Candis Terry - [Sweet, Texas 01]

by Anything But Sweet

  Chapter 2

  Charli successfully extracted herself from the initial meet and greet in the little town square that needed a lot of her love and attention. It hadn’t taken more than a quick glance to realize the place had plenty of potential and that it was probably one of the most important locations for her to renovate. This was where the community gathered, and she had to make it extra special. While her producer might not feel the location was important enough to put on the list of places to spruce up, Charli would fight to the last donut to make it happen. All within her squeaky budget.

  Earlier, in a quick glance around the crowd, she’d seen faces both young and old, eager and excited about the changes to come.

  That was when she’d spotted him.

  Tall, with stiff broad shoulders. Dark, with slightly curly hair. Handsome, with eyes a deep chestnut that glared at her as though she bore a triple-six tattoo on the back of her skull.

  He was exactly the type of man she was attracted to and equally the type she’d sworn herself to leave alone.

  For months, she’d been on a boy bust. A hunk hiatus, so to speak. At least until she figured out why she kept choosing the same kind of man over and over. At least until she learned to be attracted to members of the opposite sex who weren’t looking to break her heart or bail like a Recon paratrooper.

  Yet, as she looked into that striking face, something wicked inside her busted loose.

  Those narrowed eyes had issued a challenge.

  And she’d never been one to wuss out.

  Charli didn’t understand his reasons for such a dark frown in a crowd full of smiles, but she sure as hell planned to find out. In a moment of sheer madness, she’d chosen him to hold her little traveling companion. Because, really, who wouldn’t want to cuddle with an adorable fluff of fur?

  Oh sure, she could have held on to Pumpkin herself, but he’d thrown down the gauntlet. And, thanks to a hot wave of hormonal lunacy, she’d decided to pick it up.

  While the rest of the crew chatted with the community and listened to enthusiastic ideas on how to renovate the town, Charli slipped away to rescue Pumpkin. She’d only meant for the scowling dark-eyed hunk to hold on to her doggie for a few minutes while she gave the residents a quick rundown on what to expect in the coming six weeks. Instead, he’d stomped off in a large pair of cowboy boots toward Wilder and Sons Hardware & Feed.

  During her years in design, Charli had learned that first impressions were critical. And Main Street—the heart of Sweet, Texas—was in desperate need of a better first impression. As they’d come through town, the hardware store’s sun-bleached cedar siding and rusted metal roof had caught her eye. Though the white paint on the window frame had peeled like a bad sunburn, the place had charm. It just needed a little spiffing up.

  As she wobbled across the road in the ridiculous high heels the show’s wardrobe consultant had insisted she wear, a strategy sprouted in her mind. Because of a bad economy and budget cuts, shows like theirs were always on the edge of extinction. Charli had a lot to prove. She’d always been known for tackling the impossible—like trying to impress her father—or renovating a former hospital into low-cost apartments for senior citizens. In her mind, the bigger the challenge, the better the satisfaction when the project was complete.

  Aside from the numerous large projects on Main Street, there was the hardware store. Which might not be big in size, but something told her a lot of heart had gone into those walls. And she planned to make them prettier.

  When she opened the front door, a little bell jingled her arrival. While she waited, she looked around. Everything on the inside appeared as ancient as the outside. Like maybe the items for sale had sat on the shelves since the turn of the nineteenth century.

  Finally, from a back room, Mr. Tall, Dark, and . . . yep, still Grumpy, emerged. To her surprise, his big hands were busy buttoning a plaid shirt over a spectacularly tan, naked chest with a light layer of hair that looked soft and inviting to fingertips that were tactile sensitive. Like hers. Below those amazing pecs came a set of rippled abs. Not the overdone variety, like the ones displayed in the gym where some men seemed to have nothing better to do than pump and preen. The abs on Mr. Grouchy looked like they’d been cut from hard, sweaty man work.

  In a moment of sheer indulgence, she dropped her gaze lower to the fine dark hair that swirled his belly button, then formed a line that disappeared into a pair of jeans slung over narrow hips. What went on below that looked to be equally interesting.

