He paused in the act of raising his coffee cup. “We are together,” he pointed out gruffly. “Don't question my ability to provide for you, Pris.”
She blinked at that. “I wasn't,” she said after the tiniest pause. “But I don't like feeling I'm taking advantage of you.”
Oh now that brought him up short. Even his bear sat up. Talk about the irony.
She set down her fork. “I get that I'm the kind of woman who doesn't carry a purse and expects to have you pay her way, but people can change Jared. I'm going to turn my life around.” She said it with such quiet dignity that he found himself listening rather than growling and arguing back that she didn't need to do shit other than look pretty and warm his bed. He had a feeling that would not go down well.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “I just ask that you take your time to find your feet here first, get a feel for the town, a feel for the people who live here and then decide about a job.” Yeah, that was good. That ought to do it.
“And in the meantime I just spend your money like it's going out of fashion?” she asked with a thread of steel in her voice, tipping her head to one side.
“Babe, seriously. This is not an issue. I got plenty of cash to spare right now. We just finished a big job...”
“Okay, okay...” she still looked unconvinced. “I won't rush into anything.”
It occurred to him that she might think he was broke-ass poor as they lived in a trailer. Fact was business was good. The trailer was a temporary measure. He had bought the land with his own money and intended to build a house on it eventually. He'd put it off, as he hadn't felt even close to finding his mate and settling down. The fact he chose to live in a trailer was more to do with the fact he was an anti-social bastard and was wary of putting down any permanent roots! He mulled over how exactly to broach this subject when he realized the diner was filling up rapidly and they were attracting a lot of attention. Luckily, Christine, who had no idea how busy they usually were at Misty's on a Tuesday morning, was oblivious. He glanced around uneasily and a lot of heads swung away evading his gaze. Nosey bastards. He noticed a lot of them were texting and he wouldn't be surprised if a few sneaky pics hadn't been taken. God damn it, this is what happened when you lived in a small home town!
“Shit, I should have picked you up a cell phone while we were at the strip mall,” he said. “Didn't think.”
“I don't need any more stuff Jared,” she said firmly.
“You need to be able to reach me when I'm at work, Pris.” He didn't actually like the idea of leaving her alone in the trailer in the middle of goddamn nowhere with no vehicle or phone. Should he pick her up some wheels too while he was at it? He knew she drove. Harber had at least three flashy cars on his drive.
Carole-Ann had sidled up with the coffee pot to refresh their cups.
“Hey, Carole-Ann,” he said suddenly. “Your brothers got any small cars over at the garage at the moment? Pris here needs a car.”
Carole-Ann plunked a hand on her hip and seemed to think about it, as Pris drew in a sharp breath.
“Wee-eell,” she drew the word out. “They do have a little yellow rust-bucket that someone wheedled Shaun in to taking as part payment for some work. It's not pretty though.” She shrugged. “Could work as a run-around.”
He felt Pris' foot pressing meaningfully against his leg. Instead of taking the hint, he reached down and grabbed it, pulling it into his lap, making her yelp.
“Tell Shaun I'll be over to talk to him about it later.”
“Sure will,” said Carole-Ann. She turned to Pris. “Say, where'd you get that shade of toe polish?” she asked Pris as he slid off her flip-flop and ran his hand over the arch of her foot.
“Ummm...Royston I guess,” she said a bit breathlessly.
“Do me a favor?” asked Carole-Ann.
Pris looked a little taken aback. “Okay.”
“Would you run into Bettina Lorena's across the street and let them color-match it for me? I'm booked in for a mani-pedi after work.”
Pris' gaze shot out the window to the old-fashioned beauty parlor opposite. “Oh, sure. No problem,” she said giving Carole-Ann a friendly smile. Carole-Ann gave her a brusque nod and then strode off.
“Well, that's quite a compliment,” she said.
“I wouldn't have thought she was the beauty parlor type,” admitted Jared. “The Shackletons are a pretty rough and ready lot.” At her questioning look he added “Local family.”
She fiddled with her coffee cup. “What's your family name?” she asked.
