Anything But Sweet (8 page)

His brothers—as ornery as they could be when the sun was shining—would reach out
in the dark of night to calm his fears. When nightmares shook his skinny foundation,
those boys would grab the blankets off their beds, and, side by side, they’d all sleep
on the floor. They never teased him. Never called him a sissy. They just drew him
into the brotherhood and let him know he belonged.

Though the anger had subsided, it often came back in the nightmares that woke him
in a sweat. As someone who immersed herself in a parade of crafts over the years,
his mother recognized that any type of creativity was a way to soothe the soul. She’d
tried different methods to engage him, but it wasn’t until she’d put a paintbrush
in his hand that he’d found his instrument. The first time he’d put that brush to
a bare wall, he knew he’d found the perfect medium.

As he parked his truck at the curb of the senior center, he knew that the scene he’d
chosen to create would enhance the space and lighten the moments spent within those
walls.

That’s why he’d gone against his initial foot-dragging on the project. Not for any
other reason.

Certainly not because
she’d
asked him to.

W
hen Reno opened the door to the senior center later that evening, he stepped back
in surprise. Though the quitting-time bell had rung for most folks, the senior center
remained abuzz. Amid the chaos, Charli sat in a corner, her head bent over a sewing
machine as she pushed fabric through the pumping needle. Beside her on the floor sat
the tiny little blonde who always seemed to have a clipboard plastered to her chest.
At the moment, she’d moved the clipboard aside and was busy pinning pieces of fabric
together.

Earlier in the day, while Reno had been in the midst of the activity, he’d had a chance
to watch Charli in action. He hated to admit that her passion was infectious. She
displayed the same quickness and efficiency her brother did on the battlefield. There
seemed to be nothing she couldn’t or wouldn’t tackle. She’d been up ladders, down
on the floor, sewing, painting, and hammering. And all the while, she kept up that
constant, inquisitive banter.

Why do they call it the Lone Star State? How big is the biggest ranch? What’s the
difference between Texas- and Kansas-City-style barbecue? Are there really scorpions
here?

At first it drove him nuts. He couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t figure out what to put
on that blank wall staring back at him—daring him to come up with something fresh
and creative.

After a while, he became numb to her repartee. Well, maybe not numb. It was hard to
be anesthetized by a moving cyclone. He’d had to mentally remove himself from the
chaos—much as he’d needed to in Afghanistan. Stand back and close his eyes until
he regained focus. Instead of battlefield rocket fire, he’d heard the tap-tap of
hammers. The whir of the sewing machine. And laughter.

Little by little, the image revealed itself in his mind like a dissipating fog. When
the entire vision opened up, he’d smiled and dipped the brush into a jar of paint.

Now, he managed to slip into the room as unnoticed as possible. While he dabbed in
layers of shadows and highlights, he lost track of time.

From the corner, the drone of the sewing machine came to a halt. Reno glanced over
his shoulder to see Charli raise her arms above her head and stretch like a cat. She’d
kicked off her tennis shoes, and one dainty bare foot rubbed over the top of the other.
Brush poised in the air, he couldn’t help but watch in fascination.

Any warm-blooded male—as his brothers had proven—would be mesmerized by the way
she looked. The way she moved. She was confident. Comfortable in her skin. And that
skin was mighty attractive.

There were others—men on her crew, men in the community—who paid close attention
to what she did. She was the type of woman who would make other women jealous. But
Charli Brooks had an uncanny way of warming up to people, making them feel comfortable
around her.

Comfortable enough to spill details of their lives.

He had to be careful of that.

She’d caught him off guard about Jackson’s past. God only knew what she could wheedle
out of someone if she put her heart into it.

“That’s looking good,” she said, coming up behind him. “You’re really very talented.”

Much as he tried to remain indifferent, the compliment washed over him.

“I’ll be honest,” she said. “I really didn’t know what to expect from you.”

“You said yourself that the seniors deserve a nice place to gather. I agree. So, however
I might feel, I’m not about to take that out on the folks who come here to relax and
enjoy themselves.”

“I apologize.” Her eyes did a quick scan over him. “I underestimated you.”

Before he had a chance to respond, she meandered away, picking up this and tucking
away that.

Thoughts scattered in a million directions—most of her and how he might have totally
underestimated her as well—he went back to his work. It took a while for him to refocus
his attention on the art and not the girl. What seemed like mere moments later, he
heard her saying good night to her crew. And then they were alone.

