Anything But Sweet (4 page)

Charli walked up to the mural and trailed her fingers lightly across the surface.
“Ahhhh. Hand painted.” Not like the mass-produced products they purchased for the
show. Whoever had created this original art had amazing talent and obviously loved
the little girl who lived in this room very much. While Charli hoped she wasn’t putting
a child out of her home, she couldn’t help but let a small sigh whisper from her chest.

The princess-themed room struck a chord. It was exactly the type she’d dreamed of
as a kid. But her father’s military career meant they were rarely in one place for
very long, and making a military house into a permanent home had been a senseless
effort. Or so her father had said. Until she turned eighteen and set out on her own,
Charli had become like the walls she lived within—beige and bland.

For most of her life, she’d been invisible to her United States Marine Lieutenant
General father. From the moment her brother Nicholas had been born a mere eighteen
months after she’d come into the world, the situation deteriorated. When her mother
died, it had become even more apparent.

Charli had been only eight at the time, and the loss had devastated her. Her mother
had been her safe haven in a world of heavy boots and sharp-spoken words from a father
who barked orders instead of engaging in conversation.

For years, she’d played to her father’s whims, pretending to be a good little soldier,
doing whatever she could to get his attention. She might as well have saved her energy.
Her father was either never home or never
there.
One removed him from her physically for months at a time. The other removed him from
her emotionally.

She didn’t know which was worse.

At the end of the day, she didn’t know much about the man who wore a hard expression
on his handsome face. She only knew that the military had not made him that way. He’d
brought that cold, hard heart with him when he’d enlisted. Which always made her wonder
what her whimsical mother had ever seen in the man. Her mother had been the only one
who could cajole away his bad moods. When her mother was gone, there’d been no one
for the job. Still, Charli had tried.

Inarguably, men were complicated creatures. A detail she’d determined at the age of
ten, when her father had come home from a yearlong deployment and merely patted her
on the head. Yet later, at the welcome-home party their nanny had thrown, he’d proceeded
to tell his fellow officers what a wonderful little girl his Charli was.

How did he know?

Did he really care?

And maybe it didn’t matter as long as he paid her any amount of attention.

Sadly, she realized that even now, at the age of thirty-one, she was still vying
for her father’s attention and approval. And, much like her mother, she’d often sought
the company of men whose hearts were voluntarily unavailable.

Miraculously, her brother—now a lieutenant deployed to Afghanistan—had grown up
to be much like their mother. He had a beautiful heart and soul and a smile that lit
her up on the inside.

Charli turned away from the adorable little bedroom and went back into the master,
where she hung her clothes in a walk-in closet beside stacks of jeans and freshly
laundered shirts. Men’s XL shirts. Other than some tutus tossed on the little toddler
bed in the next room, there was no women’s apparel to be found.

Though curiosity nibbled at her imagination, the accommodations weren’t hers to question.
She was only grateful for the king-sized bed and fluffy comforter that awaited her.
The one on which her dog had managed to curl up and currently snored like an old man.

Desperate to join her pooch in a nice sleep, Charli went into the roomy bathroom to
take a hot shower. Tomorrow’s activities included a 5:00
A.M
. wake-up call and some demolition on the senior center. Since the seniors had been
the ones to initiate contact with the show, she felt they deserved the first swing
of the hammer. And as she’d learned several years ago when she’d turned an old hospital
into retirement apartments, a happy bunch of senior citizens meant a happy working
crew. Bless their hearts for all the homemade cookies and steaming pots of coffee.

After several minutes of standing beneath the hot stream of water, Charli reluctantly
got out and dried off. She tossed the towel on the nearby hamper and pulled on the
fuzzy pink robe that always gave her a sense of home even if she was thousands of
miles away from her apartment near the Hollywood Hills.

While the summer night outside might be hot and humid, the air in the apartment was
cool and crisp. The perfect sleeping temperature. She couldn’t wait to snuggle down
beneath that comforter and catch some badly needed Z’s.

She’d just pushed Pumpkin over to make room for herself and turned down the covers
when someone knocked on the door. Anxious to meet the lovely woman with the deep Texas
drawl she’d spoken to on the phone, Charli padded barefoot to the door. She quickly
unbolted the dead bolt and swung the door open wide.

