Hottie (9 page)

She made a mental note to ask Hottie to bring her back for Happy Hour at the Bluebonnet Café across the street. Block letters on the yellow sign advertised a slice of their famous homemade pies and a cup of coffee for $3.95. Licking her lips, she imagined warm apple on her tongue, and kept smiling. She smiled so big she felt the strain in her cheeks, so she cracked her jaw and went into the little mom and pop market.

“Welcome, sweetie,” Mrs. Desired Grandma chimed. “Take your time looking around, and let me know if you need any help.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Do you have a basket for the groceries?”

“Down to the right of the door, honey.”

“Thank you.” Bending to retrieve the wicker basket, Phoebe took a deep breath of the dried herb scent. She tried unsuccessfully to place the amazing aroma. Warm, welcoming, yet spicy, the heavenly smell lured her toward the back of the store and to the bins full of fresh vegetables. She picked up four potatoes, one onion, a bunch of fresh—green leafy parts still on—carrots, and then she walked to the meat showcase.

Desired Granny followed behind the counter. “Making a special dinner?”

“Lunch,” Phoebe replied with a smile. Damn her face muscles were out of shape. “I was thinking of some chicken to go with these veggies.”

“Nice healthy lunch,” Granny agreed and slid the back window on the showcase. “White or dark meat?”

Phoebe scanned the case, did the math in the money difference between the two options, and made her decision. “How about some thighs and legs?” That way, she could get two pieces for Hottie, rather than one, and still have money for a loaf of bread and the lush-looking blackberries by the front. “Three pieces, please.”

With the help of some tongs, Granny lifted the three quarters onto the brown wax paper and expertly wrapped the chicken into a neat package. “Anything else, honey?”

“Some of those delicious looking blackberries on the front counter, please.”

“Meet you there.”

Phoebe grabbed a loaf of bread out of a basket, and detoured past the veggies for a lemon before making her way to the front of the store.

Granny placed a nice amount of berries in a brown bag and scooped some whipped cream into a container. “Dessert is on me. Welcome to Deer Creek, our little slice of heaven, sweetie.”

“Thank you,” Phoebe breathed past her heart swelling in her throat. “It really is nice over here. I like what I’ve seen so far.”

“Thinking of making it permanent?”

“If I could find a job and an affordable place to live, it’d be a real possibility.” Dare to dream, Phoebe added in her mind, her heart sinking to the depths of her stomach as her city pessimism continued the thought with logical objections. Jobs were impossible to come by in small towns. Hence, assertive people headed to the cities for employment.

“Mrs. Jenkins is looking for some help,” Granny offered. “Can you type?”

Phoebe nodded, hope fluttering inside her. “Yes. I’m really good at it, too. I’m familiar with every kind of word processing program out there. Plus, I’m a whiz on spreadsheets. Do you think that will be of interest to her?”

“I’m not sure.” Granny shrugged. “But you said you can type, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Warmth spread through Phoebe, and she wanted to hug the granny real tight and inhale what she imagined to be the vanilla scent of her snow-white hair. She was so cute. So nice. And so wonderful. And Phoebe wasn’t about to share her other business qualifications with someone who was so helpful for fear of being thought of as a snob. Being overqualified wouldn’t work in her favor. “I type well.”

“Good. You have a nice, polite manner, and I think you could handle the phones. Your voice is soft, so it won’t spook any of the patients. Go speak with Mrs. Jenkins. She’s ready to retire, but Doc Jenkins is nowhere close to it. Walk on across the way and catch them before they break for lunch.” Somehow, she managed to fit all the groceries into one bag while she spoke, write the prices and totals in a little notebook, and wipe down the counter. “Go on. I’ll hold on to this while you check with the doc and his missus.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

“No hurries, Phoebe.”

She stopped mid-stride. “How did you know my name?”

“You are Dane West’s Phoebe, no?” The older lady lowered her glasses on her nose and looked over the wire frames at Phoebe. “You’re exactly as he described.”

“He told you about me?”

“Of course, he did, honey. He dropped in first thing this morning and added you to his account.” Nodding her head, Granny showed her approval of his actions and choice in women. “He needs a good girl who can also cook. Since he’s been back, the boy barely eats. We have to sneak casseroles into his refrigerator while he’s fiddling with one of those spiffy cars he likes to put together.”

“No wonder he had tons of Tupperware in the pantry, but only some spices, and I think a bottle or two of designer-style oil.”

“That’s for his omelets. Dane would survive on eggs and bread, if we didn’t interfere.” She chuckled, pointing out the door. “Hurry. It’s the second building on the right once you cross the street. Doc likes to get home for an early lunch these days.”

* * * *

Ended up that Doc Jenkins was a veterinarian, who was in search of a receptionist to man the front office, especially while he made “barn” calls. He offered Phoebe the job and expected an answer the next morning. Phoebe only had to find an affordable place to stay in order to give him a yes.

Oh, how she hoped she could stay. After the past few weeks, she welcomed a break. No more demented boyfriend to kick her out of her house. No more sleeping out of a car. And, no more looking into dark alleys to avoid danger. It seemed too good to be true, so she kept pinching herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

Returning to the market, she scanned the bulletin board and tore a strip of paper from an ad for a room for rent. Granny, named Wilma Brady, was a wealth of information, and was happy to offer her directions to Beatrice Maxwell’s home, so Phoebe could inquire in person about the room.

Pinch.

Damn, that hurt. She was awake.

“You’ll love it at the Maxwell house. Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell passed away a few years back, so now the poor girl lives by herself in that big house. She’s surrounded by kids all day long because she’s our elementary school science teacher, so I know she’d appreciate some adult conversation with a nice girlfriend closer to her age. I’m sure you’ll be comfortable there. It’s proper.”

