by Lyz Kelley
Jenna shoved a thermos across the counter. “Even if you told him to stop, I’m not sure he’s the kind who would. He seems rather determined. Take some hot coffee to the poor guy. It’s starting to snow.”
Ashley looked out the window toward her mother’s store at the end of the block. The least she could do was take him a decent cup of coffee, and somehow between the café and the store she should be able to find the will to be a tad bit gracious.
“Thanks for the coffee and tasty samples,” she said, pushing from the stool and sliding a couple of dollars under the napkin when neither Maggie nor Jenna were looking. “See you tomorrow.”
Snowflakes swirled in the air when she exited the café and crossed the street. The dry Colorado air made the snow float and spin like the colorful oak leaves in the fall. The beauty eased the tension in her shoulders. Drawing closer, she watched Chase pluck a nail from a box and pound it into the railing with swift, efficient movements. He wore an old pair of camouflage pants and his steel-toed boots.
A sensation she hadn’t felt in years made her draw in cold air to calm her sweltering reaction.
After adding six additional nails, he dropped the hammer into an old toolbox and held out a hand. He studied the sky like a ten-year-old boy, hand stretched out, palm up. She waited for him to stick his tongue out to catch some flakes, but he never did. The childlike wonder on his face drew her interest, but the crunch of gravel under her boot must have given away her presence and spoiled the moment. His moody eyes connected with hers. His melancholy reflected her soul and pulled her forward.
“Good morning,” Ashley said, offering him the thermos.
“What’s this?”
“You’ve been busy. Early morning run, breakfast, fixing things. Maggie sent over some coffee, compliments of the café.” For some inexplicable reason, she didn’t want him to know that the cute, young, single baker sent the coffee. Call it jealousy. Call it self-preservation. Call it whatever, she wouldn’t examine it too carefully. “There’s not much that goes unnoticed in a town this size. Maggie says she has a job for you. You don’t need to be fixing my things.”
“You won’t let me pay rent…and just maybe I’m not doing this for you. Maybe I’m doing it for me. The steps aren’t safe, and working with my hands keeps my mind occupied.”
Distractions. She could understand the need for distractions. Especially since he'd occupied her dreams last night with all-too-graphic and arousing images. At night the visions were bad enough, but during the day the attraction became too real. He hadn’t yet shaved, and his early morning shadow had Kris-Kringle-red highlights. Between his light blond hair and red highlights, she imagined a candy cane, all pepperminty and tasty. The fantasy she could handle. The actual man, probably not.
“Does that snowmobile work?” He pointed over his shoulder toward the shed.
“A guy responding to a classified said the sled needed an oil change and a new battery. He only wanted the engine and a few parts. Since it was my mom’s, I just couldn’t let it go for parts.”
“Do you mind if I take a look?”
Looking. Isn’t that what she’d been doing? But he meant the snowmobile, not her.
She paused, remembering the old days of racing through the hills above the town, the sun beating down on the glistening snow, the sting of the wind on her cheeks, and the thrill of going fast. She hadn’t ridden in years. Coming home had meant 24/7 care. No days off. No girls’ night out. And no fun in the sun on the snowmobile that brought back so many pleasurable memories.
“If you’re going up in these hills, you’ll need a guide. Some of the logging roads and animal trails are dangerous.”
People have gotten severely hurt. I wouldn’t want an accident on my conscience, Jenna’s voice reminded her. Maggie says he checks out.
Stop being a chicken, Ashley grumbled to herself. Help the guy out. “Tell you what. If you get the old girl running, I’ll take you up the Ridge. I know the area. There are some places with hidden rocks and trees you’ll want to avoid.”
“I’d appreciate the guidance.” He managed a genuine half-smile—the first real effort she’d seen since he arrived—and she felt encouraged.
“May I ask a personal question?” he asked.
Now why did he have to go and spoil the moment by adding the word personal?
“Sure,” she said, stifling the bubbling apprehension wanting to skip into her thoughts.
