The Sweethearts’ Knitting Club

by Lori Wilde

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Jesse looked like he might say something else, but he clenched his jaw shut and stepped back.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “Never mind. Forget about it. You’re going to believe what you want to believe about me. You always have.”

  “It wasn’t your cocaine?”

  “No. Do you really believe that after how my mother died I’d ever take up drugs, much less sell them?”

  “A lot of people do. What’s the Hank Williams Jr. song to that effect? ‘Family Tradition,’” she dared to challenge him.

  “Do you drink like your old man?”

  “No.”

  “I rest my case.”

  “Whose cocaine was it?”

  “Why don’t you ask your fiancé?”

  “Beau has never done drugs. He would barely take an aspirin even when he came back wounded from Iraq.”

  “I know you feel some kind of connection with this guy, although for the life of me I can’t figure out why.” Jesse sank his putt with one stroke. “But he’s not the saint you seem to think he is.”

  “Hole in one.”

  “What?”

  “You got a hole in one.”

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  “I am.”

  Jesse blew out his breath. “Okay. I’ll let it go.”

  “Thank you.”

  He smiled at her to show no hard feelings, and her heart rate sped up. Flynn ducked her head and assiduously scribbled his hole in one on the scorecard with a fat, stubby pencil.

  “Who’s winning?” he asked, peering over her shoulder.

  His breath was warm on her skin. He smelled like soap and motorcycles. Flynn struggled to ignore the heat flaring through her. “You just made a hole in one, who do you think?”

  “That’s why you’re cranky. You hate to lose.”

  “I’m not cranky.”

  “You kicked a pile of parquet.”

  “What does kicking a pile of parquet have to do with mini golf?”

  “You were mad because you messed up the floor.”

  “Yeah, all my hard work down the drain.”

  “Same thing as losing at mini golf. It didn’t go your way, you get cranky.”

  “I’m not cranky,” she snapped.

  “Right.” His eyes laughed.

  “I’m not!”

  His gaze honed in on her lips, then slowly eased over her chin to her throat, sliding on down to her breasts. “Cranky or no, Flynn MacGregor, you’ve got a body that makes a guy ache to do things he shouldn’t do.”

  Instantly her nipples hardened. Traitors.

  “Things that could land him back in prison.” He lifted his gaze back to hers. “But you, Dimples, are worth it.”

  Her stomach tugged. Her heart swooped. Her palms went slick. Goose bumps spread over her forearms. “That’s some pretty dangerous talk, Mr. Calloway.”

  “Going all formal on me, Miss MacGregor, isn’t gonna change what’s going on here,” he said.

  “There’s nothing going on here but a game of mini golf.”

  “Sweetheart, denial ain’t gonna make that river in Egypt disappear either.”

  “Hey,” hollered a chunky man in a loud-print Hawaiian shirt. He was standing at the tee-off position at the front of the castle, surround by half a dozen kids. “Are you two going to play that hole or stand there flirting all night? Either put the balls in the ground or get a room already.”

  Jesse raised a hand at the guy. “We’re getting out of your way.” He picked up their balls, hooked his arm around Flynn’s shoulder, and guided her off the green. “About that room,” he murmured in her ear.

  She pulled away from him. “You’re just trying to start trouble.”

  “Am I?”

  “You don’t like Beau and you’re using me as a tool to gig him.”

  “Ah, Dimples, is that what you really think?”

  “You’re going to deny it?”

  He used the head of his putter to pull her back toward him. “Gigging Trainer is not my primary goal, but if he gets pissed off in the process that’s not my problem.”

  “What is your primary goal?” she asked, not knowing why she just didn’t go to her car and drive away. Why was she staying here staring into his eyes when it was the absolute wrong thing to do? She thought about Beau at his conference in Dallas, and guilt sliced right through her.

  “Dessert. I’m aching for something sweet. You up for a banana split at Rinky-Tink’s?”

  “There’s no way I’m having a banana split with you at Rinky-Tink’s.”