“Proper?”

“Yes. You know the old saying.” Granny pointed her index finger and shook it for emphasis. “You don’t give the milk away for free, or they don’t buy the cow.”

Heat filled Phoebe’s cheeks. Anxiety pinged against her skull. What else did the granny know? Staring at the countertop, careful not to make eye contact, Phoebe pulled the damp twenty-dollar bill from her pocket. “Of course, ma’am.”

“Dane put you on his account, sweetie.” Mrs. Brady pushed the bag into Phoebe’s arms and shooed her toward the door. “That means you don’t pay.”

“I want to surprise him. I want to do this for him.” Balancing the bag on her hip, she tried to stand her ground and give the storekeeper the money. “It wouldn’t be me doing for him, if he pays. Please…”

She shook her white head, soft tendrils falling from her bun. “Sorry. There are times when a woman needs to abide by her man’s wishes and make him happy. This is such a time for you.” Leaning close, she placed a real grandmotherly kiss on Phoebe’s cheek and forced her fingers closed on the paper. “Making lunch for him, making it with care and love, means much more than paying for it with money. Stop arguing with an old woman and go cook for your man.”

Mrs. Brady’s last words turned in Phoebe’s mind as she peddled beneath the brutal sun.
Care and love. Cook for her man. Care and love. Her man
.

“Dare to dream,” she breathed, peddling faster.

* * * *

“Phoebe?” Dane walked through the living room and to the bedrooms, but the woman was nowhere to be found. He had no idea where she would go in the one hundred degree heat without a car—and he’d made sure she’d be without a car by disconnecting the coil wire once again. If her stubborn mind had decided to run errands in the next city, she would have been sitting on the side of the road after a few miles. He needed to get those parts and hurry and fix the Caddy. He couldn’t even think of her stranded… Stranded and vulnerable.

“Phoebe? Sweetheart?” Dane called as he pushed open the door leading to the kitchen. Her computer sat on the table, still on, and open. He ran a finger over the mouse pad and an essay of sorts flashed to life. Not wanting to intrude, but needing to see if there was a hint of where she might have gone, he read the few paragraphs on the screen.

Wanted
… She certainly was. He
wanted
her.

He hadn’t wanted any woman since he’d stepped back on American soil. Losing Miriam, an informant turned friend, to her psychotic cousin because she wouldn’t let him protect her, had stripped him of any desire for a potential relationship with another woman. He’d argued he didn’t deserve the honor of a woman’s trust if he couldn’t protect a friend. But in all honesty, no woman had been worth risking the pain of loss. No woman until Phoebe. She was irresistible.

He continued to read Phoebe’s story, delighted she felt wanted and treasured in his arms. Little did she know how true her feelings rang deep inside him. He more than wanted her.

A chat window popped open.

Bitch. You can’t block me. I know your password.

Excuse me?
Dane typed, fisting his hand and needing to punch the bastard, named EricRules1025, for calling his Phoebe a bitch.

Give me the fucking bracelet or I’m going to the cops.

Bracelet?
No way had Phoebe stolen anything from him.

Yeah. You know, that expensive strand of diamonds I gave you for your birthday.

That was a gift.
Dane tapped on the keyboard and waited to see if asshole would respond.

Bitch. It cost me a fortune. I want it back. If I don’t get it by Friday, I’m coming to beat your skinny ass and tear it off your wrist.

He was threatening her? No fucking way.

Dane hit the video call button.

“Did you just say you’re going to hit a girl? My girl?” Anger boiled past his throat. “Dick face, I’m speaking to you.”

Phoebe’s pretty-boy ex sat in his leather high back chair, a large glass pane behind him showcasing the skyscrapers beyond his office. “Who are you?”

“I’m the guy that’s going to tie that fucking bracelet around your tiny balls so tight, then watch them turn blue and smoke a cigar until you beg me to cut them off.”

“Hey. I have no beef with you.” Pushing away from the screen, asshole squirmed in his seat. “I don’t even know you.”

“But I know you.” Dane pointed at the screen. If he could have, he’d have the pretty boy hanging by his silk tie and dangling outside that window. The asshole was trembling and his fear fueled Dane’s anger more. “You’re a tough guy that likes to make himself feel important and strong at the expense of a woman. Well, not my woman. You come within ten miles of Phoebe I’ll smell you and be on you in seconds. If you ever—ever—threaten her again, I will hunt you down and make you regret the minute you see my face.”

“Hey, man. It’s just a bracelet. She can have it.”

“And don’t you ever sign in to any of her accounts again. That’s invasion of privacy and the authorities would like to know about such an upstanding businessman hacking other citizens’ accounts.”

The asshole used a tidy, white hankie to wipe his face.

“Sign off, dick head. Sign off now, or I’m going to be in your office before you have the—” Dane snorted his disgust. The chat box had gone blank before he’d had the chance to finish his sentence. “Fucking pussy.”

Chapter Nine

So Much More than Hot

Dane checked the patio between the house and the garage, then the garage itself, and noticed the bicycle missing. Semi-relieved, he guessed she’d gone for a short ride and was safe. He returned to the house in order to finish installing the floor in the second bedroom and work off his worry. He’d give her half an hour before calling the sheriff and going in search of the stubborn woman.

As he worked, the conversation with her ex played in his mind, and his worry grew. In less than five minutes, he threw his hammer against the wall, putting a nice hole in it, then practically jumped down the stairs and into Phoebe.

“Where have you been?” He took her shoulders and pulled her against him.

“Missed me much?”

“I’ve been worried about you,” he replied, cupping her red cheeks and placing a kiss on her heated lips. Thankful to have her in his arms, to taste her reciprocated desire, he dropped his forehead against hers. “And yes, I’ve missed you.”