by Susan Stoker
Rather than argue, Phoebe draped an arm around his neck and sighed. As soon as she had a pair of shoes, she could get around on her own. She didn’t need this man’s arms to carry her everywhere. Though they were solid, and muscular, and so very strong…
He backed through the door and carried her inside. “Peg, I have a customer for you.”
A small, athletic woman with graying strawberry blond hair leaned out from a rack of blue jeans. “Oh, hi, Nash.” She blinked, doing a double-take. “What on earth have you got there? Did I not get an invite to the wedding?” She grinned.
Nash’s jaw tightened. “I picked up this stray on the highway into town. I don’t suppose you could help her find some shoes to fit?”
Phoebe frowned. “I’m not a stray, and I can speak for myself.” She glared up at him. “Please, put me down.”
He set her on her feet. “You’re in capable hands. Peg will help you with whatever you need.”
With her weight balanced on her good foot, Phoebe gathered her dress around her. “Thank you.” She turned her attention to a large room with row upon row of clothes racks and felt overwhelmed. “Oh, dear, where should I start?”
Peg’s smile disappeared. “Sweetheart, let me help you.” She held out her hand. “Margaret Clayton. Most folks around here call me Peg.”
Phoebe took her hand. “Phoebe…S-Smith.” She glanced around. “I need shoes and clothes I can work in.” She held out the bills in her hand. “Whatever I can get for twenty-five dollars.”
Peg curled her hand around Phoebe’s without taking the money. “Honey, you keep your money. This thrift shop supports the women’s shelter. From the looks of you, I’d say you could use a little of that support right now.” She hooked a hand in the crook of Phoebe’s elbow and herded her toward a rack of clothes.
For the first time since he’d come across Phoebe on the side of the road, Nash was more than four feet away from her. As soon as she left his side, he felt a void where she’d been. When he should have been breathing a sigh of relief and stepping outside into the fresh Texas air, he stood rooted to the tile floor, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Rescuing a damsel in distress must have some kind of residual protective instinct. That had to be it. He pushed his hat back on his head, semi-satisfied with his reasoning.
Then why hadn’t he had the same feeling when he’d rescued Maggie Parker from her abusive boyfriend? She was young and as pretty as Phoebe. Maggie was a friend. He knew her and he didn’t know Phoebe. Yet, he hadn’t felt this weird sense of territorial claim or belonging he was feeling toward the runaway bride who kept looking back, as if afraid he’d leave her stranded in the thrift shop.
Nash spun on his boot heels and started for the exit and clear, country air. He had his hand on the door when he made the mistake of looking over his shoulder.
Peg had disappeared in the maze of clothes racks.
Phoebe stood with her wedding dress bunched in her arms, her gaze on him, her eyes round and scared.
Damn.
Instead of pushing through the door, he stopped, turned his back to the windows and leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms as if he had all day to wait for Phoebe to get dressed in something besides that billowing poof of a wedding dress. He nodded toward her, keeping his face set and serious.
Phoebe’s shoulders relaxed, and she turned toward Peg, who approached with an armload of denim.
“Start with these. I guessed your size.” She was back in a moment with blouses of all shapes and colors. Like a child’s automated toy, Peg darted left and right, ducking in and out of racks, until she had a shopping cart filled with a mound of clothing and another filled with shoes.
At the sight, Nash groaned and chanced a glance at his watch. He keyed his mic and spoke into the radio on his shoulder. “Gretchen, could you notify the office I’ll be delayed another thirty minutes to an hour?”
“Sure, honey. Any problems? Need backup?”
Did he need backup? Hell yeah! A runaway bride, whose gaze could melt him in his tracks, was something he had never come up against. And by against…her warm, curvy body pressed to his had left a definite impression. “No. I don’t need backup,” he said, his voice a little harsher than he’d intended. He didn’t need backup. He needed someone else to take over so he could run as far away as possible.
Hell. And that really wasn’t an option. Not when she finally emerged from the dressing room wearing a pair of slim-fitting jeans that clung to her body like a second skin. Those and a pale green, short-sleeved sweater that hugged the rounded swell of her breasts and narrow waist had Nash shifting on his boots, wishing he could adjust the fit of his trousers to accommodate what the sight of her was doing to his libido.
