by Cheri Allan
CARTER JIGGLED HIS KEYS impatiently as he stood in line and hoped the cashier wouldn’t recognize him. They’d never actually dated, more hung out a few times at Lucky’s. He’d driven her home once. And while she’d clearly been hinting for more than casual barstool conversation, he’d exercised enough self-control to heed the warning bells in his head that had told him she was sweet but a little wacky.
For one thing, she liked to pretend she was twins.
The cashier caught his eye, and Carter fought a groan as she smiled. He nodded in return and searched the aisles for signs of Liz.
It wasn’t that he was a hopeless flirt—or an absolute Don Juan—but in a small town, it was hard being young and single and not run out of options after a while.
The line moved forward and the cashier—what was her name again? Jill? Marina? One of those—maybe both—was batting her mascara-laden lashes at him. He grimaced and she seemed to take it as a positive overture, because she waved coyly and tucked her hair behind the half-dozen earrings in her right ear. He remembered her hinting about having other piercings she was willing to show him.
Marina was the wild twin. He remembered now.
“What do you think of these?” Liz tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned, relief and inexplicable joy flooding his body. She pointed to a pair of light fixtures in her cart. “I know they’re more Craftsman style, but I really liked them, and they’re on clearance, so the price is right.”
“Nice. Very classic,” he said.
“That’s what I thought.” Liz absently tucked her hair behind her ear. Carter smiled at the small gold hoop. It was small, elegant and very Liz. “Is the paint ready?”
Carter pulled his mind off Liz’s earlobe to concentrate on her question. “Already in the truck. The cashier should have the slip.”
Liz set her purchases on the counter, oblivious to the dark looks Jill/Marina was now flashing her as she recognized that he and Liz were together.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I won’t be but a moment checking out.” Liz reached into her purse and frowned. “Oh, no.”
“What is it?” Carter peered over her shoulder.
“My wallet must have dumped.” She scrounged quickly amid the jumble on the bottom of her purse to find her credit card and handed it to the cashier. “No big deal. I’ll reorganize it later.”
Carter accepted the receipt from the cashier with an apologetic smile as Liz bundled her purchases into the cart.
It wasn’t as if the cashier wasn’t attractive or even friendly. But, as Liz fought to make it through the double-doors—the painting poles falling askew and one of the cart’s wheels wedging into a crack in the concrete—Carter couldn’t help but admire the fact that Liz wasn’t immediately turning around to find some man to bat her eyes at to save her from her plight, or worse, someone to blame. Instead, she laughed—a low, self-deprecating chuckle. Then she gave the cart a solid shove and grabbed the poles moments before they attempted to skewer an incoming customer.
Carter was used to women looking to him for something. Whether it was a good time, help opening a jar lid, or an attractive date to hang off their arm for the infamous family wedding. Women had turned to him again and again. Except Liz. A person had to admire a woman who wanted to do things for herself.
Especially when her jeans fit her so damn nicely.
Carter bounded after Liz. She was already unloading her purchases into the truck when he grabbed what remained in the cart and stowed it away. He held her door for her—a gesture he took for granted but which brought a fresh blush to her cheeks—and smiled to himself.
The air was clean and fresh, the rain clouds beginning to clear, and all Carter could think was how much he enjoyed watching Liz blush and how much he envied her an afternoon of industrious activity.
He pulled up to the traffic light, and tapped his toe as he waited for it to turn green. “So, would you mind if I stuck around to help paint?”
Liz blinked at him like he’d just offered to scrub the soap scum off her shower stall. “Oh, no. You don’t have to spend your Sunday—”
“Helping an old friend? Not a problem.”
She looked as if she wanted to protest further, but he flashed her a bright grin and asked how her father was doing. That distracted her long enough and soon they pulled into her drive.
She slipped from the cab and hurried to the front door. Carter followed more slowly, the paint cans a solid weight in his hands.
He balanced one on his knee as he waited for Liz to open the lock, enjoying the flex of muscle in his arm, the tension in his thigh. If anyone asked, he would have readily admitted he liked manual labor. The exertion, even the sweat. It felt good to put his mind and body toward one purpose. It helped him feel centered, calm almost.
As Grams always said, the right kind of activity kept him out of trouble.
“You really don’t have to—” Liz began again as he followed her through the door.
“I’m not charging you for it, Liz. I just want something to do with my hands.” Her eyes flashed to his, and suddenly he heard his words in a different light and wondered if he were keeping out of trouble or stepping into it. “I like to keep busy,” he said somewhat hoarsely, wishing he hadn’t been picturing something entirely different he might be doing with his hands.
“Of course,” she murmured, scurrying toward the kitchen. “Let’s get started then.”
He blew out a ragged breath and told his hands to behave themselves.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
____________________
Twelve years earlier…
IT HAPPENED IN A BLUR. One minute Carter was grinding the half-smoked cigarette under his heel, the next minute he’d pinned Dan-the-Jerk-Jock-O’Connell against the wall in the Whitmeyers’ hallway, his fist at Dan’s throat.
“I don’t think so,” was all he’d said.
