by Mindy Neff
“I love the smell of the lake. It’s funny that you ended up buying the Anderleys’ place, and now Bertha’s practically in your backyard.”
He glanced down at her, sensual amusement dancing in his eyes. “That old cottonwood was the main draw. It used to be the talk of the town. Since I’ve lived here, though, not a single pair of panties has decorated its branches.”
That Texas Sweethearts ritual of hanging their panties on Bertha when one of them had made a faux pas or done something beyond the pale had cost Donetta a lot of underwear over the years.
“Not knowing who was flying their drawers right out there in front of God and everybody used to drive the gossips batty,” she said with a smile. A couple of months ago, she’d found out from Sunny that Storm had known. He’d seen her depositing an atonement—all because she’d gone to the show with Tommy Drew and the two-timer had neglected to tell her he was dating Tracy Lynn.
“That’s the thing with small towns. Folks always want to talk about your business.” He stopped where the grass ended at the hard-packed dirt pathway that skirted the lake. Ten feet away from the gnarled cottonwood.
“We need to talk about ours, Donetta. Pretty soon people are going to find out—my mother, for one. What will we tell them? ‘Yes, we’re having a baby, but Donetta doesn’t want to get married?”’
She didn’t have an answer for him—or even for herself. And that was all she could say.
“I honestly don’t know. The part of me that tries to greet each day with optimism and hope wants to say, ‘Fine, let’s give it a try.’ But then the pragmatic side…” She shook her head and gazed out at the sun’s reflection off the still water of the lake, Cindy Dilday’s words echoing in her mind.
I’m sorry, Donetta. This breaks my heart, but Tim’s my brother. I have to ask you to leave now. And please, don’t contact me anymore.
“I can’t lose myself again, Storm. And I can’t lose you. Or Sunny and your mom. That’s what’s at stake for me. I’m sorry.”
“You’re not going to lose us,” Storm said as though she’d just told him Polar bears were going to water-ski on the lake.
“You can’t guarantee that. Five years down the road, after you’ve lived with me twenty-four/seven and the kids are squabbling—what if you decide you’re bored? That you made a mistake. What if I feel that way? What then?”
“Kids?” he asked, a smile beginning to tip his lips. “We’re going to have more than just this one?”
“Are you even listening to me? Damn it, this isn’t a joke! I’ve been married before, so I think I’ve got a little more knowledge on the subject than you do, pal.”
Her short fuse lit his. “Fine. You’re right. I’ve never lived with a woman. That said, don’t you tar me with the same nasty brush as your ex. I don’t abuse women.”
For a moment, Donetta lost the thread of the conversation, didn’t even respond to the banked anger in his voice. In all these years, he’d never had a live-in girlfriend? Why did that please her?
She picked up a smooth rock and tossed it in the water, the splash barely audible as smooth rings fanned out across the glassy surface.
“I’m not comparing you with Tim, and I don’t expect you to understand my emotions on that subject.”
“Donetta, you flinch when I reach out to touch your hair.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes I catch myself aligning the silverware in the drawer with a ruler and level, too, and you’re not even around.” She blew out a breath, hadn’t meant to fire that particular missile back at him.
He uttered a curse. “Netta—”
“It’s not you, Storm. It’s any man. An instinctive reaction. I’m not afraid of you….” She batted at a stubborn fly, released a frustrated breath.
“Look, this isn’t the time or the place to talk about deep issues. I don’t know how to express myself to you so that I don’t sound like a…a wimpy victim or something. I’m not, believe me. I will not put myself in that position again. But memories don’t just go away. Look at some of the men over at the Veterans of Foreign Wars who still have flashbacks from the war. It just happens. And you don’t need to be getting all touchy about it, okay?” A robin took flight from the cottonwood, startled by her rising voice. Darn it, she’d just decided she didn’t want to have this conversation, yet obviously her mouth hadn’t gotten the message.
“Okay.” He picked up a fist-size rock and sent it sailing through the air like a baseball. It landed nearly in the middle of the lake.