Sweet Jesus!
In the wedding dress, she was a tiny fairy princess enveloped in clouds of poofy cotton candy. In the jeans, light green sweater, and a pair of gently scuffed, brown cowboy boots she was the girl next door, only better and somehow more real. She’d pulled the remaining pins and her long auburn hair fell around her shoulders in wild waves.
When she turned her gaze to meet his, Nash’s breath caught and held.
Alarm bells rang out in his head. Warning! Warning! Had he listened, he’d have run the other way. Peg would have seen that Phoebe got a ride to Lola’s apartment or the women’s shelter. Nash had no obligation to stick around and see her to her next destination.
His feet wouldn’t budge from the floor. He couldn’t breathe, much less move when she gazed at him with those eyes the soft green of spring hay.
Peg held out a bag bulging with other items of clothing and another with several pairs of shoes. When Phoebe extended the twenty-five dollars, Peg lifted her hand and shook her head. “Take them. Pay it forward when you get on your feet.”
“Thank you so very much,” Phoebe said. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”
“What do you want me to do with the wedding dress?” Peg asked, tilting her head toward the dressing room.
“Keep it, sell it, or burn it. I have no use for the thing.”
“Consider it payment for the items you’re taking with you.” Peg smiled. “I’m sure it more than covers them. And you look wonderful and ready to take on life on your own terms.”
Phoebe hugged Peg and turned to Nash, her eyes swimming in unshed tears. “I’m ready.” She squared her shoulders, even as her bottom lip trembled. She sucked it between her teeth and lifted her chin.
He swallowed past the tightening in his throat and resisted the urge to gather Phoebe in his arms, to protect her from the world and feel this whole new woman, free of the wedding dress, pressed against his body. But resist, he did. To hold her now would start a landslide of something he was sure would bury him completely. One thing was certain, he wouldn’t emerge unscathed. Outside the thrift shop, he held the SUV door for Phoebe.
She slid in, drawing in her slim legs like a celebrity, or someone used to riding in the back seat of a limousine.
Nash blinked. That thought tugged at his memory. With her hair down and that ridiculous dress gone, she appeared somewhat familiar. He’d seen that face before, but he couldn’t put his finger on where. “Should I know you?”
Her eyes widened, and she turned away. “I don’t see how. We just met today.”
His gaze narrowed, as if by squinting he could pinpoint that memory of where he’d seen her before. For a long moment, he stared at her profile. Finally, he shook his head. “Guess I’m mistaken.”
“Yes,” she said, her voice breathy. “Perhaps so.”
He shut the door, rounded the vehicle to the driver’s side and climbed in. He glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Were you at the last rodeo in Fort Worth?”
Phoebe shook her head and stared out the window, fingering the locket at her throat. “No.”
“Where are you from?” he asked, surprised he hadn’t asked before. What kind of deputy was he, anyway?
“Does it matter?” She continued t
o stare out the window, allowing a long strand of hair to swing forward and block her eyes from his view. “I’m sure you have better things to do than chauffeur me around. Likely Lola will be waiting for my return.”
A non-answer. Nash’s eyes narrowed. He supposed she wasn’t in a hurry to let her folks know where she’d run to, nor did she want a well-meaning sheriff’s deputy to notify her family of her whereabouts.
Nash shifted into reverse, backing out of the parking lot. Two minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of Lola’s shoe store.
Lola hurried out, locked the door behind her and held up a key. “I have the key to the apartment.”
“Good.” Just a few more minutes and he could wash his hands of the runaway bride. Nash tipped his cowboy hat at the older woman. He turned in the driver’s seat, and tilted his head toward the rear of the vehicle where Phoebe sat. “Do you want to ride in the back, or take your own vehicle?”
“Any other time, I’d die for a chance to ride in the backseat of your squad car.” She winked at Nash. “I have to get back fairly quickly. I’m expecting a delivery at any time. But I’ll take a rain check if you promise to use the handcuffs.”
