Anything But Sweet (12 page)

“I’m not surprised,” Charli said.

“Did you know,” Jack continued with some kind of twisted death wish, “he won’t even
date a woman in this town for fear they’ll be all up in his business? Although you
might want to ask him sometime about the time he disappeared for two days and got
too tied up to check in.”

Ray laughed.

“Well, that was thoughtless,” Charli told him.

Reno flinched at the memory of his encounter with a newly assigned Deputy Ginger Baker
and her handcuffs. Who knew such a small-statured woman had so many fantasies to
live out?

“Well, I’m just about as excited as a person can get to see this reveal.” Jackson
headed toward the door and held out his arm, waiting for Charli to take it. “Shall
we?”

“Oh. We shall.” She flashed Reno a “See, I knew I could get him on my side” grin and
joined Jackson, while
her
dog continued to torture
his
dog with a game of nip and run.

Like dog, like owner.

“Come on, Mr. Calhoun,” Jackson said. “Big brother.”

Reno wondered if he was too old to short-sheet his brother’s bed. “You go on ahead
without me. I’ve got work to do.”

Charli stopped halfway out the door and came back. “Nice try, bucko.”

When she took his arm in a death grip, Reno realized he was surrounded by bossy women
and backstabbing brothers.

M
inutes later, Reno was surrounded by cameras, a production crew, his family, and members
of the community, who ooohed and aaahed over the senior-center redesign and the mural
he’d painted. To say he felt out of place at the reveal was an understatement. He
didn’t want to be there, and he’d tried to stay in the background. The more he tried,
the more Charli dragged him into the middle of things.

“She’s amazing, isn’t she?”

Reno turned and looked down to the little blond-haired assistant. “Who?”

“Ms. Brooks, of course.” She gave him a timid smile. “I mean Charli. She insists I
call her that, but I’m not quite used to it. Her being my boss and all.”

“And what kind of a boss
is
Ms. Brooks?” he asked, looking for any tidbit of ammunition on the woman who seemed
to sneak past his defenses every chance she got.

“She’s the best.” She looked up at him like he’d taken leave of his senses.

Most likely he had. What else would explain him painting for three days on a project
that took up all his spare time? Or kissing a woman he had no business kissing?

“She doesn’t act superior if you know what I mean. She makes you feel so comfortable,
like you could tell her all your secrets, and she’d really listen.”

Yes, she’d squeezed a few out of him too.

“And I love the ideas she comes up with,” the assistant continued. “I love the enthusiasm
in her voice. I could listen to her talk all day.”

After only a week of knowing the woman, Reno had to admit that her bubbliness was
infectious. Even when he wanted to tell her to shut the hell up and go about her business,
he felt inclined to sit her down on his lap, tuck her head beneath his chin, and listen
to her yammer about nothing. And everything.

Interesting. That’s what she was. She’d been raised by the meanest son of a bitch
that wore a Marine uniform. Yet she’d come out a warm and witty woman who seemed to
genuinely care about people she barely knew.

He glanced across the room to where she stood in front of a camera holding the hands
of senior-center big shots Gladys Lewis and Arlene Potter. Excitedly, she showed
them the new kitchen the crew had installed. Today she wore jeans and a blouse. Last
night she’d worn a little-nothing dress. The rest of the week she’d worn shorts,
a T-shirt, and sneakers. With the exception of the day she’d rolled into town looking
like she’d stepped out of a Nordstrom’s display, she’d blended in with her surroundings.
Well, not exactly
blended,
but she’d taken an approach that put her on the same level as those who worked and
shopped in his little town.

It wouldn’t take much effort to imagine her as one of those superwomen who worked,
took care of a family, and made sure the man in her life knew he was well loved with
little to no effort.

His chest lifted on a harsh intake of air. He needed to stop thinking thoughts like
that before he got in too deep. He’d had a love like that once. And he’d been damned
lucky to find it. He wouldn’t be foolish enough to believe it could ever happen again.
It was much easier—less painful—to exist on the outskirts of life. To be more of
an observer than an actual participant.