“You can go ahead,” he said, dabbing highlights on a section of sky. “I’ll lock up
when I’m done.”

“I’ll stay,” she said.

“No need.”

A sigh of exasperation pushed from her lungs as her hands went to her slender hips.
“Most people like me, Mr. Wilder. I don’t know why you don’t. But I guarantee by
the time we roll out of town, you’ll have changed your mind.”

She grabbed a pink hoodie from the counter, shoved her arms through the sleeves, picked
up her poodle, and walked out the door.

For a moment, he stood in her wake, surprised at the abrupt quiet.

“
You’ll change your mind,
” she’d said.

Exactly what he feared.

Chapter 7

E
xhaustion attacked every muscle in Charli’s body. Every square inch told her it was
time to go home, take a shower, and get some sleep. But she’d made a promise she intended
to keep.

As the daughter of a general, she’d learned that a promise—no matter how big or how
small—was made to be kept. She’d learned about broken promises the hard way. Like
when her father would promise they’d spend time together when he returned home—and
they didn’t. Or when she’d hear a soldier promise his loved ones he’d return from
the war—and didn’t. Or when her mother had promised she was just going to the store
and would be back in no time—and wasn’t.

As Charli knocked on the door of the little stone bungalow on Maple Sugar Road, she
knew her promise to visit was just as important. Even if it was only for a glass of
sweet tea, cookies, and a little decorating advice.

The door swung open, and she was met with a wide, lipsticked smile from Gladys Lewis
and her blue-haired sidekick, Arlene Potter, whom Charli had tagged the “Dynamic
Duo.” As the current senior center and Sweet Apple Butter Festival president and copresident,
the ladies were rarely seen apart. They never ceased to amaze everyone with their
energy
—a term loosely translated by some in town as a proclivity for gossip.

Gladys had cornered Charli after the meeting at the community hall to set up a little
tête-à-tête with some of the women in the community—a practice not uncommon in
the small towns Charli had the opportunity to visit. She considered the meetings a
bonus—a chance to get to know the community a little better and maybe uncover some
wishes and dreams the residents had for the place where they lived.

It was a far cry from the isolation she felt in her Studio City apartment, where she
was surrounded by young professionals who were rarely home and had little time for
beverages and conversation. The get-togethers were a chance to learn, and also to
help a few overcome some design issues in their own homes.

She entered a small living room bursting with women of all ages clustered together
on anything they could find to sit on—a piano bench, folding chairs, even an upside-down
bucket.

“Hello, ladies.” She gave a quick little wave. While her hand was up, someone literally
thrust a glass of tea into it and stuck a silver tray of cookies beneath her nose.
She laughed. “Now there’s the Southern hospitality I’ve been hearing about.” She snatched
a sugar cookie from the tray and sat down in the empty chair.

“We’re so glad you could join us, Ms. Brooks,” Arlene Potter said, then took a seat
on a barstool near the kitchen. “And we promise not to keep you too late. We know
you’ve had a long day.”

“Please. Call me Charli.” She looked at the eager faces and noted that Jana Wilder
was among the crowd. “I’m happy to be here. Design is my favorite subject.”

“Men are
my
favorite subject,” said a tiny little woman with strawberry red dyed hair and a face
creased with enough laugh lines to know she’d enjoyed every moment of her probably
eighty-plus years.

Everyone laughed as they passed around the cookie tray.

“What’s your name?” Charli asked.

“Gertie Finnegan.”

“There are a lot of Gerties in this town.”

“Popular name in our day.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Gertie Finnegan. And I’m rather fond of that subject
too.”

“You got a husband?”

How did this turn into a discussion about her personal life in zero to thirty seconds?
“No. I don’t.”

“Boyfriend?”

Charli laughed. “Nope. Not one of those either.”

“You like girls?”

“As friends.”

Gertie gave her a sharp nod. “Just checkin’. We got lots of lookers in this town in
case you want to take one home with you. Jana’s got a few boys. I’m sure she wouldn’t
mind if you snagged one of them.”

If Gertie only knew what Jana’s dark-haired son really thought of her, she’d never
even make mention. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Charli took a sip of sweet tea to wash
down her laughter. Leave it to the senior set to get right to the point.

“Well, I’m sure you’re all not really interested in my love life so—”

“Honey, this is Texas,” Mrs. Potter said. “We’re interested in
everybody’s
love lives.”

