Wyatt shook his head but smiled. “Caila, this is Owen Smith, but everyone calls him Smitty. He works at the hardware store downtown. He’s been a fixture of Bradleton for as long as I can remember.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Smith.”
Smitty nodded to her, then looked at Wyatt. “People aren’t going to be happy if we lose homecoming.”
“I know. We all want the boys to do well.”
“I saw the coach’s wife at the store the other day and I told her to make sure she reminds her husband that defense wins games. We don’t need all that fancy long ball stuff. Just strengthen up that D-line and get those corners in and we should be good. That Jackson kid is fast. He needs to be starting.”
“I’m sure she relayed that news,” he said, unsure if he’d successfully concealed his sarcasm.
Or maybe she’d been hearing so much unsolicited advice that she’d discarded it as soon as it was offered. It was a tactic Wyatt sometimes employed.
“Now don’t make me have to take you over my knee in front of your lady friend,” Smitty said, turning back to the field, bracing his forearms on the top railing of the fence.
Guess not.
Caila laughed, and Wyatt’s fingers curled into fists at his sides.
Do your job! You have a responsibility to your family and this town, not to some woman you just met.
“That wouldn’t be a good look for the town and we’re trying to make the right impression. Caila is from Endurance. She’s here to do an evaluation on the plant.”
Caila stiffened, and Wyatt imagined a bricklayer setting up his trowel and mortar. Slowly but surely, he could feel the wall being erected between them. The weight of that disconnect laid heavy on his chest. He regretted doing that more than he’d regretted anything in a very long time.
“Ma’am,” Smitty repeated.
“Smitty used to work at the plant,” Wyatt said.
“Surprise, surprise,” she muttered under her breath.
“Sure did,” Smitty said. “Retired in ’02. My son works there now. My granddaughter graduates from high school this year.”
“That’s wonderful. Is she going to college?” Caila asked.
“Oh no. We don’t have no money for that. She’ll go to work at the plant.”
“I see.”
“Three generations of your family working at Chro-Make,” Wyatt summarized. Caila’s narrowed gaze told him it’d been unnecessary. He pushed on. “But that’s not unusual. A lot of families have worked there. That place has helped a lot of people.”
“As everyone feels a need to tell me,” she murmured, before taking a sip of her hot chocolate.
He’d made his point. They could take their leave.
“It’s good to see you, Smitty. Enjoy the game.”
Smitty nodded, put the toothpick back in his mouth, and returned his attention to the field.
“Let’s go find our seats,” he said, keen to put work behind him and ready to revel in the game and her good company.
Caila twisted her lips and shook her head. “I can’t believe I fell for it.”
“Fell for what?”
“You didn’t invite me here so we could spend time together. You had an ulterior motive.”
He wasn’t the only one. She might claim she was here just to do an evaluation, but he couldn’t shake the feeling there was more going on.
“I saw an opportunity and I seized it. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t excited about our date.”
“I have news for you. I’m not sure what you usually do here, but a high school football game and a Styrofoam cup of powdered hot chocolate is not my idea of a date!”
She stared angrily at him, negative energy emanating from her in waves.
“Am I interrupting anything?” Holly Martin’s thick New Jersey accent still took him aback when she spoke.
Caila smiled bitterly. “Nope. He’s all yours.”
“Caila, wait a minute.” He grabbed her arm when she started to walk away.
She pulled away from his grasp. “Duty calls.”
He let her go and held his hands up, palms out. “I want to talk about this. Please. I just need a minute.”
“Fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest and looked out toward the field.
People weren’t shy about their interest and he was aware of the scintillating tableau they presented: him, two beautiful women, an air of agitation. Mayor McHottie strikes again, providing grist for the rumor mill.
He exhaled and called upon his vast reserves of patience. No matter what he was dealing with in his private life, he couldn’t forget his public responsibilities. He steered Holly to a spot several feet away. “Is everything okay?”
Holly’s smile wilted slightly, but she redoubled her efforts. “Of course! It’s just that our schedules have been busy and we haven’t had a chance to hang out again. I had so much fun the last time.”
He knew; Holly had been open about expressing her continued interest. Unfortunately, twenty minutes into their date he’d realized she was interested in way more than he was willing to give. She constantly brought up her cousin back in Newark who’d just had a baby and asked him if he wanted children and what he would name them. But it had been her questions about his life as mayor and if his wife would be the “first lady” of Bradleton that had sealed the deal.
When they’d met for coffee a few days later, he thought he’d been just as clear in stating his wish that they remain friends.
“Holly, we talked about—”
She laughed loudly and tossed her blond curls, apparently uninterested in their conversation being semi-private. “Silly Wyatt, I don’t recall much talking during our date,” she said, her innuendo apparent.
He wasn’t about to let that stand. “Actually, during dinner, we discussed your family, your recent move here, and your new job with Dr. Saunders, but, you’re right, it was difficult to engage in conversation during the band’s set.”
After which he’d taken her home and passed on her offer of another drink.