“Are you all right, Mr. Wilder?” the assistant’s gentle touch on his arm snapped him
from his thoughts.

“Absolutely,” he responded, even knowing the word was an absolute lie.

Chapter 10

W
ith the senior center wrapped up and time on the clock dwindling, Charli jumped right
into the work on the candy store. Cavity central resided in a cinder-block building
with an overhang out front that gave her the perfect opportunity to step back in time.
To re-create a look that had been lost to modern design. Since the interior of the
store was a throwback to the 1800s, Charli knew the exterior had to match.

Lucky for her, the inside was in pretty good shape. With the exception of rearranging
a few things, tin ceiling tiles, a little paint, some old-fashioned soda-fountain
photos, and new display glassware, there was little to do. Her whiz-bang crew could
get the place painted and the ceiling tiles up in a day. Then they could focus on
the exterior and maybe even complete the project ahead of schedule. That would give
them the opportunity to use the extra time on a more difficult project, like town
square.

On this warm Saturday evening, the community’s focus seemed to be on Sweet Pickens
Bar-B-Q or anywhere else in town that served a good meal. Charli’s stomach growled
as she sat cross-legged on the wood floor of the candy shop and gave in to temptation
by popping a sourball into her mouth. Her lips puckered as the candy rolled around
on her tongue. If she couldn’t have something slathered in a tangy sauce, she could
at least survive on sugar.

“Can’t find them.”

Charli glanced up from her task of wiping off the new apothecary-style jars. Max
strolled into the store, wiping a streak of barbecue sauce off his cheek from the
gigantic sandwich in his hand. Her stomach grumbled again. “Can’t find what?”

“The tin tiles.” He pointed up to the bare white ceiling.

“They’re at the hardware store.”

“You would think so, right?” He sat on a stool beside her. “But I just came from there,
and the man in charge said he couldn’t find them.”

A frown pulled her forehead tight. “Didn’t we get a delivery confirmation?”

“Again. You would think.”

“So this means what? We have to reorder and wait several days for delivery? And if
you say ‘You would think’ one more time, I’m going to snatch that sandwich out of
your hand and eat it myself.”

“Are you hungry?”

She couldn’t stop the eye roll. “Duh.”

“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t know.”

“Grumbling stomach . . .” She pointed to her belly. “Dead giveaway. So . . . the tiles?”

Max shrugged. “Guess we could go take another look. I don’t want to place another
order. We’re already on a tight budget.”

“No kidding. Next time I try to talk you into more bang for the buck, I give you permission
to kick me. Do you want to go back to the hardware store, or do you want me to go?”

“Neither will do us any good. Wilder was closing up shop a few minutes ago. We’ll
have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Sunday. Which means the hardware store will be closed, and if we do need
to reorder, we won’t get a one-day jump on delivery.” She crunched down on the sourball,
and a headache began to pound between her eyes. “Which means we’ll be off a day, and
I lose the extra time I need for other projects.”

“Shit happens, Charli.” Max shoved the last bite of barbecue sandwich into his mouth
and wiped his face with the crumpled napkin. “Sometimes you just have to roll with
the punches and put in a little overtime when necessary.”

“Says the man with a full stomach.”

“Want me to go get you something to eat?”

She sighed, leaned forward, and banged her forehead on the floor. She knew the senior-center
redesign had gone too easy and that she’d pay on another project down the line. Nothing
ever went smoothly in this business. “No. You go ahead and enjoy your Saturday night.
I’ll see if I can get hold of Reno to open up the store, so I can take a look.”

Max tilted his head, and his ball cap slid a little to the right. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He jumped up awful fast, like somebody who already knew she’d let him off
the hook.

God, she was such a sucker.

As the producer of the show, wasn’t it
his
job to make sure things went smoothly?

“Have a good night,” he said with a wave on his way out the door.

“You are so funny, Max Downs.”

When the door closed behind him, Charli looked up at the ceiling, trying to come up
with another plan in case things went completely upside down. After a few moments’
consideration, she shook her head. She wanted those ceiling tiles. Nothing else would
do.

