Candis Terry - [Sweet, Texas 01]

by Anything But Sweet

  Joe, Jana, Jared, Jackson, Jesse, Jake and . . . Reno. Hmmm.

  “Jared looks just like your husband.”

  “Almost a complete replica, temperament and all. He was such a good baby. But once he learned to walk, look out. He was into everything. He and Reno were very close. They both liked to work with their hands.” She sighed. “They’d planned to build a side furniture business when they got out of the military.”

  For a moment, she stood silently looking at the photo, and Charli could almost hear her heart break all over again. The woman had said she was ready to move on, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be difficult.

  “Now. In this room the furniture was tasteful—once upon a time.” Jana waved Charli into a family room filled with dark, heavy furniture, and boy-resistant fabrics. Horseshoes had been welded into lamp bases. Antlers had been used to make a chandelier. And a movie-theater poster of the movie Tombstone was placed next to the flat-screen TV.

  “But it’s seen the rearing of five rambunctious boys. That coffee table has always been to blame for the scar at the corner of Jesse’s eye. Not, mind you, the fact that he was nine at the time and trying to perfect an Olympic backflip.”

  “Is that where the saying “Boys will be boys” came from?”

  “Obviously from a mother who knew them well. I always wondered what would last the longest, the boys, the furniture, or me. Come on. I’ll give you the nickel tour of the rest of the disaster that is my home, and you’ll see that the furniture has survived the longest.”

  “Your home is very comfortable,” Charli said.

  “And you are very polite.” Jana chuckled, then led the way down the hall past several smaller bedrooms on one side of the home to the master suite on the opposite end.

  Instead of seeing a bland room with bland walls and heavy, man furniture, Charli saw possibilities. “What’s the budget for your makeover?”

  Jana folded her arms and her index finger came up to tap her chin. When she finally gave a number, Charli knew she’d have to work her magic to give this nice woman what she wanted. Or maybe needed was a better term.

  “I have some ideas,” Charli said. “And since you mentioned coffee, do you mind if we sit down at your kitchen table? I have some samples to show you. Then we can pull our visions together and come up with a plan.”

  “I not only have coffee, I have some butter biscuits and homemade raspberry jam.”

  “Well, I’d be willing to see if I can help you get rid of a few of them.” Charli followed her hostess into a kitchen scented with maple and baked goods. She abruptly stepped back when they found Reno, Jackson, and Jesse helping themselves to the warm biscuits. They all looked up—two of them with surprise, one with a scowl.

  Yeah, like that was anything new.

  All three stood, as their mother had most likely trained them to do when a lady entered the room.

  “Oh you boys!” Jana said, scolding them even while she smiled. “I made those for our guest.”

  “Sorry.” Jesse’s apologetic expression was obviously one he’d used with his mother many times.

  “There’s still enough for the both of you.” Jackson held up a platter piled high with golden biscuits.

  “Have a seat,” Jana told Charli. “I’ll grab coffee.”

  “We already have coffee,” Jackson said.

  Jana’s gaze sliced to the counter. “And you left me an empty pot. Sorry, Charli, it will only take me a minute to brew another.”

  “No problem.” Charli accepted the chair Jesse had pulled out for her. She sat down, resting her design bag against her ankle and Pumpkin on her lap. “I’ve got about an hour before I need to be at the senior center.”

  Reno lifted a biscuit to his mouth, took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully. “You always bring your dog with you everywhere you go?”

  She blinked. Glanced at the mop of brown, white, and black fur curled up on the rug near the back door. “Do you?”

  Jackson stood, grabbed his empty plate from the table, and dumped it in the sink. “Think she’s got your number, brother.”

  “ ’Bout damn time somebody did,” Jesse added as he also stood and scooted the chair back under the table.

  Jana turned from the counter with a smile. “New pot’s brewing. Jackson? Jesse? Can you come grab a box from the top of my closet?”

  “It takes both of us?” Jackson asked. To which his mother gave him a disgruntled “Yes.”