That was it? No elaborating? Arguing? When he turned his head, all she needed was one look at his confident expression to know that he was already working on a strategy to overcome her objections. The problem was, her objections weren’t one-dimensional. They were soul deep.
Her stomach was feeling a little iffy after eating half the toast. And from the conversation, she suspected.
“Storm, neither of us knows what the future holds. Most people can just take a chance and hope for the best. With us…all my life I’ve wished that your mother was my mom and your sister was my real sister….”
“And me?” he asked. “Where did I fit in? As the brother?”
She started to flick her hair back, then remembered that she’d put it up. So she straightened, giving herself enough height to almost meet him eye to eye. Which is exactly where you should look at another person when telling the truth—or at least, part of the truth.
“No. I never cast you in the role of a brother in my…family fantasy. Most of my young life I had a crush on you—which I’m sure you knew—but I haven’t ever put a label on you. You’re simply part of my family. When I think of the Carmichaels, your face is always right there in my mind. Someone I love.” Her insides were shaking like mad. Saying the words to his face jolted her right down to her toes.
“Marriages break up, Storm, and the repercussions rip apart friendships and impact everyone involved. You’re someone I’m not willing to risk losing even if the chances of ‘what if?’ are only minuscule. That gamble is just not an option.”
“Ah, darlin’. Right now I feel humbled. And lucky. But at the same time, my gut is twisted in the biggest knot because I still don’t get it. I’m at the opposite end of the fence from your way of thinking, and I don’t know how to convince you that you’re wrong.”
“And I don’t know how to convince you that I’m right. Face it, we’re a bad match because we both want to be the leader. I told you our similar character traits were going to make us butt heads.”
He slung his arm around her shoulders. “Then we’d best get to the salon and light a fire under that contractor.”
“See there,” she teased. “You’re already wanting me out of your hair—and your house.”
He tipped up her chin and kissed her. It was merely a three-second kiss, yet it was so potent, so deliberately sensual, it left her dazed.
“Don’t start borrowing those ‘what-ifs’ just yet, darlin’.”
Chapter Nine
By mid-morning, Donetta hardly recognized her salon. Huge sections of her scarlet-red walls had been ripped away in jagged chunks. The deafening noise of a jack-hammer pulverizing her bathroom floor made her ears throb.
She swept up a pile of drywall dust and dumped it into the trash can. Although she’d spent the morning trying to keep the construction debris corralled, clearly her attempt had been futile.
Judd Quentin and his crew had hit the ground running at 7:30 a.m.—half an hour early. The contractor avoided her as much as possible, which she found odd since he’d been almost cocky the previous night when they’d gone to his house. Probably had a guilty conscience, she thought. Especially since the fat set of blueprints lay draped over her guest chairs, mocking him, proving that all the code violations were the direct result of his cheating and greed.
“Watch my picture!” Power tools drowned out her voice. She raced across the salon and rescued the framed print teetering on a shelf as a guy wearing baggy jeans hauled off and clob
bered the wall with his hammer, then reared back and let his arm fly again. The three men working with Judd hadn’t been on the original job, and this one, Al, wasn’t all that pleasant.
“Can’t you at least wait until everything’s off the walls?” she snapped, her nerves frayed.
Al glanced over at her. He was about Judd’s age, late fifties, early sixties, maybe, with skinny hips and watermelon gut. He had no business wearing baggy pants that were about to fall off his butt, and a skintight tank shirt where tufts of gray hair frizzed out of every exposed opening. She wanted to get her buzzers and have a go at him.
“Ain’t getting paid to take down the decorating,” he said, about to deal the wall another blow. “Just told to hurry.”
Donetta’s temper went from simmer to boil in a flash. She snatched the hammer right out of his hand, so mad she could hardly take time to marvel at the slick maneuver or Fuzzpit’s stunned face.
“You’re working for me, buddy. And I say you are to treat every last decoration, piece of furniture, board or screw as if they’re irreplaceable china.”
“Problem, Slim?” Storm asked, plucking the hammer out of her hand as easily as she’d slid it from Al’s.