That got a round of nods and laughter that oddly made Charli wish she was a part of
a community where everyone knew your name and most likely knew how many times a week
you engaged in whoopee. Okay, maybe not the last part.

“Well, I
love
design,” she said, tiptoeing out of the sticky subject. “Especially when I can help
nice ladies like you work out some issues in their homes. So let’s get started. Who
wants to go first?”

A woman with apple cheeks and a polka-dotted blouse raised her hand. “I’ve got two
teenaged girls who share a room. One’s a princess, the other is a jock. How can I
decorate a room that will suit both?”

“That’s a great question. And believe it or not,
not
the first time I’ve heard it.” Charli put down her glass and cookie, crossed her
legs, and leaned in. “The best approach is to find a color they both agree on. For
instance, if they agree on blue, the princess will probably want baby blue and the
jock will probably want navy. You settle somewhere in between. Maybe an aqua or Mediterranean.
For fabrics, you want to stay basic. No flowers. No polka dots. Then you let each
girl accent her side of the room with her favorite things. A vase of flowers for the
princess. An athletic trophy for the jock. When you’re done, it will all meld, and
they’ll be able to enjoy it without its being too girly or too tomboy.”

From there the conversation moved on to how to give the hubby a place to recline without
a recliner, how to choose a shade of orange that didn’t look like a pumpkin, and how
to inject a little femininity in a household of six little boys. The group shared
laughter and tea, and they even playfully fought over the last cookie. Charli couldn’t
remember a time when she’d enjoyed herself so much. The women of Sweet made her feel
right at home, and Charli completely forgot that she’d already put in an eleven-hour
day on the job site.

As she stood talking to a middle-aged woman named Flora about the best stain-free
fabrics, Jana Wilder joined the conversation.

“Thank you so much for spending some time with us tonight,” she said, clasping her
hands together. “I know how hard you work and that you must be just exhausted.”

Charli covered her hands with her own. “Don’t you worry about that. I’m used to it.
Besides, I don’t know when I’ve ever been able to sleep so well. It’s so quiet out
at your son’s place.”

“I think that’s why I go over there so often. The boys somehow still end up in my
kitchen arguing about who’s smarter, bigger, or badder.” She laughed. “They always
ask if I miss them. But how can I when they won’t go away?”

“You do miss them though.”

Jana nodded. “I can’t tell you how awful it was when they all enlisted. Not that I
wasn’t proud, but when you’re used to five boys ransacking your refrigerator in the
middle of the night, or having to separate them when they’re wrestling on the floor
. . .” A deep sigh lifted her shoulders. “Of course, my husband was still alive then,
so I wasn’t completely on my own. But after Jared was killed, he retreated into himself
so much that . . . I might as well have been alone.”

“That must have been a very difficult time.”

“It was. I miss my husband more than I can ever express. And losing my firstborn almost
took me down. But I’m learning that I can always carry them with me in my heart and
my memories.” She paused, and the look of utter loss that darkened her light features
was enough to break Charli’s heart.

“A few days ago,” she continued, “I told Reno we all have to move on. He’s fallen
into an emotional rabbit hole, and, well . . . I guess I’m going to have to lead by
example. That’s why I came here tonight. I’m ready to take a step into the future.”

“Good for you.” Charli gave her hands a squeeze.

“You’ve inspired me. I’ve decided to make over my house. Give it some new life. Starting
with my bedroom. My husband, bless his heart, took the Western lifestyle literally.
While I do love the ranch style, I’m ready for something a little more romantic. And
maybe a little . . . fun. So it’s good-bye to John Wayne, hello to the new me. Whoever
that is.”

The design rebel in Charli exploded with ideas, and she hadn’t even seen Jana’s house
yet. “I’d love to help.”

“Oh, sugarplum, bless your heart. Y’all have got enough on your plate.” She glanced
away and came back with a grin. “But maybe if I could ask your advice now and then?”

“It would be my honor. Maybe I could come by and help you put together a plan. Then
you could get those big strapping sons of yours to give you a hand.”

Jana’s perfectly arched brows lifted. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Are you kidding? This will be an absolute blast. Nothing would make me happier than
to help you take the steps toward your new future.”

Blue eyes so different from her oldest son’s brightened. “Then it’s a deal. But only
if you let me repay you by inviting you to our big summer barbecue. You and your entire
crew are welcome.”

