Tempted by a Texan Read online

  “Just wrap it up to go,” Millicent said. “I’ve a few stops to make yet this morning.” She withdrew her wallet.

  “Put away your money,” Becca said. “You’re not paying for that cinnamon roll.”

  “Of course I am. What kind of businesswoman are you, anyway? You don’t just go around givin’ away the merchandise.”

  “You brought the merchandise.”

  “I brought cookies and fudge. I’m buying a cinnamon roll.” She held out two crisp, one-dollar bills, her body language and expression insisting she’d hear no arguments from either of them.

  With an apologetic look in Becca’s direction, Colby accepted the money, then stared at the cash register, not sure how to record the sale or open the cash drawer. He was going to need a quick seminar in retail sales.

  Knowing from past experience that Becca charged a dollar and fifty cents for the rolls, he reached in his pocket and pulled out two quarters, handing them over to Miz Lloyd.

  Millicent raised an eyebrow and accepted the coins. “You be sure and reconcile this transaction, young man. I appreciate that you’re helping out our Becca, but she won’t thank you for ruining her bookkeeping.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And you make sure she rests.”

  “I intend to, ma’am. Just as soon as I get a few pointers on how everything works.”

  “In case the two of you have forgotten,” Becca interrupted, “I’m sitting right here.”

  Millicent patted Becca’s good arm, gave it a gentle squeeze. “Of course you are, dear. But you shouldn’t be. I’ll come back by and check on you later in the day—just to make sure this rounder hasn’t given away half the store or run you into the ground. If need be, I can manage to wait on customers.”

  Becca smiled. “We’ll be fine, Millie.”

  The older woman sniffed. “That remains to be seen.” She tugged on her gloves, gathered up her cinnamon roll and her empty platter and left the store.

  “Well,” Colby said. “Our first customer.”

  “Yes, and you’re already fifty cents out of pocket.” She slid off the stool and pulled it closer to the cash register. “I’ll show you how this works. The register at the front counter is the same model. It’s just easier to keep the two sides of the shop separate. I use this one for food and drink items, and the front machine for retail purchases.”

  He wrote down the instructions as she showed him, making a cheat sheet that he could keep beside the cash register...because as soon as he felt halfway capable of running the store on his own, he was going to insist that she go back to bed—even if he had to carry her there.

  He could see the lines of tension on her face as she perused the shelves in search of missing merchandise, noted the paleness of her skin when she leaned forward to rearrange the rack of books he’d righted. Obviously he hadn’t gotten the books back into their proper slots. She was in pain but too mule-headed to admit it. Miss Independent.

  As it turned out, he didn’t have to do any insisting or resort to he-man tactics. By midmorning, the pain medication had obviously kicked in. While he was brewing another pot of coffee, he saw her sink into the overstuffed chair she kept by a rack of books so customers could sit and read if they chose, and the next thing he knew, her legs were curled beneath her and she was sound asleep.

  He picked up a lightweight afghan and draped it over her. He wanted to prop a pillow under her sling to elevate her arm, but didn’t want to chance waking her. Becca Sue was as stubborn as all get out, and it was exasperating trying to stay one step ahead of her.

  For a long moment, he watched her sleep, her short, black hair with its chunky maroon highlights feathering across her cheek. She’d always been daring when it came to her hair or her clothes, not afraid to try out a new look or style. But he wouldn’t call her trendy—at least not in the sense that she followed trends. If anything, she was the one who started them. If the look caught on, she’d change hers, not wanting to be part of the crowd.

  She definitely stood out. Her green eyes were a striking contrast to her dark hair and olive complexion. Small and compact, she was gorgeous. At one time, he’d had the right to know every inch of that sweet body. And even after seven years, he hadn’t forgotten a single detail.

  Although he still lusted after her, had, in fact, never stopped, they’d managed to remain friends over the years. He was grateful for that, because he couldn’t imagine a life without her in it.

