by Erin Wright
This was going badly.
This was going very, very badly.
She’d told herself not to do this – not to throw herself at him and that was clearly what she was doing, wearing an outfit that would be more at home in a club on a Saturday night than in a mill, for hell’s sakes – but she told herself that she couldn’t cover up her best assets, not if she was going to wrangle a date out of Troy, and now…
“Well anyway,” she said cheerfully, if talking through a closed-off throat that was filling with embarrassment and tears could be considered cheerful, “I better head out. Got that quilt raffle to report on, you know. Crazy quilt raffles – so exciting! Can hardly stand the excitement of living in a thriving metropolis like Long Valley.”
The sarcasm wasn’t so much dripping off her words as pouring off them in waves. She flashed him a completely insincere smile. “Best of luck with the mill, and taking it over from your uncle, and getting the radios for the firefighters. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
She turned on her heel – even with her throat almost completely closed off at this point and her face stinging a brilliant red with embarrassment, she managed the movement effortlessly – and headed back for the glass front door and the unbearable heat outside.
“Penny!” Troy called out as her hand touched the cool metal bar of the door handle. “Will you go out with me?”
She wrapped her fingers around the handle, holding on for dear life, and turned slowly back to him.
Chapter 3
Troy
Shit.
He’d really stepped in it now. Out of all of the dumb things that he could’ve blurted out, asking Penny Roth on a date had to be in the top five.
And dammit all, he was Troy Horvath – he didn’t blurt things out. That wasn’t a thing that happened to him. Ever.
Glenda had gasped quietly when he’d practically shouted the question, but he ignored her. She was a gossiping old lady who’d be sure to spread the news all over the mill by time the afternoon break was over, but Troy pushed that out of his mind for now. Since he’d been stupid and blurted out a question he had no right asking Penny…
Well, now he wanted an answer to it.
She turned back slowly towards him, and in those moments as he waited, the sweat on the palms of his hands surely smearing the cheap newspaper ink, he focused on keeping a poker face in place. That way, if she turned him down, the hurt wouldn’t show. No reason to let any emotions show at all, really.
She looked at him across the tiny office, and then a huge smile split her face. He let the tiniest breath go, breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, at the sight. Penny Roth was gorgeous all the time, but when she had a happy, pleased smile on her face?
She was drop-dead gorgeous.
“I’d love to!” she said brightly. “Did you have something in mind? Actually,” she said hurriedly, before he could speak, “if you don’t mind, I’ve been looking for a date for the kickoff of the wine tasting and art walk in Franklin on Memorial Day. I have to report on it for the newspaper but attending a party without a date is…painful.” She wrinkled her nose ruefully. “I promise to only take a few pictures before getting on with the date portion of the night. Does that work for you?”
“Absolutely,” he said, thrilled that he hadn’t had to come up with an idea of his own on the spur of the moment. He hadn’t meant to ask Penny out on a date; he hadn’t planned any of this at all.
Penny knowing what she wanted them to do? Priceless.
He snatched a business card off the counter from behind him and a pen, and handed them over. “Address, please.”
“Of course!” she said, laughing as she scribbled an address in Franklin on the back of the card. “I’m glad you thought of it. I would’ve been waiting for you to show up, and you would’ve had no idea where to find me.” As she handed it back, their fingertips brushed against each other and that same breathtaking sizzle of electricity shot through him.
This time, he knew she’d felt it, too. She sucked in a breath and they just stood and stared at each other and didn’t breathe or move—
The phone rang, jerking them both out of their trance.
“Horvath Mill, Glenda speaking,” said his ever-efficient receptionist behind him. At least someone was doing their job, since standing around and drooling over gorgeous women was certainly not part of Troy’s job description.
He cleared his throat, tucking the card in his back pocket. “See you at five at your house,” he said quietly, and headed back to work, ignoring the clearly interested look on Glenda’s face as he walked by. She was still talking to the customer on the phone – Mr. Rawls, from the sounds of it, about a load of wheat he wanted to bring in – but that didn’t keep her from eavesdropping on him at the same time.
Multi-tasking was absolutely something she was good at, as long as at least one task entailed her poking her nose in where it didn’t belong.
He couldn’t find it in him to get upset over it, though. He had a date – a date with Penny Roth. He whistled under his breath as he got back to work.
Chapter 4
Penny
She grabbed Troy’s hand and dragged him over to the wine tasting booth. Their passes – in the form of bright orange wristbands – entitled them to two small glasses of wine each, and she’d be damned if she was going to bypass the opportunity to drink on the company’s dime. The pay wasn’t exactly stellar at the newspaper, but there was the occasional bennie that came with working there, and being paid to cover the annual kickoff of the Franklin Art & Wine Walk was definitely on that list.
She stole a glance at Troy, the dark blond five o’clock shadow along his square jaw giving him a scruffy, mysterious mountain-man aura that perfectly complemented his quiet, mysterious personality. She felt a jitter of excitement rush through her, spreading up her hand nestled in Troy’s calloused one and shooting up her arm, setting off a whole flock of butterflies that had somehow taken up residence in her stomach.
