The Hog-Tied Groom (The Brides of Grazer's Corners #3)

by Charlotte Maclay

  Smiling, Charity joined the crowd.

  Suddenly everyone went quiet. The instant silence was nearly deafening. It was like her arrival had put a cork in a bottle of carbonated water and stopped the fizz.

  “Hi, everyone,” she said, ignoring the shimmer of unease that traveled up her spine. She placed the oranges on the ice chest.

  “Hi, Charity,” Mollie Tarrant cooed.

  “‘Morning, honey, you’re lookin’ fine this morning,” Beth Stover said in a tone that gave Charity the feeling she was being inspected for lice—or evidence of a sexually transmitted disease.

  The others chorused their greetings, then drifted off to re-form in smaller gatherings of twos and threes. Only Dorothy Ritters, Shaun’s mother, remained.

  “Why is it I feel like I broke up a first-class gossip session?” Charity asked. “And the topic was me.”

  Dot laughed and gave her a quick hug. A large woman, she always embraced her friends with enthusiasm and an open heart. “Must be because you’re so perceptive.”

  “What did I do wrong now?” As if Charity wasn’t quite sure the topic included Garrett Keeley’s name.

  “Oh, nothing, hon. Except bring a big, tall hunk of a man to the game with you. A man who was recently dumped by his bride and is once again an available, to-die-for bachelor. And there’s a rumor going around you’re pretty wrapped up in him.”

  Charity grimaced. Agatha Flintstone must have a telegraph system that covers the whole town! “I’m renting rooms in his house. That’s all.”

  Dot’s pixie-cut hair fluffed up as she shook her head. Her dark eyes sparkled. “That’s one I haven’t heard. Now the guys are charging women to move in with them?”

  “No, that’s not what they’re doing. I needed a place to live. Bud and Hailey are so lovey-dovey it was driving me crazy, and I was a little afraid Donnie might walk in on an X-rated scene. Garrett was kind enough to offer his home—temporarily. Okay?”

  “Okay by me.” Dot opened the ice chest and dropped the oranges in next to the bottled water. “There’s also talk that Garrett has been checking birth records at city hall—records from about seven years ago. Don’t suppose you’d know why he’d be doing that?”

  Charity felt all the blood drain from her face. For a moment she was sure she was having a heat stroke. He couldn’t have found out anything. He couldn’t.

  But he’d been looking, and that was dangerous. Terrifying, she realized.

  Mr. Keeley could make good on his threat to call in the loan if he even suspected she’d told Garrett the truth. She’d lose the farm for Bud and Hailey and herself, as well as for her son. In spite of the fact Hailey’s family had money, it seemed unlikely her parents would step forward to save the pig farm from foreclosure, not when they disapproved of their daughter’s choice of a husband.

  Dot touched Charity lightly on the arm. “Look, hon, I don’t know what’s going on but I do know you deserve happiness. If it was me and I had a chance to land a hunk like Garrett Keeley, no amount of gossip in the world would stop me. Of course,” she said with a robust laugh, “my hubby might object. He’s funny about things like that.”

  “My moving into Garrett’s house is strictly a business arrangement,” Charity reiterated. “Besides, whatever the gossips might be saying, I’m not Garrett’s type.”

  “No? I wouldn’t be so sure about that. He sure keeps looking this direction, and I don’t think it’s me he’s eyeing.”

  Charity’s gaze swept toward Garrett, and her breath lodged in her lungs. He was looking at her, all right, and there was a hunger in his eyes that was readable from half the length of the soccer field.

  She wanted to tell him to stop, to not let others see his blatant masculine interest, to not fuel the gossip any more than they already had.

  But she couldn’t. She was too thrilled by the possibility she might actually be his type.

  Chapter Nine

  The ball popped out of the gaggle of seven-year-olds, and three boys raced toward the goal, the defenders backpedaling as fast as they could go.

  “Shoot, Donnie! Shoot!” Garrett shouted, caught up in the game. A defender got in the boy’s way, but Donnie managed to get around him. The goalie jockeyed to cut off the angle. “Now, son! Boot it in there!”