  One of these days, she would have her home and hearth and babies that she wanted so badly—the family life he still didn’t see as part of his own future. When that day came, he wondered how he would handle seeing her with another man, watching that dimple in her cheek when she smiled at another guy.

  Because when Becca Sue smiled at you, it made you feel ten feet tall. She put her whole self into her smile and she was the most genuine person he knew.

  He was going to miss that when he left.

  The bell above the front door jingled. He looked up and saw that the customer was Tracy Lynn, carrying her baby daughter wrapped in a pink blanket. Probably knitted by Becca Sue, he thought.

  He put his finger to his lips, and Tracy Lynn nodded.

  They moved across the store and stood next to one of the bistro tables.

  “Can I get you something?” Colby asked, taking a peek at the tiny baby in her arms.

  “No. I just came to check on Becca, see if she needed anything.”

  “She’s stubborn as a mule. It’s damn hard to do anything for the woman. Her idea of accepting help is to let you tag along beside her as she works herself to the bone.”

  Tracy Lynn smiled. “You don’t have to convince me.”

  Of course, he thought. Becca, Tracy Lynn, Sunny and Donetta had been a tight foursome since grade school, maybe even longer. Her three friends knew Becca Sue inside and out. He’d lived with her for only a few months one summer, loved her, then they’d been apart for a long time.

  “Chelsa has an appointment with the pediatrician this morning,” Tracy Lynn said, absently stroking the soft cheek of the baby girl, “but I can come back afterward if Becca needs help here.”

  Colby shook his head. “I think I’ve got it covered.”

  “I just can’t believe this happened. Was anything stolen?”

  Before he could answer, Donetta, carrying her infant daughter, and Sunny, pregnant and looking about to pop, came through the door. Storm Carmichael, dressed in his sheriff’s uniform today, followed the women inside. Both Colby and Tracy Lynn put silencing fingers to their lips and pointed toward Becca sleeping in the chair.

  Colby shouldn’t be so relieved that these folks were friends rather than actual customers. But he was. He still felt a bit out of his element minding the store on his own.

  “We should probably prop a pillow under her head and arm,” Sunny said, resting her hand on her swollen stomach.

  “I don’t want to wake her,” Colby said.

  “Are you kidding?” Donetta gave a soft laugh. “Once she’s out, Becca Sue sleeps like the dead.”

  Why hadn’t he known that about her?

  “At a sleepover one time,” Tracy Lynn added, “we trickled water on her head and all she did was roll over and snuggle further under the blankets.”

  Donetta passed her baby to Storm.

  Tracy Lynn turned to Colby and said, “Here.”

  The next thing Colby knew his arms were filled with a warm, sleeping baby swaddled in a fluffy knitted blanket. The switch was handled so quickly he didn’t have time to object. God Almighty, he’d never held a baby in his life. He froze like a wooden statue, not sure where to focus his attention, scared to death he was going to drop this kid and break her.

  “Relax,” Storm said, coming to stand next to him. “Babies are sturdier than they look.”

  “That’s your opinion. Besides, you’ve had some practice.”

  Colby watched as the girls went into action. There were throw pillows in various places a
round the store, most with embroidered slogans on them having to do with the merits of friendship, cat ownership and reading. Donetta, Tracy Lynn and Sunny gathered them up and huddled around the chair where Becca Sue was curled.

  Colby held his breath. Not only because he had this smaller-than-a-flea infant in his arms, but because he was sure someone was going to wake up Becca.

  With that stupid baby pact he’d made all those years ago and knowing how much Becca loved kids, he knew deep in his bones that he did not want her waking up and seeing him holding a baby. He wasn’t sure why he felt so strongly about that. Or so guilty.

  Don’t go there, Flynn.

  Okay, he didn’t want her waking up and him having to argue and hassle with her to take it easy, that was all.

  The bruise spreading beneath the bandage on her head still upset him. Getting her to slow down and accept help wasn’t easy, and the longer she slept, the more she’d heal and the fewer arguments they’d have to endure.

