by Annie Dean
Everyone knew about the latter because back in 2001, she'd been caught in the back room of the store wearing nothing but a straw hat while her assistant manager, Emmett Hardy, had on the tool belt. There was a run on screwdrivers for about two weeks afterward. People wondered to this day if they'd ever get married, but Emmett still lived with his mama and didn't look to be moving out anytime soon.
He wasn't your typical mama's boy, though. As he came loping up the aisle to see whether she was hurt or if she'd damaged any store property, Addie thought Sandy Cortez had picked the right man to wear the tool belt. Long and lean, he was a good five years younger than his boss, but he looked older when he scowled, as he was doing now, surveying the mess she'd made of his generic 10W-40 cans of motor oil.
"Addie, are you okay?"
"Yeah. Sorry, Emmett. I guess I wasn't looking where I was going."
Fact of the matter was, two rows over, Sean had bent over to pick up an orange extension cord that'd fallen off the wire shelving, and she lost track of everything but his ass. Next thing she knew, she'd bulldozed the display with her shopping cart and was on the floor, hands over her head to shield herself from the toppling cans. One of them still got her good on the foot, which she wasn't about to admit. Bad enough that Sean came at a dead run, hands on her shoulders, and now she had Emmett here too.
"You sure you're all right, honey?” Sean asked, looking her up and down like he was about to demand a naked spot-check.
Honestly under most circumstances she wouldn't object to that at all. Hell, she'd been trying to offer him a personal inspection the night before when Manu knocked on the door. God, I want him. The recursive thought almost took her mind from her scorching embarrassment and the sore foot.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I just feel stupid.” She didn't protest when he put his arm around her, though, drawing her right up against his side.
Addie knew Emmett didn't miss the endearment or the gesture, and that meant Sandy would hear about it. As soon as she knew, the whole town would get wind of her new ‘boyfriend'. When you lived in a town the size of Doghouse Junction, even potholes were big news. Other shoppers paused to see what the commotion was, and some went about their business. All of them stared at the man beside her, though, as new faces around here were rare as fur on a goose.
But right now, the assistant manager had other fish to fry. “We have to fill out an incident report. Just to cover our ... uhm, behinds. So you can't sue us later or something."
Addie scowled. “Emmett Hardy, as if I would."
"I'll get the paperwork if you'll come on back.” He folded his arms, seeming immovable on this point.
How the hell did such a stickler for law and order wind up sleeping with his boss? Addie supposed there was a lesson to be had in there somewhere; even the most disciplined man could be led astray by his cock.
She glared a little longer, but he didn't look moved by her indignation, so she turned to Sean. “Here's the list. Do you mind finishing up without me?"
As she turned, she could've sworn she heard Sean mutter, “Why not? It sure as hell won't be the first time I've done it."
Unable to make sense of that remark, as they'd never been shopping together before, Addie followed Emmett through the light bulb aisle—ooh, they have pink energy savers now—and reluctantly tore herself away from the mood lighting to enter the infamous back room. Maybe she could be forgiven for looking for the tool belt; it should surely be enshrined over the door or something. Emmett probably looked good in it with his lean, wiry build and sleek blonde hair.
Sadly, the door opened into a shabby concrete room with two overloaded desks, piles of overstock, and a metal door that led to the warehouse out back. So much for her ideas about a hidden love nest, feathered with swings, sex toys and other erotic paraphernalia. Even employing the most liberal definitions, Addie could not classify a pipe wrench as an exotic pleasure tool.
Nothing ever lives up to its hype, she decided, faintly disgruntled. It took about ten minutes for her to finish filling out the papers and signing everything. By the time she was done, her left foot was really throbbing; she'd have the mother of all bruises by tomorrow. Before she took her leave, she asked him to give her regards to Sandy, and he rewarded her with a blush that went all the way to his ears.
Addie managed to hide her limp until he went off in response to a cashier calling for manager assistance. Bette Boudreaux. She'd know that voice anywhere, and she cursed the luck that landed her in here during the bitch's shift. Sighing, she sank down on an endcap, pulling off her sandal to better assess the damage.