Nash shook his head. “Lola, you know I can’t play with the cuffs. They’re for real police business.”
Lola pouted. “I could pretend to be a lady of the evening, and you could arrest me for soliciting.” She plumped her ample breasts, the girls nearly spilling out of her tight sweater and the bra that could barely contain them. “I’ll even let you frisk me.”
Nash tried not to smile and thus encourage the woman’s naughty behavior. “As tempting as that sounds, I have to decline. Besides, I thought you liked fire fighters better.”
“Oh, I do. They are so very…hot.” She fanned her cheek with her hand. “But lawmen are a close second.”
Phoebe’s gaze shot from Lola to Nash and back during the entire exchange.
Nash sighed. The bride would wonder what she was getting into with Hellfire’s infamous Lola. The middle-aged woman loved to flirt. Since her husband passed away and left her with a comfortable insurance stipend, she enjoyed playing the field and hitting on all the single young men and some of the older men in town. Sometimes she was annoying, but mostly she was harmless. Just lonely.
Nash drove the few short blocks, parked in front of Lola’s house, got out and opened the door for Phoebe.
Phoebe climbed out, and stared at the pretty charcoal-gray craftsman-style cottage with a detached garage set back at the end of a long driveway.
Lola zoomed up the street in a bright orange Corvette, skidding to a stop in the driveway. She jumped out and held out a key. “What do you think of the place?”
“I love your house,” Phoebe said.
“I kind of like it too.” Lola smiled. “Come on. You might not like the apartment as much. I haven’t been in it since Christmas. I’m not sure how big a mess it is.”
“I can handle it,” Phoebe said, determined to make it work. With no other option presenting itself and no money to live on, she had to take what she could get.
“If you want to work for me as a housekeeper, I could use help once a week. The shop keeps me pretty busy.”
Nash cleared his throat. “If you are comfortable with Miss Lola, I’m off duty and need to check in at the station.”
Phoebe drew her bottom lip between her teeth and stared up into his eyes. “Thank you so much for all you’ve done. I hope I can repay your kindness some day.”
He tipped his cowboy hat, suddenly reluctant to leave her, but he didn’t have a reason to stay. “Not necessary. It’s part of my job.” Nodding to Lola, he gave her a brief smile. “Let me know if you two need anything. You know how to get a hold of me.”
With that, he turned and hurried away. Yes, he wanted to stay and make sure Phoebe was settled into the garage apartment, but she wasn’t his responsibility and the more he was around her, the more he wanted to stay with her. Not good. Not good at all.
He wasn’t in the market for a girlfriend and though she said she wasn’t going back to where she came from, there wasn’t much in Hellfire to keep her here. He was better off walking away.
Almost to the SUV, he reached for the door handle when footsteps crunched on the gravel and a soft voice stopped him.
“Deputy Grayson?”
He turned to stare down into those soft green eyes, his pulse ratcheting up. “Yes, Miss Smith?”
“Thank you.” She touched his arm. “And no matter what happens, I promise I’m not a bad person.” She flung her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. Then she turned and ran back to where Lola stood, a grin stretching the older woman’s dark lipstick-covered mouth.
Warmth rushed through Nash and tingling spread from where Phoebe’s lips had touched his cheek. He raised a hand to the spot and stared at the woman, a frown pulling his brows downward.
He hadn’t begun the day with the intent of finding a runaway bride stranded on the side of the road. Scenarios like that were only found in those unrealistic romance novels women liked reading. No. He hadn’t asked for a kiss. But now that she’d done it, she couldn’t undo it, and he couldn’t unfeel it.
Nash gave a curt nod, turned and fought to keep from leaping into his SUV, though he knew running away wouldn’t get him away from the haunting look of the pretty redhead with the eyes the color of the soft green moss.
In the few short hours he’d known Phoebe Smith, she’d crawled beneath his defenses.
Damn.
So distracted by the kiss he couldn’t think straight, Nash pulled out of Lola’s drive without looking and almost backed into a black four-door sedan that had slowed on the street in front of Lola’s house. When Nash finally glanced in the rearview mirror, he slammed his foot on the brake, stopping the big SUV mere inches from the sedan.