He stepped closer. His eyes were keen, way more intelligent than she would have liked. “I can’t figure out whether it’s me or the military you don’t like. Which is it?”
“I don’t know you, so it’s not you.” There, question answered. She turned to escape, but he stepped around her so fast, she ran into his chest and had to back up.
“Then it’s the military you don’t like.”
Damn. Either way she answered, she’d be stuck.
He was way too smart to be standing in Elkridge, Colorado. He should be solving the world’s hunger problems or creating world peace. She let out a slow, steady breath to stall for time. “The military’s a mighty big organization to dislike, don’t you think?”
His gaze scanned over her like a general inspecting his troops. “You don’t want to answer my question. I get it. I’m pretty private myself, but I would like to know.”
Why did he ask for her thoughts? No one asked her opinion. Not her mom. Especially not her dad. Not even the doctors. The sting in her eyes made her pause. Why was she getting emotional over some guy asking what she thought?
No way was she going to be some leaking faucet. It would make her mascara run and she’d look like a zombie. She must be getting her period. Damn hormones making her all emotional.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to answer.” Reaching out, he tucked one of her stray hairs behind her ear, then let the back of his knuckles caress her face.
How did he know she craved human touch?
The last time she’d been hugged or cuddled or kissed had been in San Diego, and before that, she couldn’t remember. Touching another human, feeling connected, even for a second, made a difference, a big difference.
For months on end, she’d watched her mother shrivel—the muscles contracting, curling inward, until her soul dried up. Ashley sat for hours reading, or playing music, or trying to find food her mother would eat. She’d missed having a physical connection. Without meaning to, she leaned into his palm and gathered strength from his warm, callused hand.
“You okay?” he asked.
She jerked her head upright. How could she explain? No, she wasn’t okay. Her family was virtually gone, and she had only a few weeks to sell everything she could and find an apartment. Otherwise, she’d be homeless. Either way, she’d be alone, with no job, no college degree, plus student loans to pay off. And it scared the crap out of her.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”
With a gentleness she hadn’t expected, he placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face until their eyes met. “You want to try that again? Maybe the truth this time?”
Her throat tightened. She turned her head, trying to brush him away, but he didn’t budge. She was drowning, and he just stood, solid as a boulder, a lifeline.
“I have to go,” she said, but in actuality, she wanted to stay. Kiss him. Climb him like the face of a mountain.
She took one step back, then another, and another, out of his reach. Nerves made her knees shake to the point that she braced herself on the side of the building to keep steady. “I have a lot to do today, and standing here isn’t getting it done.”
And standing here with you all sexy and ready to kiss me, isn’t good. It’s bad. Very bad. Somebody would see them, and it would be all over town faster than a blink of an eye that Ashley Bryant had let some stranger cop a feel. And here she thought her sexually forward high school days were behind her. She’d worked hard to repair her tarnished reputation.
He just stood there with a glint in his eye, no
doubt fully aware that if he moved an inch closer, she would shimmy up his body, wanting his big hands and hot lips doing their magic.
Double crap!
She turned and hauled the car keys out of her pocket, walking faster than she probably should to her mother’s beat-up VW Bug.
Through the windshield, she saw him. Standing there. His arms now crossed. A smile like a jack-o-lantern stretched across his face. All bright and shiny.
Holy mother of saints.
She put the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine revved, then sputtered, wheezed, and died. She pumped the gas pedal. Don’t do this today. Please. Turning the key again, she got the same result. Come on. Come on. Come on.
Chase dropped his arms, his happy-smiley dimming. He took a step toward the car. If her mom hadn’t sold the Lexus when she moved into the nursing home, Ashley wouldn’t find herself humbled and pleading with the stupid hunk of junk. She turned the key again and the car sputtered to life. Throwing the vintage beetle in reverse, she smiled and waved the soldier off, hoping he got the impression the car was okay. On a good day, the odds of the car starting were sixty-forty. In the car’s favor.