Where the devil had he come from? Last she’d seen him, he’d been bird-dogging Judd in the back room.
“She’s about to have a problem of one less man on the job,” Al snarled.
Storm lifted the man’s hammer. “Mind if she borrows this for a minute, Al?” He nodded at Donetta, then at the well-used tool, a good-ol’-boy smile on his face.
Al stepped back several paces, obviously not trusting her with a weapon, and shrugged.
Donetta didn’t like the belligerent expression on Al’s face, and was a little surprised at herself over her bold aggression. She also didn’t have a clue why Storm was wrapping her fingers around the handle of Al’s hammer.
“Darlin’, I want you to take this and wail the devil out of that wall, just like you saw Al do a few minutes ago.” He pointed to the spot where several dents cratered the drywall. “You just get a good picture in your head of anybody’s face you’d like to rearrange a bit and have at it. Best stress reliever ever.”
Her blood still simmered, but she felt foolish beating up the very walls she was battling over. She felt even sillier doing it in front of an audience…until she saw Al’s smirk. Oh, she knew that look, and by dog, the first hotshot who opened his mouth and uttered “PMS” was going to be in deep doo-doo.
Storm put his hands on her shoulders and leaned close to her ear. “Trust me on this, Slim.” The words were only loud enough for her to hear, but for Al’s benefit, he said, “Just make sure it’s not my face you’re imagining.”
She rolled her eyes. “You wish.” And then she gripped the wooden handle like a baseball bat and swung, stumbling forward with the momentum as the steel head went clear through the drywall.
“Whoa.” Storm grabbed her waist and steadied her as she pulled back and ripped out a chunk of the wall. “Looks like Ms. Presley won’t have a problem with one less man on the job—she’s better at it than you are, Al.”
He took the hammer from her and passed it to Al. “You can pick up your tools and clear out now. We won’t be needing your services anymore.”
Donetta opened her mouth to object, but the quiet danger in Storm’s tone stopped her. Al responded to it, as well, and didn’t waste any time gathering his tools. She watched as Storm escorted the seething man to the front door.
What had she done? They couldn’t afford to lose workers. Even ones who were jerks. She felt stress rising again, and wondered whose hammer she could borrow. Putting holes in the wall created a delicious rush—and it hadn’t made her feel the least bit silly.
Her gaze zeroed in on Storm’s tool pouch as he walked toward her. A different kind of stress washed over her. How had he remained single all these years? The man had a walk that could make a woman forget her name. His white T-shirt was tucked into bleached jeans that molded his assets and showcased them nicely. For the next two weeks, his uniform would consist of a tool belt instead of a gun holster.
Carpenter or sheriff, he looked sexier than any man had a right to.
“You checking out my tools, darlin’?”
She felt her face flame. She’d been admiring both—anatomical and mechanical. And he knew it. She decided to ignore his taunt.
“I probably could have found another section of wall to relieve my stress on instead of antagonizing Fuzzpit off the job.”
“Fuzzpit?” His eyes crinkled at the corners and a dimple creased his cheek.
“Didn’t you notice the furry hair poking out of his shirt? It was all I could do to keep from getting my clippers and taking a swipe each time I walked by.” She gave a delicate shudder. “Honestly, basic grooming shouldn’t be too much to ask.”
Storm laughed. “I think you’d need one of those weed whackers to shave that guy’s chest and back.”
“Even if he’d been Godzilla, you probably shouldn’t have fired him. I imagine I could have smoothed things over.”
“You don’t need jerks like that on the job. You worked hard for this place.”
She put her hand on his arm and squeezed. “Thanks for realizing that—for understanding.” She could have fallen into his gaze and stayed for the rest of the day, but the front door of the salon opened and snagged her attention.
Jackson Slade and his brother Lincoln, walked in, followed by three men she recognized as Jack’s ranch hands—Scottie, Junior and Lou.
“Heard there was a barn raising going on in town,” Jack said. “Me and the boys thought we’d be neighborly and lend a hand. Found out it was a hair shop instead of a barn, but we figured if you can string a barbed-wire fence, you can surely screw some nails into drywall.
