Hitched (Tarnation, Texas Book 1), page 7
Baxter smiled and leaned away from the doorframe.
“Why don’t you buy another phone?” the other woman asked.
“Aunt Stella, you know things are tight right now with the rise in rent for the building, and the installment for mom’s nursing home and the tuition check for DJ is due next week. I can’t afford to drop five bucks on mascara let alone hundreds for a phone.”
His smile faded. He swiped a hand down his face.
“Didn’t you buy the phone insurance?” Stella raised an accusatory brow.
“At the time, ten extra bucks a month seemed like a fortune.”
“Okay, so what will you do?”
“A cell phone isn’t a necessity. I have the landline at the shop and it’ll be fine until I can buy another. In the meantime, I’ll be fine.”
“If you say so.”
“I’ve been tossing around the idea of selling the house.”
Baxter heard the disappointment in her voice.
“That’s your home, sweetie.”
“It’ll all be okay, unless I have to see that beastly Colt man again.”
Her aunt chuckled. “Come on, you have to admit he and his brothers are—”
“Arrogant? Conceited? Giants? How about all the above?”
“Abriella, in a town where every male over the age of eighteen is either hitched or a hair’s width away from being so, you can’t say it’s a bad thing to have some sexy cowboys here in Tarnation. You haven’t been on a date since—”
“And I don’t care.”
So, Abriella was her name? Baxter’s grin returned. He liked the name. Abriella. Abriella. He repeated it in his head several times.
“Mm…this chocolate mousse is to die for.” She made throaty moans. “Thick. Rich. Smooth on the tongue.”
His throat constricted. An image of her, lashes fluttering and tongue rolling along her bottom lip as she said the words sent a magical sensation straight behind his zipper. Good thing the durability of the denim had been tested a few times and he wouldn’t be busting any seams here in the diner.
“That’s because you made the mousse,” Stella said with a laugh. “That was the last of it. Thank goodness you dropped off the pies.”
“I also dropped off a dozen cookies. Let me know what your diners think of them.”
“Are those the ones you plan to make for the contest?”
There was a long pause before Abriella answered, “I’m not sure.”
“What do you mean you’re not sure? The contest is in two weeks. You’ve entered something every year, and the money—”
“No pressure, right?” There was a lot of tension in her voice.
“I’m sorry, honey. I know you said you had plans for the money. What has you worried?”
He heard the clinking of a spoon hitting the bottom of a bowl. She was scraping the last bit of mousse.
“The recipe. I just feel like there’s something missing. I’ve tweaked it a few times, but I can’t figure out what I’m needing.”
“Well, let me try one and tell you what I think.” A second later, Stella said, “Are you kidding, they’re not missing anything. They’re delicious. The best cookie yet.”
“You say that every year.”
“It’s the truth. Now about Baxter Colt…”
“What about him?”
Yeah, what about me?
“Maybe he gets you all riled up, and that’s a good thing. At least he gets a reaction, unlike any other man you’ve dated.”
Abriella’s snort made him frown. “You must be kidding. Did you not hear the part where I said he was arrogant, conceited, and snobbish? I don’t like him. He’s just like his father, and we know how that is.”
“Buzz wasn’t that bad. Sure, he could rub people the wrong way, but he was highly misunderstood if you ask me. Maybe there’s something else keeping you from moving on.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know, sweetie, I miss her too. She’s your momma, and my sister. You don’t have to pretend.”
There was a long hesitation. “Pretend what?”
“That you are in control. There’s always a risk of losing someone that we care about, but she wouldn’t want you like this. If you’re feeling something for Baxter Colt, why not take a chance and—”
*
“I like men who are warm.” Abriella stared at her aunt in disbelief.
“Really? Could have fooled me considering you haven’t dated any man since big hair was in. Ladybug doesn’t stand in for a mate.” Stella sniffed.
“Leave my cat out of this. Let’s say, for theory’s sake, that I decided to date someone. I’d pick any man, and I do mean any man, before I’d think about dating that arrogant man.” She scraped the last of the mousse from the dish. He’s a—” She noticed that her aunt’s face paled and she was obnoxiously clearing her throat. “What’s wrong? Is it the cookie? Did it get stuck in your throat?”
“Shh.” She leaned in and whispered, “He’s here.”
“Who?”
“I’m going out to check on the tables.”
Abriella turned and saw the star of the conversation himself. He greeted Stella with a deep-dimpled smile as she passed and then he turned his cornflower blue eyes back on Abriella. The grin stayed, but his eyes narrowed. “It’s interesting what a man can learn about himself when he least expects it,” he said in a lazy draw.
His hat was missing, showing off his thick black wavy hair. A shiny lock had dropped to his forehead making him appear younger…although she had no clue exactly how old he was. There was a furrow to his brow still and a new twist to his mouth. “Were you snooping?”
“Yes, but of course I’d see how you’d turn this around on me considering you have a habit of blaming others for everything,” he said lowly.
“How is it my fault that you were listening in on my conversation?” She crossed her arms over her chest hoping the butterflies in her stomach calmed some.
“You were talking loud enough about me. I didn’t think it was private.”
