by Lia Riley
The memory of his hot kiss and clever hands . . . oh Lord. She shoved another bite of cheesecake in and, looking back, saw Annie’s pan was empty. Better to walk it over and compliment the chef before melting into a pool of sexual frustration.
ARCHER CAME TO the fairgrounds with one intent—to find Edie. He’d spent the whole day feeling as if he could reach up and touch the big blue sky. He’d kissed her. Made her drop her elegant poise and ride him wild, eyes like quicksilver, hair like fire. She had to be here. No one in Brightwater missed the biggest night on the social calendar. Guess he had his internal GPS set to Freckles because there she was, chatting with Annie Carson and Sawyer.
Jesus. Imagine Edie and Annie becoming friends. He and Sawyer were on the slow-train to Screwed Town with these two beautiful women, but something told him they’d both arrive with great big grins.
He waited until she walked away and then approached. “Hey.” His heart leapt at the flash in her gaze. Hey? That’s the best you’ve got, slick? Her pale green tank top, jean skirt, and strappy sandals didn’t allow his brain to articulate beyond a base level. The beautifullest woman in the world—it wasn’t a word, but it should be . . . with her picture next to it in the dictionary.
There needed to be a whole new language to describe Freckles.
“Hi,” she said, crossing her arms. The swell of her breasts rose above her tank top. He’d tasted every inch of them last night and his mouth watered at the memory.
“You know Annie Carson?” Archer asked. Looked like his big brother was losing no time in reeling back in the one who go away.
“She visited my shop on opening day and it turns out she’s a pretty great baker. Her methods are quirky and yet she pulls it off. I like her. She seems sort of stressed . . . but funny.”
“My brother’s always carried a torch for her.”
“I can see that,” she said thoughtfully. “They seem so different and yet complement each other.”
They stood in silent awkwardness as a country band began to set up the equipment on the grandstand.
“So—” he said, just as she went, “About yesterday.”
They both laughed.
“Ladies first,” he said, tipping his hat.
She brushed her hair out of her eyes and straightened. “I’ve done some thinking. It was initially a shock to discover you’re the local bad boy, but maybe I was a little hasty to judge—”
“Hey, Archie!” A sultry voice piped behind him. Holly Higsby, a pretty black-haired woman sashayed close, wiggling her fingers in her customarily cutesy greeting. “Whatcha doin’? Wanna go repeat history?” She leaned in and set her lips against his ears. “We had a bang up time last Fourth, remember?”
He loosely remembered a twelve-pack, a party, and a warm body.
“Sorry.” He stepped back and closer to Freckles. “I’m . . .” Taken? Possessed? Locked up with the key thrown away?
Before he could find the right words, Holly glanced to Freckles, taking her in with a rueful smile. “I see, your dance card’s full for the night.” She gave his hat a playful tip. “Well, call me next time you’re free. Don’t be a stranger.”
He gritted his teeth and forced his gaze to Edie. “Sorry for the interruption. I really want to hear what you were saying.”
“I . . .” She bit her lip. “I forget.”
“Quit it.” He set a hand on her shoulder. “I’m into you, okay? You. Only you. I’m all up to my ears with the idea of you.”
Edie squared her shoulders. “But be realistic, Archie,” she said. “What am I supposed to think about our situation? Our skill sets are totally unmatched. You play the field. I’m still in the dugout trying to figure out the rules.”
“Don’t kid yourself, sweetheart. You passed second base last night like one of the big leaguers.”
She ducked her head, but not before shooting him a naughty smile that clenched his chest. “So what are you saying? You want to coach me to a home run?”
Archer coughed into his fist. “Jesus. What if I told you, you’re the only one in the game, the only one I want to play with?”
She blinked. “I’m not sure what to do. That’s the honest truth. When we first met, I thought you were a good guy.”
His blood cooled a few degrees. “And now you don’t?”
“You’re the right guy for a little fun. But I’m not sure that’s what I want. I’m not built that way. To hook up and move on.”
“You aren’t a hookup. I have nothing to say against any of those other woman . . . except for one thing.”
She frowned. “What’s that?”
“They aren’t you.”
Her posture relaxed. “Last night was amazing. I haven’t”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“you know, had that happen in a long time.”
“Really?” The idea hit him square in the chest. He gave her pleasure, and he could do it again. And again. Every night, forever.
“Maybe that’s my whole purpose in life,” he said, realizing it was probably true.
She laughed at that, as if he was joking.
He could give her pleasure, that was easy, but he had a hell of a lot more inside to share. “Here’s the thing, Freckles. I’d like to get you on my team, but the only game I want to play is one where I’m gunning for keeps.”
Edie’s eyes widened. If she could be candid, why not him? At least now there was no mistaking his intentions. Her gaze darted to the crowd, unable or unwilling to accept the truth. He’d have to convince her.
But, hell, what was he going to do? If he made a move now, after the Holly run in, she’d end up pigeonholing him. The same way Grandma did, and Sawyer, and hell, the whole damn town. He’d dug the hole damn deep, now he had to climb out, for her.
If he said he wasn’t that guy anymore, she’d never believe him. No one would. Words don’t mean squat without action. The band started playing a sweet country song.