Being there with Troy, feeling the pulse of the energy from everyone around them, feeling the winter stupor melting away as people began to enjoy the summer heat and longer hours of daylight and a total lack of any snow drifts in sight, something that sadly couldn’t be said most of the year in Long Valley…
It made her giddy with excitement, and she hadn’t even had any of that free wine to drink yet.
It was early, so the thick crowds that would show up in another hour or so hadn’t made their appearance quite yet. It didn’t take but a few moments to get to the front of the line, where Penny chose a pink moscato that looked delicious. Once her glass was poured, the gal working the booth looked at Troy expectantly.
“Same,” Troy rumbled, and the harried worker quickly poured out another glass without blinking an eyelash. Penny, though, was a little surprised – she totally wouldn’t have pegged him as a moscato drinker.
Huh. Well, just goes to show she shouldn’t prejudge what a person liked to drink based on the thickness of the scruff on their jaw, right?
They moved off to the side, glasses in hand, and Penny turned to her date – she was on a date! – with a silly grin. “Cheers!” she said, clinking her glass against his and then throwing most of the wine back in one swallow. She wasn’t much of a lush so downing that much wine in one go wasn’t a habit of hers, but in her defense, it was a small glass. She was debating the merits of sipping at the remaining liquid and making it last or just finishing it off altogether when she looked over to see that Troy was simply holding his glass, not drinking anything at all. She tilted her head inquiringly, feeling a bit of heat start to flow through her veins from the alcohol.
“Ummm…do you not like moscato?” she asked him, completely confused. “There were other varieties back—”
“I’m the designated driver,” he explained, and deftly poured his wine into her glass, refilling it almost to the brim. “I thought you could drink my wine for me.” He winked at her.
&nb
sp; Troy Horvath, winking. I wonder what Glenda would say about that.
Unfortunately, his flirtatious wink didn’t completely wipe out the flush of embarrassment at her stupidity. Duh. Someone needed to be able to drive them back to their respective homes. “I don’t know why I didn’t think about that,” she admitted ruefully. “Dammit, now I feel bad – I could’ve been the designated driver, you know. After all, I’m the one who’s on assignment, so it really only makes sense that I stay sober.”
Shit. She’d really gone and mucked this one up. She’d been so thrilled to have someone come with her to the event, and over-the-top excited about having that “someone” be Troy, that she just didn’t think about the logistics of it all.
He shook his head and smiled slowly, a sexy grin that sent a shiver of lust through her. “You’re a great writer,” he said softly, yet somehow clear as a bell over the thumping music from the band up on the stage. “I’m sure you’ll write a terrific piece, even with a little alcohol in you.”
Huh.
Okay, so it turned out that she was totally susceptible to flattery.
She wasn’t exactly surprised by this information; it was more that she just wasn’t used to it. Mr. Toewes’ assessment that the firefighter article “wasn’t bad” was as gushing as the taciturn man had ever gotten with her. Ever since she’d taken the job at the newspaper, the community’s feedback had mostly consisted of “helpful tips” on what she could do better next time (a main fav being that their picture should be more flattering – if she could just invest in a camera that took 20 years and 15 pounds off them, that’d be much appreciated. A close second was that she should definitely write up a long article every single week on the goings-on of their quilt auction / book club / chili cook-off / book sale / what-have-you, since it was obviously the most exciting thing to hit Long Valley since the advent of sliced bread).
So Troy’s belief that she’d write a “terrific” piece, liquored up or not, was a nice boost to ye olde ego, that was for damn sure. She opened up her mouth to ask him what, exactly, his favorite part was of the article she’d written about him and the other firefighters, but decided at the last moment that fishing for compliments was going a little too far.
It really is too bad that it isn’t socially acceptable to ask people to tell you how wonderful you are. I’d totally be all over that.
With a regretful sigh, she threw back all of the wine in her glass, promising herself as the warmth spread deliciously through her veins that she’d take it slow with the second round. “Why don’t we get refills and then we can go scope out all of the artwork?” she asked, holding up her empty glass as proof of needing more. She was going to ignore the fact that she just downed two (smallish) glasses of wine in less than five minutes.
She wasn’t a lush, really she wasn’t.
The corner of his mouth quirked. “Sounds good,” he told her and she promptly dragged him back towards the wine counter.
Life became a hazy, laughter-filled world after that. As they mixed and mingled in the crowd, she clung to Troy’s arm, hugging his sculpted biceps against her side in what could be considered an overly possessive move, but with the buzz of the alcohol running through her, she just couldn’t make herself care that she was practically throwing herself at him. As they mingled, they chit-chatted with a few people she’d interviewed for the newspaper; a couple of them even recognized Troy from the front page article.
Troy didn’t say much as they wandered around, but then again, she didn’t need him to. From what she could tell, he was a world-class listener – laughing, smiling, nodding, and making small noises at all the appropriate times. Normally, she’d suspect someone of zoning out if they were this quiet, but she thought of herself as pretty good at reading people, and that simply wasn’t the case here. When he looked at her, he really looked at her. His eyes stayed locked on her so often, she kinda wondered if he was going to be in danger of running into other people since he didn’t appear to be watching where he was going.