  Donnie slammed the ball at the goal. Just missing, the ball caromed off the goalpost and dribbled back toward the middle of the field. The goalie made a dive for it; Donnie executed a hook slide that caught the ball, sailing it into the corner of the net.

  “Score! Way to go!” Garrett pumped his fist in the air.

  The moms and dads rooting for the blue-and-white team cheered; across the way the parents groaned.

  Drained, Garrett collapsed back into his chair. “Man, this being a fan is hard work.” He grinned at Charity, who’d been on her feet cheering for most of the game. Her cheeks glowed as pink as a sunrise and were sheened with perspiration like morning dew on a rose petal. Damp curls framed her face.

  Breathing deeply and returning his smile, she covered her heart with her hand as she sat down. “You have no idea how hard this athletic stuff is on a mom. I swear, I don’t think I’ll be able to take it if he decides to play football.”

  “Come to think of it, my mother rarely came to any of my games.” He took Charity’s hand, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. They were the hands of an artist but also those of a woman who was used to hard work, her nails cut short and the white line of an old scar on her index finger. She deserved to wear nail polish and diamond rings.

  He wanted to feel her hands on him.

  “Maybe I misjudged my mom. Maybe she didn’t come to my games because she didn’t like to watch me get creamed.”

  Slowly she withdrew her hand. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and Garrett felt the gesture clear down in his shorts. “You’re probably right,” she said, her voice a husky whisper.

  A shout went up from the opposite side of the field, drawing Garrett’s reluctant attention back to the game. He was sitting six inches away from Charity and he wanted to touch her so badly it hurt. Hell, he wanted to make love to her right here on the grass in the bright light of day. Not exactly an appropriate thing to be thinking about at her kid’s soccer game. His body, however, didn’t make any fine distinctions about what would be seemly.

  When the first half came to an end, Charity said, “I’ve got to go help Dot and the kids with the oranges. You don’t have to stick around for the second half if you don’t want to. I’m sure someone could drive us—”

  “I’m not that easy to get rid of, Charity. I’ll be here.”

  She blinked and drew a breath that lifted her T-shirt, then turned to walk to the spot where the team had gathered. The sexy sway of her hips just about undid Garrett.

  “You always did have an eye for a pretty girl.”

  Garrett grinned in recognition of his old coach’s voice. “Hey there, Coach Riddler.” As he extended his hand, Garrett noted Riddler’s gray hair had thinned considerably since the last time he had seen his high-school mentor, and age spots had darkened splotches on his forehead. The paunch around his middle had expanded, too. “Don’t tell me they’ve got you coaching midget soccer now.”

  “Not likely. My grandson’s playing.” He rubbed his left arm, grimacing slightly as if he had strained a muscle. “My daughter had to work this morning, so I got to bring the boy. Too bad his team is losing.”

  “Funny, this side of the field thinks it’s okay.” And Charity’s boy, Donnie, had scored the goal that had them in the lead. “So what are the prospects for Grazer High’s football team this year?”

  “We’ve got five starters returning and there’s a good-lookin’ bunch of boys coming up from the JVs. I think we’ll do okay.”

  “Always the optimist, huh?”

  “Doesn’t pay to be otherwise. Fact is, though, I’m getting old. One more season...”

  “They’d never be able to replace you, Coach.”

&nb
sp; “My shoes aren’t that big. All it takes is someone who cares about the youngsters.” Riddler narrowed his gray eyes, honing in on Garrett like he used to do when he’d been goofing off too much. “A man like you could do it.”

  “Not me, Coach, at least not for a while. I’ve got a few good years of playing left in me.”

  “Your knee’s okay?”

  “It will be soon enough. My agent’s shopping me around now. Something will turn up.”

  The soccer players ran out onto the field for the beginning of the second half.

  “I hope it does, son. If not, well...drop by the practice field. Some of the boys are training on their own before the season starts. They could use a little experienced guidance.”

  “Sure, Coach, I’ll do that.” They shook hands again, and the coach headed around the end of the field, his pace slower than Garrett remembered. But then it had been nearly fifteen years since he attended Grazer High. Everybody gets old sometime. He just hated to see it happen to Coach.