Storm moved forward and shook hands with his brother-in-law and then Linc. Lincoln Slade, a world-renowned horse breeder, had returned to Hope Valley for Jack and Sunny’s wedding and decided to stay awhile.
“We could use the help,” Storm said.
“Figured as much.” Jack glanced over and winked at Donetta. “So we rounded up a crew. Junior, you want to move aside so the rest of the men can come in?”
Stunned, touched, battling major emotions, Donetta watched Tracy Lynn’s dad, Mayor Jerald Randolph, shoulder his way through the door. Behind him was Gavin Hayes—a neighboring rancher who lived out by Jack—and Colby Flynn, the attorney who’d handled her divorce.
Her reception area suddenly resembled a casting call for the next bachelor millionaire on a TV reality show. Lordy, the inside of this salon had never seen this much testosterone at one time.
And they’d come here for her. If she wept in front of these eight really cute guys—and Tracy Lynn’s distinguished, handsome dad—she would never forgive herself.
She’d lived in this town all her life and never noticed how many gorgeous men resided here. And every one of them—except for Jack Slade—was single. Wouldn’t you just know it. The only hunk out of the pack that she was attracted to was the one she couldn’t have.
Her stomach flip-flopped, and just that quickly, her skin turned clammy, then fiery hot. Oh, no. The shrill, deafening concrete cutting saw and the pounding jack-hammer reminded her that the bathroom wasn’t usable. And the baby was about to throw a fit.
The men began to move inside, gearing up to go to work as Storm gave instructions. Donetta headed for an opening between broad shoulders and raced out. She didn’t have time to stop and explain. She sprinted two doors down the sidewalk and shoved open the entrance to Becca’s Attic.
Impressions registered subconsciously—the smell of fresh brewed coffee, the scent of books, old furniture and trinkets that put one in mind of one’s grandmother’s house. Becca Sue Ellsworth was behind the counter. The only customer in the shop was Tracy Lynn Randolph.
Both women jumped up, their eyes wide as Donetta burst through the door. She didn’t stop to chat, barely paused.
“Pl
ease. Don’t let Storm in here,” she managed to say as she ran past them toward the rest room.
Minutes later, Donetta decided she ought to just give up trying to get some privacy for the more embarrassing indignities in her life. Granted, Storm wasn’t hovering over her this time, but Tracy Lynn and Becca Sue were.
Tracy Lynn passed her a wet paper towel. “At least in my salon I supply y’all with soft towels,” Donetta complained as she ran the stiff paper over her face.
“Well, we’re in my shop now,” Becca said. “I’m not wealthy enough to buy the prissy throwaways and I’m sure not dumb enough to make a pile of laundry for myself to have to take home. Now, tell me why I just locked my door in Storm Carmichael’s very angry face—in the middle of the business morning.”
“Becca,” Tracy said. “We should at least ask after her health first.”
“Are you kidding? I want to know the good stuff—” The cell phone in Becca’s hand rang and she checked the caller ID. “Oh, wait. Don’t say a word. I have to go let Sunny in. I mean it. Not a peep. I don’t want to miss anything.”
“Why is Sunny here?” Donetta asked.
“Because I called her.” Becca gave Donetta a did-you-flush-your-brains-down-the-toilet? look.
When Becca jogged out of the bathroom, Donetta looked over at Tracy Lynn. “I’m not having another conversation on a bathroom floor. Let’s get out of here, okay?”
Tracy’s blond eyebrows shot up. “You’re the headliner, sweetie. I promise, your faithful audience will sit anywhere your little heart desires.” She helped Donetta to her feet. “Although I’d like to know who you’re talking to in the bathroom besides us girls.”
They nearly crashed into Sunny and Becca on their way out. Tracy still had her arm around Donetta as though she might faint dead away at any moment.
“Oh, my gosh. What happened?” Sunny asked, out of breath. “I had to stuff a poodle in a cage, but I got here as quick as I could. Are you hurt?”