by Mae Nunn
“Guy, listen,” she said, searching for the right words. “It’s great that you want to show me your ideas, and I’d love to be able to do this stuff for my mom and dad someday, but we don’t have the money just now for new fixtures, much less structural changes, something you’ve probably never had to worry about.” She straightened, took a step away from the drawings that were luxurious daydreams.
He reached for the other executive-style chair in the room, rolled it close to his and opened his palm in an invitation. She hesitated, considering whether or not to sit. He grasped her fingers and tugged her down to the soft leather seat.
“There.” She heard satisfaction in his voice. “One less decision for you to worry about today.”
She returned his grin, appreciating that he realized how much was perpetually on her plate.
“Now, let me clear something up for you and put your mind at rest at least on this subject.” He scooted his chair close, their knees brushed lightly. A pleasant warmth tingled. She considered backing up a bit but the kind squint of his eyes told her his closeness was to share something personal.
“Obviously the Hardy clan is financially well off, but it wasn’t always that way. Both of my parents came from very big families. Dad had seven brothers and sisters, Mom had nine. With that many kids to feed and clothe there was always a struggle to make ends meet, so they each grew up in extremely frugal households. That experience drove the way they raised us, even after the business took off. To give you an idea, my mom only has a few dogmatic rules but one of them is that none of her kids are ever to go out in public in sneakers.”
“Are you serious?”
“As a copperhead’s bite.” His brows tipped together as he nodded, leaving no doubt. “Mother was the fifth daughter so she wore hand-me-down shoes till she left home at nineteen. All they could afford were sneakers and by the time a pair made it to her it would be in pretty rough shape. But used clothes and shoes were just a fact of life back then so she wore them without complaint. Still, she made up her mind that her kids would never have to be embarrassed by old tennis shoes in public, the way she was.”
“So, I guess she refuses to wear them today, huh?”
“Oh, sneakers are a symbol of family to her, to all of us. When we go to my parents’ house, that’s all we wear. It’s our way of connecting to her personal experience, saying we’re home, the most special place in our hearts. But away from the house we wear ‘Sunday-go-to-meeting shoes’ as my chubby, white-haired grandma Hazel used to say.”
Guy slid up one pant leg and admired the hand-tooled exotic leather roper that had set him back at least a thousand dollars.
“I just happen to be partial to boots so this is my way of splurging to celebrate each of our new locations. I buy a pair at the beginning of a project and when it’s successful, I fit the boots with cedar shoe trees and retire them to the display rack in my closet.”
“How many pairs do you have?” She felt the smallest surge of pleasure at this personal insight he was sharing. It was confirmation she’d been correct the day before. It wasn’t right to go on being distrustful of Guy and his family just because instinct told her to be suspicious.
He pressed his lips together and scrunched his brow in concentration as he touched the pad of his right thumb to the tip of each finger, counting to himself.
“Eleven.” It was a one-word confession, his expression contrite.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I know, but it almost sounds wasteful considering what I just told you about my parents’ upbringing. And given the fact that your boots say you’re a rodeo regular where mine say I’m ‘all hat and no horse.’”
She smiled at the words her dad often used to tease Guy and reached her hand toward his knee, lightly brushing his dark jeans. The intensity in his eyes said he realized the touch emphasized what she was about to say.
“Guy, I’ve seen for myself these past few weeks that you’re good to other people. You deserve to give yourself a break when it comes to a little luxury in life.”
Before she could remove her hand, he closed his over the top of it, gently pressing so she wouldn’t withdraw.
“I hope you realize what you just said applies even more to you, Abby. You work so hard to take care of everybody in your life. Not that a new toilet and some non-skid tile in your parents’ bathroom are luxuries, but those things will make your life easier, so please let me do this for you. I promise the work will be finished by the day we bring your mother home.”
A new toilet and non-skid tile. She’d been hoping that one day a special man would want to share the desires of her heart. This wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind, but it was Guy’s way of sharing and there was a quirky sort of intimate quality to it that couldn’t be denied.
“It’s the least H&H can do,” he added.
Scratch that intimate stuff. It was about the store after all and she was a fool to imagine otherwise. Time to be practical, an area where Guy was clearly the expert.
She slid her hand from beneath his and brushed away an errant curl that had flopped across her forehead.
“Accepting your charity will bruise my mother’s pride, and I’m sure she’d turn down your offer if we gave her the chance,” Abby said with a sigh, resigning herself to do so anyway. “But my realistic side tells me how much my folks would enjoy the comforts and peace of mind and Daddy will love the activity. So I’m going to agree.”
“Awesome!”
His face lit with pleasure. Over installing a new commode! The guy really got a kick out of the strangest things.
“And will you also agree to let me do the same for the playground? I can have all new equipment delivered and send out some landscape artists to finish the gardens.”