“What the f—?” Dan sputtered. “Lay off! What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” Carter said, the adrenaline pumping through his veins like an electric current. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
He leaned closer, perversely enjoying the sheen of sweat beading on Dan’s brow. “Now, listen up,” he ground out, his voice lower and more gravelly than it had been in all of his seventeen years. “You’re not going in there. You’re not giving anyone an education. And you’re not ever going to breathe a word of this to anyone. Got it?”
Dan shook Carter off, but that’s only because Carter chose to let him go. “Christ,” Dan swore. “Are you fucking high?” But, he backed away anyway, straightening his jacket and glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one had witnessed anything. “I don’t need this shit,” he said. “If you want her so bad, she’s all yours.”
Carter raised an eyebrow in reply.
“Asshole,” Dan muttered as he retreated down the hall.
Carter waited until Dan was gone before he exhaled. His body was humming, still throbbing with whatever emotion had made him act on animal instinct, because it sure as heck hadn’t been his brain. If he’d been using his brain, he wouldn’t have pinned the most popular jock in class against the wall and gone psycho on him.
There’d be no repercussions, though. There’d been no witnesses. Dan wasn’t stupid enough to admit he’d been bested by an outsider whose muscles didn’t come from lifting weights in the gym but from shoveling manure and throwing rocks around for his uncle’s landscaping business.
Carter glanced at the door in front of him.
She’s all yours.
Shit. He couldn’t just leave her there. How humiliating would that be? Beth wasn’t so bad. A little nervous maybe. A lot serious. But she had a sweet smile and she’d sat in that library week after week drilling him on trig until he thought he’d dream in parabolas. No, he couldn’t leave her there.
He swallowed. But, if he went in there now, he’d taste of beer and cigarettes for sure. She’d know it was him.
Rummagi
ng through his coat pockets, he dug out a package of Twizzlers and crammed one into his mouth. It was better than nothing. He spotted a room deodorizer on the hallway table, rubbed it lightly on the outside of his coat to cover the smoke scent on his clothes and figured it was now or never.
Swallowing the last of the Twizzler, Carter took a breath… and snicked open the pantry door.
She stood in shadow, the light of an outdoor streetlight only half illuminating her. She had her hands clasped in front of her and her head held high, her lips in a faint smile as if amused by the situation.
Carter smiled, too, even though she couldn’t see him, and closed the door.
He almost said hi, just to put her at ease and let her know he was there, but the sudden alertness in her posture told him she already knew. Her smile faded.
Now what?
He realized he was shaking, an aftershock from his run-in with Dan, no doubt, but it left him feeling oddly nervous, something he wasn’t used to feeling around a girl. He took a step closer and reached out to touch her hand so she’d know where he was.
She jerked then gave a soft, nervous laugh. “Sorry,” she whispered, although it sounded louder in the small room. “You surprised me.”
Her lips formed a half smile under the blindfold and Carter found himself staring at them. They were a soft pink color. He’d never noticed before how sexy they were. How wide and full and tempting. He found himself looking forward to a taste.
He took another step closer, and her tongue darted out as his toe knocked against hers. She laughed a little and he took the opportunity to steady himself by resting his hands on her elbows.
He didn’t let go.
He just needed to kiss her. It shouldn’t be hard. Hell, he’d made out with girls for a hell of a lot longer than seven minutes, and at this point, he didn’t think anyone was counting. But, if he didn’t make an effort, didn’t make it last a little while, Beth would be crushed thinking she’d somehow disappointed.
No. No matter how bad she was at this, he had to at least give her five minutes before he quit. He owed her that much.
Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, and he slid a hand up her shoulder, instinctively trying to soothe her, and cupped her nape. His fingers flexed, discovering the soft, silky skin there, and he ran his fingers lightly up and down her nape again, enjoying the feel of it.
She leaned into his hand, a soft gasp escaping her and he took that moment to lean forward and press his lips to hers.
She went rigid for one surprised second, and then softened underneath him, a faint smile forming against his mouth for a brief moment before she leaned more firmly into him, seeking. Trusting. Melting.
He lost himself in that kiss. Lost himself for long, drugging, blood-thrumming moments as Beth Beacon came alive in his arms, a warm, rich heat seeping into him as her hand found the back of his head, her fingers lightly resting there as they shared sweet, lazy kisses, one after another after another.
He eased closer, less of a premeditated move than a desire for more.
His tongue snaked out lightly at first, testing, teasing. She pulled away slightly, but then she began to explore on her own, tentatively then more boldly.
Dipping further.
He pulled her against him then, and her hand sank deeper into his hair, as the kiss grew hotter, intensified.
Her breathing was quick and light now, her kisses like heaven, and he didn’t even know he was doing it as his hand slid down her back to cup her and hold her soft, feminine curves against him.
She went still, and he realized where his hand was.
What he’d been thinking.
He let out a shaky breath against her lips. He throbbed in ways he knew he couldn’t satisfy, and if he didn’t somehow find a way to pull himself back, he’d be giving Beth the very education he’d tried to spare her.
Still kissing her deeply, fully, earnestly, he reached up and grasped her hands in his and pulled them down to her sides. Then he cupped her face and slowly, slowly pulled away.