“Come dance with me,” he said impulsively.
She fiddled with her hair. “A few pies are still in the oven back at the shop. I have to set them to cool before the fireworks.”
“Just one song.” He needed time with her, time for her to see how right they could be.
“You don’t take no for an answer, huh?”
He leveled her a straight look. “Sure, I do. But notice, Freckles, you haven’t given me one.” He leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “Relax, it’s a dance in front of hundreds of people. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“I . . . but . . . you . . . me . . . oh, what the heck. One dance.” She reached out and took his hand. “But no funny business.”
Nothing about this situation was funny, and yet, strangely he couldn’t wipe the ear-to-ear smile off his face. He led her to the de facto dance floor, hard-packed earth where other couples swayed to the music as the summer sun sank, putting on a show of pale pinks and rich orange. It felt good doing this, gathering Edie up in his arms in front of the whole town.
“Anyone ever tell you that your hair matches the sunset?”
She dropped her head. “No.”
Her body stiffened and he had that feeling again, the one that baffled him. How did this woman not know how lovely she was? Why hadn’t a man snapped her up and treated her like a queen? Were the guys in New York that blind? He leaned in and her fingers tightened on his shoulders. “You want to know a secret?”
“Okay?”
He cupped her cheek. “You belong under the open skies, beneath these mountains, prettier than any wildflower.” And the way she fit against him, he knew, sure as anything he’d ever felt, that they belonged together.
A hint of a shy smile danced across her lips, even as her earnest eyes darkened with yearning. “It feels strange to hear you talking about my looks.”
“Well, you’re a lot more than that gorgeous face, Freckles. Anyone can compliment your features, but your beauty runs deeper. There is sweetness to you, but also fire . . .” He realized he’d been staring and fo
r who knows how long. The sound he made was almost a groan. “I’m talking crazy.”
“If that’s true, then I like your brand of it.” She rested her head oh so softly on his chest and damn she felt good. He wanted nothing more than to be able to hold her forever, to be able to make her feel more amazing and wanted. The sweet love song washed over them as they kept time with the gentle sway of their bodies.
All too soon, the song ended, changing to a wild honky-tonk beat. Edie didn’t immediately step away. “My pies,” she said uncertainly.
He understood what she was really saying. She needed space. Time to think, and he’d give it to her. “You go on.” He adjusted his hat. “I’m going to head home myself.” He didn’t want her to think he’d be chasing skirt the minute she turned her back. “Go and take care of your pies and I’ll see you soon.” He flicked a piece of hair off her neck, smiling at her shiver when he ran his thumb over her skin. “Very soon.”
Her answering blush crept down her neck, heading to all sorts of interesting places.
As he strode toward the exit, women called out soft hellos, asked what he was up to later. They were offers, and he’d once been a kid in a candy store with a heck of a sweet tooth. But now all he craved was something more satisfying, something that would be good for him.
He could be good for Eden too.
But how could he convince her that he was ready to be a one-woman man?
The thought plagued him the whole drive home. Back at Hidden Rock, Grandma’s porch light glowed. She must be the only person in town not at the show. Better go check and make sure everything was okay.
Music poured through the open bay window, the record player going full volume, playing her favorite song, Margaret Whiting’s “Guilty.” Normally this kind of old-timey music cheesed him out, but tonight his heart melted faster than gouda on a hot day. Here was another tune he could imagine dancing to with Freckles.
He opened the screen door. Grandma sat in a parlor chair, tea in hand, watching the sun sink behind Mount Oh-Be-Joyful.
“Grandma?” he called softly.
She started, pressing a hand to her heart. “Glory be, you frightened the bejeezus out of me.” Her previously dreamy expression faded as her thin eyebrows contracted. “What are you doing?”
“Came to ask you the same thing.” Archer glanced around. This room hadn’t changed since he was a kid. The only difference was the number of blue ribbons hanging from the mantel, victories won by Grandma’s prize-winning tomatoes at the County Fair. “Why aren’t you at the rodeo grounds?”
“Bah.” Grandma swatted the empty air. “I haven’t been to the fireworks in over a decade.”
Was that true? Not that he kept track of Grandma’s every movement, but hell, never to have noticed?
“When you get to my age, waking each new day is like its own firework.” She paused and let out a rattling cough. “I don’t need more excitement.”
Archer sat on her plastic-covered couch and glanced to the side table illuminated by a candle. He’d seen Grandma’s silver-framed wedding photo countless times, but this was the first he’d ever really looked at it. A much younger, black-and-white Grandma smiled in a way he’d never seen, her hair shiny, thick, and dark, half covered by a veil, her arms clasping a bouquet that spilled blossoms in all directions. A bearded man lovingly returned the adoring expression. His grandfather. A man who died when Archer’s own father was a boy.
Then history went and repeated itself when Grandma’s only son, his father, died in a house fire. Archer was too little to remember any details. Sawyer said he could only recall flashes. Wilder might know more, but his oldest brother was famously closed-lipped.
“You were pretty, Grandma,” Archer said. “Not that you aren’t still but—”
“I was, wasn’t I?” Grandma said musingly. “Though I didn’t know it at the time. Always thought my nose was too big, or that I was too tall. Like Olive Oyl. Beauty is wasted on the young.”