“I figured you’d have left town already. Planning on leaving soon?”
“In a hurry?” He smiled an intoxicating grin that probably earned him his way often enough.
She wanted to be immune to him, even better, she wanted to be angry with him, but the only person she was frustrated with was herself. Her body reacted like she’d run a marathon every time she saw him. “It doesn’t matter to me one way or another.”
He hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “I’m in the mood for some chocolate mousse.” His eyes dazzled.
Her cheeks warmed and she dropped her hands to her sides. “I ate the last bit.” After the words were out, she could have bit her tongue.
“Not quite accurate.” He stepped across the short distance and swiped a thumb along one corner of her lips then brought his finger to his mouth. “That is delicious.” She stared, focusing on bringing air in and out of her lungs. Her knees wobbled and she braced a hand on the edge of the table, feeling her toes curl in her shoes. “Too bad that was the last drop. I’ll have to settle for a slice of pie then.” He winked.
Did he find this all to be entertaining? From the twinkle in his eye to the roguish smile, he knew exactly what he was doing to her. And he liked it. Maybe she liked it a bit too. Stella was right, Abriella hadn’t felt anything even close to this in so long, if ever. She felt alive.
Groaning under her breath, she gave him what she hoped was a killer gaze. “Excellent. You should go grab some before they sell out,” she encouraged, but he didn’t move a muscle.
“I’m more of a cake man, although I do enjoy pie on occasion.”
She couldn’t have been more turned inside out if he’d touched her in her most intimate part. “I-I bet you do.” She cleared her throat.
“I was thinking about stopping by Bluebonnet and grabbing another confection. What’s the name of that donut that you gave me?” His broad shoulders eased some, his magnificent eyes stayed on her while she inhaled his scent, a mixture of manly fragrances. Her insides fluttered while her heart beat wildly.
“Ding dong. That’s the name.”
He blinked. “Hmm…interesting. Maybe I’ll try something different next time. Something soft with crème in the middle.”
She could hardly keep from laughing. She should be grateful that he couldn’t resist her sweets, but why did he have to look at her like she was the dessert. He probably caught a lot of women by flashing that smile and sensual gaze, but it was a waste on her. She preferred kind, compassionate, modest men instead of egotistical strangers. “How about I slice you a piece of pie so you can be on your way?” Stepping over to the counter, she was grateful she could turn her back to him, long enough to hopefully get her body under control. If he stared close enough, she was certain he’d see the heavy beat of her heart in her chest.
“You’re working really hard on trying to get me to leave. I’m here with Arc and he’s still eating.”
“Is Arc one of your brothers?” she asked, revolted that her voice shook.
There was a slight hesitation. “Yes. You should know, considering you saw us sitting out there.”
She needed to save face. “Which kind do you prefer? Lemon. Blackberry. Or strawberry?”
“Tell me, which is the best.”
She jumped when he said the words from beside her. How did he move so furtively? “If you’re asking what my favorite is, it’s the lemon, but strawberry is my number one selling pie.” Daring a look upward, she met his gaze, felt his heat burn through her thin long sleeves.
“I’ll take lemon.”
“Fine.” Her hands were shaking as she reached for the box and took out the pie. She could barely breathe as she wrapped her fingers around the handle of the knife. She appeared clumsy as she attempted to slice the pie because when she went to put it on the plate, it overturned. His scent was too much, not in a bad way, but in a way that peaked her nipples. She’d never felt so excited just standing close to a man. He made her feel naïve, unschooled in the game of attraction. Although she didn’t date often—less than often. Why was she even debating this silliness?
“There’s your pie. You should leave the kitchen now. You’re not supposed to be back here.” Any excuse to get him as far away from her as possible before she acted foolishly.
“Does your aunt own the place?”
“Yes.”
“She seemed okay. In fact, she seems okay with the idea of you and I going out on a date.”
Abriella took a step back and hit the counter. “Mr. Colt—”
“I’m not my father, Abriella. I hope you realize that. Call me Baxter.”
Her cheeks went from warm to hot. “Okay…Baxter…my aunt likes to play cupid. It makes her forget that she is single too.”
“Ahh, you’re single.”
Feeling naked and vulnerable, she busied herself putting the pie back into the box and washing the knife. “Bye, Baxter.”
“Wait. Not so fast.”
“Why?” She brought her chin up, allowing herself to meet his gaze.
“Shouldn’t we bury the hatchet?”
“Hatchet? I thought it felt like a plow. Now when do you plan on leaving again?” Forcing a smile to her lips, she hoped he had no clue of the tsunami in her body.
“Six months.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Six months?” The knife dropped from her quivering fingers and hit the sink with a loud ding.
All smile was lost from his features. “It appears Buzz had a sense of humor after all. Long story, but yeah, we’ll all be here running Grinning Spurs until we’ve proven ourselves.”
“Really? He’s gone.”
“Exactly.”
She forgot about everything but listening to him, battling the new fear in her. “What does this mean for the building I rent? Will you be selling before you leave?”
Several expressions flickered across his face. “Honestly, I don’t know yet. We should sit down, discuss how things are run at the bakery. You could even show me around town.”
