The Bachelor's Brighton Valley Bride (Return to Brighton Valley) (6 page)

“You’ve got that right,” Caroline said. “A hundred dollars for a brand-new laptop, especially a Geekon, is a steal. I’m going to have to buy a couple for the office and one for home. And I’ll make sure to get them today.”

At that, Sally piped in. “I’ve been meaning to buy myself a computer, too. I’ve been learning how to email on an old one my friend loaned me last year. I’ll stop by the shop as soon as I get off work.”

Maybe if word spread in town and the store sold enough computers at the sale price, the corporate office would see them in a better light. Megan certainly hoped so. These days, Don needed all the luck and good press help he could get.

“How is Catherine feeling?” Sally asked the mayor. “That morning sickness can really be a drag.”

The mayor’s wife had been a city girl who’d fallen in love with him and settled in Brighton Valley. She’d given up the bright lights for small-town life, although with a husband like Ray Mendez, Megan could hardly blame her. Just about every single woman in town had set her sights on the tall, dark and handsome rancher/politician until Catherine Loza won his heart. And now his wife ran a dance school in Wexler and was expecting their second child.

“Oh, goodness,” Sally said. “Here I am, dawdling and spending my tip money on a new computer and forgetting to place your order for those tuna salads.”

Actually, Megan didn’t mind the excuse to stay away from the shop for a while. Or to have the opportunity to promote those much-needed sales of the Geekon Blast.

“I know you’re probably eager to get back to the store,” Sally said, “but a young stud like Peyton Johnson needs something heartier than some boring old greens and a scoop of our famous tuna. Why don’t I fix him up with the tamale pie that’s on special today? That boy sure has an appetite. He put away a juicy burger and a large order of fries yesterday.”

Sally was probably right, although Megan wasn’t sure how he kept his body in such good shape if he didn’t follow a healthy diet.

And what a shape his body was in. His athletic legs filled out his slacks to perfection and his arms looked as if they could lift her into any position he wanted her in.

There she went again. She had to stop thinking about him that way. Maybe the tamale pie was a good idea. If he put on some weight, she might not find him nearly as attractive.

“Good idea,” Megan told Sally. “You better make that a sweetened iced tea with a side order of fries. Oh, and a piece of the three-layer chocolate cake.”

But the extra calories she was adding to his lunch wouldn’t do anything about her short-term problem.

How was she going to keep her distance from him for the next couple of hours? She needed to make him less appealing
now.

As Sally turned to place the order with the cook, Megan called out, “And extra onions on that tamale pie, as well as jalapeño peppers.”

Maybe if she didn’t catch a whiff of his peppermint-fresh breath, she wouldn’t be inclined to daydream about getting up close and personal with the guy—or seeing if his kisses tasted as good as she thought they might.

* * *

Clay had the master computer up and running, but the internet connection was so sketchy he had to call the cable company and ask for a service tech to come by the store. As a result, he hadn’t made anywhere near as much headway this morning as he’d intended. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t ready to find something else to focus on in the afternoon.

By the time Megan returned to the store with lunch, he was ready for a break and that new focus. And damned if she didn’t give him one when she entered the shop, set down the box with the takeout order from Caroline’s Diner and faced him with that button on her blouse having busted loose once again.

Should he tell her? Or should he just enjoy the sight of yellow lace and the hint of bare skin?

He didn’t think the blouse she’d chosen to wear was too small. The problem seemed to be that her breasts were a bit too...

Well, hell, there was no way he could possibly classify them as too large. They were actually just right. Perfect.

Must be the buttonholes. Or the soft silky material that looked just slippery enough to...

Oh, for cripes’ sake. He had no idea what had caused the problem, but he certainly wouldn’t complain. And she had nice taste in undergarments, too. Wholesome yet sexy.

“The special was the hot tamale pie,” Megan said.

Hot tamale, huh? Yet he wasn’t talking about the plate of food she was unwrapping.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

Seriously? He was growing hungrier by the minute. But as she placed the meal in front of him, he said, “Looks good. I’ve had a real craving for something hot and spicy.”

