“She’s the best.” She looked up at him like he’d taken leave of his senses.
Most likely he had. What else would explain him painting for three days on a project that took up all his spare time? Or kissing a woman he had no business kissing?
“She doesn’t act superior if you know what I mean. She makes you feel so comfortable, like you could tell her all your secrets, and she’d really listen.”
Yes, she’d squeezed a few out of him too.
“And I love the ideas she comes up with,” the assistant continued. “I love the enthusiasm in her voice. I could listen to her talk all day.”
After only a week of knowing the woman, Reno had to admit that her bubbliness was infectious. Even when he wanted to tell her to shut the hell up and go about her business, he felt inclined to sit her down on his lap, tuck her head beneath his chin, and listen to her yammer about nothing. And everything.
Interesting. That’s what she was. She’d been raised by the meanest son of a bitch that wore a Marine uniform. Yet she’d come out a warm and witty woman who seemed to genuinely care about people she barely knew.
He glanced across the room to where she stood in front of a camera holding the hands of senior-center big shots Gladys Lewis and Arlene Potter. Excitedly, she showed them the new kitchen the crew had installed. Today she wore jeans and a blouse. Last night she’d worn a little-nothing dress. The rest of the week she’d worn shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers. With the exception of the day she’d rolled into town looking like she’d stepped out of a Nordstrom’s display, she’d blended in with her surroundings. Well, not exactly blended, but she’d taken an approach that put her on the same level as those who worked and shopped in his little town.
It wouldn’t take much effort to imagine her as one of those superwomen who worked, took care of a family, and made sure the man in her life knew he was well loved with little to no effort.
His chest lifted on a harsh intake of air. He needed to stop thinking thoughts like that before he got in too deep. He’d had a love like that once. And he’d been damned lucky to find it. He wouldn’t be foolish enough to believe it could ever happen again. It was much easier—less painful—to exist on the outskirts of life. To be more of an observer than an actual participant.
“Are you all right, Mr. Wilder?” the assistant’s gentle touch on his arm snapped him from his thoughts.
“Absolutely,” he responded, even knowing the word was an absolute lie.
Chapter 10
With the senior center wrapped up and time on the clock dwindling, Charli jumped right into the work on the candy store. Cavity central resided in a cinder-block building with an overhang out front that gave her the perfect opportunity to step back in time. To re-create a look that had been lost to modern design. Since the interior of the store was a throwback to the 1800s, Charli knew the exterior had to match.
Lucky for her, the inside was in pretty good shape. With the exception of rearranging a few things, tin ceiling tiles, a little paint, some old-fashioned soda-fountain photos, and new display glassware, there was little to do. Her whiz-bang crew could get the place painted and the ceiling tiles up in a day. Then they could focus on the exterior and maybe even complete the project ahead of schedule. That would give them the opportunity to use the extra time on a more difficult project, like town square.
On this warm Saturday evening, the community’s focus seemed to be on Sweet Pickens Bar-B-Q or anywhere else in town that served a good meal. Charli’s stomach growled as she sat cross-legged on the wood floor of the candy shop and gave in to temptation by popping a sourball into her mouth. Her lips puckered as the candy rolled around on her tongue. If she couldn’t have something slathered in a tangy sauce, she could at least survive on sugar.
“Can’t find them.”
Charli glanced up from her task of wiping off the new apothecary-style jars. Max strolled into the store, wiping a streak of barbecue sauce off his cheek from the gigantic sandwich in his hand. Her stomach grumbled again. “Can’t find what?”
“The tin tiles.” He pointed up to the bare white ceiling.
“They’re at the hardware store.”
“You would think so, right?” He sat on a stool beside her. “But I just came from there, and the man in charge said he couldn’t find them.”
A frown pulled her forehead tight. “Didn’t we get a delivery confirmation?”
“Again. You would think.”
“So this means what? We have to reorder and wait several days for delivery? And if you say ‘You would think’ one more time, I’m going to snatch that sandwich out of your hand and eat it myself.”
“Are you hungry?”
She couldn’t stop the eye roll. “Duh.”
“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t know.”
“Grumbling stomach . . .” She pointed to her belly. “Dead giveaway. So . . . the tiles?”
Max shrugged. “Guess we could go take another look. I don’t want to place another order. We’re already on a tight budget.”
“No kidding. Next time I try to talk you into more bang for the buck, I give you permission to kick me. Do you want to go back to the hardware store, or do you want me to go?”
“Neither will do us any good. Wilder was closing up shop a few minutes ago. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is Sunday. Which means the hardware store will be closed, and if we do need to reorder, we won’t get a one-day jump on delivery.” She crunched down on the sourball, and a headache began to pound between her eyes. “Which means we’ll be off a day, and I lose the extra time I need for other projects.”
“Shit happens, Charli.” Max shoved the last bite of barbecue sandwich into his mouth and wiped his face with the crumpled napkin. “Sometimes you just have to roll with the punches and put in a little overtime when necessary.”
“Says the man with a full stomach.”
“Want me to go get you something to eat?”
