by Lilly Wilde
“One of those is mine, right?” Branch asks.
“Not unless you’re paying,” he replies, grinning as he passes a cup to Branch. “I’m Jimmy.” He extends his hand. “You must be Ragan.”
“Yes, I am. And if you’re waiting on this one to pay for anything”—I tip my head toward Branch—“you’re gonna have a long wait.”
Jimmy’s brows lift in surprise. “Really? I’ve known Branch to be quite generous.”
“Well, speaking as a waitress, I can’t say the same.”
“You’re using the term waitress pretty loosely, don’t you think?” Branch asks.
“Hey, your orders have been completely error free.”
“And we both know that’s been sheer luck. I’m actually worried about what I’ll get if I order anything different,” he replies, his eyes on me, his expression stoic.
“Obviously, you aren’t too worried because you keep coming back to my station.”
“Do I need to give you guys a minute?” Jimmy asks, his eyebrows shooting together in confusion.
“Nope.” Branch keeps his eyes on mine. “This one’s scared of me.”
“He’s harmless, Ragan,” Jimmy says. “Don’t let his aggressive ladies’ man act fool you.”
I break eye contact with Branch and turn to Jimmy, who gives me a kind smile. I sense he’s the type of man who always wears a smile, and I instantly take a liking to him.
“Not to worry. None of his acts fool me,” I reply and redirect my attention to Branch. “I know exactly what kind of person he is.”
Branch spins his cap to the front, lowers the brim, then casually leans against Jimmy’s truck. “Yeah, and what kind is that?”
“I think we both know what kind, sugar.”
Branch chuckles at my use of his pet name.
Jimmy starts to say something but stops. He squints at Branch and his expression shifts as though something suddenly occurs to him. “You must have made a real impression on Branch,” he says, as his gaze flashes back to me, his lips curved into an odd smile. “He called last night saying he needed to get your car to my garage first thing. And just to be sure I followed through, he was waiting on me this morning when I arrived.”
My eyes track back over to Branch as he brings the coffee to his lips. “What?” he asks in response to the question I didn’t voice aloud.
I turn back to Jimmy. “It’s the starter. I’m not sure if it can be patched up until I get enough money to get a new one. It takes awhile for it to turn over sometimes, and yesterday it wouldn’t do anything.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jimmy says. “We’ll check it out and have it fixed up for you in no time.”
“I may not be able to pay for all of this right away,” I say, embarrassed at the state of my finances.
“I’ll take care of it,” Branch offers. “Whatever the cost I’ll—”
“No, I pay my own way.” My tone is stern, making it clear I don’t intend to accept any additional handouts from him.
“Just trying to help, but I forgot, you don’t need any help. You manage just fine on your own,” he mimics. He places his cup on the seat of the truck, then steps to the flatbed, strapping my tires and securing the chains.
“Branch says you have a little girl.”
“I do,” I reply and wonder what else Branch has told Jimmy about me. Did he tell him he’s offered up a threesome? A scenario that got me off three times last night.
“I have four,” Jimmy says.
“Wow! Four girls.”
“I know. I still find it surprising each time I say it aloud. And my wife is seven months along with our fifth.”
“Congratulations,” I say, wondering how anyone can manage five kids. I often struggle with my one.
“Thanks.”
“You must really love kids,” I tell him.
“I do,” he says with a laugh. “Hey, I have an idea that may solve your car-repair issue.”
“I’m all ears.”
“We’re having dinner tonight at my place. Somewhat of a celebration for Branch, his kid brother, and his dad. My wife Loretta gets tired pretty easy these days, and I try to help out as much as she allows, but she’s a little on the stubborn side. Tries to do everything the way she did before the pregnancy, but at seven months, she needs to slow it down. Which is where you come in.”
“I don’t think I follow,” I reply, still confused.
“Come over for dinner. You and your daughter. She’ll have a great time with my girls, and in the meantime, if you can convince Loretta to let you help with the meal, I’ll knock half off the cost of your repair.”