“We accept.” Charli thought of all the things that could go wrong if she showed up
and invaded Reno’s space again. Though her self-imposed ban on the other sex loudly
protested, something inside her tingled with the idea that maybe something could also
go very right.

A
Texas sunrise was really no different than a Memphis or Hawaiian sunrise. But something
in those gleaming golden rays made Charli jump out of bed even when every muscle in
her body screamed in protest.

She wasn’t due at the senior center until nine o’clock, so she’d made arrangements
to drop by Jana’s to take a look. See what they could come up with if they put their
heads together over coffee.

After a quick breakfast, she skipped the long, hot shower her body craved for a quick
lather and rinse. On her way out the door, she scooped up Pumpkin and her design bag.
As her tennis shoes hit the gravel driveway, and she opened the door to the Hummer,
she noticed a light on in Reno’s kitchen.

Good.

At least she didn’t have to worry about his being at Jana’s. She’d walked out on him
last night, so she guessed that meant they weren’t on speaking terms. Not that he’d
notice.

A little kick hit her in the heart.

She wanted him to notice.

When she looked at those dark, soulful eyes or those deceptively hidden dimples, it
was like being hit by ten thousand volts of raw electricity. Her heart raced. Her
fingertips tingled. And the sensation that shot through her core down to all those
womanly parts that rarely got a workout was pretty much indescribable.

She knew it was wrong, wrong, wrong, to spend even one nanosecond with those kinds
of thoughts. Or feelings. Hadn’t she learned her lesson a bajillion times? But Reno
Wilder was a big strong man with an amazing physique. And all those
womanly
parts couldn’t help but wonder what kind of magic he could work if only given a little
encouragement.

Or if he’d at least get that stick out of his butt.

As she thrust the gears into
DRIVE
, the tires kicked up a little gravel on her way down Rebel Creek Road beneath the
canopy of live oaks toward the heart of Wilder Ranch.

Several minutes later, she turned onto Jana’s road and braked to allow the golden
brown chickens to waddle to the other side. Without an obvious place to park, she
stopped the Hummer next to the huge wooden barn, which looked big enough to house
an entire wagonload of Budweiser Clydesdales. As soon as she opened the car door,
Miss Giddy greeted her with a bleating hello and a little butt of her horns. Her pink
satin bow looked a bit bedraggled as Charli gave her a good rub on her head.

Jana opened the front door of an amazing ranch-style home faced with rock and rough-hewn
posts. The front veranda spread across the length of the house, and, much like Reno’s,
was accented with comfortable chairs and colorful flowers.

“Welcome to Wilder Ranch.”

With one arm tucked around Pumpkin and the other hand clutching her design bag, Charli
stepped up onto the veranda. Jana immediately enveloped her in a warm hug.

Motherly.

That was the one thing Charli recognized in the woman. It made Charli yearn for her
own. No matter how many years passed, she missed her mom as much as if she’d lost
her yesterday.

“Good morning.” As best she could with arms full, Charli returned the embrace.

“Don’t be too shocked when y’all come inside. This isn’t the SouthFork Ranch and we
aren’t the Ewings,” Jana said. “We’re just simple, hardworking folk.”

“I never judge in any manner,” Charli reassured her. “In fact, if anyone came into
my apartment, they’d probably never guess a designer lived there.”

“You don’t practice what you preach?”

Charli shrugged. “Mostly I’m never there. When I was just working on my own, I didn’t
have the time. Plus, it’s a small apartment. Hardly anything to get too excited about.”

“You don’t like living there?” Jana’s voice tilted an octave, as if she was surprised.

“I spent my whole life moving around. An apartment just feels so . . . temporary.”

“I’ve never lived in one, so I wouldn’t know. But I can tell you it is nice to have
a big house and a lot of land to get lost on. Sometimes I look at all this and think
it’s too much space. Too much work.” She glanced out over the pasture, the rolling
hills, and the tall, shady trees that dotted the property.

“But everywhere I look, I see my husband. He put up all that fencing before our boys
were even born. As a new bride, I remember watching him from the tailgate of our old
Chevy truck. As he worked in the sun, he’d take off his shirt, and those muscles would
just flex in ways that made my heart race.” She gave a small sigh and chuckle. “Sometimes
he’d take a break and we’d cool off in the creek.”