“Absolutely not.” She stood, physically drawing the line on his bizarre sense of generosity. “The playground isn’t about money, or convenience or even meeting a deadline. This is something I need to do myself. For my son. For my husband.”
* * *
GUY FELT THE MUSCLES in his face droop; his spirits sagged as well. Of course she wouldn’t want his involvement in a project that was a labor of devotion for the husband she would always love. Would a woman ever care for him with her whole heart that way? And if one did, could he trust her motives? Probably no more than Abby seemed willing to trust his right now.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “My sister Andrea reminded me not too long ago that I get caught up in the details of getting things done and forget the spirit of why I’m doing it.”
Confusion and disappointment had to be written all over his face. Feeling like a fool, he turned back to the screens, pretended to scan the various camera angles.
A light touch warmed his shoulder.
“I didn’t mean to offend you, Guy.” She used the tone reserved for soothing Dillon. How appropriate for a man who was constantly asked by his mother when he would grow up and have a committed relationship.
“No offense taken.” Yeah, right. He busied himself with the screens.
He punched the zoom function of a camera to close in on the activity of a wide row prominently marked with a large Aisle Six sign. A young couple compared the used hardware in the man’s hand to similar new items on the display rack. A few feet farther down the row, a lone figure in overalls, T-shirt and a baseball cap adjusted the backpack slung over her shoulder and positioned large dark glasses over her eyes. It was difficult to know the gender
for sure, but the slight build and a few long tufts of hair spilling from beneath the cap indicated a female shopper.
If you could call what she was doing shopping.
“Check it out.” Guy touched the screen, drawing Abby’s attention. The female lifted something small from the display rack and awkwardly tucked it into the pocket of her baggy pants. “I can’t believe she’s doing this again.” His voice resonated with aggravation.
He stood, paced the office several times while he clenched and unclenched his fists and decided what to do. “I’m fed up and about to put a stop to this once and for all.” He opened the office door and extended his open palm in an invitation for Abby to join him. “I’ll walk you to the front of the store and then I have to attend to this problem.”
“You’re going to apprehend that shoplifter yourself?” Her pitch rose. “But isn’t that why you employ a security guard? Guy, please don’t do anything dangerous.”
He enjoyed the way Abby’s eyes widened with worry about his safety. Again an odd sense of comfort over her attention squeezed his heart, immediately followed by a selfish pang for giving her reason to be concerned.
“Not to worry. A certain amount of this comes with the territory of retail ownership. Unfortunately I have a lot of experience in this area and it’s more unpleasant than anything else. I’ll just give this clown enough time to cross the line and then react.”
He headed down the steps with Abby close behind.
“Oh, that’s right. Once the perpetrator takes the merchandise outside the store they can be apprehended.”
He glanced over his shoulder, cocked an eyebrow at the observation. “I see you’ve been watching those reality cop shows with Shorty,” he teased. “Actually you are correct, but I’m more concerned about having room to wrestle this perp to the ground than meeting legal requirements.”
At the foot of the stairs he turned and waited.
* * *
“IS IT OKAY IF I CALL LATER?” He qualified the reason for the request. “To check on your folks.”
At least he was consistent, Abby thought. Always keeping things professional and practical. But for some reason that was starting to wear thin with her emotions.
“Of course,” she assured him.
He took a step closer, the sudden softening around his eyes making him appear for all the world like a man who was about to give her a hug. But instead of opening his arms, he simply extended a hand and lightly touched her elbow.
“I’d walk you to your car, but…”
Her heart dipped at the foolishness of what she’d been imagining. He was politely getting her out of the store so he could attend to business.
She adjusted her purse and searched for her keys, thankful for an excuse to casually ease away from his contact.
“It’s broad daylight and though I’m a natural blonde I can still remember where I left it,” she was quick to assure him. She lifted her keys, rattled them in a wave and turned toward the exit.
She slowed just before the motion sensors picked her up and sent the glass doors sliding apart. A glance over her shoulder confirmed Guy was still visible as he moved toward the aisles of merchandise. What he was about to do could be risky. The only way to ease the concern was to see for herself what he was up to. Keeping a careful distance she mirrored his footsteps and watched, determined to see the drama unfold, knowing Daddy would love to hear the replay over dinner.
* * *
AS HE APPROACHED aisle six, Guy poked his head around the end cap display. The so-called shopper had evidently completed her selections and was standing in the checkout line, her back to him as he approached. He’d witnessed her amateurish efforts to slip a half-dozen items into her pockets and backpack. None of those were on the black conveyor passing before the store associate now. He had this sorry excuse for a thief dead to rights. This was not only a piece of cake, it would be downright fun.