I glance over at Branch for clarification, but he shrugs, so I look back at Jimmy. “That’s kind of strange, don’t you think? You don’t even know me.”
“But Branch does, and you’d really be helping me out. Loretta insists on doing things on her own. And I can see you’re much the same.” Worry lines crease his forehead. “I love my wife’s independent spirit, but I know she’s overdoing it. So, if you offer to help her and then refuse to accept no for an answer…”
The concern in his brown eyes squeezes my heart. I instinctively want to help him. “If I wear her down, you can avoid another argument about your helping out and about her doing too much.”
“Exactly. So this kills two birds. And besides, if you’re a friend of his”—he gestures toward Branch—“then you’re a friend of mine. And well, friends help friends.”
Branch steps to the front of the truck and grabs his coffee. “No, she isn’t my friend. She’s afraid to be my friend.” He chuckles and takes a sip.
“I didn’t think you had female friends,” I shoot at him.
“I don’t,” Branch replies.
“Then I fail to see the issue here.” I stare at him until Jimmy breaks the silence.
“What time does your shift end?” Jimmy asks.
“Two.”
“Perfect. Branch can pick you up. He’ll get you home to change and get your daughter. And you can be at our place at five.”
“Um… okay,” I say, not knowing what I’ve agreed to.
“Nice meeting you, Ragan,” Jimmy says, smiling at me like the cat who ate the canary.
“You, too,” I reply, wondering what’s behind the strange smile.
He makes his way to the truck, leaving me standing face-to-face with Branch, whose gaze is so heated, I swear it burns right through my clothes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like, you’re… like I’m… as though you can…”
“What? Do you feel naked when I look at you?” His voice is low and seductive as he steps closer, surrounding me with nothing but him. “That’s okay, you don’t have to answer.” His gaze drops to my blouse. “I know you do. Maybe you should tell your employer to invest in shirts that don’t reveal the nipples of his employee’s tits. Not that I’m complaining.”
I swear the peaks of my breasts get even tighter. I cross my arms over my chest to hide the evidence of my arousal. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but whatever you’re doing, stop.”
“Just so we’re clear, what is it that I should stop doing? Eating at the diner? Giving a stranded woman a ride home? Helping someone with a car repair?”
“All of it,” I say, looking him directly in the eyes. “Stop all of it and mind your own business.”
“You heard Jimmy. We’re all friends here,” he says. “And friends help friends.” He glances over his shoulder at Jimmy, who’s sitting in the truck on the phone, and turns back to me. “And if you stop being so weird, I’ll help you with the one thing I know you really want.” He winks at me and follows it up. “I’ll see you at two, sugar.”
Ugh. Oh God. Why does my heart sound like it’s stumbling to find the correct beat? I hate how he gets to me. And why hasn’t he stopped calling me sugar?
I stand in the parking lot watching them haul off my Jeep Liberty and thinking that even though I’
d refused to go out with him, I still somehow have a date with Branch McGuire.
WHY DID I AGREE TO Jimmy’s offer? And why did I let Branch and him haul off my car? Was the whole rescue-and-repair scenario a ploy? I can’t imagine Branch going that far to land a date with someone like me. Or with any woman for that matter. Besides, Jimmy doesn’t seem the type to play those games. And Branch surely doesn’t need a wingman to secure time with women. So, what gives?
I rewind it all in my head, and the only thing I’m sure of is that Branch seems to run hot and cold. A condescending asshat half the time, and then today and the day before, he’s nice to me. He went out of his way to be nice to me.
Over the years, I’ve read and heard many things about Branch McGuire, most of which was about his stats and playboy lifestyle. Never have I heard anything about his kindness. Sure, he donates to charities and attends fundraising events. What professional athlete doesn’t? But random acts of kindness? I figure those are as rare for him to give as they are for me to receive.
Yet here I am, on the receiving end of it. And now I’m riddled with guilt. I was so busy being snarky and suspicious, that I failed to show my appreciation. Little does Branch know how much I owe him. Not only is he helping me out of a situation I couldn’t find a way to resolve, he’s sparing me the humiliation of asking Dad or Aunt Sophie to borrow their cars or even worse—to drive me around like a kid.