The same way Freckles didn’t see her beauty . . . but he did.
“How did you meet Grandpa Kane?” Archer asked.
She gave him a curious look. “None of you boys has ever asked.”
Really? Grandma was part of his day-to-day life, but come to think of it, he didn’t know much about her, as a person, at all. “Did you know right away that he was the one?”
“Love at first sight is a bunch of baloney,” Grandma said before grinning. “And yet, that’s exactly how it went. My pa owned a service station in the Central Valley and your Grandpa pulled in for fuel. I was helping out behind the counter for some reason or another and our eyes met through his windshield. I knew at that moment my whole life would change.” Her laugh was unfamiliar, soft and even tender. “Jack stuck around for the morning. His tire suddenly got a flat. It wasn’t until much later that he confessed he stuck a nail in it. Then his engine wouldn’t go. Again, he sabotaged it. Just to buy more time with me. I can remember thinking, There is the handsomest man I’ve ever seen, and boy does he have bad luck with cars.”
Archer joined in her chuckle. “So love at first sight can be real?” It seemed important to know this all of a sudden.
Grandma leveled a bone-cutting gaze, as if she lasered through his thick skull and read his mind. “It can be, but for most people, it’s hormones. Nothing more.”
Yeah, well, he knew all about hormones, and that’s not what was happening here. “Hey, thanks for telling me that story.”
“We danced to this song at our wedding, you know.” She waved her finger back and forth as if conducting her own big band orchestra. “Today was our wedding anniversary.”
“Oh, wow, Grandma. Congratulations.”
The bright spark in her gaze dimmed. “We were only married for five years, but I’ve never been able to look at another man.” She dabbed her eyes and blew her nose. “Oh, go on and get. Feel free to ignore the ramblings of a sentimental old woman.”
Archer stood and held out his hand. “May I have this dance?” Here was yet another woman in his life that needed more cherishing and not being taken for granted.
Grandma stared at him. “Have you lost your ever-loving mind?”
“Maybe, but the offer is a firm one.” He could do this, appreciate her, give her a moment to connect with her past.
“I haven’t danced in fifty-five years.”
“Well, no time like the present.”
She rose and he drew her close as old-timey music filled the room.
“Grandma, you have moves,” he said, surprised to find her so nimble.
She craned her neck at him. “You’re a great deal like your grandfather. You both could charm the habit off a nun.”
And for once, there was real affection in her tone.
Chapter Fourteen
AFTER HER FOURTH of July run-in with Archer, Eden poured all her energy into baking. Last night she catered an event for Quincy and her phone had rung off the hook with party requests all morning. Beating eggs and butter didn’t ease sexual frustration per se, but it did give her an outlet that saved her from spontaneous sexual combustion. She stayed busy all day, but even while she juggled the million and twenty “to dos” in her mind, some part of her grey matter was focused on Archer at all times.
Rather than fighting her attraction, might as well admit she was totally gaga for a cowboy who had no idea what a Windsor knot was, let alone how to tie one. And that idea didn’t bother her. Instead, all she wondered was why she dismissed cowboys for so long.
Maybe she should buy shares in Wrangler. There’s a company to take to the bank, quality assured.
She stepped out the back door and locked up the shop. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. She spun around, sensing someone behind her.
Archer stood there, holding a brown paper bag stamped “Save-U-More.”
“You scared me,” she gasped.
He leveled a lopsided smile. “I seem to have that effect on people lately.”
“You’ve
been grocery shopping?” She was making lame conversation, but only because her blood flow diverted to between her legs leaving her brain cells to die off in rapid numbers.
He shifted the bag in his arms. “Figured you baked all day. How about I make you dinner?”
She gaped at him. “You want to cook me dinner?”
“Well,” he peered uncertainly into the bag. “Yeah. I thought you might like crepes with sautéed bananas and chocolate or is that too much sweetness for dinner?” He glanced up and grinned at her wide-eyed stare. “Grandma used to make a meal roster for me and my brother, and we each had to take shifts. I was the only one who took to it. I don’t do it much on my own, but I can cook, if given the right inspiration.”
Her smile threatened to split her cheeks. “I love crepes. Chocolate and bananas are my jam, unless we’re talking about raspberry or blueberry preserves.”
She led him up the narrow outdoor stairs to her apartment, very aware that her butt was shoved right in his face. She might have swayed her hips a little, but it was hard not to. He’d come and offered to make her a home-cooked meal? No one had ever willingly done that.
Mother hadn’t even made her own toast.
When they entered her apartment, he glanced around. “Didn’t see much besides you the other night,” he said.
His gaze slowly scanned her walls and cobbled-together second-hand furnishings, an act almost as intimate as when it fell on her exposed body. Free to choose her own furnishings for the first time, she favored an eclectic vintage look. The old rocking chair from an estate sale was positioned to catch the early-morning light and the old tourism posters for Yosemite National Park and Mono Lake came from the library’s gift shop. She’d ordered Mother’s home in New York to be closed up, but requested a few precious knickknacks be sent.