Holly twisted her body from side to side and peered up at him from beneath her lashes. “All the more reason for us to get together.”
He didn’t believe he’d been ambiguous in his message, but it was possible he hadn’t been firm enough in his delivery. It was an oversight he’d rectify . . . at a later date.
“This isn’t a good time, Holly.”
“Why?” she asked, a sneer suddenly marring her features. “Because you’re here with her?”
He frowned, turned off by the ugly display. Not that he owed her an explanation, but he did want to defuse the soap opera–esqe situation this was devolving into. “Yes. Caila Harris. She’s the company rep from Endurance.”
“Oh.” Holly’s expression cleared. “This is about the plant?”
Thank God. Now that you get it, can you go away? “Yes.”
“Oh. Do you need any help? Because I’m here with my friends and we’d be happy to talk to her—”
Hell no! “I’ve got it under control. But thank you.”
“I want to do my part to support the town. You go and do your mayor thing and I’ll see you around.”
Had she intended that to sound like a threat?
When he looked over, he was thankful and relieved to see Caila still standing there. She stared after Holly, then arched a brow. “She got dinner and a band? Good to know you’re not always this cheap.”
She walked away.
Dammit!
He hurried after her. “Where are you going?”
“To find Gwen. I knew I should’ve driven myself.”
“Don’t do that. I’ll give you a ride back to the B&B.”
She stopped again and faced him. He could’ve dealt with her anger, met it with his own, but the hurt he saw in the depths of her gaze gutted him.
“Why? You’ve already gotten what you want from me for tonight. Enjoy the game, Mayor Bradley.”
Chapter Eleven
&nbs
p; The pounding of her feet against the pavement in a rhythmic fashion sent a rush of peace through Caila. She shook out her hands, and rolled her shoulders, each step taking her closer to the zone.
She’d needed to do this; she hadn’t run since she’d gotten to Bradleton. Maybe that was part of the problem, the reason she constantly felt off-kilter, like trying to stand on sand while wearing stilettos. Running was how she cleared her mind, how she focused her thoughts and her intentions. After five miles she was always stronger, more decisive, and more accomplished. She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed those emotions until she’d awakened this morning after the homecoming game feeling listless, incompetent, and unsure of herself.
And it was all his fault.
If Nic had been here, she’d be laughing her ass off. “Rookie mistake, Caila. You know better. Be clear on the terms.”
She’d thought she was. She’d believed the attraction was mutual. But she’d been embarrassed and made to look like a joke, and it was nothing less than she deserved.
She’d gone against her own beliefs. She never mixed business with pleasure, and her reason for being here was all business. In fact, it was arguably the most important piece of business in her life.
Instead of questioning the motive behind his invitations, she’d once again surrendered to the bedeviling emotions plaguing her in the past couple of months. Forget common sense, years of experience and logic. She’d chosen to believe a personal involvement with Wyatt wouldn’t affect her mission.
And, though it now galled her to admit it, she’d had her own agenda.
If the football game was as big a draw as everyone claimed, she’d be surrounded by the very people she’d need to observe. And if she happened to see or overhear anything she could use to support Endurance’s decision to break their contract with the plant . . .
A win-win situation for her.
But she hadn’t been smart, and worse, she hadn’t been clever. The moment he’d casually introduced her to Smitty, who’d casually begun talking about the generations of his family working at the plant, she’d felt like a first-class idiot. And not first class as in bigger-seats-separated-from-coach-by-a-curtain. Oh no. She’d rated as a luxurious-privately-enclosed-suite-with-double-bed nitwit!
It’d been a genius move. This time, he’d played her.
And she didn’t like that fucking feeling one bit.
Irritation with her own shortsightedness fueled her as she continued beyond Sinclair House’s neighborhood and on to another with large residences, immaculate lawns, and big trees. These homes were newer than the ones near her B&B, but they still retained the Southern colonial style, with two or three stories, a rectangular design, and a central front door. The addition of shutters, columns, or porches added some variation, but it was clear this was a traditional, well-established neighborhood.
No one who worked at the plant could afford to live here. Maybe that explained the absence of open hostility she experienced. She’d moved from the sidewalk to the street—to avoid colliding with mothers pushing strollers or people walking—and was surprised by the nods, waves, and calls of “Good morning!” she received as she went by. She enjoyed that small slice of camaraderie enough to acknowledge and return greetings of her own.
But her thoughts couldn’t bear to be apart from their favorite subject for long. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit that part of her ire came from her inability to understand her reaction to Wyatt Bradley. It wasn’t as if she rarely encountered attractive men. She lived in Chicago. She worked in the beauty industry. She was surrounded by boatloads of gorgeousness.
There was just something about him that pinged something within her. Despite the numerous pep talks and dire warnings against getting involved with him, she couldn’t seem to help it. That deep, delicious drawl, those hazel eyes, the feel of his strong, callused hand when he’d grabbed hers last night, and when he looked at her and smiled, the action causing a flash of white to gleam against his dark stubble . . .
A shiver racked her body, causing her to stumble slightly.
