What I Love About You (20 page)

Natalie felt a tear slide down her cheek and she turned away. Watching him with Charlotte was like poking an open wound. She refused to watch, but she could hear Charlotte’s happy screams mixed with Blake’s deep laughter, filtering through the house.

She didn’t see or hear anything from him Thursday, but Friday afternoon he sent in an order of photos for her to print.

There were just two, and Natalie stared down at them sitting on the front counter of Glamour Snaps and Prints as Brandy placed other orders in photo envelopes. The first of Blake’s pictures was a ransom note that read:

This is not a joke. Your dog Sparky is being held at 315 Red Fox Road. Bring one pork chop in an unmarked bag to the above address to secure his release.

The kidnapper

The second was of poor Sparky. His legs tied together with white rope and a red bandana tied around his eyes.

“Ridiculous.” She frowned so she wouldn’t laugh. She glanced at the clock. It was three hours before closing and she debated with herself for ten minutes—okay, maybe five—before she handed the keys to Brandy. She was fairly sure she’d be back before closing, but just in case, she trusted her employee with the responsibility. She drove to Paul’s Market to buy the ransom, then headed toward home.

Her nerves were shaky and jumpy and she folded her arms across her chest as she walked up the steps to his porch. The same porch where she’d once demanded that he take his dog back. The same porch where she’d fainted and he’d carried her inside.

She rang the bell and waited. When he didn’t appear fast enough, she rang again.

His big blur appeared a moment before the door swung open. He had a satisfied grin on his face when he said, “Hello, Ms. Cooper.” He was so big and so handsome and her heart ached so much, she wanted to punch him even as she wanted to throw herself against his chest.

“Where’s Sparky?”

“Did you bring the pork chop?”

She handed over the grocery bag with a dog bone inside. “A pork chop will give him the runs.”

Blake opened the door wider and she walked in. She followed him through the entry, her gaze taking in his brown T-shirt and his wide shoulders and back. She didn’t want to look at his butt, but she did.

She followed him into the living room, where Sparky lay in front of the fireplace on a cozy dog bed. The mutt was no long tied up or blindfolded and barely lifted his head to look at her before he went back to sleep.

Traitor
. “He looks scared.”

“Can I take your coat?”

“I won’t be staying that long.” Sparky was a traitor. Her heart was a traitor. The little flutter in her stomach was a traitor.

Blake simply looked at her and held out his hand.

“Fine.” She slipped her arms out of the sleeves and handed it to him. He took it and tossed it toward the sofa. It totally missed and fell on the floor. She moved to pick it up but his hands on her arm stopped her. “Blake, what do you think you’re doing?” She looked at his hands and then up into his face. “You can’t just—” she got out before he wrapped his arms around her waist and hauled her against his chest, squeezing her until she couldn’t breathe. “Stop,” she gasped. “I can’t breathe.”

“You can breathe later. Just let me hold you for a minute,” he said, and buried his face in her neck. “I missed you.”

She’d missed him. So much it tore at her heart. So much it stung the backs of her eyes. “This isn’t fair.”

“Fuck fair,” he said against the side of her throat. “You slammed your door in my face.”

“You smiled about it.”

“I knew you were watching.” He chuckled, and his breath tickled her skin just below her ear. “And I knew if you didn’t feel anything for me you wouldn’t be so damn mean.”

“Mean!” She pushed him away, and his arms fell to his sides. “I’m not the mean one.”

“You let me freeze my nuts off waiting for you to come outside Wednesday.” He shook his head. “You’re brutal, Ms. Cooper.”

“Me?” She pointed at herself and took a step back. “I told you I love you and you couldn’t get away from me fast enough!” Her bottom lip threatened to quiver and she took a deep breath. “I dressed up in my stupid cheerleading uniform with nothing on underneath. While you said I confused sex for love, I was commando!”

“Wait.” He held up one hand like a traffic cop. “You were naked beneath that skirt?”

She ignored his question. “You said you would never love me.”

He reached for her but she took another step back. “I didn’t say I would never love you.”

“Maybe not those words, but you said you couldn’t return my feelings.” She swallowed hard. “I think that was your way of
trying
to let me down gently.”