  “No way?” He arched an eyebrow.

  “None.”

  “The fact that it’s my birthday won’t sway you?”

  “It’s not really your birthday.”

  “It is. June 11.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I can prove it.” He took his wallet from his pocket, extracted his driver’s license, passed it over to her.

  Yep. There it was. June 11.

  He gave her puppy dog eyes. “Don’t make me spend my birthday all alone.”

  “You’re manipulating me.”

  “Is it working?” he asked hopefully.

  Five minutes later they were sitting in the back booth at Rinky-Tink’s. She kept telling herself it was okay if people saw them together. She rented her shop from Jesse. It was his birthday. They were out for a little celebration. Just friends. Nothing wrong with that.

  Would Beau think so? She pushed thoughts of Beau from her head and tamped down the guilt. She’d tell him she went out with Jesse. No secrets. Nothing to hide.

  Which was good, because there was no way to hide when you ordered the Birthday Banana Split Special. It came loaded down with the works, plus had the added attraction of sizzling sparklers, and it was accompanied by a trio of singing teens in short skirts.

  “This is silly,” she said once the song and been sung and the sparklers had burned out.

  “But fun.” He dipped his spoon in a hefty helping of cookie dough ice cream drizzled with caramel and topped with whipped cream and a cherry. “Open up.”

  “I’m not going to eat off your spoon.”

  “Scared of my germs.”

  “Frankly, yes.”

  “You’re just chicken.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You’re afraid of having fun.”

  “Pul-leaze.”

  “Come on,” Jesse coaxed. “Prove you’re not afraid to have fun. Open up.”

  “Oh, okay, fine,” she said, just to get him to shut up. She parted her lips, and he slipped his cold spoon into her warm mouth. Dang, it was delicious.

  “Good, huh?”

  “Sinfully so.”

  “You could use a sin or two, Flynn MacGregor.”

  The way he was looking at her made her feel as if she was sixteen for the very first time. Jesse made her realize how much of her childhood she’d really missed.

  “Are you telling me you never shared a banana split with the sheriff?”

  “Beau doesn’t eat sweets.”

  “Of course he doesn’t.” Jesse said and took a big bite of ice cream.

  “Let’s not talk about him.”

  Jesse leaned in close, and her pulse kicked up. “I’m for that.”

  “People are looking at us,” she said, suddenly aware that even in the back booth at Rinky-Tink’s they were still open to public scrutiny.

  “Let ’em. You worry too much about what people think.”

  “And you don’t worry enough.”

  “You can’t live your life to suit other people.”

  “Sure you can. I do it all the time.”

  Jesse looked at her with half-lidded eyes. “Yeah, but does it make you feel happy or just obligated to do things their way?”

  Flynn raised her chin in the air, wriggled to a straighter sitting position. “I like helping people.”

  “I know you do,” Jesse
said. “What I can’t figure out is why you don’t like helping Flynn.”

  “Hey, I’m here with you, out in public, aren’t I? Taking a risk, taking a chance.”

  “You are,” he conceded.

  “Happy birthday, Jesse,” she whispered, realizing he hadn’t had much of a childhood either.

  “Thank you, Flynn.” His eyes looked sad.

  She dropped her gaze, put a hand to her stomach. “I’m so full,” she moaned, and eyed the monstrous banana split bowl that was still more than half full.

  “A little does go a long way.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “Wanna walk it off?” he asked. “There’s something I’d like to show you.”

  She should have said no. Just as she should have said no to the mini golf and the banana split, but the truth was she was having fun, and in her world, fun wasn’t easy to come by.

  “Remember, I’m the birthday boy.”

  “That only works until midnight.”

  He glanced at his watch. “I have over two hours left.”

  What the hell? She’d come this far. “Let’s go.”

  He left a tip for the banana split big enough to make the short-skirted trio squeal and giggle at him to hurry back. They stepped out of Rinky-Tink’s to find the Friday evening tourist crowd had dwindled to a few groups and hand-holding couples.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Stroll through Sweetheart Park.”