“Hunt. We've been in these parts for a long time.” He steeled himself for more questions about his family but they never came. He guessed she picked up on his earlier surliness around the subject and didn't want to spoil the mood. He saw her gaze return to the beauty parlor before she drew in a sharp breath.
She reached across the table to grab his hand. “Jared, they're hiring.”
“What?” He released her foot in surprise. It still gave him a shock of pleasure when she voluntarily touched him.
“At the beauty parlor!”
He curled his fingers around hers lightly and tried not to feel it in his dick when she squeezed his fingers.
“What happened to not rushing into anything Pris?” he asked dryly.
“What? Oh but this is clearly a sign.”
“Yeah honey, I can see it in the window.”
“No, I didn't mean that... Stop teasing me.”
He sighed. “Baby, I don't know if I can see you working in there. You're not wearing a scrap of make-up,” he looked at her clean-scrubbed faced. She looked fresh as a daisy and clearly didn't need any artificial paint. “The women that work in there - they're older generation. Bettina's had that store these last sixty years! I don't think it's patronized by anyone under forty.”
“Carole-Ann goes there,” she pointed out stubbornly.
“I don't know if you've noticed baby, but Carole-Ann ain't exactly Top Model material.”
“Jared!” she scolded.
“What?”
She pulled her hand away and folded her arms across her chest.
God damn it, she was cute.
“Fine,” he said throwing up his hands. “We can call in there and see what they have to say. If that's what you want to do.”
She brightened up immediately. “Thank you honey,” she said.
He shook his head, but he wasn't really as mad as he should have been at being played. If he wasn't careful... she was gonna twist him right around her little finger. His bear chuffed in his mind contentedly.
That stupid bastard didn't mind one bit.
Before they went to Bettina's, Pris insisted they took a detour via the truck so she could ditch the flip flops for gladiator sandals and slick on some lip-gloss and a coat of mascara whilst peering in the wing mirror. She fiddled with the strands of hair that had come loose from her ponytail and twisted back to look at him over her shoulder. “I really should fix my hair,” she said ruefully.
“Why?” It looked fine to him.
On impulse she dragged out the hair tie and fluffed it, finger combing it until it tumbled around her shoulders in bouncy blonde waves. “Okay, now I'm ready,” she said. When he pushed away from the side of the truck, she turned to him to forestall him. “I need do this by myself, honey,” she said firmly. “You can wait out here.”
“I'm not waiting in the truck, Pris.”
“You can't come in there with me Jared.”
“Why not?”
“Because I need to do this by myself.”
“You don't know Bettina,” he pointed out.
“I know. That's why I’m going to introduce myself.”
He hesitated, having no damn idea how she was supposed to introduce herself when she didn't remember a damn thing about herself! Still, she had a stubborn glint in her eye and had plunked her hand on her hip in a sassy manner that he kinda liked. “Well, okay. If that's what you want,” he conceded. “But I'll wal
k you over there and wait on the sidewalk.”
She glanced pointedly from Jared to the fifty yards to the beauty parlor, then gave a shrug. “Okay, if that's what you want.”
“That's what I want,” he agreed, holding out his hand. She took it and they sauntered in the direction of Bettina Lorena's.
“Do I have any beauty experience?” she asked suddenly.
“Other than being one?”
She laughed. “Flatterer.”
“I'm just stating the obvious, babe,” he shrugged.
“Pretty sure I must have some,” she muttered uncertainly. “As a...performing artiste.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder and he tried and failed to remember what his actual ex, Priscilla's make up was like. Lots of dark shit around her eyes he seemed to remember. And false eyelashes which he hated. And glitter. He tried to remember Pristine Christine's make up from when she was herself back at the house. Subtle. Classy. Unobtrusive. He wasn''t sure she was gonna fit in at Bettina's at all. When they reached the entrance she turned to face him with a bright smile. “Wish me luck, honey,” she said tipping up her face.
He took a deep breath and leaned in, breathing her scent. Then he pressed a soft but lingering kiss on her pretty mouth. Her eyelashes fluttered against his face and with a wrench he straightened back up. She blinked up at him dreamily, and he was glad to see he was not the only one affected by it.
