. There were piles and piles of junk, and every morning it felt a bit like she hadn’t spent the last two weeks trying to clear it out.
She would get it done. Just put one rusty rat trap in the Dumpster after another. She turned some music on loud and an hour later she was sweaty and her muscles ached, but she would power through till lunch or die trying.
When her music abruptly shut off she looked up to see her brother standing in her doorway. “You opened this dump yet?”
“Yes, that’s why there’s a Closed sign in the window and I’m drowning in baling twine.” She opened her mouth to tell her brother to buzz off, but stopped herself when Grant Mathewson stepped in behind him.
Grant and Beau had been good friends since diapers. The Mathewson ranch and the Riley ranch bordered each other by way of a creek that the kids of both families played in.
Pru, the only girl on either side, had often been barred from such manly activities, which was why she’d had Hope, Kit, and Charity. Her parents had always felt very traditional about gender roles, down to her brothers getting shares in the ranch. And her getting jack diddly.
Which probably wasn’t fair to say. They’d paid for college. They’d wanted her to have “better” than ranching and Jasper Creek.
And she’d given them everything they’d wanted, half believing they really did know best. She rubbed at the uncomfortable ache in her chest and scowled harder at her brother.
“Mom said you could use some help,” Beau said, surveying her store.
Pru had regretted telling her mom she wasn’t getting anywhere the minute the words were out of her mouth. Mary Riley didn’t let problems go unsolved. Whether you wanted help solving them or not.
Grant still hadn’t said anything. Pru probably hadn’t seen him in the flesh in two or three years. He looked about the same. He’d always been the serious sort, but this quiet stoicism had only become a part of him after his father had died about six years ago. She’d been in California, but she knew the tragic story because her mother liked to tell it to make them all feel bad and want to do something for Grant. Luckily, that usually fell to her brothers who dragged him along like overzealous toddlers with a leash on a reluctant old dog. They meant well, but the Riley boys were not known for their finesse.
Maybe that was why Pru had taken such pride in becoming a good saleswoman. She could finesse, she could be slick, assertive, and even charming—not what Rileys were known for.
Of course, she wasn’t much of any of those things when she was at home, even less so when she was in the company of her brothers.
“Prudence, I don’t know what you were thinking,” Beau said, sighing sadly as if she was dim.
“Well, you don’t have to know. Long as I do. So Mom sent you both to help?”
“No, I’ve got ranch work, but she thought Grant could be of some help hauling.”
She turned to the man in question, eyeing him suspiciously. He said nothing, just stood there tall and imposing. He was a little on the lankier side than he should be, but it gave his face a rough-hewn look that was a little too appealing. Then there was the dark hair, usually kept short but today a shade too close to being considered shaggy—at least by her mother. And then there were his eyes.
Which she didn’t let herself think about too often, except that they were the exact shade of blue as that summer sky outside.
“I’m only in town because I’ve got some errands to run,” Beau was saying. “But Grant said he could spend a few hours here playing grunt.”
Pru frowned. “Maybe Grant could talk for himself.”
“Why would I do that when I’ve got your brother to do it for me?” Grant returned.
Pru knew what her mother was up to. Not just solving Pru’s problem, but solving Grant’s as well. Her mom thought Grant needed fresh air and hard work outside his family ranch so he was being foisted on her.
“Look, I don’t need—”
“Was that a mouse?” Beau asked, taking her elbow and dragging her deep into the store. She struggled to rid her arm from his grasp, but he held firm. When she thought about junk-punching him, he angled his body to make sure that didn’t happen. Call it a brother’s intuition.
“You need help. Grant needs to get out,” Beau said, keeping an eye on Grant so that he was out of earshot. Beau pretended to point to a corner where there was definitely not a mouse. “He barely even comes into town anymore.”
“I don’t need your dour best friend helping me.”
“Why not? All you need is someone lugging stuff around. Besides, the way Grant is these days, he won’t even argue with you. Free, silent labor.” Beau grinned at her. “Unless you�
��d rather have JT and me in here, arguing with you, telling you every move is wrong.”
She scowled at him. He might be joking, but she knew that was exactly what her brothers would do if her mother sicced them on her.