A
t the click of the dead bolt, Reno turned toward the door. Everything inside him froze,
then heated back up like he’d been tossed into an electrical storm.

Great. Looked like Jackson had already put the moves on the new girl in town. His
younger brother rarely hesitated to use his charm and movie-star looks to turn a
pretty head.
Fancy Pants
had obviously succumbed quicker than most.

Her smile slipped, then just as quick pushed back up into place. “Come to collect
your money?”

Her warm brown hair was pulled up into a messy tumble of damp curls on top of her
head. A coconut scent that made him think of hot tropical beaches danced across the
air between them. And she was wrapped up inside a big fluffy pink robe that made her
look as delicious as a marshmallow peep.

Was she naked under that robe?

“Well?”

He lifted his gaze from her painted pink toes to those smoky eyes. “What?”

“The money. For the shirt Pumpkin piddled on?”

Piddled?

Okay, there was a word he’d
never
used in his entire life. “What the hell are you doing here?”

She braced her hand on the doorframe, which inadvertently thrust out one slender hip.
“I could ask you the same, Mr. Wilder.”

He leaned in and glanced around the empty living room. “Where’s Jack?”

“Jack?” Her head tilted. A long dark curl escaped the tangle on her head and draped
along her cheek. “Who’s Jack?”

“My brother.” He folded his arms and rocked back on his heels. “Since you’re standing
in his apartment half-dressed . . . I’m guessing he’s somewhere inside . . . half-dressed.”

“Excuse me?” Tinkling laughter escaped those perfect, plump lips. “Are you actually
standing there accusing me of jumping into bed with your brother—whom I have never
even met?”

“Why else would you be standing in
his
place . . . half-naked?”

Without warning, she whipped open the robe, revealing a snug white tank top and short
shorts. The cooling night air hit her fast, and the hard pebbles peaked beneath the
soft cotton left no question that she did not wear a bra.

That jolt of lightning hit him again.

“Not
half-naked, Wilder. And for your information—not that I owe you any explanation—I’m
here because a very nice lady loaned me this place for the duration of my stay.”

He narrowed his eyes. “
Which
nice lady?”

“I only caught her first name. Jana.”

“Shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s my mother.”

“Then why is she loaning out your brother’s apartment?”

Reno shook his head and dropped his gaze to the scuffed-up toes of his boots. “Good
question.” When his head came back up, a smile played about the corners of her mouth.

“And from your total lack of enthusiasm, my guess is this presents a problem for you.”

“You have no idea.”

“Which would explain why you’re looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asked. “Like I want you to leave?”

“Yes.”

“Because I want you to leave.”

“Well . . . you didn’t invite me here. Besides, it’s late. I’m exhausted. And I have
a six o’clock start in the morning.”

He rocked back on his heels. “Not my problem.”

“And it’s really not your problem that I’ve been given permission to stay here while
we’re shooting.”

“You might not want to mention shooting. This is Texas, after all.”

“
Filming
then. And it’s really none of your business where I stay, is it?”

He leaned in, just slightly, and caught another whiff of tropical beaches. “Now
that
is where you’re wrong, Fancy Pants.”

One manicured hand slid to her hip. “
Fancy Pants?
”

Heart pounding like an oil rig, Reno turned and headed down the stairs.

“Hey. You don’t need to be so rude.” She stepped out onto the landing. “Where are
you going?”

“Home.”

“Which is where exactly?”

He kept walking and pointed toward the open barn doors.

“The ranch house is
yours
?”

He could almost feel the rush of air push from her lungs and sweep across his back.
“Yep.”

“Crap.”

“Exactly.” When his boots hit the gravel he kicked a rock across the drive.

“Have a nice night, Mr. Wilder.” The hint of laughter in her tone coiled around his
spine.

He turned and glared up at her standing in the doorway of the apartment he rented
out to his brother. “You still owe me twenty bucks,” he said. “And rent’s due on Friday.
If
you’re here that long.”

“I’ll be here.
And
I’ll gladly pay.”