  Hell, he could flip the “closed” sign on the door and she wouldn’t even know it. The townsfolk would understand, and any other stray customers could just come back at a more convenient time.

  But he knew he wouldn’t do that. She was worried about finances. He had no idea about the state of her bank account, and he didn’t want to be the cause of lowering it. On the other hand, he could slip a couple of hundred bucks in the cash register and call it a day.

  True to her friends’ prediction, Becca didn’t even stir as pillows were gently put under her arm and head, and the afghan tucked back around her.

  The baby in his arms wiggled and his gut lodged right up under his ribs. He stared down at the round little face. Okay, she was pretty cute. She was sucking on her bottom lip like she was starvin’ half to death. As long as she didn’t start rooting around his chest, they’d get along fine.

  “Did Becca Sue have a chance to check her inventory to see what’s missing?” Storm asked.

  Colby wasn’t sure if he could talk and hold the baby at the same time. He gave it a shot.

  “Near as we can tell so far, nothing was taken. Both cash registers had a hundred dollars in change in them—same amount Becca said she always keeps in them. She’d already made a bank deposit yesterday, so there wasn’t any other cash lying around. She checked all the shelves and seems to think everything’s here. I don’t see how she can be so sure. There’s little rhyme or reason to the placement of most of this stuff—and there’s a whole lot of it.”

  Storm chuckled. “Trust me. Becca knows every inch of this store. She buys the merchandise herself, mostly from estate sales. Donetta says she considers all these various items her friends.”

  “Friends?”

  “Yeah. They have a story to tell or something.”

  Weird, Colby thought. He wasn’t big on family. His was a really poor example of what one should be. He had no contact with either of his parents and they seemed okay with the status quo. Out of sight, out of mind. Don’t care a damn. Great background you got, Flynn.

  Just thinking about his parents made him doubly uncomfortable holding this tiny baby, and he couldn’t seem to pass her back fast enough when Tracy Lynn held out her arms. What the hell did he know about kids and how to interact with them? His own folks had barely talked to him while he was growing up. When they did, it was usually in the middle of a yelling match with each other about money—or the lack of it—when he tried to intervene and beg them to be nice to each other, and they hollered at him to stay the hell out of their business.

  They’d finally divorced, and when he was fifteen—a rebellious fifteen—his mother had shipped him off to military school as if he’d been no more than a stray mutt she’d been tossing food to all those years and was sick of it.

  “Skeeter’s going to stop by later with a new lock for the back door,” Storm said. “Can you handle installing it?”

  Colby gave him a dirty look. “How soon you forget who did the lion’s share of work on your wife’s beauty salon to bring it up to code.”

  Donetta threaded her arm through her husband’s and raised her eyebrows, which were the same fiery red as her hair. “Storm told me that he did most of the work.”

  “And you believed him?” Colby winked.

  “Okay. I think it’s time for me to go to work before you get me in a fight with my wife.” Storm passed the baby to Donetta and gave both his wife and daughter a kiss. “I don’t hold out much hope for fingerprints. Too many customers in and out of here. I’m still running the ones we lifted, though. Maybe we’ll get lucky and something will spit out of the national database. Meanwhile, we can hope that it was just a random hit and you interrupted them before they took anything.”

  The other alternative, Colby knew, was that someone was looking for something in particular. One never knew what might get sold at an estate sale by mistake—and Storm had just said Becca did most of her buying at estate sales. A sane, upstanding citizen would come and negotiate with the purchaser for a return of the heirloom.

  But then, there were always the dregs of society, the ones who felt the world owed them a living and wouldn't think twice about busting in and forcibly taking back what was no longer theirs. If that were the case and the scumbag had been interrupted, he’d be back.

  Colby hoped he was just letting his imagination run away with him, compliments of his line of work. But until he felt a little surer and Becca Sue didn’t look so defenseless, he intended to camp out here and keep a close watch.

  Which was no more, he told himself, than any good friend would do. And he was the smartest choice to do so. He didn’t have any family ties. He had three weeks of free time on his hands.