“It was Mom’s idea,” he added. The Riley kids did not disobey Mary Riley. Ever.
“All right. Fine. I’ll put him to work. But just so you know, if he’s annoying or worthless, I’m telling him he’s the current Riley pity project and he should get over himself.”
“You’re all heart, Pru. It’s a wonder you haven’t settled into married bliss yet.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Where’s your ring?”
“A soul like mine is impossible to tame.”
Pru rolled her eyes hard enough to hurt and made a shooing motion at her brother. “All right. You can go now.”
Beau sauntered off, saying a few last words to Grant before sliding out the door.
Leaving her alone in her store with Grant Mathewson.
Joy.
* * *
GRANT WASN’T A dumb man, so he knew exactly what his friend was up to. He also knew why. Mary Riley had been best friends with his late mother, which was why Beau had been his best friend since long before Grant could remember.
After his mother had died, Jasper Creek had stepped up in a lot of ways, but for Grant in particular it was the Rileys who’d made the biggest difference. Being thirty-seven years old didn’t matter to the exuberant Riley clan when it came to trying to take care of him. Grant couldn’t fathom why he put up with them.
But put up with them he did. Down to helping little Prudence Riley.
She wasn’t little anymore. She had the height of her father and brothers, but the lighter features of her mother. She had the sharp Riley chin and a generous mouth. He wasn’t sure where it had come from and knew better than to think about it.
“Don’t talk so much, Grant,” she said. “It’s downright annoying.”
He grunted. He wouldn’t be goaded into talking. Typically, the only ones who could make that happen were his brothers, and only because they’d had a lifetime of knowing what buttons to push.
“Well, I’ve been working on clearing the place out.”
He looked around. “Work’s not done yet, is it?”
“Thank you for your astute observation.” She gestured for him to follow her, and he did, sidestepping piles of rusty watering cans, canned beans with age-faded labels, and a towering mountain of baling twine. She led him all the way through the store and out the back door to the lot where there was a Dumpster, entirely filled with junk. It was impressive, considering how much junk was still inside. “Well.”
“Well, indeed.” She studied it herself, with a stubborn jut to her chin he remembered from when she’d fought with her brothers. Today, she had a Band-Aid on her cheek and a glossy ponytail instead of dirt streaks and braids.
“What happened to your face?”
“Huh?”
“Your face? The flower Band-Aid.” It looked like something one of his nieces would wear. Considering they were ten and seven, it seemed a bit out of place.
Pru blinked, turned a strange shade of red, and...spluttered. “You’re not supposed to ask me that!”
Puzzled by her insane reaction, he could only shrug. “Okay. Maybe don’t put a bright one on your face then.”
She shook her head then and began marching back inside. “I...scratched it on some of this junk. That’s all.”
“So why are you acting so squirrelly about it?”
“Why are you asking me about it?”
“I don’t know. Just seemed weird. Forget I asked.” Jeez. Who knew Pru Riley had gotten so, well, squirrelly?
“Let’s work on moving this quadrant to the back room so when the Dumpsters get switched out I can just start tossing.” She pointed to a corner of the store that was filled with mostly broken pieces of what had maybe once been furniture. Splintered wood, twisted metal frames.
“I had no idea this had become a dump.”
“Yeah, me neither. When Mr. Simmons said he had a few things I’d have to take care of on my own, I clearly misunderstood.” She blew out a breath, her hands fisted on her hips as she surveyed the store.
Then she shrugged as if it didn’t matter at all. “Oh, well, best get back to work. No breaks till lunch.”
That was fine with Grant. Carrying junk wasn’t all that much different from what he’d be doing back on the Mathewson ranch. But here he could do it without constantly being poked at by his brothers, or their significant others.
They worked in silence—something his middle brothers were physically incapable of doing—and got a good chunk moved to the little room in the back. It was an oddly satisfying feeling to clear off some space on the wood-planked floor.
“Floor’s nice. Once you get this junk out and do some deep cleaning, I guess you’ll be ready to open.”
“Yeah, that’s the plan.”
