Candis Terry - [Sweet, Texas 01]

by Anything But Sweet

  “It’s not that easy,” he said, looking directly into her eyes.

  She felt the edge of his fear deep in her soul. “I know.” She touched his cheek. “But you have to believe you deserve to be happy. That’s what everyone wants for you. You just have to want it yourself.”

  He gave her an almost imperceptible nod. Then his hand reached up and covered hers. “I missed you,” he said.

  “I missed you too.”

  In the distance, the band kicked into “Somethin’ ’Bout a Truck,” and Charli knew there was no time better than the present for him to take a step forward. They’d settled nothing, and fear still ruled his heart. But for the moment, maybe they could just put a bandage on all that was wrong between them until they figured it out.

  “Hey,” she said. “They’re playing our song.”

  “We have a song?”

  “We do now.” She held out her hand. “Come dance with me, Cowboy.”

  His dimples flashed. And then he took her hand and tugged her close. “I think you might be good for me.”

  “That news is so twenty-four seconds ago.” She grinned. “I’ve just been waiting for you to get a clue.”

  “I’m a little slow to come around sometimes,” he said. “I don’t have all the answers. I won’t make promises. I don’t know what will happen when—”

  She pressed her finger to his warm lips. “How about we just take it one day at a time?”

  A slow leak of air escaped his lungs. “Now you’re talking.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

  The kiss was sweet. And Charli refused to concede that she had only a few weeks to convince the man that they belonged together.

  The following Wednesday, Charli patted down the potting soil over the bluebonnets embellishing the new whiskey barrels in front of Sweet Pickens Bar-B-Q. Brushing the dirt from her palms, she stood back and looked up at the newly power-washed rock exterior, new corrugated metal awning, revamped sign, and fresh red trim paint.

  On the outside, the place gave a big welcome. On the inside, comfortable new booths and a warm interior invited people to stay. The first improvement they’d made to the place was to move the huge BBQ pit out in front, where everyone could see the meat sizzling and the juices dripping. Nothing smelled better than mesquite chips and hot flames. Charli figured it was a main attraction, so why hide it?

  As she had when she’d suggested an old-time soda fountain might be a good addition for Goody Gum Drops, Charli had come up with a few ideas for Mr. Carlson’s restaurant.

  She ducked into the building and found him helping her electrician hang the new chandelier she’d fashioned from Mason jars. Word had it that in the month of December, Mr. Carlson took on a distinctive persona. With his thick, snowy beard and round, rosy cheeks, Charli had no doubt the man would make a fine Santa Claus.

  “Do you have a minute, Mr. Carlson?”

  From the tall aluminum ladder, he looked down and smiled. “You betcha. Just give me a second here so Jimmy doesn’t fry his fingertips.”

  Charli waited patiently while they hooked up the wires, then instructed her to flip the switch. Warm amber light reflected off the stainless accent bars she’d used on the upper walls to make the ceiling look a little like a barbecue grill. She grinned proudly. “I like it.”

  Mr. Carlson climbed down the ladder and came over to stand by her. He looked up and grinned. “You outdid yourself with this one, young lady.”

  “It’s kitschy without being too over-the-top.”

  “Customers are going to love it. We decided to start serving drinks in Mason jars too. Keep the theme going.”

  “That sounds great.” She smiled. “I have a few other ideas if you’re interested.”

  “How about I make us a cup of coffee, and we sit down over at the bar.”

  “I would love that.” While he got busy at the coffeemaker, she slid onto one of the saddleback stools, feeling only slightly guilty that most of her crew was still putting in the sweat labor. When Mr. Carlson returned with two steaming mugs, she splashed in some sugar and took a sip. “Mmmmm. Good.”

  “Now, what ideas have you come up with?” he asked, sipping from his own mug.

  “Well, to start off with, I’ve eaten your delicious food several times, and—”

  “Yes, I thought I saw you in here a few weeks back with Reno Wilder. Looked like you two were having quite the conversation.”

  She laughed. “Mr. Wilder doesn’t take easily to new ideas.”

  “Ah. But he’s a man with a good heart. Last year, my Annie took ill and couldn’t put in the hours at the grill. Reno was the first to step up and help out. Then he talked those wild brothers of his into taking up the load too.”

  Another reason to love him, Charli thought. Not that she needed more.

  “How is Annie now?”

  “She’s a peach. Healthy as a horse. Course, don’t tell her I mentioned her and a farm animal in the same breath, or she’ll have my hide.”

  Charli laughed. “I promise I won’t. I’m looking forward to meeting her. She sounds wonderful.”

  “Salt of the earth,” he said.

  “I’m finding that most of the people in Sweet are the same. Which is why I’m tossing out ideas that might—no promises—help everyone increase their revenue by bringing in more tourists.”

  “I like yer thinkin’ so far.”

  “Good. Then how does a chuck-wagon cooking competition sound? You could hold it right outside in your parking lot. In the big empty lot next door, you could add picnic tables and a stage for bands to entertain the guests while they wait for a seat in the restaurant. You could even hold a craft fair or antique show.”

  “Never thought about that before.”