But maybe that would have been easier to swallow than what I’m facing tonight. Not that I have any reason to be, but part of me is nervous about this dinner. The only thing keeping me from freaking out is that it’s not an actual date. It’s a means to an end, a way to pay for my car repair. I guess I could call it work.
Then again, I am having dinner at a certain time, at a certain place, and with a certain someone, and by definition, that’s a date, right? Holy hell, I don’t know. Whatever it is, the mere thought of being close to Branch gives me butterflies.
And that isn’t good.
Branch is standing beside the red convertible, arms crossed, leaning on the driver’s door when I step out of the diner. I’m not sure why, but I figured he’d be late. And ten minutes ago, when Carrie told me he was outside waiting, my stomach did one heck of a somersault.
Carrie was as excited as I was nervous when I filled her in on the last few days. Of course she thought I was missing half my marbles for declining Branch’s initial date invitation. And then she thought I’d lost the other half for not offering to take him behind Jim Bob’s and showing him—in the flesh—exactly how hard my nipples were.
She also gave me some last-minute advice, which I had no intention of taking. I mean, seriously, if I did even half of what she suggested, I’d end up in the county lockup. But I listened anyway, the whole time second-guessing my decision to help Jimmy but knowing it’s what I need to do if I want to settle my bill.
As usual, Branch looks all kinds of hot, in jeans that hang low where his waist narrows, a button-down shirt left open and a sky-blue fitted T-shirt underneath. Hmm. No compression shirt? That’s twice now. Wonder if that has anything to do with my douchebag comments or if it’s just a coincidence.
When I’m only a few feet away, his eyes grab mine and then he says, “Hey.”
That’s it. Just hey and I swear, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I scoff at my earlier thought—no way will this smokin’ hotness ever need a wingman. He can melt the panties off any woman who’s lucky enough to stand in his line of vision. I should know because mine just went poof.
“Hey,” I repeat as I come to a stop a few feet in front of the car. Self-conscious, I don’t move, my eyes locking on his, and I wonder what he’s thinking when he looks at me. Is he picturing me naked, or do I just feel that way?
“Ragan, have a great evening with Branch and Jimmy,” comes a loud voice from behind me.
I turn toward the diner and see my coworker standing in the doorway, waving and smiling from ear to ear.
Way to go, Carrie. Now Branch knows he’s been the topic of conversation. I’m sure he just loves that.
“How’s it going, Branch?” Carrie asks, still managing to sound sexy even with her outside voice.
He lifts his chin.
“Be sure to show my friend a good time,” she says. “And by ‘good time,’ I mean the horizontal kind. Ragan is way overdue.”
Branch actually grins at Carrie’s craziness while I fight the urge to turn and walk in the opposite direction. I’m going to kill her!
“Goodbye, Carrie,” I say, glancing over my shoulder, hoping to shut her up and push her back into the diner.
My eyes return to the guy who’s making my stomach queasy. He tips his head, motioning toward the opposite side of the car. I take his cue as he walks around the rear, meeting me and opening my door. As I slide inside the car, I exhale a puff of anxiety and remind myself to play it cool.
“How was work?” Branch asks when he’s seated next to me, closing his door and bringing his fresh soap-musk scent to my nose. Mmm. He smells yummy.
“Work was work. And surprise, surprise. I didn’t get any of my orders wrong,” I reply, already on the defensive.
With a shake of his head, he cranks the car. “So, I see a normal conversation with you is out of the question.”
Ugh. Why do I always go into bitchy defense mode with him? I decide to append my reply with a non-bitch response, but before I get one word out, Branch flips on the radio and increases the volume, effectively muting the possibility of a normal conversation.
“THIS MUST BE YOUR DAUGHTER.”
“Yes,” Ragan replies with a smile that beams of pride and affection for her child.