He shook his head. “No, Sweet Cheeks. That was me lying. That was me trying to do the right thing.”

“You were running away.” She folded her arms across her heart.

“I’m not running now. I’m standing here.” He pointed to the floor beneath his feet. “I’m standing here, a man in love with a woman. A woman I want to spend the rest of my life loving.”

Her hands fell to her sides.

“And believe me, I never thought I would be this man. I never thought I’d be strong enough to embrace my weakness for one woman.” He cleared his throat and swallowed. “A wise man once told me, ‘Shit or get off the pot.’ ”

“Gross.”

He laughed and closed the distance she’d placed between them. “So that’s what I’m doing. I love you, Natalie. I love Charlotte and Sparky and I want to be worthy of you and Charlotte. I’ve been going to AA meetings. I gave up and gave in and gave it to a higher power.” Smile lines creased the corners of his eyes. “Mabel Vaughn wants to be my sponsor.” He took her hand, and his smile disappeared. “I love you and I’m kind of hoping you still love me.”

She nodded as his touch and the emotion in his eyes soothed the cracks in her broken heart. “I do love you, Blake. I tried not to love you, but I just couldn’t help myself.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m still a little mad at you, though. You really broke my heart.”

“I’m a handy man to have around if you need anything fixed. Like broken doors, wiring, and especially broken hearts.” He put his hand on her waist and pressed his forehead to hers. “I love you, Natalie. I love everything about you.” He kissed her lips, soft and sweet and filled with the same longing that filled her heart. “I love when you look at me like you are right now,” he said. “I love that you make me want to look at a future and not my past.” His soft, smoky eyes looked into hers. “You’re my here and now and my future. You’re my life and my love and my woman.”

She grinned. “I’m your whirlwind.”

“Yes, and I get to reap you forever.” His smile matched hers. “That’s what I love about you.”

Don’t miss the new
wedding novella from

New York Times bestselling author

RACHEL GIBSON

I DO!

Available October 14

from Avon Impulse

Read on for an excerpt!

At the age of twenty-three, Rebecca Ramsey found her artistic passion. While some artists worked in oil or fabrics or clay, Becca worked in hair. Since graduating from the Milan Institute of Cosmetology, she’d worked diligently at perfecting her art. Becca was good at cuts and blowouts, fabulous with highlights, ombres, peekaboos, and dip-dyes, but when it came to the up-do, she was a true master. She exceled at creating everything from simple French knots to complicated runway hair, complete with twigs and birds and working fountains.

Of course, there wasn’t a lot of demand for runway hair in Lovett, Texas, the small town where she lived. Or even sixty miles south in Amarillo, where she worked at Lily Belle’s Salon and Day Spa. But this
was
Texas, where special-occasion hair was in high demand. Proms, graduations, and her favorite, bridal hair.

Becca pulled her Volkswagen Beetle out of her apartment complex and headed across town to pick up the latest photographs of her work before driving to meet with her client, Sadie Hollowell.

Sadie was more than Becca’s latest bride client. She was engaged to Becca’s good friend, Vince Haven, and had become Becca’s friend, too. So much so, that Sadie had not only hired Becca to do her wedding hair, she’d included Becca in some of the planning. She’d sought her advice on flowers, the arbor, and the maid of honor dress. Vince had been no help at all. His favorite colors were brown and dark brown and talk of flowers made him fold his arms over his big chest and scowl. Sadie’s sister Stella wasn’t much help either. Stella was busy with school and her own fiancé, and frankly, Stella wasn’t a Texan. Like Vince, she didn’t understand that a simple wedding was never simple, and Stella’s taste ran more toward leather and combat boots than lace and satin pumps.

Bless her heart.

Becca had offered her help with the wedding, and Sadie had jumped on the invitation. It was a good thing, too, because even though Becca would never say it out loud, Sadie wasn’t very good at special-occasion planning, and neither was the event planner she’d hired. Which was ironic, given that Vince’s sister, Autumn, was a wedding planner. Too bad Autumn lived in Seattle.