“If you like hot and spicy as well as sweet,” she said, “then I might have just the thing for you.”

He just bet she did. And something told him they didn’t come any sweeter or hotter than Megan Adams. But if she was suggesting more than lunch, if she thought that she could tempt him to turn his back on all the problems facing the Brighton Valley store, then he had even more reason to fire her.

“I make a spicy chili preserve that Caroline can’t keep on the shelf,” Megan said. “I’ll have to bring some in for you to try tomorrow morning, along with one of my homemade biscuits.”

She was talking about
jam?

He stole a glance at her, watched her placing the food out on their desks.

So she wasn’t coming on to him? That was a relief.

And yet a bit disappointing at the same time. And why was that? Sure, she had pretty hair and an alluring scent. But she was older than he was—she had to be unless she’d had her son when she was ten. She was also a single mother. So why did he find her so darn appealing?

She wasn’t at all like the sophisticated and stylish women he normally dated. She looked more like the cute and perky cheerleaders in high school who only went for the Todd Redding types.

Besides, nothing could become of a relationship between them. Clay was determined to leave small-town life as quickly as he could, while Megan clearly belonged in a place like Brighton Valley. And for a man who’d finally made it in the real world, he’d best remind his libido of that simple fact.

* * *

It was well after two o’clock by the time Don returned to Zorba’s. Clay knew Megan was getting antsy to go pick up her daughter from school and check on Tyler. The woman had been stealing more glances at the clock above the filing cabinets than at the blouse that kept coming undone.

She’d jury-rigged the buttonhole with a bent paper clip, but even the paper clip was having difficulty staying in place.

Luckily, Don’s arrival helped defuse the sexual tension that had been building since this morning.

“I’m back,” the manager declared as he entered through the back door of the shop. “Now we can get back to work.”

Had Don thought that Clay—or rather, Peyton—and Megan had been sitting around the shop playing cards while he’d been gone?

Clay’s frustration level with the store manager had reached an all-time high, and it didn’t help that his libido was twisted in knots or that he’d spent the past hour discreetly popping antacids, as well as breath mints, because his stomach was a mess, and he could still taste onions and chili and tamale pie.

But something about the way Don looked was even more unsettling than that.

Megan, who’d already reached for her purse a few seconds ago, must have noticed that something wasn’t quite right, because her movements stalled.

Clay just about froze in his steps, too.

Don’s face had paled dramatically, and beads of perspiration had gathered above his brow.

Megan began to move in reverse. Then she dropped her purse and made her way to the older man’s side. “You’re looking a bit tired. Can I get you some water or something?”

Her description was an understatement. Don was more than tired. He was about to collapse.

“Sit down,” Megan told him.

When Don complied, plopping down in the chair nearest him, she said, “Take some deep breaths.”

As he did so, she reached over and rubbed his shoulder.

“I’ll be fi...” Don slouched in his chair.

Clay knew he ought to step in and take command of the situation, but Megan seemed to be holding her own.

Hell, she was doing better than that. She appeared to be a natural when it came to handling a crisis. And while he’d had to learn how to do that at a very early age, thanks to dealing with a mom who’d had severe mood swings and other issues, he hadn’t had to look out for anyone but himself for so long, it was kind of nice to step back and take a back seat on this one.

That is, until Don’s eyes rolled back.

Had he just passed out?

Did Clay need to perform CPR? He was medically trained. But Don appeared to be breathing. Would it be better to call to 911?

“Peyton,” Megan said, “help me lower him to the floor so he doesn’t fall.”

Realizing that was probably the best thing to do, Clay did as she asked. After Megan slipped her hand under her boss’s head, they maneuvered the man’s body to the floor.

Then, kneeling beside him, they tried to arrange him in a more comfortable position.

Since Don was still breathing, CPR wasn’t needed. But a call for paramedics definitely was.

Megan placed her left fingers on Don’s neck along with her right hand. She held them there for only a moment, then reached across to Clay’s waistline and unclipped his cell phone from his belt.