  But he didn’t intend to follow in Riddler’s footsteps anytime soon. With a mended knee, he ought to have five more good years as an active player. Dammit, he wanted a Super Bowl ring. He wasn’t ready to settle for his photo in a high-school annual standing next to a bunch of adolescent jocks.

  He grinned, slanting a glance toward the woman who was sharing his house. Starring in the annual wasn’t his idea of a lifetime goal even if the photographer was Charity Arden.

  CHARITY LINGERED to clean up the mess the team had made with the oranges. She couldn’t concentrate on the game. All she could think about was the way Garrett had held her hand, the contrast between his long tapered fingers and hers. And how she desperately wished hers hadn’t looked like farmworker’s hands, rough and red, with chipped fingernails. Surely he was used to women who had weekly manicures.

  She’d never had one in her life.

  The second half of the game was a blur. When it was over, she knew only that their team had won and Donnie had scored another goal. But the details were fuzzy, her thoughts muddled as she kept thinking about Garrett, watching him enjoy his son’s performance, and thinking his pride in Donnie’s accomplishments would be even greater if he knew he was the boy’s father.

  “Hey, Mom!” Donnie blasted across the field toward her after the winning cheers, team handshakes and congratulations were over. “Can I spend the night at Shaun’s house? Can I, Mom? Huh? Please.”

  Panic slipped through her. No way did she want to be entirely alone with Garrett. She shot a look at her traitorous friend Dot. “Why don’t you ask if Shaun can spend the night at our house?” she asked her son. “There’s plenty of room for two in your new bed.”

  “I can’t, Mom. Pete and Billy are gonna stay over at Shaun’s, and he’s got this cool new computer game. Aliens ‘n’ stuff.”

  Garrett walked up behind her. “How could you possibly say no to that?” he asked, his voice teasing.

  For a couple of very good reasons, most of them related to her sanity and lack of willpower. “I don’t know, honey. I mean we’ve just moved in...”

  Dot caught her eye. “Everybody deserves a night off once in a while. I’ll get him back home to you in the morning. Meanwhile—” her smile resembled that of a cat that had swallowed a canary and enjoyed every morsel “—have fun.”

  “Sounds like a good plan to me,” Garrett agreed all too readily.

  Charity fumed, wanting to elbow Garrett in the ribs. And Dot, too. Some friend she was! They’d backed her into a corner, or rather she’d been sandwiched between two very determined people—a biologically compulsive matchmaker and a man whom she ought to keep at arm’s length. She didn’t see any way to escape.

  Even worse, Charity wasn’t sure she wanted to escape, though the fiery tongues of gossip would very likely turn Grazer’s Comers into an inferno of speculation.

  SHE SPENT THE AFTERNOON setting up her darkroom in what used to be a pantry off the kitchen in Garrett’s house.

  “You need any more help?” he asked after hauling the last big cardboard box in from the car. On the way back from the farm, they’d dropped Donnie off at Shaun’s house. Now it was just the two of them alone in a house that seemed to be shrinking in size.

  “No, I’ve got it now. I just have to get things organized.”

  Garrett had offered to have plumbing installed in the room and a sink to make her work easier, but she’d put him off, reminding him this was only a temporary arrangement. He hadn’t looked entirely pleased with her insistence.

  “If you’re sure you don’t need me for now, I’ll go do my workout. I’m seeing the doctor next week about my knee. I want it to be as strong as possible. Maybe he’ll release me to get back to work.”

  She eyed his muscular legs and the knee that had been so badly injured. “You’ve been on your feet a lot today. Shouldn’t you be resting it?”

  “No pain, no gain, as they say.” He shoved his sun-streaked blond hair back from his forehead, the comers of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “Call me if you need me for anything.”

  “I will,” she promised. She exhaled softly after he left. The pantry—which was twice the size of her darkroom at home—was far too small a space to share with Garrett. They’d accidentally brushed against each other too many times; she couldn’t draw a breath without catching his musky masculine scent. More than once, she’d been tempted to wrap her arms around him and place her head on his chest so she could feel the beat of his heart.