  The air was languid. The white Christmas lights that perpetually decorated the park beckoned to them. They walked across the cobblestoned street to the soft grass of the park, traipsing over the long wooden footbridge.

  Sweetheart Park was bordered on two sides by a narrow tributary of the Brazos. In the center of the park lay the Sweetheart Fountain. The fountain was a cement statue of two lovers in Old West garb embracing in a heartfelt kiss. Legend had it if you threw pennies into the park’s fountain you would be reunited with your high school sweetheart. Belinda Murphey had a list of testimonials claiming it was true.

  Jesse stopped beside the fountain. “Do you believe it?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “The sweetheart legend.”

  She shrugged. “As a self-fulfilling prophecy, maybe. Other than that, I’m not very superstitious.”

  “Guess that makes me the romantic.” Jesse took a coin from his pocket, flipped it into the fountain’s gurgling pool.

  The gesture scrambled her up inside. What did he mean by it? She didn’t want to analyze it. The idea of Jesse conjuring up his high school sweetheart was one she didn’t want to entertain. Who had been his high school sweetheart? He’d gone out with many girls. She didn’t recall there being just one.

  “So this thing you wanted to show me…” she said.

  He took her hand—she didn’t resist—and led her over to the Sweetheart Tree.

  The Sweetheart Tree was a two-hundred-year-old pecan thick with sheltering branches. In the past, hundreds of names and hearts had been carved into the trunk. The oldest name was that of the original sweethearts. Jon loves Rebekka had been carved in the center of the pecan, faded and weathered now, but the etched lines were still visible. Sometime in the 1960s a botanist had warned that if the name carving continued, it would kill the pecan, so a white picket fence had been constructed around the tree, along with a sign sternly admonishing: “Do Not Deface the Sweetheart Tree.”

  Jesse stepped over the white picket fence. Flynn held back. Crossing the fence felt like breaking the rules.

  “Come on,” he coaxed.

  Gingerly, she followed him, her shoes sinking into the grass damp from where the water sprinklers had sprayed. He took her around the back of the tree. It was darker on this side, no Christmas lights over here.

  “I’m going to have to boost you up.” He pulled a penlight from his pocket, handed it to her.

  She remembered another penlight, a dark cave, a wet kiss. “What?”

  “So you can see it.”

  “See what?”

  He knelt on the ground. “Just climb on my shoulders.”

  “This feels weird.”

  He patted his thigh. “Foot here.”

  She climbed him. First foot on his thigh, second on his shoulders, then both on his shoulders. He encircled her ankles with his hands. “Up and to the right, beside the lowest limb,” he directed.

  She flicked on the flashlight. “What am I looking for?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Jesse…”

  “Just look.”

  She shone the beam, feeling a little irritated and, oddly, a little scared. She didn’t know what she was afraid of but she could hear the blood pumping in her ears. And then she saw it.

  Jesse loves Flynn.

  And underneath was the date Jesse had been arrested. The same day Beau had asked her to marry him for the first time and she’d said no. A battering ram of emotions punched her chest. Saliva dried up in her mouth.

  I’m in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.

  “You find it?”

  She couldn’t answer. She was that overcome. She sucked in a deep breath, shifted, and slipped off his shoulders, but he managed to grab her before she fell.

  Grabbed her.

  Held her.

  Took possession of her.

  His eyes were dark, knowing. Her heart was a drum, pounding, pounding. “You carved our names in the tree. It was outlawed and you carved our names in the tree.”

  “I am an outlaw,” he said. “I don’t play by the rules, and I was determined to prove to this damn town how much I loved you.”

  “Oh, Jesse,” she whispered.

  And that’s when he kissed her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Flynn, don’t sit under the Sweetheart Tree with anyone else but me.

  —Beau Trainer, yearbook entry, 1999

  Ten years fell away.

  Ten years of wanting, yearning, craving, dreaming, and hoping.

