"Damn," he said, "I was kind of hoping I'd have to wrestle you for it."
She knew that wasn't true. Drunk or sober, he had no interest in "wrestling" Kate. It wasn't personal. She told herself he had some sort of dysfunction that prevented him from "wrestling" with any woman. There wasn't anything wrong with her. It was him. She should feel sorry for him.
"I was kinda hoping to get a look at your tattoo while I was at it."
It took several heartbeats for his meaning to penetrate Kate's brain. When it did, she forgot all about trying to feel sorry for Rob Sutter. Not that it was working, anyway. She sucked in a breath. "You do remember!"
"What? Your offer to show me your bare ass?" He rocked back on the heels of his boots and chuckled. "How could I forget that?"
"But…" Her sucked-in breath got caught in her chest, and she had to let it out. "But you said you'd never met me." She was starting to see spots and took another deep breath. "That first day you didn't…oh my God!"
"Did you want me to tell Stanley that we'd already met?" he asked as he bent to shovel snow. "He'd want to know the details."
Good Lord. She put her gloved hand to the side of her face as thoughts rushed and collided in the middle of her brain. Of all the bad luck, he wasn't an alcoholic. He remembered. How many people had he told about that night? In this town, all it would take was one person, then the news would spread like the West Nile virus. Although she would prefer that the town not know of her humiliation, she really only cared about her grandfather. He went to church every Sunday. He didn't believe in sex outside of marriage, let alone in women propositioning men in bars.
"I don't want to be the one who shatters his illusion of you." He scooped up the patch of snow between them and tossed it off the curb. "The truth would probably give him that heart attack you seem so worried about."
She lifted her gaze to his knit ski cap. His hair curled up like little fishhooks along the back. "You don't know me, and you don't know anything about my relationship with my grandfather."
"I know you're right about Stanley being an old-fashioned guy. He probably thinks you're saving it for your wedding night, and we both know you're not."
If Kate hadn't given him her shovel, she would have beaned him with it.
"I also know you don't want to hear some advice from me, but I'm going to give it to you anyway," he said as he rested the blade of the shovel on the concrete and hung his wrist over the top of the handle. "Picking up men in bars isn't smart. You could find yourself in a lot of trouble if you keep it up."
She didn't care what he thought and didn't feel as if she needed to defend herself. "I know you're not my father, so what are you? A cop?"
"No."
"Priest?" He didn't look like a priest, but it would explain a lot.
"No."
" Mormon missionary?"
He chuckled, and several puffs of air hung in front of his nose. "Do I look like a Mormon missionary?"
No. He looked like a guy who liked to sin, but he wasn't. She didn't know anything about him at all. Other than the fact that he was a jerk and drove a HUMMER. What kind of person drove an array assault vehicle? A jerk with erectile dysfunction, that's what kind. "Why don't you drive a human-sized car?"
He straightened. "I like my HUMMER."
A cold breeze lifted the tails of Kate's wool scarf, and it danced on the air between them. "It makes people wonder if you're overcompensating for something," she said.
Lines appeared in the corners of his eyes, and he reached out to tug at one end of her scarf. "Are you standing there wondering about the size of my package?"
She felt heat rise to her already heated cheeks, and she was grateful they were already red from the cold. She pulled her scarf out of his grasp. "Don't flatter yourself. I don't wonder about you at all." She walked around him and added, "Let alone the size of your package."
He tipped back his head and laughed. Deep, satisfied male laughter that chased her all the way to the front of the store. She mumbled a "Have a nice day" to Paul Aberdeen and Hayden Dean as she passed them on their way out of the M &S. Inside, Regina still hovered near Stanley, going on about the library where she worked, her thick glasses bobbing on the end of her nose as she nodded her head. Stanley busied himself with impulse items near the checkout.
Normally Kate would have rescued him from Regina's chatter, but Stanley had sicced Rob on her and she wasn't feeling charitable at the moment.
"I'll be in the back," Kate told her grandfather as she walked past. She pulled off her gloves and hat and unwound her scarf. She tossed them on the worktable and hung her coat on a hook. An overhead vent blew warm air on the top of her head. She lifted her face and closed her eyes.