The jumble of emotion consumed her during the three blocks down the street, until she drove into a parking space in front of the thrift shop, cut the engine, and dropped her forehead to the steering wheel.
She shouldn’t have offered to take him to the Ridge. The meadow above her home was her private place, a little piece of paradise, a place to think.
How was she supposed to concentrate with visions of Chase in his fatigues hammering away at the stair rail? Her whole body sighed with sizzling, lustful anticipation.
Holy moly. She jumped when someone knocked on the driver’s side window.
Her heart leapt and crashed into her throat, then settled back down. Just Gwen Keebler, the thrift store owner.
Ashley opened the car door. “Hey, Gwen. I brought you another load of stuff.”
“That’s what I figured. I came out to help.”
Ashley popped open the front trunk. She and Gwen unloaded bags of dresses, purses and shoes, making a few more trips back and forth.
“It’s a shame to sell these wonderful things,” Gwen said, rounding the counter. “You sure you don’t want to keep any of it?”
“What would I do with fancy stuff? I have nowhere to wear it or store it. Plus, with your help, I’m hoping we can make enough for me to afford a place to live.”
“I’ll see what I can do. I know you don’t have a lot of time.”
It wasn’t surprising everyone in town knew the stopwatch was ticking, and she was racing toward the finish line. Gwen’s eyes softened. Today she was wearing a form-fitting charcoal sweater and a pair of trendy jeans that fit perfectly. Her red-highlighted black hair hung down her back, and chandelier earrings dangled to her shoulders. With her high cheekbones and full, pouty lips, she looked like a runway model. She’d arrived in Colorado to work the ski slopes, but finding them too crowded, opted to open a consignment shop in Elkridge instead.
Ashley dropped her chin, not wanting to see the sympathy in Gwen’s eyes. “There’s still more to go through. I should have another load next week.” She set her mother’s clothes on the counter. “It’s just that I hate going to the house. The creditors keep calling, and every day I expect to get home and find the locks changed. I called the real estate agent again, but he hasn’t returned my calls. It’s so frustrating. I keep paying a little to every bill collector so I can keep stalling for more time.”
“I don’t know why your house doesn’t sell. It’s in a great location.”
There was that soft-eyed sympathy again in Gwen’s expression. Ashley pulled at a small thread on one of her mother’s jackets. “Yeah, if you like living in the middle of nowhere. According to the real estate agent, there are very few house buyers in the market who are looking for and can afford the five-bedroom, three-acre price tag.” Ashley pointed at the two-foot-high pile. “There’s a designer suit in there, and a dress still with the tags.”
“This is cute.” Gwen lifted a short beige jacket. “Bummer. It’s missing a button.”
“I bet my mom has it somewhere. Let me look for it.”
Gwen lifted and considered one of her mother’s Donna Karan blouses. “I took your suggestion and started selling on eBay. I’ve been able to get more for some of these pieces, and I hope you don’t mind, but I purchased a few for myself.”
“I don’t mind,” she said, even though seeing other people in her mom’s stuff might sting a bit. She’d get over the hurt when the money hit her bank account. “eBay’s been my savior. However, I’ll eventually have to find another way to make money because I can’t see eBay being a long-term thing. If I’d had to buy the stuff I’m selling, I’m not sure how much money I’d really be making.”
“I read this article about people selling stuff they don’t even own. Might be worth a try.”
“Maybe.”
One step at a time. Money. Shelter. Food. That’s all she could wrap her mind around right now.
“Jenna says you’ve got a new hottie staying at your place.”
Hottie? The title fit. “Yep. Military. Needed a place to overnight.”
“Maybe you should show him around town. You haven’t had a break in quite a while. Might be fun.”
Fun? The word seemed foreign.
“No time. Harold offered to let me use his old camping trailer to store some things, but first I’ve got to get everything sold that I can. Plus, I want to finish making those teapot chimes for the Bazaar. And, most important, I need to find a place to live, preferably with a Wi-Fi hotspot so I can keep selling stuff I’ve put aside.”