  “We’ll be right back.” Jana tugged her two muscular sons from the kitchen.

  Jana’s quick departure was an obvious attempt to toss Charli and Reno together. Charli knew this by the little eyebrow wiggle she did on her way out the door. To hide a laugh, Charli grabbed a packet of sugar substitute from a bowl in the center of the table and shook the contents to the bottom of the packet.

  “Must be a heavy box,” Reno mumbled, setting his fork down on the plate.

  “Or maybe she just needed to give them a time-out.”

  His head came up, and those dimples flashed. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” His eyes searched her face, then settled into a bold stare. “So what brings you here today? I thought you’d be knee deep in projects at the senior center by now.”

  “Some construction projects gave us a late start. So I came over to help your mother.”

  “What exactly does my mother need help with?”

  Charli settled back in her chair and noted his rumpled hair. Windblown? Just out of bed? Finger combed? Didn’t matter. It looked good on him. “She’s decided to give her home a makeover, and she asked for my advice.”

  His eyes narrowed so fast, it took Charli back a notch.

  “She’s going to do what?”

  “You know.” Charli shrugged. “Change things up a bit.”

  His hand tightened around the biscuit, and jelly squished out between his fingers. “Why would she want to do that?” His voice never rose above a whisper, but the growl beneath his words made his feelings clear.

  “Why wouldn’t she?”

  “Because there’s nothing wrong with it the way it is.”

  “But you don’t live here anymore. So why does it matter if she changes the color of the walls?” Charli had never been one to intentionally push people’s buttons. But something told her that unless someone was brave enough to poke at the bear, the bear planned to hibernate through the rest of his life.

  It was obvious that his family cared and worried about him. Maybe they cared too much to carry a stick with enough of a point to make a difference. She wasn’t sure what chaos in the universe kept flinging her and this man together, but he’d thrown down the gauntlet, and she’d picked it up. Today, he left her no choice but to give him a spirited nudge.

  “Just because you don’t like change doesn’t mean everyone else has to keep things the same.”

  A muscle in his jaw clenched. “You sure make a lot of assumptions for someone who really knows nothing about me.”

  “Maybe I don’t yet. But I’m learning.”

  “Well . . . don’t look too close.” Something other than anger darkened his eyes as he leaned in. Something a little sad. Maybe even a little anxious. “You might be very disappointed.”

  He got up from the table and set his dishes in the sink. “If you’ll excuse me, I have cattle to feed,” he said, then grabbed a frayed straw hat from a rack on the wall and settled it over his rumpled hair.

  Charli watched him walk out the door with dog in tow. She watched through the panes of glass until his boot steps faded away. Her chest lifted on a slow, thoughtful intake of air.

  Reno Wilder might be many things.

  Disappointing would not be one of them.

  Chapter 8

  On a hot Friday night, everyone headed into a cool building for a cold beer and some dancing. Seven Devils Saloon—aptly named for the types of alcohol served—was everybody’s favorite place to cut loose. In this old-style dance hall, you could count on beautiful women, jealous cowboys, and even
a brawl or two.

  Reno rarely engaged in anything other than conversation and a couple of longnecks. Which did not mean he was any kind of saint. When loneliness and need took control, he wandered outside the city limits. The distance gave people less to gossip about. Unlike his flashier brothers, he did not like being the center of attention.

  He’d watched the senior center closely for most of the day. When Charli left, he’d gone over to finish the mural. Tomorrow, they’d have their big reveal of the project, and he didn’t want to disappoint the elders in his community. He also didn’t want to run into Fancy Pants if he could help it. She rubbed him the wrong way.

  She was far too curious.

  Too meddlesome.

  And far too sexy.

  From the moment he discovered she’d be sleeping just a few steps away from him, he hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d always had a creative mind, and it had been pushed to the limit conjuring up images of Charlotte Brooks. Mostly naked. Eyes closed while a smile of satisfaction tilted her full lips.