“Knock ‘em dead, baby,” he said huskily.
She shrugged off his shirt, handed it to him and squared her shoulders. His gaze dipped to the sheer white blouse with its flirty neckline and skimpy vest. Then she swiveled on her gold-sandaled feet showing him her sweet posterior in those damn jean shorts. He frowned, glancing around for any onlookers. He'd have to make sure she understood those skimpy shorts were not to be worn outside in future. He couldn't even remember Priscilla wearing the damn things. Good thing, he’d remembered that box of her shit she’d left in his truck after one of her moonlight flits, leaving her landlord in the lurch. If she ever had worn those shorts, she couldn't have looked half as delectable as Pris in them, or he sure as hell would have remembered it.
Ten minutes later she reappeared, her cheeks pink and her eyes wide.
“Babe?” he asked in concern as she grabbed his arm in a tight grip and they started toward the truck.
“Shit Jared!” she said in an urgent undertone. “I screwed up!”
“Don't worry about it.”
“Shit!” she groaned.
“Don't sweat it. You were rushing anyway,” he reassured her. “You've got plenty of time to figure out what you wanna do....”
She turned her gaze on him looking distracted. “I start on a trial-period tomorrow,” she said.
His step faltered. “Then what exactly did you screw up?”
“I couldn't remember my surname so I panicked!” Her expression was agonized.
“So what did you say?” he asked slowly.
“I couldn't think. Jared, I'm really sorry.”
“Why you apologizing baby?”
“I gave your surname,” she blurted. “I told them my name was Hunt.”
He felt a blaze of satisfaction that nearly knocked him sideways. Seeing the flicker of surprise in her eyes, he realized his reaction must have shown in his expression.
“You're not mad?” she said sounding astonished.
“I'm not mad,” he admitted and slid his arm around her, tucking her into his side. He wasn't mad. He couldn't be further from it.
“But what will everyone think...?”
“That we're already married,” he shrugged.
“Jared, I'm so sorry. Your family will freak...”
“I'm not bothered. They need to get used to the idea anyway. And this means we can just slope off and get married nice and quiet when we get the chance. No fuss.”
She stopped abruptly. “You're really not mad?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“Really and truly?”
“Really and truly.” He could feel his lips forming a smile. “You did good.”
“I did.”
“You got the trial period didn't you?”
“Well yes,” she agreed. “I did. Although...” she broke off. “I had the weirdest feeling it was partly out of curiosity.” She turned an accusing gaze his way. “Are you some kind of local celebrity in these parts?”
“Hardly baby. But Cranston Falls is a small town.” He remembered the cell phones in the diner and the fact they had met Debs earlier. Luke's wife was many things, but discreet wasn't one of them.
She tugged on his hand when they reached Misty's. “I just want to pop in and let Carole-Ann know they matched the nail polish. Or near-matched it,” she amended conscientiously. “Sweet blush.”
He watched her curiously through the window as she approached the waitress. Christine Lascombe hadn't really struck him as a woman's woman. He had never seen her with any female friends. But on reflection that could have been because she had been new to these parts. She was chattering away to Carole-Ann as if she and the gruff waitress had been friends for years. He had no idea what they could be talking about, but all of a sudden Pris was clasping her hands and then surging forward and giving Carole-Ann an impulsive hug. Then she was giving her a jaunty wave and skipping back out of Misty's to return to his side.
“Guess what?” she demanded excitedly. “I've got my first client,” she carried on before he had a chance to answer.
“Carole-Ann,” he guessed.
“Yep. She said I could give her a stripper make-over tomorrow.”
Jared nearly missed his footing. “A what now?” he asked slowly.
“Um, stripper makeover,” she repeated biting her bottom lip.
He gave her a sidelong look.
“Can you remember how I used to do my make-up, honey?” she asked brightly.
“Babe, I never paid it much attention.”
“I was afraid you'd say that,” she sighed. “But that's okay. Do you have the internet on your cell-phone?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “But we need to get you a new cell phone anyway.”
Her face fell. “No Jared! I don't need one!”