She didn’t have Reno’s number, so she’d just go over to the hardware store and look
behind the chain-link fence to see if she could spot the boxes she needed. If not,
she’d call Jana to get his number and have him open up the store. He wouldn’t like
it, and he’d most likely be agitated with her for interrupting his Saturday night
plans. But since she already pissed him off about 99 percent of the time anyway, what
was another 1 percent?

O
n most Saturday nights, Reno chose to stay home and relax or hang out with friends
and family. Tonight, when he called to see what everyone was up to, he discovered
that his mom already had plans, Jackson was on duty at the fire station, and Jesse
had a date with his new veterinary assistant. Which meant, of course, Jesse would
be looking for a
new
veterinary assistant in a few weeks.

Staying home wasn’t an option because, as sure as he was named after the biggest little
city in the world, Charli would come out of the apartment to harass him into a conversation.
Then he’d end up spilling even more information about himself. She would have made
a great spy. A man would give over top secret information and not even know until
she was bouncing merrily on her way.

To avoid her, he decided to head over to Ginger Creek to meet up with Cheyenne—one
of the women he knew who liked a good time with no strings attached. As he headed
toward the highway down Main Street, he gave the hardware store a quick glance. When
he noticed a light on in the back, he tapped the brakes. Damn. He must have forgotten
to turn it off when he left earlier. He made a quick Uey and pulled around back. He
left the engine running as he slid the key into the lock on the chain-link fence
and hurried toward the delivery door.

When he reached for the handle, the door was already ajar. He knew he hadn’t left
it unlocked. A snap of alarm shot up the back of his neck. He had two choices: call
Deputy Brady Bennett and suffer the man’s wry sense of humor or walk inside and take
a chance on who’d broken into his store.

Robberies were nonexistent in Sweet. Other than the usual five-finger discounts,
the only time they ever had any problems was a few years back when a couple of high-school
kids hid inside the bathroom of the Touch and Go until Walter Riggins closed the place
down for the night. The teens snuck out with some cigarettes and a keg of Keystone.
A night in the pokey and thirty days of community service cured them and any other
takers from being so reckless.

Reno didn’t figure teenagers would break into a boring hardware store, so he eased
the door open and stepped inside as quiet as he could. It only took a second before
he heard a curse and the sound of sliding boxes. As he stepped farther into the stockroom,
it was apparent his
burglar
nicely filled out a pair of jeans. With his arms crossed, he stood back and watched
her shove things around. The more she shoved, the more agitated she got. The more
agitated she got, the more the F-bombs flew. Before she could do any damage, he cleared
his throat.

Caught in the act, her head snapped up. Her beautiful mouth dropped open, and her
eyes went wide. Dirt smudged her cheeks, and he had to refrain from laughing at her
look of utter surprise.

“Looking for something?”

“Yes. My damned tin ceiling tiles.”

Oh goody. And she was pissed off too.

“I already looked back there.”

She put down the box in her hands and brushed her palms together. “Well, if you had
a better storage system, I’m sure you’d be able to find them. This place is a mess.”

“I can find things quite easy.”

“But not my ceiling tiles.”

“Nope. Not your ceiling tiles.” He tilted his head and, intrigued, watched her climb
over several boxes of faucets and plumbing accessories until she came to stand before
him.

“I never pictured you as the cat-burglar type,” he said, letting his eyes roam down
her body, past the handkerchief blouse that looked like all he’d need to do to remove
it would be to give her a little twirl.

“I have many talents.”

His gaze skimmed her body again. When everything inside him tightened, he knew he
couldn’t allow his imagination go
that
route.

Too dangerous.

And he hated cold showers.

“One of them,” she said, “is organization. A skill which
you
obviously lack.”

“You break into a man’s place of business, then try to make
him
feel guilty for not having a system up to your standards?”

“I didn’t break in.”

“I locked the door on my way out tonight. You don’t have a key. If you don’t call
that breaking in, what do you call it?”

“Your mother has a key.”

Shit.
There goes
all my
leverage.

He was going to have to have a heart-to-heart with that woman.

“So you waited until I closed down for the night, called my mother, and had her drive
all the way over here so you could snoop around my store?”