He glanced over at her. She was bent over, denim stretched over the round curve of her butt. And for a second, he must have forgotten who she was because he found the sight more intriguing than he should allow himself to. The low pull in his gut was so foreign to him these days that he didn’t understand it at first, and didn’t hear what she said about the floors as he studied her. Thought about putting his hands on—
“I should really get back to the ranch,” he said abruptly, jerking himself out of a very, very, very disturbing daydream.
“Why?” she asked, wiping her forehead with her forearm. “Don’t you have, like, a million brothers who help you?”
“Well, yeah, but...” He didn’t have a good answer for that, and as she bent over again he had to turn away. “Cade’s married with two kids and another on the way. And Mac has a girlfriend and...” She probably knew all that. It was a small town. She might have lived in California, but Mary would have kept Pru in the loop about all things Jasper Creek. So why was he babbling about his family and staring at a goat statue by the door?
“Sounds like you’ve got even more help than usual.”
There was a painful pressure in his chest. That was what everyone was telling him. Plenty of help. Take a day off, Grant. Relax. Dole out the responsibilities a little more.
But Dad had wanted him to take care of the ranch. As he lay dying, that was the thing he’d said to Grant. “Take care of this place. Take care of the kids.”
Grant hadn’t been able to save his dad, there in the barn, waiting for the ambulance to arrive, but he would make sure the ranch ran without a hitch and that his brothers were taken care of. No matter how much help he had or how old his brothers got.
He looked at the goat’s pink demon eyes instead and found a comeback that didn’t give any of his feelings away. “Don’t you have friends to help you?”
“Yeah, if I can’t get this done fast enough. But they’ve all got their own stores and troubles to work on. Look, I can wrangle my brothers if you’re busy, but you’re much quieter to work with.”
He looked at her, but she was still bent over. He needed to bow out. He needed to escape a world where he was looking at Pru Riley’s ass. But Mary would only send him again, and how could he explain to them why he didn’t want to be trapped in a store with Pru?
He stared at the goat some more. Maybe the goat was the answer. He’d just avoid looking at Pru. Or thinking about her. He could haul junk and keep his eyes to himself. How hard was that for a man who spent most of his life trying to keep everything to himself? “I’ll come by tomorrow if you’ve got a need.”
“Yeah. That’d be great.” She stood up, a beheaded doll in one hand and a peeling lawn jockey in the other. Her hair was falling out of its band. She was dusty and sweaty and the Band-Aid she had on her cheek was falling off, revealing absolutely no injury behind it.
It should have been off-
putting. A little grotesque. It should have loosened some of this weird tightness in his body.
It didn’t. So he turned on a heel and left as fast as his legs would carry him.
CHAPTER TWO
PRU WATCHED GRANT MATHEWSON GO, thinking things she should never have allowed herself to think. He was Grant.
He’d asked her about her Band-Aid. Not that she’d expect some handsome cowboy to swoop in and magically be caught by some stupid magazine tip. But Grant was...
He was Grant.
So, watching him was stupid. Even if there was that...cloud around him that she didn’t remember from before. Maybe it had always been there and she’d just never paid attention, but he hadn’t smiled. Not once.
She rubbed at her chest, still watching even though his truck had disappeared. Something ached inside of her. She wanted to...do something. Like her mother always did. Which might have made her feel good or terrified—depending on how she felt about her mother at the given moment—but what truly bothered her was that she only ever felt that way with her friends.
She whirled away and the goat statue made her jump a little. She pointed her finger at it. “I’m not drooling over Grant,” she said to the goat. “And you need a name. Beelzebub? Maynard? Maybe I’ll put it to a vote.”
She stalked back to her work and did everything she could to keep her mind off Grant Mathewson’s unsmiling mouth.
The pounding knock from the wall her store shared with Kit’s had Pru looking at her watch. Lunchtime. Pru went to her truck and grabbed her lunch cooler and then entered Kit’s future bookstore.
Kit and Charity were already seated at the table where they usually ate lunch. Pru felt grumpy and itchy and tense, but she forced a smile. “How’s it going?” she asked, stealing one of Charity’s chips before Charity could guard them.
“Well enough,” Kit said. “What’s up with you?”
“Got another few pounds of garbage moved.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Kit said, tapping her cheek. “Your Band-Aid is gone.”