He remembered everything about the night she'd propositioned him. The knowledge settled in her stomach like a lead ball. Her hope that he was a blind drunk had been in vain. She'd moved to Gospel for a little break from her life. A little rest, relaxation, and reevaluation.
Kate opened her eyes and sighed. Could her life get much worse? She was lonely and, outside of the M &S, the only conversation she'd had with anyone her own age was with the six-foot-three-inch, green-eyed a-hole from across the parking lot. And what had just taken place between them couldn't really pass for conversation.
She had to find something to do. Something other than working in the M &S and watching Friends reruns at night. The problem was that there were only two things to do in this town-join the Mountain Mama Crafters and knit toaster cozies or hit the bars and get toasted. Neither held the slightest appeal.
The bell above the front door rang, and Stanley called for her to come out front. She wondered if Rob was back and feared yet another transparent matchmaking attempt by her misguided grandfather. But when she moved out front again, thankfully Rob was nowhere to be seen.
Stanley stood at the end of the counter talking to a woman who looked to be in her late fifties, early sixties. Her brown hair was streaked with gray and brushed into a perfect bob. She stood only a few inches shorter than Kate's grandfather, which made her about Kate's height. Between the open zipper of her thick coat hung a red stethoscope. Regina stood with them, and the two women were telling Stanley about their poetry social.
"I hope you'll change your mind," the taller woman said. "Our monthly social group could use a few men."
"What about Rob?" Regina asked.
As Kate approached, the taller woman shrugged and looked up at Stanley. "I saw you put Rob to work shoveling your walk."
"He volunteered." Stanley looked up at Kate, and the corners of his handlebar mustache turned up. "Grace, I don't believe you've met my granddaughter, Katie Hamilton."
"Hello." Kate stuck out her hand, and the other woman took it into hers.
"It's nice to meet you, Katie." Grace turned her head to the side and looked at Kate for a moment. Age lined her green eyes, and her fingers were still a little cold. "Where did you get your red hair? It's beautiful."
"Thanks." Kate dropped her hand to her side and smiled. "My father's family has red hair."
"Grace is Rob's mother," Stanley told her. "She works down at the Sawtooth Clinic."
Kate felt her stomach drop, and she forced her smile to stay in place. Had Rob told his mother about the Duchin Lounge? Did the nice lady with the stethoscope know that Kate had propositioned her son? Did Kate need to explain that she'd been a little tipsy that night? That it had been the one and only time she'd propositioned a man in a bar? That she really wasn't a drunk slut? Not that she didn't have sluttish thoughts sometimes. She'd just never had the nerve to act on them before that night.
Good grief! She was rambling inside her own head. "It's nice to meet you, Grace." She took a few steps back before her rambling could make its way out of her mouth. "I'm going to finish stacking the paper towels," she said and took off for aisle three. Why should she care what Rob Sutter's mother thought of her? Grace had raised a rude and obnoxious son. She obviously wasn't perfect either.
&n
bsp; Just as Kate picked up a roll of Bounty and set it on the top shelf, Grace walked down aisle two, Regina following on her heels.
"I need to talk to you, Grace."
"I really don't have time to chat. I'm just here long enough to get some sugar cubes for the clinic," Grace said.
"It won't take but a minute," Regina insisted as the two women stopped on the other side of the row of paper towels. "I was at the Cozy Corner just yesterday, having the lunch special, and Iona told me that your son Rob is gay."
Kate moved her head slightly to the left, and between the rows, she watched Grace's eyes widen and her lips part. "Well, I don't think-"
"Now the reason I bring it up," Regina interrupted, "is because my son Tiffer is coming up for the Easter weekend. I don't know if you've heard, but Tiffer is a female impersonator down in Boise." Even Kate had heard that, but she couldn't recall when and where. "Tiffer doesn't have a partner right now, and I thought that if perhaps Rob is single, we should introduce the two of them."
Grace fingered her coat collar. "Well, I don't believe Robert is gay."
