Charming the One: (Meadowview Heroes # 3) (The Meadowview Series Book 7)

by Rochelle French

  “Oh…um, okay…” Neva gave herself a mental shake. This could be a lucrative business connection, so now was not the time go to all Little Miss Introvert. Peter was being nice by bringing a marketing opportunity literally to her doorstep. She was grateful—truly.

  A conversation she’d had with her mother when she was ten floated into her mind:

  “Smile, Neva, even if it’s fake. Your father’s constituents need to believe we’re a happy family. People only like people who smile.”

  “But Mom, people don’t like people who are fake.”

  “We’re all fake, darling. Now do as you’re told and act more like your sister. Smile.”

  Neva gave Delilah what she hoped didn’t look like too fake of a smile.

  Delilah stuck her hand out and gave Neva’s a hearty shake. “One hundred percent organic? Even the fertilizer?”

  Neva laughed, her smile turning real. “I’m so glad to meet someone who appreciates the finer aspects of organic gardening.”

  “While you two discuss farming techniques, I’m going to check our shared fence line,” Peter said politely.

  Neva opened her mouth to respond when he suddenly reached out and brushed something off her shoulder. Breath whooshed out of her lungs and her head swirled. He left his hand there longer than needed, held her gaze longer than was comfortable. When he slid his hand off her shoulder, her knees shook and her tummy quivered. She so did not need this today.

  Or ever.

  “You had a chicken feather in your hair,” he explained.

  Neva glanced over at Delilah, who gave her a knowing smile. If Delilah had been oblivious before to the thick current of electricity that zinged between Neva and Peter, she was no longer in the dark.

  Mustering up a bright smile that would have made her mother proud, Neva said, “Thanks for checking the fence, Peter. Let me know if any repairs are needed. I can contract someone out.”

  “No need. I’ll make any repairs myself.”

  “I can’t accept—”

  “It’s not charity and it’s not ‘help’ if it’s my fence I’m repairing.”

  Neva opened her mouth to argue only to snap it shut. Peter had a point.

  She spent the next few minutes showing Delilah around the farm, explaining that this year’s crop would go to the Sacramento restaurateur Morris Brannan—Delilah knew of him—but that she wanted to diversify clients for next year and would be happy to provide fruits and veggies to the diner. While she spoke, she’d notice Peter in her peripheral vision as he strode up and down the fence line, a distraction even on the other side of her property. At least he hadn’t asked about Carla.

  Tour complete, she and Delilah made their way back to the porch. There, their conversation about the benefits of chicken manure as a supplement was interrupted when a foul odor wafted over them. A muffled grumbling sound came from under the porch.

  Neva frowned. “Did you hear that?”

  Delilah wrinkled her nose. “Heard it and smelled it. What on Gaia’s green earth is that?”

  The grumbling continued, punctuated by squeaks. Something shuffled under the porch boards.

  The hairs on the back of Neva’s neck rose and she fought to keep from climbing up onto one of the Adirondack chairs. Whatever it was under her porch had to be larger than a rodent. Much larger.

  “I thought skunk,” she said, “but that’s more like bad body odor than skunk smell.”

  “A raccoon, maybe?” Delilah guessed.

  Neva shook her head. “Raccoons don’t smell like that.”

  “A zombie raccoon?” Delilah persisted, pinching her nostrils. “Maybe we should get a pickax.”

  “It’s not a raccoon,” Peter boomed out from behind them. “And there’s no such thing as zombies.”

  Neva whirled around and gave Peter a pointed look. “I’m sure Delilah’s comment was meant as a joke,” she said, casting a quick glance at the woman to make sure her guest hadn’t taken offense to her sexy neighbor’s bombastic statement.

  Peter never meant to be rude—he simply had no filter.

  “Brat is a porcupine,” he added.

  “Porcupine!” Delilah exclaimed. “Oh, wow. I think that’s my cue to leave. Neva, dear, if Morris Brannan doesn’t want the entire crop of apples, I’ll be happy to buy whatever you have left.”