Her alcohol-tinged brain spun through the words she’d use to describe Troy Horvath to someone who hadn’t met him. Quiet wasn’t quite right. She looked up to see his pale green eyes locked on her, his intense gaze telling her that her every muscle twitch, her every sigh, her every wrinkle of her brow was being noticed, catalogued, and filed away for future use.
That was it – he was intense.
Intensely quiet, intensely focused, intensely hot.
Hmmmm…was that even a thing – “intensely hot”? Well, if it wasn’t before, it should be now, she decided as she took another small sip of her wine.
They had begun to slowly make their way towards the art displays lining the sidewalks when she spotted Moose, Georgia, and Tripp – the guy from the credit union she’d met when she’d gone in to interview Georgia – all chatting in a group, and she began to head their direction instead. She raised her hand to flag them down when she realized, even through the pleasant haze of alcohol she was operating under, that something was wrong. Troy came to a stop next to her and they watched the threesome silently as Tripp stormed off, looking pissed, and then Moose and Georgia walked away in the opposite direction, not looking so happy themselves. Stranger than anything else was the fact that Moose was carrying what looked like a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread as they went. Had he been grocery shopping at an arts festival?
“I wonder what the hell that was all about,” Penny murmured aloud, staring at the couple until they disappeared from view.
She felt as much as saw Troy shrug as he stood next to her. “No idea,” he said quietly, his brow creased as he stared after them.
“Well, I should probably go earn a paycheck – let’s go take some shots of the artwork,” Penny said, and pulled him through the crowded streets towards Once Upon a Trinket. “My boss said to be sure to check out the display by Ivy McLain – apparently she’s from Sawyer, and she’s making it big. Have you ever met her?”
Troy nodded as they neared the office supply / gift shop / art gallery / chocolate store. Just like everything else in this tiny-ass town, Once Upon a Trinket served about 50 different functions. Penny sighed. She really needed to focus on getting back to civilization.
“She’s younger than me, but I know of her,” he said as they stopped in front of an easel. “With her red hair, you can’t miss Ivy.” Penny didn’t know what he meant until she saw the large, framed author photo next to a stack of About sheets. Ignoring the information for a moment, Penny studied the picture of the Sawyer artist. She had a wide smile, brilliant red hair, and bright blue eyes that sparkled, promising mischief and laughter. She was, to put it bluntly, gorgeous.
Penny noted with a tiny shot of jealousy that Ivy’s skin was clear of any freckles, which with her red hair, just didn’t seem fair. Dammit all, Penny had loads of freckles speckling her body, and her hair was a natural brunette. Nobody knew that, of course – she looked dreadful with dark brown hair so she’d been dying it a sassy blonde for years – but the point was, she wasn’t born with red hair, and yet she probably had more freckles covering her than this Ivy chick did.
Seriously, some people have all the luck.
“She’s got some real talent,” Penny murmured as she turned from the author pic to look at the paintings clustered in front of the store. On canvases large, small, and everything in between, Ivy had captured the scenery and vistas of Long Valley perfectly.
It was a truthitude in Penny’s life that she wanted nothing more than to get out of this backwards town, but Ivy’s idealized version of the area made even Penny reconsider – if only for a moment – her burning desire to live anywhere but here. Franklin and Sawyer didn’t have much going for them in terms of shops or people, but even Penny had to admit that it had an overabundance of craggy mountains and tall pine trees.
The brilliance of the colors, her use of space and dimensions…after the years that Penny had spent studying graphic arts, she could see in a glance that Ivy had a true gift,
the kind of talent that other “gifted” artists would give their right arm for.
And then she realized something else: Ivy seemed to be obsessed with some dude Penny didn’t recognize. Again and again, the same handsome, dark-haired cowboy appeared in almost every painting, sometimes as the focus of it, sometimes just in the background, but always there.
Seriously, either the guy was her husband, or her husband should be getting jealous – one of the two.
“Do you know who the guy is?” Penny asked, pointing to one of the paintings. “She seems to be…obsessed with him.”
Kinda like me writing an entire article about you instead of Moose.
She decided to keep that comparison to herself.
Troy nodded. “He’s the new extension agent in town. Took over after Mr. Snow retired. Doing a good job of it, too.”
“Are they married?” Penny prodded. It wasn’t that she needed to know any of this for her article – including the dating lives of the subjects of her articles wasn’t exactly something Mr. Toewes encouraged – but dammit all, she was a woman. Of course she'd want to know all of the deets.
“Not that I know,” Troy said with a shrug.
He was such a guy sometimes. A girl didn’t paint roughly two million portraits of a guy if she weren’t madly in love with him. Penny made a mental note to investigate this further. “What did you say his name was?” she murmured, looking back over the informational sheet, trying to see if he was mentioned anywhere on there, perhaps as the inspiration for Ivy’s painting career or something, but didn’t see a guy’s name anywhere.
It took a minute for Penny to realize that Troy wasn’t answering her question. She looked up at him to find that he had a slightly…constipated look on his face. She shook her head, trying to clear it, and instantly regretted the movement. Shaking her head while wonderfully warm from wine wasn’t her best idea ever.