She moaned softly—a protest—and he bent to lay one last kiss on her still-parted, upturned lips.
Their breaths were shallow, the air thick with desire. Inexplicably, impossibly, Beth smiled.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him, and rested his index finger against her well-kissed lips. They puckered briefly, full and moist, pressing a kiss to his skin, before she stepped away, folding her hands together again as they’d been when he’d first entered.
She didn’t say another word, only stood there, her breath light, her lips forming a half, knowing smile as he stepped out and closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
____________________
LIZ SLUMPED INTO A tarp-draped kitchen chair, her arms already weary from working muscles seldom used. With the priming nearly complete, she could start the finish coat by dinnertime. She could be done with the kitchen and back on schedule by Monday night.
It felt good to make so much progress. And, it was fun.
Because of Carter.
Liz turned and smiled despite her fatigue. He had his back to her, his cargo shorts and T-shirt splattered with white primer, his muscles flexing in his arms as he stroked the roller over the ceiling in time to the rock music he’d insisted on blaring.
“I’ve decided to go for it!” he said over the din.
“What?” she yelled back.
“The fountain project,” he said, pausing to turn down the radio. “I’m going to bid on it.”
“I think you should.”
He nodded as he set his roller in the tray next to her brush. “You know what this means, don’t you?” He cocked a grin at her. “It means I’m finally growing up.”
“You’ve been grown up for a while.”
He helped himself to a soda. “My uncle wants me to take over the business.”
“He— Carter, that’s wonderful!”
He popped open the can, looking somewhat pensive. “This would be my first solo project.”
“From what I’ve seen you’ve been working on your own for a while.”
“I know. But, if Pops isn’t working at all, I’ll probably need an extra hand. That means hiring an employee or two, scheduling…” He ran a hand over his face and looked at her soberly. “As I said, growing up.”
“Take heart. It happens to the best of us.”
He sat down. “I just never expected it to happen to me.”
She chuckled at the lost boy look on his face and got up to get a drink as well. “I have to say, I’m feeling as proud of you as the day you came home with a B+ on that trig test. I couldn’t have been more pleased—”
“I cheated,” he said.
She whirled around. “You didn’t!”
“No,” he laughed, standing up again. “But, your expression just now was priceless.”
She harrumphed and went back to pouring her iced tea. “Worry not. You haven’t grown up as much as you think.”
“Aw, but that’s what makes me so loveable,” he said.
She turned, intending to tell him he wasn’t all that loveable, either, but the words died on her tongue.
“Thanks,” he murmured, eyes dark, sober, as his lips hitched up at the corner endearingly. “You always did make me reach higher than I ever thought I could.”
The look on his face made her nerves hum like they had the night she’d waited for her first kiss in Jenny Whitmeyer’s pantry.
“You always did have more potential than you gave yourself credit for,” she murmured. And then he went and flashed her a bright smile, and her stomach hit the floor.
Holy. Smokes.
Liz struggled to take a breath, her blood roaring in her ears.
It couldn’t happen that quickly, could it? It didn’t even make sense! How could she be standing here, minding her own business (thank you very much) and have a feeling like that rush over her?
&
nbsp; She was far too pragmatic for it to be true. Besides, it was totally inappropriate on so many levels. She didn’t even live in Sugar Falls anymore! They had nothing in common. He was completely irreverent, and she was completely and utterly…
And yet, the wave of certainty that flooded her as his brilliant smile hit her in full force was just as unquestionable.
She didn’t just have a crush on Carter McIntyre anymore. She’d gone and fallen head over heels in love with him.
“Should we call for a pizza?”
“What?” she asked, shaking her head as if that would bring her to her senses.
“Pizza. It’s quick. It’s easy. And I’m starved.”
“You have paint on your cheek,” she observed distantly.
Strangely, she didn’t even care that he was talking about food in the midst of her making the most monumental emotional discovery of her life. Somehow it was fitting. Real.
Because, she suddenly realized, she no longer wanted a fantasy of love, she no longer wanted the possibility or promise of love sometime in the future. She wanted the imperfect reality that stood before her. Hungry. Smudged. Smiling, wondrous reality.
Lord help her, she wanted Carter McIntyre.
She told herself it had to be some other woman. It certainly wasn’t Liz who stood, took a paper napkin from the table and calmly wiped the smudge of paint off Carter’s cheek, licking her thumb and rubbing it over the light shadow of stubble as it tugged at her flesh, marveling at how good it felt to touch his face.
And it wasn’t Liz who swallowed in anticipation as she became acutely aware of the scent of his body, the air in her own lungs as they filled deeply, involuntarily, then caught when his eyes turned almost imperceptibly darker. It couldn’t be Liz who licked her lips and smiled, who forgot about being straight or narrow or responsible as she took a step closer.
Carter didn’t speak. The man who always seemed so quick with a wise-cracking comment was completely silent as he reached a hand out to cup her cheek, his thumb rubbing ever so lightly over her skin. And when he pulled her forward and pressed his mouth to hers, it was she who made a primal sound of surrender deep in her throat as her lips parted.