  “Or maybe a chili cook-off.”

  He grinned. “Like that one too.”

  “And that Bar-B-Q sauce you make would be a wonderful item to have on hand to sell to those who’d like to take a bottle back home or give as a gift. You could call it . . . what’s your first name?”

  “Jack.”

  “You could call it . . . Snappy Jack’s Sweet Picken’s Sauce.”

  Mr. Carlson hooted a laugh, and his rosy cheeks turned a brighter shade of red. He grabbed her up in a hug that made her squeak.

  “Darlin’, you and those ideas need to stick around for a while.”

  As he set her back down on the barstool, Charli hoped she could do exactly that.

  Reno moved around the kitchen, throwing fresh-picked vegetables into the hot skillet on the stove, grabbing plates from the cupboard, and watching the clock.

  Two weeks had passed since Paige and Aiden’s wedding. Two weeks in which Charli had spent the nights in his bed and the mornings in his arms. They’d danced that night at the reception, and he had never felt more complete than when she looked up at him and smiled.

  She’d come home with him, and, from that night on, she and her little orange dog had never gone back to Jackson’s barn apartment. Each night, they’d share dinner, stories from the day, and plans for the following. They did the dishes together, walked their dogs together, and settled in on the sofa to watch a movie together. They’d made a pact that for each action shoot-’em-up he chose, they’d watch one of her chick flicks. He found he could easily tolerate 27 Dresses as long as she was snuggled in his arms wearing her skimpy little boy shorts and tank top.

  They’d been like any other couple easing into a new relationship, getting to know each other. And what Reno had discovered he liked. A lot.

  Charli made him laugh. Try to forget his past. And dare to look toward the future.

  He glanced up at the clock again.

  And that was the problem.

  They were running out of time.

  Stirring the vegetables in the pan with a wooden spoon, he glanced up as both dogs jumped down from the sofa and began to dance at the back door. Moments later, Charli came into the house looking gorgeously bedraggled. But she still had enough energy to give bo
th dogs a little baby talk and affection.

  “Tough day?”

  She dropped her bag near the door and walked into his arms. “The Harvest Moon Mercantile reveal almost didn’t take place.”

  “What happened? Bodine wasn’t happy with the results?”

  She looked up, tired but tempting. He kissed her soft lips.

  “Oh, he was happy. But you know how it is with century-old buildings and Murphy’s Law. Something’s bound to happen. And did.” She stuck her fingers into the pan and snatched up a green bean. She blew on it, then popped it into her mouth. “The carpenters measured all the new awning spindle posts the same. And, of course, the building had shifted so . . .”

  “They didn’t fit?” He watched her mouth move in a delicious way as she stole another bean and chewed.

  “Not at first, but we got it figured out. However, it delayed the reveal for over an hour.”

  “From what I saw when I left the store, the place looked really good. You did a nice job. Especially with the new sign. It looks original.”

  “See.” She grinned and slid her arms around his waist. “Makeovers don’t necessarily mean pop art and loud colors. You have to choose appropriately for the era. A step back in time is just as important as a step into the future.”

  He seriously hoped he’d never have to step back in time. It had been too damned painful.

  The vegetables were fork tender, so he removed them from the stove and pushed them onto the plates. Then he added some chicken hot from the oven.

  “Ooh, that looks as good as it smells,” she said. “I’m starving.”

  He put her plate on the table and held out her chair. When she sat down, he scooted it in for her.

  “You know,” she said, “I could get used to having someone cook for me. Especially when he’s such a gentleman.”

  When he sat down in the chair beside her, she curled her fingers into his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. She probably wouldn’t be surprised to know that the thoughts running through his head while she kissed him were anything but gentlemanly.

  Somehow, he managed to put those thoughts aside—temporarily—and sliced into the baked chicken. He hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast. The store had been busier than usual, and since the production crew supplies were dwindling, he’d made a good effort to put his storeroom back into some kind of order.

  But he’d still be willing to put aside his hunger if she decided to let him have her as an appetizer.

  “I’ve been in this business a while, but I learned a lesson today that I’m sure will be beneficial for future reveals.” She set down her fork and sipped at her glass of chardonnay.

  “What’s that? Measure twice, cut once?”

  “No.” Her giggle that bubbled up made him smile. “Make sure your morning coffee is spiked with something ninety proof.”

  “I’d like to see that.” He could get used to this—sitting beside her, listening to how her day went, watching the animation on her face as she spoke of research and textures and piecing things together that otherwise might never work.

  In just a week’s time, he’d no longer be able to look at her. Or touch her. Or kiss her any damn time he wanted. The best he could hope for would be an occasional phone call. Or text. Or e-mail. Or watching her come alive on that damned show instead of in his arms.

  He hated to slip back into a doomsday frame of mind, but there was no getting around the fact that when she drove away, he would miss her like hell. Somehow, she’d slipped beneath his skin and into his heart. And he liked her there.

  “But you don’t need to worry,” she said.

  Lost in his thoughts, his head snapped up. “Worry about what?”