  He was falling in love with her all over again and he was powerless to stop it from happening. His mouth drank her in. Sweet nectar. He could feel the crush of her soft breasts against his muscled chest. He loved the way her hair curled across his shoulder and tickled his nose when he held her close.

  Growling, he pulled her closer, his hand slipping down to cup her butt cheeks. He nibbled her bottom lip, and then he tracked his mouth lower, going down to nuzzle the slender curve of her neck. He felt her go loose in his embrace, melt against his body. They could have been on the moon, he was that oblivious to their surroundings. He’d been hungering for this moment for so very long. Just to feel her in his arms was a miracle.

  Jesse throbbed with need for her. His knees trembled with the power of it. God, how he wanted her. But he couldn’t have her. Not now. Not yet. Not while she still wore Beau Trainer’s ring on her finger. When he took her, he wanted her to be fully and completely his.

  Still, his body refused to cooperate. He had to have another kiss and another and another. When he wrenched his mouth from hers, she made a soft mewling sound of protest. Moonlight fell on her, bathing her creamy skin in a soft glow. It was all he could do not to strip her bare and take her right there.

  “You are so beautiful,” he murmured.

  Sexual tension pulsed between them, an erotic irresistible force.

  She reached up to pull his head down again for another kiss, but he took her hands, stepped back, and shook his head. He gently kissed the knuckles of both her hands, felt her shiver.

  “What are you doing to me?” she whispered.

  He had to draw in a deep breath to control himself. He wanted to possess her. All of her. Now. The urge was primal and all-consuming. Flynn, Flynn, Flynn. Her name beat in his head with every pulse of his blood. He had to stop this now or he wasn’t going to be able to stop at all.

  Flynn, however, seemed to have ideas of her own.

  There was nothing sweet or tender about the kiss she planted on his lips.
Heat radiated from her hot little core, searing him all the way to his tonsils. She bunched the front of his shirt in her fingers. She tasted so good. Like chocolate-chip cookie dough ice cream, sensuous flesh, and delicious woman.

  Mindlessly he threaded his fingers through her hair, cradled the back of her head in his palm, took the kiss away from her. Deepened it.

  They were standing in moon glow, underneath the branches of the Sweetheart Tree, kissing as they’d never kissed before. In an open area for any and all to see. It felt wicked, and his dick got so hard he couldn’t form a coherent thought. He knew he was playing with fire, pushing things too far, too fast. He could screw it all up. Ruin everything.

  “This isn’t smart,” he murmured against her mouth.

  “I know,” she whispered back.

  “We have to stop.”

  “Yes.”

  “It was stupid.”

  “Yes.” Her arms were still laced around his neck.

  He reached up and wrapped his hands around her wrists. “You’re engaged to another man, and I know you’re not the kind of woman who cheats.”

  That seemed to get through to her. She blinked, pulled back, looked ashamed. “I’m not.” She blew out her breath, took another step back, shoved a hand through her hair. “Oh God, what am I doing?” Her face paled. “I gotta go. I gotta get out of here.”

  Looking dazed, she turned, spun away from him, stumbled over the white picket fence.

  He reached for her.

  She threw up her hands, fending him off. “No, no.”

  “Flynn.”

  “No, no, don’t touch me, no,” she pleaded. “I can’t do this. I won’t let you do this to me. I won’t do this to myself. I won’t do this to Beau. He deserves better. I deserve better. You deserve better.”

  He understood. She’d broken her own values, shattered her code of ethics by kissing him just as she had done ten years ago on that bridge. He was her Achilles’ heel, and she resented him for being her weakness.

  Jesse didn’t try to stop her. He just stood there, watching her rush away across the grass, headed back to the town square. Guilt twisted his heart. His plan had worked too well. He’d upset her, and that wasn’t what he’d meant to do.

  Moments later, her Ford Ranger sped past him. Flynn’s hands clutching the steering wheel, her gaze staring straight ahead.