Kate didn't believe so either, and she wondered who'd started the rumor and why anyone would believe it. Not that she felt bad for "Robert."
"Sometimes us mothers are the last to know," Regina assured the other woman.
"He's thirty-six." A frown pulled Grace's brows together. "I think I'd know by now."
"Being a hockey player, I can understand him wanting to keep quiet about his sexuality."
"He doesn't play hockey anymore."
"Maybe he's still in the closet. Some men never come out."
Hockey player? Kate had heard quite a bit of gossip about Rob, but no one had mentioned that he'd played hockey. Although it did explain the knee injury he'd complained about the first night they'd met. It also explained his nasty temperament.
"I assure you, Regina, my son likes women."
The bell above the door rang, and all eyes turned to the man in question as he walked inside and stamped snow from his boots. He pulled off his cap and shoved it in his coat pocket. His cheeks were red, and his green eyes shone. The overhead light bounced off his silver ring as he combed his fingers through the side of his hair. Somehow, he managed to look big and bad and boyish all at the same time.
Regina leaned in close and said just above a whisper, "You be sure and talk it over with him. Tell him Tiffer's a good catch."
The corners of Grace's lips slid up. "Oh, you can be sure I'll tell him."
Five
"Regina Cladis wants to set you up with her son Tiffer."
Rob reached for the door handle of his mother's Bronco and opened it. In one part of his brain, he knew his mother was talking, but he wasn't paying attention to her. His thoughts were on Kate Hamilton and their conversation. Not only had she wrongly believed he didn't recall the night she'd propositioned him but she also didn't seem to want to talk about it. Not that he blamed her, but he'd tried to give her some good advice about picking up men in bars anyway. He'd tried to joke with her, too. She obviously had no sense of humor.
"Regina thinks you're in the closet."
That got his attention, and he glanced over his shoulder at his mother. "What?"
"Apparently Tiffer's taking a break from his career as a female impersonator just long enough to come home for an Easter visit. Regina thinks he's a good catch."
Rob frowned. "What does that have to do with me?"
Grace ducked beneath his arm and tossed her grocery bag on the passenger seat. "Regina just told me that Iona is telling everyone at the Cozy Corner that you're gay."
It wasn't the first time he'd heard the rumor, but he hadn't given it much thought. He'd hoped that his denial had put out the fire. He should have known better.
With one foot inside the car, Grace paused and looked up into Rob's face. "Of course if it's true, there's nothing wrong with it. You're my son, and I'll support you no matter who you love."
Rob sighed. "For God's sake, Mom, you know I'm not gay."
She smiled. "I know. What do you think we should do about the rumor?"
Rob glanced up at the gray clouds and let out a breath as he thought about the ramifications. In a big city the rumor probably wouldn't matter. In a town the size of Gospel, it might hurt his business. If that happened, he'd have to close Sutter Sports and move away, which he didn't want to do. "I don't know," he said and returned his gaze to his mother. He felt a bit helpless, but short of grabbing a woman and doing her on Main Street, there wasn't anything he could do.
"Do you think maybe Harvey Middleton started the rumor to hurt your business?"
"No." He didn't think the owner of Sawtooth Gun and Tackle would spread rumors. Harvey was a good guy and had more business than he could handle.
"Then who do you think started it?"
He shook his head. "I don't know the answer to that. Why would anyone believe it anyway?"
The question was rhetorical, but Grace thought about it nonetheless. "Maybe because you don't date anymore."
Rob didn't want to talk about dating with his mother, not only because they'd had the conversation before but also because talking about dating inevitably made him think of sex. Lack of sex was his real problem, and that was definitely something a man didn't want to discuss with his mother.
"You don't date either," he pointed out and looked over at the doors to the M &S. There was no sign of a certain smart-ass redhead inside. Don't flatter yourself. I don't wonder about you at all, she'd told him. Let alone the size of your package. Which didn't seem quite fair, since he'd been giving a lot of thought lately to that tattoo she supposedly had on her rear end.
"I've been thinking that it's time for us both to start dating again."