  “Thank you very much,” Neva said, pleased. She reminded herself she still needed Peter to sign the lease for the apple orchard. Or get his assurances that his aunt Maude would sign. Yes, he’d offered to give her the apples free of charge, but everything needed to be aboveboard if she were to make this farm a success. No room for risk.

  After giving both Neva and Peter a quick hug and peck on the cheek, the older woman carefully made her way off the porch and to her car, waved goodbye, and took off, which left Peter and Neva in awkward silence. And with a stinky something in possession of large needles that protruded from its back right underfoot.

  “So….um…that smelly thing moving around down there?” Neva pointed to the floorboards. “You’ve named it?”

  “Yeah, I call him Brat. Because he is one.” Peter jumped off the porch and crouched down, staring into the space under the floorboards. “Move along now. Don’t go making friends with the neighbor lady. Go live in the orchard, not under our porches, okay?”

  A strange grunting filled the air. A bizarre creature waddled out, blinking against the bright sunlight. Long white guard hairs covered its body, framing a black face with bright black eyes. The thing’s face reminded Neva of Twilight, the guinea pig Peter had rescued. Cute, but lethal.

  The porcupine, not the guinea pig.

  After a moment, the creature nonchalantly walked over to Peter, sat at his feet, and leaned forward. Then it proceeded to nibble the man’s shoelaces. Neva clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “Stop,” Peter intoned.

  The nibbling continued.

  “Really, Brat, you need knock that off.” Peter backed away.

  The critter followed.

  “Um, Peter? Aren’t porcupines dangerous? Shouldn’t you be, um, running away? I mean,” Neva said nervously, “don’t they like, throw their quills or something?

  “Nah. That’s a myth. He’d have to thwack me with his tail for the quills to embed. And this guy’s friendly enough. Too friendly, though.”

  “Is he your pet?” She recalled all the orphaned animals Peter had taken care of and smiled. Gotta love a guy with a soft spot for animals. Even stinky ones. Especially stinky ones.

  Peter laughed. Something in Neva’s insides went all light and floaty at the familiar sound.

  Once they’d sat together in their own corner of the high school cafeteria, where they’d spend time talking about their favorite punk rock bands (Peter was partial to The Sex Pistols, Neva had a thing for The Ramones), arguing over whether or not Malcom McLaren had sold out with his album Fans, and laughing over…huh. She couldn’t remember what they’d laughed about—everything and anything—just that Peter’s laugh always shoved away the unhappiness percolating inside.

  “No, he’s not a pet,” Peter said, still smiling. “It’s never a good idea to make a pet out of something wild—creating a dependency puts them at risk. This guy, here, is awfully young. He might have been abandoned by his mom, or she could have been killed. He doesn’t know any fear of humans. And, he’s discovered Maude’s apple orchard.”

  “Speaking of the orchard,” Neva said, instinctively taking a step toward Peter. Realizing she was too close to the critter—and to Peter, she stepped back. She wasn’t quite ready to trust the quills-can’t-be-thrown theory. Or her bod’s trigger response to Peter’s seductive scent. “I really do need you to sign the lease. I’ll bring it by this afternoon.”

  Peter shook his head. “Maude can do it. She’s the one who made the original lease—I’ll leave setting up the new one in her hands.”

  “But—”

  “My decision is final.”

  “We’ll see about th
at,” Neva said, crossing her arms over her chest when Peter raised his eyebrows. This business of waiting for his aunt was ridiculous. Surely there had to be something she could use to barter to get him to sign. She knew better than to push him immediately, though. Maybe she could bribe him with biscuits and gravy.

  She frowned. But then he’d be in the same room as Carla, and Neva couldn’t handle watching him drool over her twin sister yet again. She still had the cobbler from the day before, though.

  Later. She’d bribe Peter in a bit, but not now. She’d learned enough from watching her twin manipulate men to know not to push right away.

  The wind shifted and she plugged her nose. “Why does Brat smell so bad?” she asked.

  “I looked it up. The scent wards off predators.”

  “The tactic’s working. Can’t you make him go away? I don’t mean like, kick him or anything, but maybe yell or wave your hands or something?”