The driver must have been shaken by the near-miss, because he goosed his accelerator and peeled off a layer of his tires on the hot Texas pavement, screaming away from Nash’s vehicle.
Nash slammed his palm against the steering wheel. “Damn!” How could he be so careless? He gave himself a firm shake, looked both ways, with one last glance at the two women staring from halfway down the driveway and pulled into the empty street. Phoebe Smith was a distraction he could not afford. Not now. Or ever. He’d been down that twisted path before and it only led to heartbreak.
Chapter Four
‡
When Deputy Grayson pulled out of the driveway, Phoebe’s heart clenched in her chest. He’d been the rock in her extremely turbulent day. Though he didn’t know half of what she’d gone through, and had yet to deal with, he’d seen that she got the proper clothing and shoes, met a woman who could put her up in her own apartment and he’d even doctored her cut toe.
Maybe she was putting him up on a white horse, with the halo-effect of a knight in shining armor, but she had been so grateful for the help when she’d needed it most. Unfortunately, the one person who’d helped her most would also be the one who’d ultimately arrest her and charge her with murder once his brother opened the trunk of the rental car and discovered the body of her fiancé.
What had made her run after the deputy, she didn’t know. But as he’d walked away, Phoebe couldn’t let him go without telling him what his actions meant to her. And the kiss…
It was only a kiss on the cheek. Nothing more than a woman would give a father or brother. Though the feelings she’d had when Grayson had held her in his arms were anything but sisterly.
When he’d nearly backed into the dark sedan, Phoebe stifled a scream. She let go of the breath caught in her throat when the sedan sped away and the deputy pulled out of the drive. Pressing a hand to her chest in a useless attempt to slow her thundering pulse, she sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly.
“Nash is quite the heartthrob, isn’t he?” a voice said beside her.
Phoebe turned to face Lola, shocked she’d forgotten the woman was even there. “I’m sorry?”
>
“Nash.” Lola nodded toward the disappearing SUV. “Deputy Grayson.” She grinned. “His first name is Nash. He’s one of the four Grayson brothers. Every last one of them is tall, dark and so handsome they’ll make your panties damp.”
Heat rose in Phoebe’s cheeks at Lola’s words, and her belly clenched. She’d met two of the four and knew at least half of the truth of what Lola was saying. “There are four of them?”
Lola nodded, her gaze also following the sheriff deputy’s vehicle. “I’d give my left breast to be twenty years younger.” She sighed. “But I always say, I might be weathered, but this old hearth still has a scorching flame burning inside.” With a shrug, she sighed. “And it doesn’t hurt to flirt.” With a wink, she turned toward the garage apartment. “If you don’t like the place, I can put you up in my spare bedroom until you find something you like better.”
“I’ll just be happy to have a roof over my head.” And as soon as she could find Rider Grayson’s auto repair shop, she’d do something about getting rid of the body in the trunk of the rental car.
Lola led the way up the stairs and unlocked the door of the garage apartment. Inside were stacks of cardboard boxes, plastic containers and strands of colored lights. “When my husband was alive, we rented out the apartment. After he passed and our tenant moved out, I didn’t want to fool with it.”
Phoebe turned to Lola, her heart constricting. “Oh. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Lola gave her a gentle smile with her bright red lips. The brightness of her gaze dimmed a little. “It’s been five years, and not a day goes by that I don’t think of him. He was my everything—my soulmate. But he made me promise that if anything happened to him, I shouldn’t stop loving life and I should get on with living. Maybe find me another man to fill my days and heart.” She snorted. “I haven’t found one who gets me like George did.” She winked. “But I’m trying. I’ve had my sights set on the Grayson boys.”
Phoebe’s chest pinched and she frowned. She didn’t have any hold over Nash Grayson. But the thought of any other woman with him made her fingers curl into fists. She glanced down at her bunched hands, perplexed. She’d never felt that way about Ryan. Nor had she felt like Lola felt about her dead husband. Ryan had been a man her father and mother had chosen for her.