  Sadly, with each button he closed, the magnificent view disappeared. She forced her eyes upward with a mental reminder that she was on a man ban. Looky, but no touchy.

  “How can I help . . .” He glanced up. “You.” While his last word dropped off on an accusation, those dark eyes sliced and diced her like a Ronco Chop-O-Matic. Something in her stomach did a funny side shuffle and a little heel kick.

  Down girl.

  “You stole my dog,” she said, as soon as her senses rolled back up into her brain.

  Those incredible eyes narrowed just a fraction. “First of all,” he said, “that’s not a dog. Second, I didn’t steal it. You dumped it. And third, you owe me a shirt.”

  “A shirt?”

  “Pumpkin had a little accident.”

  “Oh.” Charli covered her mouth to hide her smile. “Sorry. Good thing you sell shirts.” She glanced around again at the products available for sale. “And coffeepots. And yarn. And candles. And pet supplies. And . . .” She squinted her eyes. “Are those silk poppies in that apple basket?”

  “You got a problem with fake flowers?”

  “In a craft store? No. In a hardware and feed store? Don’t you think that’s a little . . . odd?”

  His wide shoulders came up—making him look even larger and infinitely more intimidating. “I think what’s odd is why you want to come to this town and fix what isn’t broken.”

  “No one said Sweet was broken. But don’t you think it could use a little livening up?”

  “If you’ve ever been to Seven Devils on a hot summer night, you wouldn’t ask that question.”

  “And Seven Devils is . . . ?”

  “Local bar. Not someplace someone like you would frequent.”

  “You know nothing about me, Mr. . . .”

  “Wilder.” He gave a nod toward the front window. “Like the sign says.”

  “So, then, where are your sons?”

  “You sure ask a lot of questions.”

  “And you’re pretty good at dodging them.” That almost got a smile. Or not. “Where’s my dog?”

  “That pathetic excuse for a canine is in back. If Bear hasn’t eaten her for a snack.”

  Bear? Images of sharp teeth and claws shot panic up Charli’s spine. She headed toward the back room. Mr. Grumpy with the fabulous physique stepped in her way and filled her senses with a delicious scent that was clean, warm, and all male.

  “Can’t you read?” His voice resonated in a deep rumble that vibrated over her skin like a hot caress.

  She looked up over the door. EMPLOYEES ONLY. “Are you holding Pumpkin hostage until I pay for your new shirt?”

  “Hadn’t thought of that.” He glanced at a rack of plaid apparel and the sign that read $19.99. “But it’s not a bad idea.”

  “I left my purse in the Hummer. You’ll have to take my word that I’m good for it.”

  “Now, while it might be easy to figure that a woman who owns an expensive vehicle like—”

  “The expensive vehicle belongs to the production company. I drive a MINI Cooper.”

  “Still presents a problem.” He folded his arms, and biceps bulged beneath those short sleeves. “Because, as you said, I don’t know you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere for six weeks,” she said. “And I promise you twenty bucks is no big deal.” She brushed past him. All her fears washed away when she found Pumpkin playfully nipping at the ears of an Australian shepherd several times her size. The other dog lay there
with a tilt to his russet eyebrows that said, “Please remove this pest from my personal space.”

  “Pumpkin! Stop that.” Charli swooped up her little dog, then looked up at the big, tall man beside her. “Your dog is very tolerant. Probably a lot more so than his owner.”

  Turning on her heel, she headed toward the front door, where her earlier idea burst into full bloom. Behind her, his boot heels came to a halt near the sales counter. She stopped and turned.

  “Just so you know,” she said in her most confident voice, “at the reveal meeting tonight in the community hall, I plan to present the big plan. I want to do you first.”

  That dark gaze traveled up and down her body like a singles-party cruise.

  He was a big strong man. A man’s man. With a NO TRESPASSING sign embedded in those dark eyes. Probably burned into his heart as well. She knew the type. Too well. Women loved him, and he knew it. And he’d love them. Then move on.