  For a man trying to remain cognizant of the fact that she was trying to change everything that mattered, she was like an F4 tornado with a great pair of legs. For the duration of her stay, he intended to keep his distance and his sanity intact.

  Looking forward to a night of mindless entertainment, he parked his old truck in the space at the end of the crowded lot on the outskirts of town and headed toward the old-time saloon. The guitars of a live band twanged through the window screens as he pushed open Devil’s big heavy door and stepped inside to join the others for a few moments of respite from the long week.

  As he glanced around the huge, wood-floored hall, the band’s cover of Luke Bryan’s “Country Girl Shake It for Me” charged his eardrums. At peak volume, the song had inspired a group of tight-Wranglered, tank-topped cowgirls to hit the floor for a line dance. The cowboys holding up the walls gawked in appreciation.

  Reno stood just inside the door letting his eyes adjust. He lifted a hand at the round of “Hey’s” he received. The décor in Devils was little more than bare walls, an oak bar, neon beer signs, and some banged-up tables and chairs that frequently flew across the room. It was a loud and rowdy bar that usually amped up around 10:00 P.M. Most who stood inside now would close the place down, then stumble home to sleep it off.

  He scanned the area, looking for a place to land. Someone to talk to. A pretty girl to flirt with. Feminine laughter drew his attention. His gaze locked onto the shapely brunette perched at the bar in a little red sundress that barely covered the tops of her thighs. Obviously enjoying herself, she placed her hand on the arm of Ben Marshall, Aiden’s older brother and local connoisseur of women—and she laughed with Chester Banks, Sweet’s oldest living playboy.

  Damn.

  She’d not only invaded his turf, she’d brought out the riffraff.

  “When you get up on them ponies, you gotta settle in with your butt, look straight ahead,” Chester Banks told Charli as he gave her a verbal riding lesson. “Otherwise, they can’t feel where you want ’em to go.”

  “So what you’re saying is you lead them by your butt?” Charli didn’t mean to sound dense, but she’d never been on a horse in her life, and what Chester was telling her didn’t make sense.

  “They’re directional,” the handsome man with the short brown hair said. “If you look left, they’re going to go left. If you put pressure on them with your right knee, they’re going to move away from the pressure. They can feel how the body shifts, and they take their signals that way.”

  “I thought the reins were like a steering wheel.”

  “Hell, no,” Chester said. “You keep off a horse’s face as much as possible. You let the reins touch his neck, and he’ll know where to go. You sink down in the saddle, he’ll know when to stop.”

  “They sound like very smart animals.” Charli lifted her drink to her lips. A large hand snagged it away. Shocked, she watched as her glass with the pretty pink drink and colorful umbrella floated across the bar and got dumped into the sink.

  “What the hell did he do that for?” Chester asked.

  Charli sighed. “He hates me.”

  Moments later, Reno Wilder came back and shoved an icy longneck bottle with an orange slice garnish in her hand. “No girly drinks allowed in here. This is as pantywaist as you’re allowed to get,” he growled, then turned away and walked toward the back room, where a group of rowdies were engaged in a game of pool.

  Fascinated, Charli watched his backside retreat—broad shoulders, narrow waist, lean hips, big boots going thunk-thunk-thunk on the hardwood floor.

  He gave an amazing view, coming or going.

  “I think you might be right. He hates you,” Chester said. “Want me to go kick his ass?”

  Charli laughed at the image that brought to mind. Seriously, Chester might be pushing ninety, but he could probably do some severe shin damage to that long, tall cowboy. “No thank you. I like to handle the ass-kicking myself. Would you excuse me?”

  She slid off the barstool, gave an “I’m okay” nod to her crew, who were whooping it up and letting it go at a nearby table, and followed Mr. Grumpy to the back room.

  She found him in a cozy spot between two big-breasted, big-haired women wearing skintight tank tops and painted-on Wranglers with belt buckles the size of serving platters. Charli felt out of place in her sundress and flip-flops. Lucky for her, she’d never been intimidated by big things, big people, or dark glares.