She sighed, leaned forward, and banged her forehead on the floor. She knew the senior-center redesign had gone too easy and that she’d pay on another project down the line. Nothing ever went smoothly in this business. “No. You go ahead and enjoy your Saturday night. I’ll see if I can get hold of Reno to open up the store, so I can take a look.”
Max tilted his head, and his ball cap slid a little to the right. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” He jumped up awful fast, like somebody who already knew she’d let him off the hook.
God, she was such a sucker.
As the producer of the show, wasn’t it his job to make sure things went smoothly?
“Have a good night,” he said with a wave on his way out the door.
“You are so funny, Max Downs.”
When the door closed behind him, Charli looked up at the ceiling, trying to come up with another plan in case things went completely upside down. After a few moments’ consideration, she shook her head. She wanted those ceiling tiles. Nothing else would do.
She didn’t have Reno’s number, so she’d just go over to the hardware store and look behind the chain-link fence to see if she could spot the boxes she needed. If not, she’d call Jana to get his number and have him open up the store. He wouldn’t like it, and he’d most likely be agitated with her for interrupting his Saturday night plans. But since she already pissed him off about 99 percent of the time anyway, what was another 1 percent?
On most Saturday nights, Reno chose to stay home and relax or hang out with friends and family. Tonight, when he called to see what everyone was up to, he discovered that his mom already had plans, Jackson was on duty at the fire station, and Jesse had a date with his new veterinary assistant. Which meant, of course, Jesse would be looking for a new veterinary assistant in a few weeks.
Staying home wasn’t an option because, as sure as he was named after the biggest little city in the world, Charli would come out of the apartment to harass him into a conversation. Then he’d end u
p spilling even more information about himself. She would have made a great spy. A man would give over top secret information and not even know until she was bouncing merrily on her way.
To avoid her, he decided to head over to Ginger Creek to meet up with Cheyenne—one of the women he knew who liked a good time with no strings attached. As he headed toward the highway down Main Street, he gave the hardware store a quick glance. When he noticed a light on in the back, he tapped the brakes. Damn. He must have forgotten to turn it off when he left earlier. He made a quick Uey and pulled around back. He left the engine running as he slid the key into the lock on the chain-link fence and hurried toward the delivery door.
When he reached for the handle, the door was already ajar. He knew he hadn’t left it unlocked. A snap of alarm shot up the back of his neck. He had two choices: call Deputy Brady Bennett and suffer the man’s wry sense of humor or walk inside and take a chance on who’d broken into his store.
Robberies were nonexistent in Sweet. Other than the usual five-finger discounts, the only time they ever had any problems was a few years back when a couple of high-school kids hid inside the bathroom of the Touch and Go until Walter Riggins closed the place down for the night. The teens snuck out with some cigarettes and a keg of Keystone. A night in the pokey and thirty days of community service cured them and any other takers from being so reckless.
Reno didn’t figure teenagers would break into a boring hardware store, so he eased the door open and stepped inside as quiet as he could. It only took a second before he heard a curse and the sound of sliding boxes. As he stepped farther into the stockroom, it was apparent his burglar nicely filled out a pair of jeans. With his arms crossed, he stood back and watched her shove things around. The more she shoved, the more agitated she got. The more agitated she got, the more the F-bombs flew. Before she could do any damage, he cleared his throat.
Caught in the act, her head snapped up. Her beautiful mouth dropped open, and her eyes went wide. Dirt smudged her cheeks, and he had to refrain from laughing at her look of utter surprise.
“Looking for something?”
“Yes. My damned tin ceiling tiles.”
Oh goody. And she was pissed off too.
“I already looked back there.”
She put down the box in her hands and brushed her palms together. “Well, if you had a better storage system, I’m sure you’d be able to find them. This place is a mess.”
“I can find things quite easy.”
“But not my ceiling tiles.”
“Nope. Not your ceiling tiles.” He tilted his head and, intrigued, watched her climb over several boxes of faucets and plumbing accessories until she came to stand before him.
“I never pictured you as the cat-burglar type,” he said, letting his eyes roam down her body, past the handkerchief blouse that looked like all he’d need to do to remove it would be to give her a little twirl.
“I have many talents.”
His gaze skimmed her body again. When everything inside him tightened, he knew he couldn’t allow his imagination go that route.
Too dangerous.
And he hated cold showers.
“One of them,” she said, “is organization. A skill which you obviously lack.”
“You break into a man’s place of business, then try to make him feel guilty for not having a system up to your standards?”
“I didn’t break in.”
“I locked the door on my way out tonight. You don’t have a key. If you don’t call that breaking in, what do you call it?”
“Your mother has a key.”
Shit. There goes all my leverage.
He was going to have to have a heart-to-heart with that woman.
“So you waited until I closed down for the night, called my mother, and had her drive all the way over here so you could snoop around my store?”
“No.” Her hands went to her shapely hips, and her chin came up. “My producer came over here earlier to get the boxes. You said you couldn’t find them. He came to me and said you had left for the night. So I was faced with a time-and-financial dilemma, and I called your mother. Then I met her at the senior center and . . .” She whipped a key ring out of her front pocket and jingled the keys.