He nearly jumped as her fingers skimmed his stomach, but his adrenaline really shot through the roof when he realized that his smartphone, which she now held, contained all of his personal information—and nothing of Peyton Johnson’s.

He thought about snatching the phone out of her hands to make the call himself—before she was able to scroll through his files and find out who he really was. But Don’s moan reminded him that they were in an emergency situation and that a potentially dying man was a million times more important than his stupid secret identity.

“This is Megan Adams,” she said to the 911 operator, her voice calm and in control. “I’m at Zorba the Geek’s Computer Repair Shop at 293 Main Street in Brighton Valley. My boss just collapsed. We need an ambulance immediately.”

Don moaned again, and Clay spoke to him in a soft, steady voice. “You’re going to be okay, Don. Megan is calling an ambulance for you. We’ll make sure we get you to the hospital in no time.”

In what seemed like ages but was probably only a couple of minutes a siren sounded and grew louder. Clay had to give Brighton Valley’s first responders kudos for getting here so quickly.

Two paramedics and three firefighters came in through the front door and Megan waved the emergency personnel into the back room.

“He came into the shop about four minutes ago,” Megan said, impressing Clay with the way she’d kept her head and her senses during the emergency. “He was extremely pale and seemed kind of shaky. He made it to his desk chair and sat down about forty-five seconds before he collapsed.”

One of the paramedics began taking Don’s vital signs while the other fired off medical-history questions at Megan.

“I know he takes blood pressure medicine and has high cholesterol,” she said. “His family has a history of diabetes, but as far as I know, he’s never been checked.”

“Are you family?” one of the female firefighters asked Clay.

“Uh, no. I just work here. His wife is...” Clay looked again to Megan for direction. He knew the woman’s name was Cindy, but Megan would know more about how to get in touch with her and who should do it. This was probably the last thing anyone undergoing chemo should have to worry about.

Megan swooped in with the proper answer, just as he’d figured she would.

Again, he had to give her credit for keeping her head, for maintaining her control. She’d been a model of perfection—well, except for those two buttons that had come undone again. He didn’t blame her for not noticing, but the male paramedic kneeling down at eye level with her chest did.

The guy, who was probably in his early thirties and looked as if he could bench-press a gurney, flashed a smile at Megan—a smile that looked way more flirtatious than reassuring.

Clay didn’t like it.

“So are you going to ride along to the hospital with him?” the leering paramedic asked her as he stole another glance down her shirt.

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t leering, but he was definitely taking advantage of the beautiful display of womanhood. And while Clay hadn’t been able to help doing the same thing, he wasn’t going to cut the guy any slack when he was supposed to be a trained professional, which meant he was way out of line.

Megan looked at the clock, and Clay blurted out, “No, she can’t go. She has to pick up her kids from school. I’ll ride to the hospital with him.”

Megan looked at him in question, but hell. Clay had sat by idly for the past several minutes. It was time for him to take the situation into control. He hadn’t earned the right to be called boss or CEO for nothing.

“Close up the shop,” he told Megan. “And put a sign in the window saying we’ll reopen tomorrow. Then go get your kids. On your way, call Mrs. Carpenter and whoever else you need to notify. Let them know what happened and where he’s going. I’ll stay with him at the hospital until someone from his family can get there and take over. Call me if you have any problems.”

Megan, who’d taken charge just moments ago, nodded, passing on the leadership baton without question.

Clay then turned to the paramedics, who’d just secured Don onto the gurney. “Okay, let’s go.”

The firefighters left, no longer needed now that the paramedics had their patient secured. The good-looking male turned back to Megan as if to tell her goodbye.

Or maybe he’d been tempted to ask for her number. Who knew what handsome, muscle-bound guys like that did when it came to making moves on women like Megan?

Clay had struggled with self-confidence when he’d been a teenager. And while he’d ditched those old insecurities when he’d earned his first million and had finally grown up and filled out, being undercover in Brighton Valley seemed to have brought that scrawny, geeky side back in a rush.