  Peter glanced at her. “A word to the wise: never piss off a porcupine.”

  “So what am I to do about your stinky little friend?”

  “He’s not my friend.”

  “Peter. Do you or do you not know how to make Brat leave my property?”

  For a moment, Peter simply stared at her. Held her gaze in his, as if taking measure and weighing her very existence. She didn’t look away. Instead, she gave him a small smile and wondered why his eyes had softened and the corner of his mouth tweaked up.

  She inhaled—quick and sudden and sharp. She’d seen him look at a woman this way before. At a girl, really, she mentally clarified.

  He’d gazed at her sister like this, all those years ago. His eyes had been soft, his jaw relaxed, head tilted…every day for close to four years he’d stared at Carla, so openly in love, so oblivious to Carla’s constant rejection. After all, what would a beauty queen see in a social geek? Well, Neva knew what to see in Peter, but Carla surely never had.

  But why was he staring at Neva the same way? Maybe she reminded him of her twin.

  Jealousy twisted a hard knot in her chest. That had to be it. She glanced down at herself. The morning had dawned warm, the cold rain of two days before a distant memory. She’d thrown on a sleeveless button-down in a pink and white checked pattern and tied it around her waist. Jeans shorts showed off tan, lean legs, slung low enough to show her belly button and the dip of her tummy.

  Her hair, once cropped short, now hung in thick, blond waves down her back. The pale, stressed-out face with the hollow cheeks from years ago was gone, too, replaced by what nature had given her: sun-kissed skin and a spatter of freckles across her nose.

  She looked good, dammit.

  She looked like Daisy Duke.

  She looked like Carla. Well, except for the addition of freckles and the lack of lipstick. But still.

  Maybe that’s what was pissing her off the most here. The same person still inhabited her body, but now that she looked like Carla, Peter suddenly enjoyed staring at her? He’d never looked at her like that when they were young, no matter how desperately she wanted him to. Nope, that look had been reserved for her beauty pageant twin.

  Well, he’d better stop. Because Peter staring at her all dewy-eyed was driving her beyond crazy, and not in an oh-gosh-I’m-so-aroused kind of way. She folded her arms over her chest and forced a glare.

  “Uh…” Peter finally spoke. “I think he’s looking for salt. I’ll put a salt lick out at the far end of the orchard. That should keep him away from our houses.”

  “Let me know how much it costs and I’ll pay half.” She turned on her heel and stomped inside her house, the screen door slamming shut in her wake.

  And she most definitely did not invite Peter Leary in for biscuits and gravy.

  Neva hadn’t extended him an invitation, but Peter tagged after her, anyway. She’d caught him off-guard earlier when she came around the corner of the barn, dressed in those so-short-they-shouldn’t-be-legal shorts and that top of hers, tied so sexily around her belly. He’d wanted to reach out and flick open the buttons on her shirt and let those heavenly breasts of hers spill out into his waiting hands, but yep, there was that glare of hers and the fact that Delilah stood next to him and that they were outdoors where anyone could see.

  Had he mentioned Neva’s glare?

  The night before, their plan to have mind-blowing sex had instead blown up in their faces. How differently Neva would be looking at him now had the night gone as planned.

  Whatever issues Neva had going on with her sister—and there appeared to be many—needed solutions. The clock was ticking. Maybe he should feel guilty for wanting all Neva and Carla’s problems to disappear so he and Neva could tumble into bed, but sleeping together was what Neva had wanted, too.

  And she still did, no matter how much she pretended otherwise. The way her eyes had widened, the gasp that had flown from her mouth, the way she’d swallowed when she came around the corner and noticed him said as much.

  So when she shot him a glare but didn’t order him off her property, he followed her into the kitchen. There, as she yanked pots and pans out of cupboards with a great emphasis on clanging them together, he pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and plopped himself down.

  Quietly. Like a good boy.

  And then caught himself checking out Neva’s ass.

  But damn, how could he not with her wearing those tight jean shorts? When she bent forward, he could see the crescent moon of her cheeks, so luscious and rounded and the perfect shape to hold in the palms of his hands.