He turned back to his mother. "Is there someone you're interested in seeing?" he asked, half joking. Since the death of his father in 1980, he wasn't aware of his mother dating very much.
She shook her head and sat down in her car. "No. Not really. I just thought maybe we both need to get out a little more. Maybe get more out of life than work."
"My life is fine."
She gave him that "you can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to your mother" look and reached for the door handle. "I'm reading my new poem tonight at the grange. You should stop by."
Oh, hell no. "I'm leaving this weekend to visit Amelia," was the best he could come up with on the spur of the moment. It was lame, but it was also the truth.
Grace shut the door and started the car. "That's not for three days," she said as she rolled down the window.
He'd read his mother's poetry, and even though he was no great judge of good writing, he knew hers was bad.
Real bad.
"I'm opening the store in two weeks, and I have tons to do to get ready." Which was also true but was just as lame as his first excuse.
"Fine. I bought Amelia a little something. Come by the house before you leave town."
He'd hurt her feelings, but he'd rather get puck shot in the nuts than go to a poetry reading. "I really can't make it tonight."
"I heard you." She put the SUV into reverse and said, as she backed out, "If you change your mind, it starts at seven."
Rob stood in the empty parking space and watched his mother drive away. He was thirty-six. A grown man. At one time in his life, he'd slammed hockey players against the boards and fed them their lunch. He'd been the most feared player in the NHL and had led the league in penalty minutes. They'd nicknamed him the Hammer, in tribute to the original Hammer, Dave Schultz.
And tonight he was going to a group social that he knew consisted of old women so he could hear his mother's poetry. He only prayed this one wouldn't be as bad as her poem about nut-hungry squirrels.
The Gospel poetry social started right at seven with a discussion about binding the group's poems and selling them at this summer's Rocky Mountain Oyster Feed and Toilet Toss. This year's social director, Ada Dover, stood at a pulpit in the front of the grange conducting busine
ss.
Chairs had been set up inside the long room. There were about twenty-five ladies… and Rob. He'd purposely come in a half hour late and sat in the empty back row by the door. When the time came, he figured he could make a quick getaway.
"We can't afford a booth," someone pointed out.
From several chairs up, he saw his mother raise her hand. "We can sell them in the Mountain Momma Crafters' booth. Most of us belong to the Mountain Momma Crafters anyway."
"I bet the poems will sell faster than last year's Kleenex cozies."
Rob pushed up the sleeves of his ribbed gray sweater and wondered if a Kleenex cozy was like those knitted things his grandmother used to put on her extra roll of toilet paper. If he remembered right, hers had lots of lace and a doll's head stuck on the top.
The back door by his right shoulder opened and he glanced up to see Stanley Caldwell, looking like he'd come for a root canal. Along with the fridge night air, his granddaughter blew in behind him, looking even less pleased than her grandfather. Stanley spotted Rob and moved toward him. "Do you mind if we sit next to you?" Stanley asked.
Rob glanced up past Stanley to Kate, at her hair curling about the shoulder of her peacoat and her glossy pink lips. Her attention was directed at Ada, and she was doing a good job of pretending he didn't exist. "Not at all," he answered as he stood.
Stanley moved to the third seat and stopped, leaving the seat next to Rob free. Kate gave her grandfather a hard stare as she stepped past Rob. The shoulder of her coat stirred the air an inch in front of Rob's sweater as she brushed by him. Her white cheeks were pink from the cold, and the scent of her cool skin filled his chest.
For one brief instant, her gaze met his, and the wealth of her dislike for him filled her rich brown eyes. Her obvious feelings toward him should have mattered, but they didn't. For some reason that he couldn't begin to comprehend, he was attracted to Kate Hamilton more than he had been to any other woman in a long time. He didn't kid himself. It was sex. Nothing more and competently understandable, given the way they'd met. He didn't feel bad about his purely sexual attraction. Not that he would have anyway. Every time he saw her, he saw the woman who'd propositioned him. The woman who'd wanted to show him her bare ass.
The Trouble With Valentine's Day Page 6