Her mind blanked and she blinked. “Show you around?” Her voice cracked. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not? The Tarnation welcome sign bragged that this is a town of friendly citizens. Everyone has been pretty nice, except for you.” There was a hint of a smile.
Abriella wondered if his plan was to unravel her? She wouldn’t let him. “I’m sure I could find someone who would be very interested in showing you around. I’m busy.”
“I’m not asking for a date if that’s your concern.”
“That’s good because the answer would be no,” she snapped.
“I’d say you owe me a chance though.”
“A chance? For what?”
“For me to prove that I’m not an arrogant, conceited giant. You’re presuming you know me because you knew my father.”
“Look, I’m being honest when I say I’m busy. I’m running a bakery and I have responsibilities. Sunday is about the only day that I have time—”
“So, you do have time? Great.”
How could she back out of this crazy train?
“Don’t mince my words.” She brushed passed him and grabbed her purse off the hook by the door.
“Suit yourself. I guess I’ll see you around.”
It took all her control to keep a straight face as she turned on heels and focused on getting through the diner to the glass doors. She waved at her aunt and, once she stepped outside, she made the mistake of looking through the large window where Baxter was sitting with his brother again, and his eyes were on her and he wore a cocky grin. That man infuriated her! He thought it was funny that he had been snooping in on her conversation. And he said he’d be in Tarnation for six months? She’d make it her mission to steer clear of him…miles of space. The last thing she needed was an egotistical man getting under her skin when she needed to stay engrossed in taking care of her mom and brother.
Climbing into her red pickup parked on the street, she pulled out and headed toward the nursing home. Every single day, she drove to the nursing home located a few miles outside of town.
Although she hated that this was her mother’s new home, Abriella liked the staff at Bristol Breeze. They were always informative, good with her mom, and they contacted her when needed.
Once she stepped up to the nurse’s station, she heard, “Evenin’, Abriella.”
“Hi, Pixie.” She liked the forty-something year old nurse that had a flair for frequently changing the color and style of her hair. This month her hair was shaven on one side and the tips were pink. “How’s mom doing?”
“We had a crying spell this morning, but she’s fine now. We got it under control and didn’t need to call you. I’m sure she’ll be happy that you’re here.” Pixie patted her hand. “Go on in.”
“Hi, mom,” Abriella said when she stepped into the private room. Her mom sat in a flowered chair, her legs covered in the quilt made by her mother. Rosa looked so small and fragile as she stared at the TV playing a black and white show. One fisted hand gripped the edge of the blanket while the other sat in her lap, shaking uncontrollably.
Tears filled Abriella’s eyes. She missed her mom terribly, but somewhere in the self-pity of watching her mom fade she also realized she was lucky that she had her still to hug and kiss on the cheek.
Blinking back the moisture, she turned off the TV and knelt so she could look into her mother’s face and cup her cool cheek. Several seconds flitted by with Rosa blankly staring, her pale blue eyes like a lost boat in the ocean. Then a peek of a smile spread her thin, quivering lips. “Hi, baby girl,” she said in a low voice.
“How are you, mom?” Abriella took her mother’s hand, pale and spotted with age. Giving it a gentle squeeze, her mother smiled wider.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, momma.” Abriella kissed her cheek.
“Were you away?”
“I was at Bluebonnet.”
“You’re such a good girl.” Then suddenly, the smile faded and her brows scrunched. All light left her eyes. “Do I know you?”
“It’s me, mom. Abriella.” Her stomach twisted, but she kept her smile.
“Are you my mother?”
“No. I’m your daughter.”
Lines became deeper around her eyes. “Yes, I know you. You’re my mom. Can we go to church? I like church. We can sing.”
“Yes. We can go to church.” Abriella transferred her mother from the chair to the wheelchair. “Hang on tight. We’re taking a ride.” She rolled it outside of the room and down the hall. Although she couldn’t take her mom to the small church she had attended every Sunday for most of her life, they could visit the chapel room in the nursing home where folded chairs were set up around a framed painting of Jesus. It satisfied her mom to sit and stare at the picture. This time was no different as they took the front row.
“Here we are, mom.”
“I like it here,” she said quietly. “The choir sings just right.”
“Yes.”
“Where’s your husband?” Her mother’s eyes lit.
“I don’t have a husband.”
“Where did he go?” her mom persisted.
An image of Baxter floated into her mind and she cringed. She didn’t need a man, and she especially didn’t need a man like him. “Did you have a good visit with DJ?”
“DJ?” The light was gone from her eyes once again, replaced with an indescribable void. “Is that your husband?”
“No, he’s my brother. Your son.”
“It is? I’m sorry. I’m such a bad mom. Do you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” Abriella gave her a hug.
The tremors became worse in her hands and she went back to staring at the picture of Jesus.
CHAPTER 6
“I brought strawberry wine,” Stella said in a whisper, then held up the bottle and shook it as she stepped inside the house.
Abriella gave her a hug and closed the door with her foot. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it for our girl’s night.” She and Stella had been having “girl nights in” since Rosa went into the nursing home. It consisted of a black and white movie, a bottle of “therapy”, and enough chocolate to put them in a blissful coma.