“Yes, you do,” he growled. “I need to be able to call you when I'm at work or you're at the trailer by yourself to check in with you.”
“I don't want to spend any more of your money,” she argued back stubbornly.
“Babe, you need to be able to text me tomorrow in your breaks to let me know how you're getting on. And until I get a car sorted for you, you're dependent on me for transportation too.”
She frowned. “Don't you have an old one in a drawer back at the trailer I could use?”
He nearly laughed at her thriftiness. He was sure Harber never had these kind of fights with her. Or did he? He suddenly realized how little he really knew about Christine Lascombe. After all, a little temporary amnesia wouldn't alter her entire personality would it? He cast his mind back. The blonde trophy girlfriend he'd seen up at The Heights had been demanding and exacting. But he couldn't actually remember her being greedy. Maybe she never had been? Most of their fights seemed to be about Stuart Harber's unexplained absences, he recalled. They'd reached the grocery store, so he steered her in that direction and opened the door for her. "Pris, I appreciate you looking out for our finances, but you need to cut me some slack on this and let me get you a damn phone. It's as much for my peace of mind as your safety."
She was picking up a basket but turned back and gave him a direct look at this. “Are you sure?” she asked heavily.
“Yes,” he said taking the basket out of her hands.
“Okay then,” she agreed. “But I'll pay you back as soon as I have a regular job.”
He gave a non-committal murmur. “What are we picking up?”
She was already headed for the vegetable aisle, her ponytail swinging behind her. She hadn't slipped his too-big shirt on when she'd come out of Bettina's. Instead she'd tied it around her waist
so at least it now obscured anyone's view of her derriere. Still, her legs emerged from under the blue and white checks long, tanned and distracting. His eyes were glued to them as she bagged up onions, zucchini, sweet peppers and summer squash. “I was thinking, if it's okay,” she said over her shoulder. “That I could pick up some magazines when we reach the check-out. That might help jog my memory about make-up techniques?” She was clearly shopping on auto-pilot as she added some sachets of seasoning mix and cans of chopped tomatoes and mixed beans to the basket along with a pack of corn tortillas.
“Sure,” he commented watching her every move with greedy eyes. Stuart Harber's fiancée had never been this relaxed and easy in his company whenever he'd seen her up at The Heights and it was fascinating to him to see the way she moved. He had never seen her even fix a drink in that fancy state-ofthe art kitchen they'd had installed. She tipped her head to one side and gazed at the selection of fruit on offer before opting for a honey-dew melon and a bag of green apples. As if suddenly becoming aware of the rapidly filling basket she blinked down at its contents and then looked back up at him. “Is everything I've picked out okay with you?” she asked.
“I'm not a fussy eater,” he said slowly, thinking about the way she'd marched resolutely past the meat section.
“Okay, cheese and yoghurt,” she said with an air of finality. “Anything else?”
“Cream?” he suggested.
“Cream?”
“You take it in your coffee,” he reminded her.
She beamed at him, completely starving his scrambled brain of oxygen. “Dairy's this way,” she said pointing toward a chiller and striding gracefully forward. Who the hell would have thought Pristine Christine would look so damn delectable in a cheap pair of flip-flops he thought swallowing. Shit. He had it bad. He lingered behind her a step or two just so he could take in the view. She added two kinds of cheese to the basket, then eggs, cream and some plain yoghurt.
“Will it all fit in the fridge?” she asked suddenly.
“Just about.”
They held hands again as they strolled to the checkout. He even liked the way she did that, her fingers lightly wrapped around his, not automatically going limp in his grasp. When she swept her thumb across his palm in a light caress he damn near dropped the basket. Christine liked to touch. For some reason he hadn't had her pegged as the tactile sort. When they reached the short queue, she turned impulsively into him and wrapped her arms around his waist. His bear rumbled deep in his chest and he found he was holding his breath as she pressed her face into his t-shirt, breathing deep. His free arm tightened around her as he lifted the basket onto the counter and then, unable to resist, despite the curious eyes of more than one customer fixed on them, he wrapped both his arms tight about her body as he felt her relax into the embrace. He was cuddling in the grocery store. And he didn't care.
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