The clerk accepted payment for the small purchase, wished the customer a pleasant day and handed over the bright orange, recyclable H&H bag. As the woman in overalls approached the door, the wide panes whooshed apart and she stepped across the threshold.
The store security guard approached from another direction. Guy motioned for the guard to stay clear, signaled that the situation was under control.
Without a backward glance, the thief headed across the wide front walk toward the parking lot. Guy moved in on his target, closing the space between them with a few long strides. He made no effort at verbal confrontation. Instead he reached for the woman, grabbed her by the wrist, and as she yelped in surprise he spun her about. He pulled her into his arms, pinned her back against his chest, locking her tight against him with his forearm, his hand over her mouth to silence her.
They exchanged grunts and groans for long moments as his captive flailed about in a vain attempt to break free. The woman’s hands waved wildly, she stamped her feet, trying to catch Guy’s toe with the heel of her boot. When he loosened his grip to dodge her foot she rammed an elbow into his ribs.
Guy grumbled a threat, pulled the suspect to him and pinned her arms to her sides. With the woman finally subdued, he ducked his head close to her ear and hissed through clenched teeth, “I warned you I was gonna teach you a lesson if you ever tried this again.”
She executed an exaggerated shiver at the danger in his tone.
“You teach me something, hotshot?” The thief’s snarl of laughter was a bitter sound. “That’ll be the day.”
“You thought you had your scam all figured out, didn’t you, little lady?” He pulled her tighter against him, gave her a hard shake that she ignored.
“I’m close, but still working out the details.”
“Well…” He relaxed his grip, pulled off her dark shades and bumped the bill of her cap, knocking it to the ground. A mass of dark curls sprung free, cascaded across her shoulders. “You might want to start with not wearing sunglasses inside and doing a better job of squashing that Medusa look into submission. You could also use a course in the art of persuasive deception.”
* * *
THE YOUNG WOMAN turned in Guy’s arms. A smile alight with adoration flashed across the face that was quite lovely and very much resembled Guy’s. She placed the palm of her hand gently against his jaw, patted softly, then pinched his earlobe and hung on tight.
“I’ve been studying the master of persuasive deception since the day you replaced Kate’s dead hamster with a new one and nobody but me ever knew the difference! It’s just a matter of time till I can slip one over on you, big bro.”
She punctuated each sentence with a smart tug of his ear. He pulled her into a tender embrace, then buried his face in her out-of-control curls, giving the top of her head a loud kiss.
Abby watched, transfixed by the scene before her. She was still covering her mouth where she’d stifled the need to scream during the physical battle, the likes of which she’d only ever witnessed on television. Now that the skirmish had ended and she was one hundred percent sure this shoplifting imposter was a sister, Abby felt her knees go weak with relief. Even as she relaxed she felt a pinprick of envy over the sweet moment of physical closeness between the two.
With a jolt, the message to her senses was clear. She wanted to hold Guy like that, twine her arms around his taut middle and have him press his face to her hair. She turned, took a step away from the ridiculous notion as well as the scene.
“Abby, wait!” He’d caught sigh
t of her. “I thought you’d already left.”
She hesitated, not wanting to intrude on the touching reunion. Not wanting to deal with the thumping in her chest, the tightness in her lungs. The shame in her heart.
His warm touch guided her to turn toward him. She reluctantly complied, his hand still gently resting on her shoulder as he made apologies.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect anybody to witness our family theatrics. Did we scare you?”
She nodded, too flustered for coherent words.
“Here, let me introduce you to this brat, my baby sister, Casey.” He turned to his sister and pulled her beneath his other arm. “Warden, this is Abby Cramer.”
Ocean-blue eyes so much like Guy’s flashed interest at the introduction.
“Not the Abby Cramer that I’ve heard so much about?”
“One and the same,” he admitted.
He squeezed Casey affectionately, but with enough force that the woman flinched. Though he sounded normal enough, Abby sensed he was using brother-sister code to manage the direction of the conversation.
So, he’d spoken to his sister about her, huh?
Casey slipped from beneath his grasp and offered a hand. “Guy has such nice things to say about your family. I look forward to meeting them during my stay.”
“Your stay?”
“Didn’t he tell you?” Casey looked from her brother to Abby and back at Guy again before she made her point. “I’m here to begin the quality evaluation of this store. Guy’s taken his sweet time on this project and we’re almost behind schedule.”
Then she rocked what Abby had just discovered was becoming the solid foundation of her very small world.
“Dad sent me, big bro. He wants you packed and on your way home by the end of the week.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
NOT FOR THE FIRST TIME in his life, Guy wanted to pinch a purple place on Casey’s arm. She delighted in rattling his cage, so it was never a surprise when she showed up like this, unexpected, unannounced and if she kept running her mouth, unwanted.