“Yeah, but—”
“No. I need to stay focused.”
“If you say so. Jenna told me he was looking to stick around for a few days. I’m thinking you might trade some fun for having boxes packed. Just sayin’.”
Ashley’s eyes squinted and her mouth dried with frustration. “What’s up with you and Jenna? If you think he’s so hot, why don’t you ask him out?”
“I just might.”
Ashley might have made the suggestion, but Gwen’s comment still stung like a wasp protecting its hive.
Maybe she didn’t have the time for Mr. Gorgeous, but she didn’t want anyone else escorting him around town either. There was something about him. Something strong and reassuring. Something that made her heart beat a bit faster and her mind spin a bit slower.
“I’d better go. Like I said, got a million things to do.”
“Let me know if you want help sorting through your mom’s things. I’d be happy to help.”
Help. She hated asking for more help. This town had given so much, and she still had no idea how to reciprocate. After her mother died, Harold and Claudia had invited her over for dinner and to review her plan. Budgeting, paying bills, and house repairs were all recent revelations. Having a mom who insisted on making all critical decisions and micromanaging Ashley’s choices had left her with very little in the way of survival skills.
She had a lot to catch up on. Figuring out her way around the real world scared the crap out of her, but she was trying to transform twenty-plus years’ worth of destructive nurturing into a healthy, functioning life. Some days she did okay. Other days, she wanted to drag her favorite teddy bear into the closet, shut herself in, and hide.
Ashley choked back the wad of panic setting in. “I’ll let you know if I need help. I appreciate the offer,” she managed to say without crumbling or pleading for help. She gave Gwen a hug and made it to the car before the acid in her throat made her gag.
You can do this. Just stick to the plan.
If she ever had kids, she was going to teach them to do, never do for them.
Life skills.
Coping skills.
She had neither.
Chapter Four
A couple days later, Chase stopped by the hardware store. Studying the six types o
f two-stroke oil on the hardware shelf, he debated synthetic versus blend versus high performance. Since the old snowmobile had been around a good long while, he eliminated high-performance. She most likely didn’t need it.
Now Ashley, on the other hand, could rev her engine at high speed. She’d already proven that. The way she felt against his body sent a fifty-watt jolt straight to his heart and brought him back to life. And with a little bit of encouragement, he bet she just might kiss him.
At least he hoped.
“Need help with something?” a gruff voice asked.
Chase studied the man, who could have been his father’s age, if he’d ever had a father. The man looked to be in his late fifties, but the rasp in his voice and the condition of his body indicated he’d likely overindulged in booze and cigarettes at some point in his life.
“Looking to do some maintenance on an old snowmobile,” Chase responded.
“Would that be Sally Bryant’s old sled?”
He pulled on his ear while considering the question. Ashley’s last name happened to be Bryant, and he supposed there weren’t too many other Bryants in this town. “S’pose so.”
“That gal is mighty finicky.”
Yes, she is. But he was thinking more about Ashley than the snowmobile. She was like a spark plug who could run hot or cold.
He grabbed one of the two-stroke bottles off the shelf. “I think I can manage. Got any spark plugs, possibly some brake oil?”
The man squinted, giving him a thorough once-over like his boot camp drill sergeant. “Saw the insignia on the truck out front.” He shoved his hand forward. “Bill Mason. First Marine Division, retired after twenty.”
Chase grasped the man’s hand and released it. “Chase Daniels. Gunny Sergeant, Second Marine Division, active.” For now.
“Son, let me show you what I got.”
Son. The last time he’d been called ‘son’ was when he was twelve. He’d gotten caught lopping the heads off Mr. Chester’s flowers with a new wire trick that Lester Lewis, a fellow foster kid, devised. The proprietor’s voice, however, didn’t have quite the same gonna-whup-your-ass tone.