  He’d wanted her the night before. This morning was no different. All parts of him were on edge and ready to taste Neva, stroke Neva, bring Neva to the edge of ecstasy, and then push her right on over to fly higher than she’d ever flown before.

  “Down, boy,” he muttered under his breath, warning his building erection to stop pretending to be the Eiffel Tower. He looked around but saw no sign of Carla. Maybe she was still in bed, because he highly doubted she’d left already. Not when she hadn’t finished what she’d come here to do.

  When would Carla tell her twin the truth about who she was? Or share with her sister that she ran a highly successful marketing company? That she was fucking rich?

  After noticing a fresh ATM receipt in Neva’s driveway last night, one that showed a huge balance and was clearly not Neva’s, he’d gone home, flipped on his laptop, and searched “Carla Tipton.” After digging around online, he’d uncovered the fact that Carla owned and ran a company specializing in on-line advertising. She had a number of major clients and even one “unicorn” company—valued at over a billion dollars.

  If Carla were such a success, why would she pretend to be a homeless, broke gold digger?

  Yeah, Neva and Carla’s dynamic was none of his business, and he should stay the hell out of their problem, but he’d once cared deeply about these two women.

  Still did, to be honest.

  “Carla’s still getting her beauty sleep, in case you were wondering,” Neva said, putting an iron skillet on the stove and clicking the gas on high.

  “You’re irritated she’s here,” he observed.

  Neva let out a long sigh. “I won’t lie. I’ve only started out here on this farm. I have a lot riding on its success. Taking in my broke sister for two weeks because she’s too shallow to rely on anything other than her good looks doesn’t fit in my agenda.”

  “Carla isn’t shallow, she’s misunderstood.”

  “That’s nice of you to say, but I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t know her the way I knew her.”

  “Here,” Neva said, setting a bowl and a dozen eggs in front of him. “Beat these. And how could you say you know her better than I do? She spent most of high school ignoring you. After making out with her once ten years ago, you think you know so much about her?”

  He was puzzled. “When did I make out with Carla?” Was Neva referring to night she’d gone to their Senior Class party pretending to be her twin sister? He’d kissed
Neva that night, but surely she understood he knew she was pretending to be her sister.

  “Never mind,” Neva answered, turning her back to him to grab ingredients out of the refrigerator. “My mistake.”

  The past was in the past. He needed to focus on the future. “Last night started out great,” he began, cracking eggs into the bowl and putting the shells back into the cardboard container.

  Neva’s back went stiff. She opened up a packet of sausage and placed it on the sizzling skillet. “We’re not talking about last night.” She didn’t turn around to face him. “We both knew it was a bad decision from the start. Chalk it up to crazy hormones and let’s move on.”

  But he didn’t want to move on.

  There was a spark between them. Last night had rekindled the flame ignited years before, on the night of their Senior Class party. That night he’d kissed Neva, a kiss that had lifted him out of his body and transported him somewhere magical, ethereal…otherworldly. That night, he’d thought she’d been brought to the same place.

  Clearly, that hadn’t happened.

  As soon as the kiss had ended, he’d been about to tell her how he’d been an idiot to have had a crush on Carla for all those years. Before he could even get his first sentence out, he’d been cut off by Neva leaping to her feet and running away, leaving him alone (and with a major boner) and so very perplexed on the roof of the gym.

  The next evening, as soon as he got off work, he’d headed to the Tipton house to talk about their kiss. He’d wanted to tell her that if the kiss hadn’t affected her the way it had him, then he’d be okay with being friends. He wasn’t, but he’d do anything to keep his friendship with Neva.

  That was when he’d come across Carla, weeping in the park over the sudden death of her father earlier that day, a man whose love she’d sought but never found. Mr. Tipton had been hit by a drunk driver on his way to the airport, killed instantly.

  Somehow Peter found himself with Carla collapsed against him, sobbing uncontrollably, telling him about her deep pain at losing her father, a man whose expectations she’d felt she never measured up to.