“No.” Her hands went to her shapely hips, and her chin came up. “My producer came
over here earlier to get the boxes.
You
said you couldn’t find them. He came to me and said you had left for the night. So
I
was faced with a time-and-financial dilemma, and I called your mother. Then
I
met her at the senior center and . . .” She whipped a key ring out of her front pocket
and jingled the keys.

“My mother just let you come in here all by yourself?”

She dropped her head back and sighed. “Do I look like I’d break in and steal . . .
faucets? Or, God forbid, a plaid shirt or some faded silk flowers?”

Personally, Fancy Pants”—he leaned in—“I don’t know what you’re capable of.”

“Good. I like keeping a man on his toes.”

A rumble gurgled through the space between them.

“Was that you?”

She looked down. “Was what me?”

“That noise. It sounded like a growl.”

“Well, according to you, I
am
a ferocious cat burglar.”

“Funny.” He looked her up and down. She looked tired, hot, and hungry. “When was the
last time you ate?”

“I don’t know.” Her bare shoulders lifted. “Maybe this morning?”

“Maybe?”

“Probably.”

“It’s eight o’clock at night.”

“And yet I still don’t have my ceiling tiles.”

“If your boxes are in here, I’ll find them tomorrow.” He took her by the arm and led
her to the door. “Right now, you need food.”

She tugged back. “I
need
my boxes.”

“Fine. First you eat. Then we’ll come back and find your damn boxes.”

Her stomach growled again.

“Okay.” She looked up at him, and he realized she was allowing herself to be led.
Her stomach had done the talking for her; otherwise, she’d never let him get the upper
hand. “
If
you promise to come back.”

Promises weren’t something he made often anymore. But for some stupid reason, he felt
compelled.

“Promise.”

L
ast damn time he’d try to play good guy.

While Sweet Pickens bustled with hungry diners, Hank Williams Jr. rocked the sound
system. Reno sat at one of the many well-used picnic tables across the bench from
Charli, watching her lick barbecue sauce from her lips. When she wrapped that luscious
mouth around a tender rib, Reno thought it might be the most erotic thing he’d seen
in a long time.

And didn’t that just identify him as certifiable.

She had sauce across her cheeks. Sauce on her fingers—which she managed to lick now
and again. And sauce on her chin. Reno was used to taking women to dinner only to
have them order a salad, then pick at it like it was full of thigh-busting calories.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a woman dive into her meal with such
gusto and not be self-conscious.

He liked that.

He didn’t know what that said about him, and as she lifted another rib to her lips,
he didn’t care.

Her straight white teeth dug in and tore off a bite. “This is the best barbecue I’ve
ever had.”

“When you end up wearing most of it, that’s always a good sign.”

She laughed. “Do I have sauce all over my face?”

“Oh yeah.”

She grabbed her napkin and gave her face a good swipe, but left a smear near the corner
of her mouth. “Better?”

“Not so much. Here.” He reached across the table and used his thumb to wipe it away.
When he looked up again, she was staring at him like he’d morphed into a circus clown.
“What?”

“That was pretty intimate.”

He looked down. Looked back up. “What’d I do?”

She pointed to his hand. “You sucked my sauce off your thumb.”

“I did?”

“Yes.” She set the rib down on her plate and reached for the stack of wet wipes in
the center of the table. “You know, for a man who likes to keep himself an arm’s length
away—”

“I don’t do that.”

“Oh yeah.” Her eyebrows lifted as she nodded. “You do.”

Man, he’d never had anyone nail him so dead on before. Did she have some kind of superpowers
or something? Or was she just that intuitive? He stuffed a French fry in the glob
of ketchup on his plate and took a bite. “Like I’ve said before, you really don’t
know me, and—”

She snagged the rest of his fry from his hand, stuck it in her mouth, and chewed.
“I’m getting to know you, Reno Wilder. Now, you might not like that idea . . .” She
snitched another fry, jabbed it in his ketchup, and waggled it in the air at him before
her teeth clamped down. “But I find it’s much easier to work with a client if I know
a little bit about them.”