Can you fracture a foot with a can of motor oil? Her mom had broken her baby toe with a can of Campbell's Chunky Chicken Noodle soup once. There was a deep red gouge on the top of her foot, though she wasn't bleeding, and it looked a little swollen compared to the other one. Maybe she did need x-rays.
"Oh, baby, you did hurt yourself.” Sean's buttery drawl sent a shiver down her back, even under these circumstances. She hadn't noticed him come up from behind or she'd have put her shoe back on. “Let me see, okay?"
If he'd asked her to pull her top off in that same tone, she probably would've still said, “Okay."
And then wound up sitting here in her peach lace Bali bra, so it was just as well he was only asking to examine her foot. He knelt, and then took her foot between his hands, examining the forming bruise. His fingers felt exquisitely gentle as he tested her range of motion. She whimpered a little as he pushed back, and he stopped at once.
"I don't think it's broken,” he said, pushing to his feet, “but you've got one hell of a hematoma. But the only way to tell for sure whether you've got a stress fracture is to have it x-rayed."
Addie flinched. She hadn't been to a hospital since her mother died and didn't have any intention of going now. No fucking way.
"Hematoma,” she repeated. “Who the hell says that? Are you a doctor?"
"Could've been.” He gave a faint smile, and she couldn't tell whether it was tinged with nostalgia or regret. “I worked my way through college as an EMT."
College, huh? I thought you were in construction. But she didn't say anything, and she was pretty sure he hadn't noticed the slip. He was busy staring at her wiggling toes, polished with Pink Moonglow and stenciled with daisies. Slipping her sandal back on, a pretty, glittery thing with silk flowers on it, although one of the petals had gone AWOL since the cavalcade of cans, she wiggled her toes one last time and then stood up.
"Let's get out of here before I do some more damage."
She took off at a gimping pace that apparently tried Sean's patience, because he stopped her before she'd gone five steps. Without a word, he swung her into his arms, just like a bride, and guided the cart with some unique combination of feet and knees. It'd been years since anyone had held her, and she held on tight, afraid he'd overbalance.
Now the shoppers had something to look at, as he carried her through the store, and Addie knew they were all taking mental pictures to relay over bridge games and euchre tournaments. For a minute, she thought of really giving them something to see, but then the sight of Scooter Brown glumly stacking 10W-40 distracted her.
"I'm so sorry,” she called over Sean's shoulder.
"It's okay,” the kid said with a philosophical shrug. “It beats unloading fertilizer."
She guessed it did, at that.
"You really don't need to,” she told Sean, although she had her arms around his neck by then, and she figured she looked pretty comfortable where she was. “I can walk."
He tilted his head to hers and spoke into her ear, sending a thrill right to her pussy. “I want to."
Addie whimpered a little as he set her down by the cash register. “Never let it be said that I don't give you exactly what you want."
And then she realized she'd said it front of Bette Boudreaux, who smirked as she rang them up. “If that's the case, honey, why did Fast Eddie spend so much time with me when he was married to you?"
> Why, I ought to slap the lipstick off your face. Her palm itched to make the thought a reality, but before she could do anything stupid—well, anything else stupid—she saw Sean looking at Bette like she was something he'd get a glove to scrape off the bottom of his shoe. Addie thought she heard the hallelujah chorus.
"Fast Eddie would fuck a goat,” she said sweetly. “And if reports from Tijuana are reliable, he has fucked a goat, so I'm afraid keeping company with him provides you no bragging rights."
Bette's face paled beneath the paint and her mouth compressed. She pointed to the ‘no personal checks’ sign. “That's $168.65. Cash or charge?"
"Charge.” Addie handed over her only credit card; it was partially secured because besides fucking goats, Eddie had run her credit into the ground before she discovered what he was doing.