  And if he wanted to be absolutely honest, he was looking forward to spending those three weeks with Becca Sue.

  Once her friends left, Colby walked around the store, looking for clues to what a thief might want to steal and trying to familiarize himself with the store so that he didn’t have to turn to Becca every two minutes to ask a question.

  The place smelled of coffee, cinnamon, wood, books and spicy incense. The hardwood planks creaked beneath his feet as he walked. He imagined this was the building’s original floor. The boards were worn but clean, and permeated with the various scents from sixty years of comings and goings and the multitude of items that had been stored within these walls.

  There was a whole bunch of china stuff—cups and saucers, mismatched plates, teapots—scattered among other merchandise on the various shelves. Seemed to him it would make more sense to group like items together. If he were in the market for dishes, it’d make it a whole lot easier if he could just go to one shelf and pick out what he wanted and be done with it. As it was, a person would have to go on a hunt that would likely take the whole day. He figured the average person would get frustrated and just leave without making a purchase.

  Clearing off some shelves between an antique-looking curio cabinet and a rack of linens and yarn, he gathered up some of the china, freezing for a moment when the glass pieces rattled against each other. Becca didn’t stir. Okay, he needn’t tiptoe. He set about organizing the china, having to search all over the store for the different glassware items that were tucked in among all the other trinkets and junk on the shelves. Then he tackled the candles and scented stuff she had stashed willy-nilly.

  After a half hour of sniffing each candle and bag of potpourri so he could group them by scent, he’d developed a headache.

  It was a wonder he accomplished anything at all.

  Half the townsfolk came in during the morning to take a peek at Becca, get the skinny on what had happened, and then for some reason, the majority of them glared at him in warning, as if he were the wolf paying a call on Little Red Riding Hood. He didn’t get it.

  Almost everyone who came through the doors bought something, though, and he was especially proud that he’d sold a pitcher with an oversize handle that looked like an angel’s wing for three hundred bucks. At first he’d thought the price tag
was wrong. But Mrs. Norah Conway had whipped out her American Express card without batting an eyelash.

  Not bad for a morning’s work, he thought, glancing over at Becca to make sure she was still asleep. He wouldn’t have to pad the till, after all.

  And with the sandwiches and casserole that Anna Carmichael had dropped off, he wouldn’t have to cook, either. Things were moving along just fine, he thought.

  In his law practice, he was in the business of helping people out of a jam. He figured he was pretty much doing the same for Becca Sue.

  He was surprised that this type of shop did so well in a small town. Not being in the retail business himself, he hadn’t realized how many out-of-town customers dropped in and how many locals depended on Becca Sue to have just the right gift.

  When his cell phone rang, his gaze whipped to Becca Sue, then to the caller ID. Wells and Steadman.

  He punched the button and moved across the room so he wouldn’t disturb her. At least that’s what he told himself. No reason to feel guilty about making plans to change jobs and move to another city.

  “Colby Flynn,” he answered.

  “Mornin’, Colby. Steven Wells, here. How’s it going on your end?”

  “The sun’s shining. Couldn’t be better.”

  Steven boomed a laugh. “That’s what 1 like about you, boy. Always optimistic. Listen, we’ve got us a big case brewing. Oil company’s being raked over the coals by the EPA. Big dollars are at stake. This is just the sort of thing to make a name for the attorneys who handle it, and I wanted to make sure you got in on it. You interested in second chair?”

  Dumb question. He could already feel his saliva glands flowing. “How soon’s the hearing?”

  “A couple months out yet, but there’s a lot of preparing to do.”

  “Think it’ll to go trial?”

  “Yes. It’ll be a tough one, but representing oil companies in this kind of litigation is our specialty. Thought I’d fax over the preliminaries for you to have a look-see—unless you can move up your time frame for relocating? In that case, you can pore over the whole file right here in your private office. I’ve already had your name painted on the door. Cassandra’s picked out the carpet and furnishings. Should be all set for you by Friday.”