He gritted his teeth and turned.
You bet your fuzzy pink robe you will, sweetheart.

Chapter 4

“W
hat the hell were you thinking?” Frustration tightened the pit of Reno’s stomach early
the following morning while his brother leaned back in their mother’s kitchen chair
casual as you please.

“Any of us ever win an argument with Mom?” Jackson asked, popping open a can of Dr
Pepper and taking a good long slug.

“Not that I can recall,” Reno answered.

“Then why would I start trying now?” Jackson tipped his chair back on two legs and
forked a hand through his brownish blond hair. “Mom had
Southern hospitality
written all over her face. I might like the occasional adrenaline rush—”

Reno lifted a brow. “Occasional?”

Known for his act-first-think-later nature, Jackson laughed. “Like I said, I might
like the occasional adrenaline rush, but I do
not
have a death wish. Me standin’ in the way of Mom’s opportunity to show her sweet
side? Uh-uh.” He shook his head. “Ain’t going to happen. You like tangling with a
tiger so much, you tell Mom the lady isn’t welcome.”

“Tell who, what?” Their mother chose that moment to pop into their conversation. Not
that she hadn’t heard them squabbling all the way from the back of the house. It wasn’t
unusual for them to gather in her kitchen for a meal. Though they all had their own
places spread out across the large ranch, none of them were foolish enough to pass
up their mother’s cooking.

“Reno here doesn’t want the lovely Miz Brooks staying at my place for the next couple
weeks.”

“I can speak for myself, jackass.” The beginnings of a headache began to hammer Reno
between the eyes.

“Watch your language, son.”

Their mother slapped Jackson’s booted feet off a table scarred from years of abuse
from the five boys who’d eaten their meals there. “And
you
. . .” She thrust a finger at his six-foot-two little brother. “Watch your manners.
Both the Marines and I taught you better than that.”

“Sorry.”

Reno chuckled. There was nothing funnier than when one of the other boys got reprimanded.
Just proved you were never too old to be mothered. At thirty-four, Reno didn’t mind
that at all—circumstances with his past being what they were. In fact, he considered
himself damned lucky.

Jana Wilder pulled down a mug from the cupboard and filled it with steaming coffee.
She stirred in three spoonfuls of sugar, then sat down at the table between him and
Jack. She took a careful sip, set the drink down, then glared, while he and his brother
waited patiently for her words of wisdom.

And let there be no doubt the woman would spew them like Shakespeare—Texas style.

“Now, Reno, what’s got your tail all in a knot about us being hospitable with the
TV folks?”

“Where do I start?”

Arched brows pulled together over her sharp blue eyes. “I expect at the beginning
is a good place.”

“Changes.” Reno shoved away from the table and stood. He thrust his hands on his hips
and huffed out a frustrated breath. “Damn woman wants to change everything that’s
good about this town. And you want to let her stay in Jack’s place for six weeks?
Where’s
he
going to stay? What about Izzy?”

“I have four empty bedrooms in this house. There’s plenty of room for your brother.
And any chance I get to spend time with my granddaughter, well, that’s even better.”

Reno refused to sound any more like a petulant child than he already did. So instead
of pushing out the rest of his frustrated rants and raves, he bit his lip.

“If he turns any redder, we’re going to have to call 9–1–1.” Jackson chuckled. “I
think he wants to know why you didn’t invite the lovely Miz Brooks to stay
here
instead of at the apartment.”

Since he’d been nine, Reno’d had a leg up on the dark, threatening glares. Hell, he’d
practiced them for hours, weeks, months, just to get one up on his brothers. Lucky
for him, Jack picked up on the hidden message behind his narrowed eyes.

“Huh. Look at the time. Got cattle to check. Gotta go saddle up.” Jack stood and gave
their mother a kiss on the cheek, then clasped Reno on the shoulder. “See you out
at the barn.
If
you survive.”

When the kitchen door slammed shut, Reno glanced back down at his mother, who looked
much as she had the time she’d sat him down at this very table and told him that under
no uncertain terms would he ever be taken away from her and his father. They’d held
true to their word. But that didn’t lessen the anxiety doing the two-step in his
stomach.