The cash register made an unhappy noise after Bette swiped the card, and Addie just knew by the evil smile on the other woman's face that she wasn't going to like the result. The cashier turned the screen toward her so she could read for herself; it said ‘destroy card.’ Already shaking her head, she tried to snatch her Visa back as Bette snipped it in half.
"I don't get to do that much,” the clerk said. “Only with the real deadbeats. So cash then? Although maybe you want to pay off that Visa bill instead."
Shit. Ironically, she'd left most of the money in the cash box, after Sean paid for his room. Her dad was going to burn down the bed and breakfast if she didn't get this stuff, and she didn't think her pride could take another trip to Pop's Hardware today, not to mention the fact that her foot was throbbing like a son of a bitch. Addie curled her hands into fists, really wanting to punch something.
"Fast Eddie's doing this somehow,” she gritted out. “He still has my personal information, and when I find him I'm going to kill him."
But that didn't solve the dilemma of what to do with all this merchandise she suddenly couldn't afford, and there was a line forming behind her. The sputtering of the broken fluorescent light overhead made her right eye twitch. Bette looked maliciously gleeful, waiting to watch Addie walk out empty-handed. She wouldn't be able to come to town for years; she'd need to do all her shopping in Dulzura—
"I've got this, baby,” he said softly.
Sean handed over his credit card. He'd been watching the back and forth bickering, seeming content to let her fight her own battles. And she appreciated that. She didn't need a man to stand up for her, but it appeared she did need a hand from time to time. I'll return his cash when we get home. Free room and board should put us even.
She was so relieved she felt like kissing him, and then she thought, why the hell not? Like Bonnie Raitt says, let's give them something to talk about. So while Bette printed off the charge slip, Addie tapped on his shoulder. He turned and she reached for him. Her ego would never survive it if he brushed her off in front of everyone, but instead he swung her back into his arms and gave her a movie-star kiss, deep and hungry, until she forgot where she was, nibbling at his lower lip like he was a pecan praline.
Mmm. More. More tongue. I want to taste you.
Someone at the back of the line cleared his throat.
She ached for him, and her cheeks felt flushed, but the look she intercepted from Bette made the frustration worth it—naked lust mingled with envy and pure dislike. Why that should be the case, Addie never knew. But maybe Fast Eddie had used her as the reason he couldn't devote himself to Bette as she clearly deserved.
"Where'd you find him?” the other woman asked, like she couldn't help herself.
Addie smirked, savoring this moment. Right now, she had something Bette Boudreaux wanted and would never, ever have. Their rivalry had started in the second grade over a juice box and went south from there, so this was better than winning the lottery.
"Mail order. You should get one before they run out."
Sean choked on what sounded like laughter, as he tried to juggle her enough to scrawl a signature. He couldn't manage while holding her like that, though, so Addie found herself departing Pop's Hardware draped over his shoulder while he pushed the cart. She couldn't resist waving to her fans—not since 1997 had she provided people with so much entertainment—and that was bound to come up again, sooner or later.
She wondered idly how he felt about lesbian experimentation.
Chapter Nine
"Addie,” Sean said, glancing over at her as he drove. God, she was pretty. “How did you come to knock those cans over anyway?"
She looked like she'd rather French kiss a rattlesnake than field that question, but before he could press for an answer, her phone rang. A cascade of female stuff tumbled out of her handbag while she looked for her cell, and when she held it up over her head like a triumphant boxer, he couldn't help but grin. Seeming to realize it was still chirping, she mashed a button and put it to her ear.
"Hello?” Addie paused, listening for a minute, and then said, “No, Lorene, we didn't do it in the automotive section.” Another pause. “Now that we did do. Uh huh. I don't know, let me ask him."
The radio was off, so there wasn't anything he could do about the eavesdropping, not that he wasn't curious. And horny. If he didn't get her in bed soon, he thought his head might explode. Both of them, actually.
She covered the phone with the palm of her hand. “Do we want to go over to Lorene's place to watch a movie on Thursday night?"