She needed to get her shit together! He could possess the ability to give her toe-curling orgasms on demand but she still couldn’t let it affect the job she came here to do.
The jarring sound of a horn jumpstarted her heart and she whipped her head around, certain she was inches from being hit. Fortunately, it was a man engaging his car’s alarm half a block back, but it reminded her of the dangers involved in zoning out while running the streets of an unfamiliar town. If she’d been paying attention, she would’ve noticed she’d come to a cul-de-sac. A few more steps and she would’ve been standing on the driveway of the last house on the street.
She stopped and placed her hands on her hips, taking a moment to catch her breath. Upon closer inspection, she realized it couldn’t be a driveway; there was no house before her. A road to nowhere? She jogged several feet to the right, and through a break in the trees she spied a huge brick and white-columned mansion sitting atop a hill. It was larger than the B&B and more ornate.
Man, there was some money in this town.
That thought reignited her irritation with Wyatt. All his talk of the plant being the lynchpin of the town and how closing it would destroy their economy. Please. From the look of these neighborhoods and that house in particular, she had the feeling the economy would be just fine.
Turning, she headed back in the direction from which she’d come.
Wyatt’s help came with strings attached. And while she’d known that, she hadn’t understood how far he would go in service of his agenda. She didn’t intend to waste her time here following his rules or playing his games. She controlled her life, her destiny. Her successes or failures would happen because of her, not because of someone else dictating the terms.
If throwing her together with Wyatt Bradley was the universe’s way of testing her, well, bring it on. She’d never failed a test in her life!
Glancing at her sports watch, she noted she hadn’t run as far as she’d intended. If she went back to Sinclair House now, she’d end up two miles short of her five-mile goal. She needed a little more distance. At the next stop sign instead of keeping straight, she turned left and headed toward downtown.
Before long, the wide residential streets narrowed and single-family homes compressed into attached row homes and then businesses. Traffic picked up, and though she knew it wouldn’t be good for her knees and risky for her ankles, she moved from running on the shoulder of the road to the brick-paved sidewalks.
Another couple of blocks and then she’d walk back.
Up ahead, a crowd of people browsed half a dozen tables covered with brightly colored cloths bearing an assortment of baked goods. As she got closer, flyers, poster boards, and large banners proclaimed she’d stumbled upon “The Harvest Festival’s Community Bake Sale.”
Inspiration struck. She’d missed the opportunity to observe the town at the homecoming game. The universe had heard her complaint; decided to give her a second chance. Despite what Wyatt had claimed when they’d first met, she didn’t need his help.
She didn’t need anything from him.
She slowed down as she reached the edges of the event. Men, women, and children ambled between the different tables, talking among themselves and purchasing treats. Once she ceased running, she fit right in. People wore jeans and sweaters, as well as sweatpants and sweatshirts. Her running pants and tee weren’t out of place, as she’d feared, and if she got chilly, she could put on the windbreaker wrapped around her waist.
“That one-handed catch by Rondale Jackson was amazing!” she heard at one table.
She passed a group of women discussing the homecoming court.
“It’s been better. Half of those girls were overweight.”
“When we were in school, the court used to be based on looks.”
“Not these days. It’s more of a popularity contest.”
“I’m sorry, but I prefer how it used to be.”
“If I were eighteen I’d run for the court again, if only to have this Mayor Bradley crown me.” One middle-aged woman, in a pink velour track suit, giggled with her friends.
Caila rolled her eyes. God save her from women fawning over Wyatt. She probably couldn’t spit without hitting a member of his fan club.
But several tables down, she couldn’t help smiling at the little girl shaking small pompoms and strutting up and down the sidewalk, doing her own version of a cheerleading-routine-slash-model-runway walk.
Caila’s stomach rumbled at the mouthwatering smells emanating from the treats, so she stopped to peruse the pumpkin pies, rustic apple tarts, and cran-apple cobblers. Remembering Gwen’s pumpkin cheesecake brownies, she thought the other woman should have a table out here. She’d make a killing!
Caila approached the redhead manning the nearest table. “These look amazing. What does the bake sale benefit?”
“Thank you!” The woman smiled. “It’s for our local kids’ club, specifically to help their before- and after-school programs for low-income families.”
“That’s such a worthy cause and you make it so easy to donate.”
The other woman nodded. “The Harvest Festival bake sale is our most profitable fundraiser of the year. All of the desserts must be fall-themed. You won’t find a lemon bar or a strawberry shortcake anywhere.”
Caila pointed to the two-pack of puffy ginger cookies. “How much are those?”
“Two dollars each or three packs for five.”
“I’ll take three and a bottled water.”
“Great.” The woman took three packs of cookies and put them in a paper bag. “Janice Ross made these. She’s one of the best bakers in town.”
“Then I’m really looking forward to it.”
The other woman held out her hand. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. My name is Blair. Did you just move here?”
“I’m just visiting.”
“But she’s not a tourist.” A woman with curly blond hair came to stand next to Blair. Caila recognized her as the woman from the football game the night before.
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