  She walked up to him and smiled when he looked away. Yeah buddy, like that was going to make her disappear. “Can I talk to you?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m busy.”

  “I can see that.” She addressed his busty bookends. “You ladies don’t mind if I have a chat with Mr. Wilder, do you? It seems we have a conflict about the redesign for his hardware store.”

  The women gave her a territorial glare, then shook their big blond heads.

  Charli smiled. “Thank you so much.” She grabbed the obstinate man by the front of his plaid shirt, curled her fingers into the fabric, and gave a tug. When she had him a safe distance away, she stopped and looked up into eyes unusually bright with amusement.

  Or maybe that was irritation.

  Hard to tell.

  “Quite cowardly of you to hide behind the Barbie twins.”

  He leaned in and spoke over somebody singing about loving this bar. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not really the type to hide.”

  “Right.” She wagged her longneck bottle. “Why’d you steal and trash my drink?”

  He looked at her as if she might be just a bit touched in the head. “It had an umbrella in it. That’s just wrong in too many ways to count.”

  “I like umbrella drinks.”

  “I suppose you also like puppies, world peace, and long, moonlit walks on the beach.”

  “I do.” She didn’t let his derogatory remark land. “But luckily, my IQ equals more than a carrot stick, and I never plan to pose nude for Playboy.”

  “Now that’s too bad.” He flashed his dimples, lifted his beer, and tilted the bottle at her. “I’d actually buy that issue.”

  “To add to the collection under your bed?”

  That got a laugh.

  “You got something to say?” He took a pull from his beer, watching her over the bottle. Then he lowered that bottle and his tongue came out to lick away the drop of ale that clung to his lip. “I’ve got a game waiting.”

  Charli didn’t know why the brush-off stung. She knew he didn’t like her. Could barely tolerate her. He’d done nothing to make her think otherwise. And still, there was some twisted desire deep inside her for him to change his mind.

  “You can have your beer back.” She thrust her bottle into his rock-hard abs. “Other than an occasional glass of wine, I don’t really drink.”

  “You were drinking when I walked in.”

  “A Shirley Temple.”

  “
A what?”

  “A nonalcoholic drink.”

  His dark brows shot up his forehead. “Do they even know how to make those here?”

  “Apparently.”

  He watched her. Waited for any other gems of information to spout from her mouth. Then glanced over his shoulder when someone in the back called his name, and said, “You’re up.”

  He gave them a nod and angled his bottle toward the pool room. “Gotta go.”

  “Take the beer.” She held out the bottle, completely devoid of anything else to say.

  “Keep it.” His gaze took a slow ride down the front of her sundress. Then he leaned in so close she could smell the clean scent of shampoo lingering in his hair. “It’s Friday night.”

  Bells, whistles, and emergency sirens clanged in her head as her man ban tried to put up a deflective shield. “What does that mean?”

  He gave her a wink and flashed a dimple as he walked away.

  Charli crossed her arms, rested the cold bottle on her heated skin, and leaned her weight on one hip as she watched him retreat into the pool room.

  Seemed he was always walking away from her.

  She briefly wondered what it would take to make a man like Reno Wilder want to stay.

  Several hours and three beers later, Charli felt the buzz light up her electrical system. She had no question now what Reno had meant by, “It’s Friday night.”

  Seven Devils had exploded with energy. The big dance floor was shoulder to shoulder. The bar was standing room only. The picnic-style tables were jam-packed with groups of men and women flirting, arm wrestling, laughing, and in general taking a walk on the wild side.

  There were several couples toward the rear of the place making out, and the competition in the pool room had amplified into a hoot-and-holler fest. From what she’d been able to tell, Reno Wilder was a very popular pool shark.

  The alcohol cha-cha’d through her veins as she watched him for the umpteenth time lean over the table and skillfully smack the little white ball into a whole bunch of other balls. She couldn’t really care less about whether stripes or solids fell into the pockets; she was far more intrigued by the rear pockets on Reno’s jeans. Not to mention the muscles that played in his shoulders and forearms as he drew back the stick.