“Well, now,” she said with a little pat on his arm. “I figured Ms. Brooks would want
some privacy. A little peace and quiet. No place better for that than the apartment.
Some days, I wish I could move in there myself. It’s so nice and serene.”

“
You
are welcome,” Reno said. “
She
is not.”

“This is all about the hardware store, isn’t it?” His mother gave his arm a tug, and
he sat back down. “She put you on the list, and you don’t like that.”

“The shop is exactly the way Dad left it.” His heart took a wobbly sidestep. “There’s
nothing wrong with it.”

“Except that your daddy had plans to make some changes. He just up and died before
he got them done, sugarplum. I promise you, he wouldn’t mind your spiffing the place
up a little.”

Reno shook his head. “I worked beside him in that store every day. I saw the look
on his face when he’d walk around and dust or add new items to the shelves. It was
pure pleasure. The way things are with that shop, it made him happy.” He paused. Took
a breath. Let the pain subside. “I feel him there. Like he’s watching me, approving
of the way I’m taking care of the place for him. I’m afraid if I . . .”

“Oh, son.” His mother stroked his cheek and gave him a smile. “Nothing stays the same.
I know it’s been hard on you since we lost Jared, then your daddy. Not to mention
Diana.”

No matter which way Reno turned, he faced a reminder of all he’d lost. Including the
woman he’d loved to a horrific accident just two years ago—a mere two months after
his dad died. Not that he suffered those losses alone or selfishly slighted anyone
else’s grief, but sometimes he wondered if there would ever be a day he didn’t feel
the pain so deep inside that he often couldn’t breathe.

The coolness of his mother’s fingers on his cheek kept him grounded to the conversation.
The moment. But it did not ease the ache.

“But, sugarplum, we all have to learn to move on,” she said. “They’d want us to. Everything
and everybody changes. You just need to get on board is all.”

Reno looked up, and as much as he wanted to please this woman who’d taken him in and
raised him as her own, he could not. He laid his hand over hers. “I’m sorry, Mom.
That train is going to have to leave the station without me.”

R
oofing. Siding. A new door. Paint. And that was only the beginning of what needed
to be done for the exterior of the senior center. Those projects didn’t even begin
to count the list of improvements necessary for the inside. Charli stood back, arms
folded, and watched her lead contractor climb the ladder to the roof. A crew of at
least twenty volunteers had shown up to help in any way they could. Just one of the
many things Charli loved about small towns. Whenever anyone needed help, someone would
be there to answer the call without question or expectation of compensation.

“Ms. Brooks?” Sarah Randall, Charli’s assistant, came up beside her with her ever-present
clipboard plastered to her chest and her pretty blue eyes hidden behind a thick pair
of black-rimmed glasses. “We have a volunteer who is offering us a forklift at no
charge if you’re interested.”

“No charge?” Charli laughed. “Get his name and number before he changes his mind.
We have to squeak in five buildings plus Town Square on a three-building budget.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Sarah? How long have we been working together?”

“Nine months, ma’am.”

Charli sighed and grabbed the girl in a quick bear hug. “Then when are you going to
quit calling me ma’am and stop acting like I’m going to bite?” She leaned back and
looked into the girl’s wide eyes. “Have I ever yelled at you? Cussed you out? Lost
my temper?”

“No ma— . . . Ms. Br—”

“Charli. You call me what everybody else does. Okay?”

“Hey, Charli,” the contractor called down. “You sure about that roof color?”

“See how easy that is?” Charli grinned. “Tell you what. I’ll give you permission to
call me
mud
if I can’t pull off this makeover on time and on budget.”

“Or you can call her unemployed.”

Charli turned toward the new addition to the conversation—Max Downs, the field producer,
and just one more in a line of many she needed to please.

Sometimes the growing list overwhelmed her. Those were the times she had to remind
herself that she’d auditioned for the job. On a whim. Well, a dare actually from one
of her Beverly Hills clients, who’d thought Charli would be perfect. Charli had thought
it would be fun.