Christ, it felt like they were in a relationship, and he wasn't in any position to encourage that. There was just no room in his life for attachment at the moment, especially with a woman like Addie. He shouldn't even have played along like he had in the hardware store, but he just couldn't let that bitchy cashier get the best of her. The only thing he could offer was sex, as long as she wanted it too, but—
He heard himself say, “Sounds good, should we bring popcorn?"
Oh God. Her brilliant, delighted smile hurt him in ways he didn't like to think about. “He said that's fine.” She listened for a few seconds. “I'll bring the barbeque sauce then. Oh, hey, did Ben get that $50 to you? Good. See you Thursday, sweetie."
"Well,” she said, doubling over to scoop up her lipstick and lotion and whatever that lacy scrap of something was. That couldn't be a thong, could it? “Looks like my social life is hopping these days. Tonight I'll be with you, tomorrow dinner with Ben Fuller, Thursday a BBQ at Lorene's place. Oh, turn, turn here!"
His knuckles whitened on the wheel as he wrenched the car around. He'd almost run them into the brush, not because he was afraid of missing the road, but from hearing she had a date tomorrow night. What the hell was that? It was good she'd be gone, he told himself, so he could search the place and conclude his business here. He needed to get back to Virginia anyway before Cami filed a missing persons report.
That was logical and practical, so there was no reason why he felt like punching something, like maybe a county deputy with an earnest smile and a desire to get in Addie's pants. Of course, he had no earthly right to comment on it, so he clenched his jaw and asked about something else. “Why do you have panties in your purse?"
"Just in case,” she told him, as if he ought to know that.
Did all women carry spare panties in their purse? He tried to imagine Cami concealing undies in her Coach bag and could only shake his head, stealing another look at Addie, who seemed sincere.
He decided to bite, although sadly, not literally. “In case of what?"
"Any number of things,” she said, ducking her head. “The pair I'm wearing could rip ... or be ripped off me. I might get my period at a bad time, or..."
"I get it!” Still reeling from the idea of someone ripping her panties off, Sean genuinely feared what might come out of her mouth next. “How's your foot?"
"Hurts a little."
He had a feeling that was an understatement. Really he'd feel better if she went in for x-rays, but he'd glimpsed the haunted flicker in her eyes before she mastered her expression. So he didn't insist.
"We'll pr
op it up when we get home and put some ice on it. Don't worry, baby. I'll cook tonight.” The promise rolled off his tongue before he realized how wildly inappropriate it sounded.
At this point, he couldn't very well retract the offer without looking like an ass. Addie stared at him; he felt the intensity of her scrutiny even without glancing her way. Finally she said softly, “If you want to, I guess it'd be all right. You're not a paying guest anymore anyway."
"I'm not?” He pulled into the drive that led to the Grail, surprised somehow.
"You paid for all that stuff at Pop's, so I'm giving you back your money."
There went that fist squeezing on his heart again. “Addie, you don't have to do that. It wasn't much, and it was worth it to keep that bitch from giving you anymore shit."
"I do,” she insisted. “You had my back in town and that makes you a friend, not a customer. I don't charge my friends when they need a place to stay, provided they don't mind living in the middle of nowhere.” A smile hovered on the edges of her mouth, hesitant and uncertain.
A friend? As he came around the car to lift her out, he hoped that didn't mean he'd been reclassified as un-fuck-worthy. He might pull out his hair if she told him she was afraid of spoiling their friendship with sex.
"If that's what you want to do,” he said finally, swinging her into his arms.
A pillar of bronze wrapped in blue flowered cotton, Manu stepped out onto the covered porch, shading his eyes with one hand. “Is she all right? What happened?"
Sean noted the understated anxiety in the other man's voice. He really loves her. Not that it was hard to understand. Addie had a way of tugging on a man's heartstrings that was positively uncomfortable at times, especially when those same strings seemed to be attached to his penis.
"Just a stupid accident at Pop's,” she said, dismissing it with a wave. “Would you grab the stuff out of the trunk? And is Dad all right? Did anyone call?"