I crouch in front of the little brown-eyed girl who’s the spitting image of her mother. “Hi. My name is Branch.”
Her forehead furrows as if she’s deep in thought, then her eyes widen. “Like on a tree?”
I grin at her. “Yes, like on a tree.”
She flashes her tiny white teeth. “That’s silly.”
I consider her words and respond, “Yes, I suppose it is. So what’s your name?”
She looks up at Ragan as if asking if it’s okay to talk to this stranger. Ragan gives her a nod, and the little girl looks back to me. “Cecelia,” she says in a low voice.
I give her a smile of encouragement. “That’s a pretty name for a very pretty girl.”
She slides a finger in her mouth as her lips curl upward.
“What do you say, CeeCee?” Ragan asks.
Still casting her timid smile, she twists her fingers in her hair. “Thank you.”
“How old are you, Cecelia?” I ask.
She lifts two fingers, and using her other hand, she forces a third finger into the holdup.
“You’re a big girl, huh?”
She grins and nods.
“Do you know what I’ve heard?” I ask.
She shakes her head at me.
“I’ve heard that three-year-old girls named Cecelia love strawberry ice cream with sprinkles on top. Is that true?”
“Yes,” she replies, louder than anything she’s said up till now.
“Would you like some?”
“Yes.”
I look up at Ragan. “What do you say, Mom? Can we take the prettiest little girl in Blue Ridge out for strawberry ice cream with sprinkles?”
Ragan grasps her daughter’s hand. “Come here, sweetie. I need to talk to Branch for a second, so can you go to our room and pick out a coloring book for us?”
“Okay, Mommy,” she replies and looks back at me. “Don’t leave, Branch.” She scampers off.
When Cecelia is out of earshot, Ragan turns to me, her expression the exact opposite of what I expect. “Look, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but don’t bring my daughter into it.”
“Are you always so damned paranoid? Why must it be a game? Why can’t it be a guy doing something nice for a little girl?”
“Why?” She crosses her arms ove
r her chest. “Surely there’s a reason.”
“Yeah, there is,” I reply, getting fed up with her attitude. “Her mom is tired and her dad is an asshole who’s probably not doing his part. If he were, he’d make sure the mother of his child is taken care of. Which means he would’ve been the one you called when you were stranded after work, and he’s also the one who’d be helping with the car repair. So I’m guessing he’s absent most of the time. And maybe, just maybe, I know how that can be for a kid.”
Ragan shuts down her accusatory gaze and her defensive stance relaxes. “I’m sorry,” she says, on an exhale. “People rarely do things without looking for something in return and you’ve been—”
“I’ve been what?”
“You’ve been kinder at times than what I’ve come to expect, and I don’t quite know how to take it.”
“Well, how about this? Don’t take it any way. Accept that someone’s being nice.”
“Okay, I think I can do that.”
“Good. My brother is waiting in the car. The ice cream parlor is kinda one of our hangouts when I’m in town. We aren’t due at Jimmy’s until five and we have about forty-five minutes to spare, so are you in?”
“I can’t disappoint the prettiest little girl in Blue Ridge, now can I?”
Ragan calls for Cecelia and she comes rushing into the room, screaming for strawberry ice cream.
“See what you’ve started,” Ragan says.
CeeCee gives her backpack to Ragan and rushes over to me. I pick her up and ask what size ice cream she wants. As we narrow down the best not-so-pint-sized desserts at the Bahama Bucks Ol’ Fashion Ice Cream Parlor, Ragan is scrolling through her phone.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m sending a message to my Aunt Sophie. As soon as I walked in, she was out the door headed to a church meeting. I didn’t have a chance to tell her I’d be going out. Not sure why I bother though. She isn’t especially nice to me, but she dotes on CeeCee, so I guess I don’t want her to worry.”
“Mommy, Branch says I can have any size ice cream I want.”
“I think what he meant to say is how much yummier the small sizes are. Right, Branch?”
“Yeah.” I wink at Ragan, letting her know we’re on the same page then I look back at Cecelia. “What your mom said.”