“My mother just let you come in here all by yourself?”
She dropped her head back and sighed. “Do I look like I’d break in and steal . . . faucets? Or, God forbid, a plaid shirt or some faded silk flowers?”
Personally, Fancy Pants”—he leaned in—“I don’t know what you’re capable of.”
“Good. I like keeping a man on his toes.”
A rumble gurgled through the space between them.
“Was that you?”
She looked down. “Was what me?”
“That noise. It sounded like a growl.”
“Well, according to you, I am a ferocious cat burglar.”
“Funny.” He looked her up and down. She looked tired, hot, and hungry. “When was the last time you ate?”
“I don’t know.” Her bare shoulders lifted. “Maybe this morning?”
“Maybe?”
“Probably.”
“It’s eight o’clock at night.”
“And yet I still don’t have my ceiling tiles.”
“If your boxes are in here, I’ll find them tomorrow.” He took her by the arm and led her to the door. “Right now, you need food.”
She tugged back. “I need my boxes.”
“Fine. First you eat. Then we’ll come back and find your damn boxes.”
Her stomach growled again.
“Okay.” She looked up at him, and he realized she was allowing herself to be led. Her stomach had done the talking for her; otherwise, she’d never let him get the upper hand. “If you promise to come back.”
Promises weren’t something he made often anymore. But for some stupid reason, he felt compelled.
“Promise.”
Last damn time he’d try to play good guy.
While Sweet Pickens bustled with hungry diners, Hank Williams Jr. rocked the sound system. Reno sat at one of the many well-used picnic tables across the bench from Charli, watching her lick barbecue sauce from her lips. When she wrapped that luscious mouth around a tender rib, Reno thought it might be the most erotic thing he’d seen in a long time.
And didn’t that just identify him as certifiable.
She had sauce across her cheeks. Sauce on her fingers—which she managed to lick now and again. And sauce on her chin. Reno was used to taking women to dinner only to have them order a salad, then pick at it like it was full of thigh-busting calories. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a woman dive into her meal with such gusto and not be self-conscious.
He liked that.
He didn’t know what that said about him, and as she lifted another rib to her lips, he didn’t care.
Her straight white teeth dug in and tore off a bite. “This is the best barbecue I’ve ever had.”
“When you end up wearing most of it, that’s always a good sign.”
She laughed. “Do I have sauce all over my face?”
“Oh yeah.”
She grabbed her napkin and gave her face a good swipe, but left a smear near the corner of her mouth. “Better?”
“Not so much. Here.” He reached across the table and used his thumb to wipe it away. When he looked up again, she was staring at him like he’d morphed into a circus clown. “What?”
“That was pretty intimate.”
He looked down. Looked back up. “What’d I do?”
She pointed to his hand. “You sucked my sauce off your thumb.”
“I did?”
“Yes.” She set the rib down on her plate and reached for the stack of wet wipes in the center of the table. “You know, for a man who likes to keep himself an arm’s length away—”
“I don’t do that.”
“Oh yeah.” Her eyebrows lifted as she nodded. “You do.”
Man, he’d ne
ver had anyone nail him so dead on before. Did she have some kind of superpowers or something? Or was she just that intuitive? He stuffed a French fry in the glob of ketchup on his plate and took a bite. “Like I’ve said before, you really don’t know me, and—”
She snagged the rest of his fry from his hand, stuck it in her mouth, and chewed. “I’m getting to know you, Reno Wilder. Now, you might not like that idea . . .” She snitched another fry, jabbed it in his ketchup, and waggled it in the air at him before her teeth clamped down. “But I find it’s much easier to work with a client if I know a little bit about them.”
“I’m not your client.”
“Yet.”
“Ever,” he insisted. “What’s it going to take to get it through your pretty head that I’m not interested in partaking of the insanity you and your crew are forcing on this town?”
“Stop patronizing me.” She smirked. “And what’s it going to take to get it through your thick skull that you are the only one in this town who doesn’t want this change?”
“Dynamite.”
She laughed. “I’m sure I can pick up a bundle at the nearby hardware store. They have everything there from hacksaws to satin ribbon.”
A smile he couldn’t stop lifted his mouth. “Stop insulting my store.”
She leaned forward, and her breasts came in danger of smushing into the barbecue sauce on her plate. He wondered if he’d be allowed to lick that off too.
“Then make it a real hardware and feed store,” she argued in an amused tone. “Not Wilder’s five and dime.”
“For your information,” he pointed his fork for emphasis, “yesterday I sold two plaid shirts and a bunch of those silk flowers you keep making fun of.”
“Wow.” Her eyes danced with laughter as she dug into another fry. Off his plate. “You’d better hurry up and put that in the bank. Can’t have money like that lying around.”
A charge of electricity snapped up his spine. Damn. He hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. Fancy Pants might be a huge pain in the ass, but she could definitely give as good as she got.
He liked that in a woman.
“Fancy seeing you two here. Together.”
Reno looked up to find Aiden and Paige standing beside the table, arm in arm, like a solid force nothing could divide.
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