The day of the audition, she’d been clueless. Other than the occasional hamming it
up for her brother for his photography class, she’d had no experience whatsoever in
front of a camera. She’d had no idea of blocking, cues, or which lens to look into
when she’d either read from cue cards or improvise a take. She’d not known the difference
between a cinnamon roll and B-Roll.

The producers had been patient, and they’d given her more than a few extra chances
when others might have thrown in the towel. What had once been a long, grueling learning
experience had now become second nature.

She loved her job, but her dream had never been to be on television. She’d never imagined
she’d have to turn away the clients she’d worked hard to please because she’d be on
the road for six weeks at a time for over half the year. Six weeks seemed like forever
when all you really wanted to do was wander into your own kitchen for a midnight snack.

She’d lived her entire life on the move. When she’d become a designer, her goal had
been to create environments where families could spend time together. Where singles
could have cozy rooms in which to welcome friends. Where people could gather and
stay a while. Her dream had always been to settle down in a quaint little town close
to a bigger city where she could set up shop. She didn’t want the big-city life.
She wanted to wake up every day and walk out into her own yard. To be surrounded by
the things she enjoyed and the people she loved.

Finding Pumpkin had been the start of finding that comfort. Charli had needed someone
to come home to, someone familiar to chase away the solitude on those long, lonely
nights. Pumpkin had happily filled the bill.

Hosting the makeover show had merely been a way to achieve her goal—to get her name
and style out there. To save enough to buy her own home. Her own design studio.

At the end of the day, she’d fallen in love with the little towns she visited and
renovated. They’d become her passion. And sometimes the towns and the people who
lived there offered that missing element she’d searched for all her life. If the show
ended tomorrow, she’d be sad and would miss all the amazingly talented people she
worked with. In the end, she’d take what she’d learned right back to one of those
little towns she’d come to love, and she’d fill her life with beautiful things and
even more wonderful people.

“Morning, Max,” she said, taking no offense at his underlying threat. “You come to
put in a full day of sweat equity?”

“No.” In his crisp button-down shirt, he handed her a Styrofoam cup. “But I brought
you this. It’s the closest I could get to a double-shot skinny latte.”

While Sarah and her clipboard wandered off to corral the off-camera painters, construction
workers, and various geniuses that made the show work and look good, Charli lifted
the lid from the coffee and took a whiff. “What is this?”

“Black coffee, sugar substitute, and low-fat milk.”

“No Starbuck’s in Sweet?”

“Couldn’t even find an espresso machine. A cute little waitress at Bud’s Nothing Finer
Diner made that for you.”

“Ah, then it looks like I’ll be ordering a machine off the Internet. Which reminds
me, where will our deliveries be made? I found some really nice fabric online for
the curtains inside the senior center, and I need to get it here pronto.”

Max glanced up and scanned the buildings down Main Street. “Best place looks to be
the hardware store. They’ve got a decent-sized lot in back, where lumber and supplies
can be stacked.”

Charli glanced down the street to the biggest target on her to-do list. “You mean
Wilder and Sons?”

“Sure.” Max shrugged. “Seems logical. Guess we’d better clear it with the owner first,
though.”

“I’ll do it.” Wow. That hardly came out sounding too eager.

“Great.” Max readjusted the ball cap that covered a bald patch the size of a dessert
plate. “I’m going to talk to Abraham about camera angles and setting up some B-Roll.”

“Meet you back here in . . .” She glanced down at her watch. “An hour.”

With some quick instructions to the crew, Charli put her sneakers in motion and crossed
the street, with Pumpkin trotting happily alongside. She didn’t know why facing the
grumpy Mr. Wilder gave her such a thrill. Maybe it was because he was only on her
“to-do” list and not her “to please” list.

The challenge of reviving the hardware store was too good to pass up. Still, in no
way did she think it would be an easy task.

She felt sorry for his wife. Not that she’d seen a woman around when she’d left the
apartment that morning. But the house, yard, and surrounding acreage were immaculate
and well tended with a caring hand. One glance around the dusty falling-down hardware
store would convince anyone with half an eye that the man didn’t much care for aesthetics.
And that led to only one conclusion—a
Mrs.
Grumpy was hiding somewhere in this town.