  As his eyes came back up to her face, a smile appeared from within a five o’clock shadow and flashed a deep set of dimples Charli would never have guessed existed. The combination of dark and light on him was magnificent and devastating.

  “Well, now, Ms. Brooks, that’s a mighty fine offer,” he drawled. “But I hardly know you. And I’ve never considered myself a one-night-stand kind of guy.”

  Of course he didn’t. He was probably more like a half-a-night-stand kind of guy.

  “I meant I’d like your store to be the first makeover we do,” she rushed to clarify.

  He moved out from behind the counter and came toward her. His boots thudded on the ancient wood floor and stopped mere inches away. Again, she was overwhelmed by his size and pure masculinity. One that foolishly made her want to wrap her arms around his wide shoulders and nuzzle against that strong neck.

  He was not a pretty boy by any means. His face was all man—accented with a few lines at the corners of his eyes. This close, she also noticed a few silver hairs at his temples. Experience and maybe some heartbreak too were etched on that face. It all came together in a curiously gorgeous package that made her want to dig deeper.

  “Never,” he said.

  She blinked away the forbidden fantasy that had begun to romp through her imagination. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You will never touch this place,” he said. “Not on my watch. Not in my lifetime.”

  The low, deep tone in his voice stopped just short of a growl and sent a shiver up her spine. Unfortunately, the chill wasn’t of the Little Red Riding Hood vs. the Big Bad Wolf variety. And reckless girl that she could often be, it intrigued the hell out of her.

  She tilted her head and studied him. The intensity in his eyes. The tension in his jaw. The stiffness in his spine. “Why on earth would you be against creating a better shopping environment for your customers?” she asked. “In the three towns our show has renovated, data indicates that afterward, business picked up, and profits increased. Who in their right mind would be opposed to enhanced customer satisfaction and a higher bottom line?”

  “Satisfaction has never been an issue,” he drawled in a tone that suggested his comment had nothing to do with hardware. Then he reached behind her and opened the door. “Have a nice day.”

  With a lift of her chin, she took the not-so-subtle hint, tucked Pumpkin in closer, and stepped out onto the boardwalk.

  The door closed in her face.

  Charli glared through the glass and watched his very fine backside disappear into the stockroom.

  “Never is a very long time, Pumpkin.” She looked down into her dog’s big brown eyes and ran her fingers over the fuzzy topknot tied up with a yellow bow. “And, unfortunately for him, I‘m on a tight schedule.”

  Chapter 3

  “If y’all are done talkin’ amongst yourselves, we can get down to business.” Gladys Lewis—current senior center and Sweet Apple Butter Festival president—spoke too close to the mic with her red-smeared lips, and a screech of feedback ensued.

  Reno rubbed his fingers over the intense headache hammering him between the eyes. How the hell he got himself talked into things, he’d never know. One minute, he’d been closing up shop and heading home, the next he’d been dragged to an event he’d planned to avoid like a case of the swine flu.

  Somewhere between a chunk of his favorite meat loaf and a thick slice of homemade strawberry-rhubarb pie, his mother had sweet-talked him into driving her back into town for the meeting from hell. He wasn’t buying that she’d scratched her cornea with a flake of alfalfa and couldn’t drive.

  So there he sat in the community hall with the rest of the gang, trapped on a cold metal chair between his mother and his brother Jesse—both of whom believed the town face-lift was a grand idea. Realistically knowing there was only one way out of the building, Reno searched the white cinder-block walls in vain for a hidden escape route.

  Gladys Lewis’s cottony blue hair bobbled as she banged her gavel down on the podium like she was in charge of an unruly courtroom. “Ms. Brooks will now give us the list of lucky businesses chosen to receive the renovations.” The audience—a standing-room-only crowd—applauded politely.

  His mother nudged him with her elbow. “This is so exciting, don’t you think?”

  “Electrifying.” He turned to Jesse, who sat with his long legs stretched in from of him and his arms folded across his white veterinarian jacket. “You up for a beer after this?”