  “That next week, when we start on the hardware store, we’ll measure wrong. Or that I’ll show up drunk.”

  He didn’t want to think about next week. Or what she planned to do to his store. Or about her leaving.

  Charli got up from the table and took their empty plates to the sink. “Since we start on your store renovations in two days, I wanted to talk to you about some ideas I have.”

  Apparently, what he wanted didn’t matter, and it seemed she was determined to carry this discussion through dessert.

  She stuck the dishes under the running water, grabbed the sponge, and rinsed off the scraps she hadn’t already tossed to the dogs. “I’m not sure I mentioned it, but we’re running a little low on funds, and I’m close to being over budget.”

  Hope sprang up. “Does that mean you’re going to forget about the store?”

  “Of course not.” She glanced over her shoulder as she stuck the dishes in the dishwasher. “It just means we might need to do things a little differently.”

  “Different how?”

  “Well, since we’re doing an inside and outside renovation, it would be a good idea to eliminate some of the overstocked or unusual items.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like . . .” Drying her hands on the dish towel she turned. “Maybe the things that don’t actually belong in a hardware store? Like . . . the barrel of yarn.”

  “That yarn is a special order for Mrs. Duncan.”

  “Then why didn’t Mrs. Duncan take it home?”

  “I think she said something about the color not being right.”

  “So . . . out of the kindness of your heart, you—the owner of a hardware store—special ordered something that wasn’t even hardware related for someone. She didn’t like it. And now you’re stuck with it?”

  Put that way, he had to admit it sounded pretty lame. “Pretty much.”

  “Perfect.” A smile broke across her face. “Then the yarn can be the first item to go into the fire-sale box.”

  “Fire sale?”

  “Or you could just call it a yard sale or even a clearance sale. But fire makes it sound more urgent, don’t you think?”

  “Why would I want to do any of the above?”

  “To get rid of all those items that will probably sit in that store for the next decade. Which means you make no money, and all they do is take up space and collect dust.”

  “I never agreed to something like that. Hell, I never even agreed to the renovation.”

  “Oh, but you did. You made a bet.” She grinned. “You lost.”

  Since he got her in the bet, he could hardly complain.

  “I can see by the crinkles in your forehead and the dark shadows in your eyes that you aren’t quite comfortable with this idea,” she said.

  “No shit.”

  “Then we won’t do it.”

  And there was a one-eighty he didn’t expect. “What?”

  “We won’t do a fire sale. We won’t do the store renovations.”

  The pressure in his chest released like a dam break. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “Why the change of heart?”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong, I haven’t changed my mind. From the minute we drove into town, I wanted to fix that place up.” She hung the dish towel on the hook near the sink. “But I can tell this is really bothering you, sooo . . .”

  “What happens if you don’t?”

  Her shoulders lifted. “We’ve already done more than the usual. I’m pretty sure Max and the bookkeepers will be happy to cut expenses. We’ll just change some of the intros and B-roll, and that will be that. The whole six-project thing was my idea anyway.”

  That didn’t answer the question he’d really been asking. “No. I mean what happens if you don’t? As in how does that affect your stay here?”

  “We’ll leave tomorrow,” she said in a much too casual voice. “Go back to L.A. and work on the plans for the next location.”

  Leave tomorrow?

  Fuck. That.

  As much as he wanted to say, “Don’t do the makeover,” there was no way in hell he was ready for her to leave. Even if she didn’t sound like it was any big deal to her.

  Shit. A huge breath of air pushed from his lungs. “Go ahead and do the reno.
”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No.”

  “You’re still not going to make this easy, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then how about I sweeten the deal?”

  He dropped his gaze to her smile, and thoughts of kissing those full lips started to fly through his head.

  “How about,” she continued, “we have a fire sale, and half the proceeds go to charity.”

  He pushed aside the sexual images and thought about that for a moment. “I like that idea.”

  “And the other half will go toward the renovation costs.”

  He laughed. “You’re asking me to put up the cash for something I never wanted done in the first place?”

  She leaned her butt against the kitchen counter and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. Her chin came up in that stubborn way that drove him just a little crazy. “Yes.”

  “That makes absolutely no sense.”

  “It makes total sense.”

  “Are we fighting?” he asked.

  “No. We’re discussing.”

  “Sounds a whole lot like an argument to me.”

  “Fine.” Her chin came up just a little higher. Her dark eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “If you want to battle this out, then that’s what we’ll do because—”

  Emotion churned in his gut. He was done hearing what needed to be done to the store. He needed to stop her from talking.

  Now.

  Before he had to listen to any more, he got up from the chair and grabbed hold of her with both hands. Next thing he knew, she was over his shoulder and swearing like a sailor while his long strides moved down the hallway.

  “What are you doing?” she squeaked.

  “Getting you to shut up the only way I know how.” He tossed her on the bed. She looked up at him with big eyes full of disbelief. He followed her down to the mattress and kissed her. For a moment, she resisted. Then he raised his head, gave them both time to catch their breath.

  “Is this how you fight, Cowboy? You do your talking in the bedroom?”

  “I don’t want to fight with you.” He caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I just want to love you.”