Becca pulled her car into Parrish American Classics and parked in the empty lot. Several weeks ago, local photographer Daisy Parrish had taken promotional photos at the day spa where Becca worked, and she’d hired Daisy to take extra up-do photographs for her portfolio. There were several she thought Sadie would like, and she wanted to pick them up before heading out to the JH.

It was Saturday and Parrish American Classics was closed, but Daisy had offered to leave the photographs at her husband’s auto restoration shop rather than have Becca drive to Daisy’s home ten miles in the opposite direction.

The afternoon sun glinted off the gold frames of Becca’s sunglasses as she got out of the car. Sadie had just received the final RSVP for her wedding, and the guest list had risen to seventy-five. Most of those guests were Sadie’s family, but several were Vince’s military buddies. Big guys with big arms and egos, and Becca had briefly met two of those big guys last summer, twin brothers Blake and Beau Junger. The brothers were so identical it was freaky, but evidently not all women were freaked out by the big, muscular twins with cold gray eyes. Both men were engaged, and Beau’s fiancé had had to have her maid of honor dress let out due to her pregnant belly.

The front doors of the restoration business were locked, and Becca followed the sound of heavy metal music around the side of the building. The heels of her wedge sandals tapped across the concrete. She’d paid seventy bucks for the crochet-straps in scarlet tango. A big splurge for a girl on a tight budget, but she just hadn’t been able to resist.

Her last boyfriend liked to say that women who wore red didn’t wear panties, but Toby Ray had said a lot of things like they were facts instead of something he’d made up in his own dumb head. No one had ever confused Toby Ray with a deep thinker, but then again, no girl dated that boy for this mind.

Bless his heart.

Becca’s shadow followed her as she rounded the building and a warm May breeze ruffled the bottom of her white and red sundress. The slight wind tossed a few strands of her medium-blond hair, brightened with perfectly placed level-nine highlights. The heavy beat of music and screeching vocals assaulted her ears, and behind the lenses of her sunglasses, her gaze landed on a faded orange truck parked at an angle behind the garage. It had a blue door and fender and the hood was up, the Chevy emblem pointed toward the sky. A Beats speaker and iPod rested on the ground by the left front tire, and a pair of legs stuck out from beneath the old truck. Presumably the legs belonged to a man who wore faded jeans and gray Vans on his feet.

Skater shoes? In Lovett, Texas, where men wore Justin boots? She continued past the patch-work truck and the skater shoes toward the two-story house several hundred feet behind the garage. She knocked on the front door several times, and when no one answered, she retraced her steps to the truck.

“Hello?” she called out over the horrible music.

Instead of an answer, the man beneath the truck sang along with the screeching. His deep voice was even worse than the lead singer/screecher, which Becca would have thought impossible. She bent down, unplugged the iPod, and yelled, “Hello!”

A painful thud was followed by a loud “shit” and the sound of tools hitting concrete. “Goddammit,” then squeaky little wheels rolled the rest of him from beneath the engine. Long legs led to a spiky belt and white t-shirt over a flat belly. A blue work shirt fell open across the t-shirt and two greasy hands grabbed the old bumper. Wide shoulders appeared just before his chin and strong jaw, covered in dark stubble.

Becca stared down into blue eyes the color of the Texas sky. Angry blue eyes beneath dark slashes of brows surrounded by dark lashes. An even angrier red mark on his forehead seemed to turn even redder by the second.

Despite the scowl and welt and spiky belt, he was quite possibly the hottest guy she’d seen in a very long time. “Hello,” she managed past her suddenly dry throat. He was the kind of guy who looked good in tight t-shirts and jeans. Good-looking, like the kind of guy she usually fell for and handed her heart. Hot guys with names like Tucker or Slade or Toby Ray. Guys who cheated and lied and were nothing but a heartbreak waiting to happen.

About the Author

RACHEL GIBSON lives in Idaho with her husband, three kids, two cats, and a dog of mysterious origin. She began her fiction career at age sixteen, when she ran her car into the side of a hill, retrieved the bumper, and drove to a parking lot, where she strategically scattered the car’s broken glass all about. She told her parents she’d been the victim of a hit-and-run and they believed her. She’s been making up stories ever since, although she gets paid better for them nowadays.

www.rachelgibson.com

www.avonromance.com

www.facebook.com/avonromance

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