  Jesse shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Boys,” their mother said in the same tone she’d used when she’d caught them hanging from tree limbs, or chasing cows, or heading off into the woods with their BB guns slung over their shoulders. “Pay attention, please.”

  At that moment, surrounded by her crew and a couple of guys in suits, Charlotte Brooks stepped up to the podium. She’d toned down her earlier skintight blouse and skirt with a pair of khakis, a snug white tee, and a fitted navy jacket. But she still had on those big-ass high heels. Her brown hair had been pulled up into a sleek ponytail that dangled between her shoulders. And the frown Reno had left her with as he’d closed the door in her face had been replaced with an enthusiastic smile. She radiated energy.

  Reno sucked in a lungful of air.

  God, the woman was as effervescent as a glass of newly poured champagne—all bubbly and ready to go.

  “Now, that is a knockout,” Jesse murmured.

  “Out of your league, little brother.”

  A slow smile spread across Jesse’s face. “I don’t mind talking her into mine.”

  Reno opened his mouth to respond and was cut short by the TV host’s thanking everyone for coming.

  “First of all,” she said, “we want to thank everyone for your hospitality in opening your homes to us for the duration of our stay. We’ve never been in a town without motels before.”

  Everyone gave an obligatory chuckle.

  Reno leaned toward his mother. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “There aren’t any motel rooms to rent, so the community is opening up their homes,” his mother whispered. “Gertie West is hosting the little blond assistant.”

  “What about the B&Bs?”

  “Guess there weren’t enough rooms to go around.”

  “The proximity of the places we’re staying are quite a ways apart,” Charlotte continued, “but we promise that won’t interfere with our ongoing discussions as we complete these projects. And . . . we promise not to steal ashtrays or towels.”

  Another obligatory chuckle rumbled from the crowd.

  A snap of impatience hit Reno. He glanced at his watch and looked around again for that hidden exit.

  “As you know in the past, My New Town has chosen three businesses with the greatest need of renovation.” Charlotte looked out over the crowd and made eye contact with several in the front row. “While our budget is tight, we always aim to give the town the most bang for the buck. After touring Sweet earlier this afternoon, I had a talk with the producers, and this time we’ve decided to u
p our game.”

  A low rumble of murmurs spread through the audience.

  “I knew it.”

  Reno looked at his mother. “You knew what?”

  “I knew she’d really listened to what the town told her. She knows the needs. And I knew she’d do what was necessary to fulfill those needs. She’s a good girl.”

  Reno doubted that. “Have you even spoken to her?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then how would you know she’s a good girl?”

  “Instinct, son.” His mother turned her head, her eyes cut directly to his. “When you’re the mother of five boys, you learn it real fast.”

  “Amen to that,” Jesse murmured.

  “This time,” Charlotte Brooks said, “the producers have agreed to double the number of makeovers.” The announcement received a standing ovation.

  Reno stood solely out of obligation, but he refused to go so far as to clap his hands.

  “So without further ado,” Charlotte continued once the crowd quieted down, “I’m proud to reveal the winners. Though please note these are not specifically in the order in which they will be addressed.”

  Agitation and dread twisted in Reno’s gut while he resettled in his chair, and the provocative TV host unfolded a piece of paper.

  “First on the list is the Sweet Senior Center.”

  A collective gasp filtered out among the gray-haired troublemakers who’d brought the makeover show into the town that had been his safe haven when he’d been an abandoned child and when he’d returned from the war.

  “We promise,” Charlotte Brooks said, “we’ll turn that run-down building into a fun place you will all be able to enjoy for years to come.”

  Reno hated to admit it, but the senior center could definitely use a little help. The roof had needed replacing years ago, and no one was quite sure how to describe the ugly shade of green paint.

  “Second on the list is Goody Gum Drops. We know you gave it a good effort, Mrs. West, and we promise to help you fulfill your dream of making your shop stand out . . . with a more subtle approach.”