  But of course, a hug would escalate into something else. Like kissing. And making love.

  She swallowed hard.

  It might make better sense if she locked herself in the darkroom until Donnie came home in the morning to chaperon her.

  She took her time hooking up the red light outside the pantry door—the inviolate warning to others not to enter because she was developing film. Lingering a while longer, she stored her chemicals in a cupboard along with developing contact paper, until finally her need for fresh air drove her from the darkroom. She stood in the kitchen a moment listening to a steady thump-thumping sound coming from somewhere in the house. Like a fish being reeled in on a line, she was drawn to Garrett’s exercise room.

  He’d taken off his shirt, and rivulets of sweat edged down through the faint pattern of blond hair on his chest. Glistening, his pectorals flexed as he strained. His face twisted with pain each time he lifted his leg against the force of the weight. He looked as determined as a gladiator training to wrestle with lions. A heart-stopping sight, both gloriously masculine and poignant at the same time. He wanted his football career that much.

  In the corner of the room, the light glowed red on the Jacuzzi, the water stirring gently.

  “Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine,” he murmured with each labored breath. With one last effort, he raised the weight again, then fell back on the workout bench, his eyes closed. The muscles in his legs stood out like ropes.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He turned his head to the side, slowly perusing her with his green-eyed gaze. “Let’s just say if I were at training camp, I’d be lining up for a massage about now.”

  “I could give you one.” The impulsive offer was out of her mouth before she could snatch it back. Massaging Garrett would mean touching him, caressing him. Being so close she’d be able to kiss him with almost no effort at all.

  “You’ve got yourself a deal, lady.” He levered himself to his feet, wiped his face with a towel and shifted to a long padded table near the wall. He lay down on his stomach. “I’ll even give you a discount on your rent for being my personal trainer.”

  Her throat tightened. “No charge.”

  “The liniment’s in the cupboard.”

  He was taking her offer of a massage casually; she should be able to do the same. But her heart was slamming against her ribs. Her mouth felt as dry as a hundred-year drought.

  She found the bottle of oil, poured some in her palms and rubbed them
together. Her fingers trembled in anticipation; so did her stomach.

  Tentatively she slicked her palms over his shoulders. The flesh rippled beneath her hands, alive and warm and smoothly textured. The scent of mint wafted up, the oil combining with Garrett’s own masculine aroma. She pressed more firmly, using her thumbs to relax his iron-hard muscles. Against his deep, even tan, her hands looked pale. Almost fragile. And feminine.

  She followed the long valley of his spine, learning the shape of each vertebra, knowing she wanted to kiss him there—between his shoulder blades—and lower, where his shorts bisected his back. She wanted to taste him, savor his flavor, indulge herself in all that was unique about Garrett Keeley.

  A growing awareness of her need slid through her traitorous body, liquefying her bones.

  The late-afternoon sun dappled the room, sending dust motes into the air, creating a sensual play of dark and light across his back. The perfect back of an athlete, molded by the artistry of hard work.

  Her hands went lower, to his muscular thigh, tight and hard, roughened by blond hair—

  With a low, feral growl, he twisted and whipped upright to a sitting position, snaring her wrist. “Enough, cinnamon girl.” His husky voice, intimate in the quiet room, paralyzed her lungs and sent her heart spiraling out of control. “Your turn.”

  “No, I don’t want—”

  “Fair’s fair.” His eyes, so dark they were almost black, raked over her. “You’ll have to lose the shirt. And your jeans.”

  “Garrett, I can’t—”

  “Nothing’s going to happen here you don’t want, sweetheart. I’m going to give you a massage. That’s all.”

  She wanted to believe him; she wanted not to believe him. She wanted to follow her heart.

  As though she were two people, she shook her head in refusal even as she crossed her arms to tug off her shirt. His hands went to the snap on her jeans. Before she could object—or come to her senses—she’d stepped out of them. Wearing only her panties and bra, she shivered, though the room was warm.