by Mari Carr
Waiting for Snow
Mari Carr
Copyright © 2020 by Mari Carr
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue
About the Author
Chapter One
Adele Sparks glanced at the time on her phone for the third time in less than fifteen minutes. Today had been interminable. She was at the end of a double shift at Sparks Barbeque, the restaurant she ran with her cousins and sister Macie.
Her father, TJ, owned the restaurant and liked to think he was the boss, but given the fact his contributions to the business included sitting around, gossiping with his cronies, and delivering the occasional tray of food when they were absolutely slammed, there was no one in town who would give him credit for even working there.
Macie had been scheduled to work tonight’s shift, but she’d come down with the stomach flu that seemed to be sweeping through Maris, Texas this winter. Adele’s cousin, Tyson, was the local doctor, and he’d mentioned being overwhelmed at the clinic this week, when he stopped by to grab his take-out lunch before rushing back to work.
Given the fact her sister was five months pregnant and still basically a newlywed, Adele was fairly certain Macie’s doting, overprotective husband Hank Cooper—whom everyone in town called Coop—wouldn’t let her out of bed until she was one hundred percent well.
And maybe not even then.
Adele was convinced Macie and Coop’s honeymoon was never going to end. She’d never seen a couple so head over heels in love.
Which most likely meant Adele would be pulling another double shift tomorrow.
Not that it mattered. It wasn’t like she had a damn thing to do.
A couple of weeks earlier, she’d dumped the latest in a very long line of dud boyfriends. Although now that she thought about it, Adele wouldn’t really call Nick or any of the guys who’d preceded him in the last year or so actual boyfriends.
Instead, it felt like one long parade of men who never got past the third date. Nick had been the first to jump the three-date hurdle, lasting all the way to the seventh date, before she was finally forced to admit they weren’t compatible.
He’d made it that long because he had been okay to hang out with, a decent conversationalist with at least some semblance of a sense of humor, and he wasn’t a sloppy kisser, like the guy before him. Not that any of that was particularly high praise, but Nick also happened to come along right after she’d decided that perhaps she had been setting the bar too high as far as potential boyfriends went.
She’d had the perfect boyfriend once, but she’d let him go a year earlier. Which left her to contemplate settling.
After all, it wasn’t like there was a huge pond to fish in around these parts, and given the fact she planned to spend the rest of her life in her beloved hometown of Maris, Adele understood that unless she intended to become a cat lady who lived alone or broaden her horizons and start checking out the local ladies, she needed to make a genuine effort with the guys she was dating.
And with Nick, she’d been hopeful.
Until the seventh date.
On their last date, she’d invited him to spend the night.
The big test.
The ultimate one.
And that, sadly, was when it had become very apparent they weren’t going to go the distance. Nick was—well, the only word she could come up with was—timid. She’d never met a man with less game in the bedroom. Which sucked because he really was a nice guy.
Like her sister and her dad, Adele knew she had a big personality. Apparently, it was genetic. Dad and Macie were born storytellers who never failed to draw a crowd and loud laughs whenever they were on a roll.
Given the intense competition for the limelight, Adele tended to remain on the fringes during those times, one of the crowd laughing rather than telling the jokes. However, when it was just her—without Dad and Macie around—she took over as the loudest, most boisterous in the room.
For some reason, Nick had interpreted her liveliness, her boldness as dominance, obviously expecting it to carry over into the bedroom. When they’d gotten to her room, he’d stood there, waiting for her to make all the moves, all the calls. He wouldn’t even get undressed until she told him to. By the time they were naked, Adele was so turned off by his meek behavior, she’d called a halt to the whole thing and asked him to leave. Neither one of them had even made it to the bed.
She glanced at her phone and sighed. Only five more minutes had passed.
“You okay, Addie?”
“Adele,” she said, correcting Porter Cormack, without thinking about it.
Porter, a local and regular at the restaurant, had been calling her Addie for the better part of a year, though she couldn’t tell if he was doing it simply to get a rise out of her or if it was some twisted term of affection.
Because she didn’t like it.
Or at least, she didn’t think she did.
Lately, she’d noticed that the nickname felt like some sort of subliminal sex trigger. He’d call her Addie with that rich, dark chocolate tone of his, and suddenly her insides were clenching in a way that had nothing to do with disgust and everything to do with arousal.
God.
She really needed to get laid.
That was another reason she’d invited Nick to her bed. Her horniness was off the charts.
Adele and Porter, both born and raised in Maris, had known each other forever and a day. However, because of the age difference—he was fourteen years older than her—they’d never really been friends. The best description of their relationship up until last spring was acquaintances or, as she thought of pretty much everyone who lived in town, neighbors.
Adele wasn’t entirely sure why or how they’d crossed over that acquaintances line to this relationship that she supposed could pass for friendship. All she knew was Porter had asked her to take a spin with him during a barn dance in early April, probably because she’d been about to sit down with Macie when Coop, a widower, had grabbed her sister’s hand and dragged her out to the dance floor.
Rather than leave Adele sitting alone, Porter had held his hand out and asked her for a dance. It had been a slow country tune, her cousin, Ty, belting out a George Strait classic, “I Cross My Heart.”
Adele had danced with no less than half a dozen other guys before Porter that night, but there was something about the way he’d held her in his arms that had made an impression she’d been unable to shake since then.
Unlike the long string of yahoos she’d been wasting her time with lately, Porter was confident, assertive, forthright…a serious alpha male. And, there was no denying that she found all of that incredibly attractive, completely sexy, a total turn-on.
After that spring night, he’d claimed two more dances—just two. One after her sister Macie’s wedding in Las Vegas and then another at her friend Amanda’s wedding reception.
Three dances. Every single one of them lighting her libido up brighter than the Disney World Electric Light Parade.
And damn if it hadn’t fucked up her life since.
Prior to Porter, she’d been looking for someone like Keith, the boyfriend she’d let slip away. Keith had been quiet, intellige
nt, kind, steady, and reliable with a great job, great family and great body—more Clark Kent than Superman, sexy in a slightly nerdy way.
But lately, she’d noticed it wasn’t Keith’s traits she was seeking out in men. Instead, all those descriptions of Porter were the list she was working off, using it as the measuring tape whenever she went on a date with a new guy.
Which should prove just how fucked up she was.
Because to make matters worse, Porter, the one-night-stand wonder, remained clueless to his effect on her.
Which should have relieved her but basically just pissed her off.
“Earth to Addie.”
She glanced over at Porter, remembering that he’d asked her if she was okay. “I’m fine. Just tired. Long day.”
“Are you sure that’s all it is?”
Adele wasn’t sure how to respond. Because, in truth, that wasn’t what was wrong with her at all.
He was what was wrong with her.
Him and his one-night stands that he seemed to be willing to offer to every woman in town, except her.
Shit.
I don’t want to sleep with Porter.
I don’t want to sleep with Porter.
Maybe if she repeated that a few thousand times more, she’d convince herself it was true.
It was this…this feeling of sexual frustration that should drive home to her exactly how screwed up she was. Her life had taken a hard left a year ago, and it felt like she’d been swerving out of control ever since then.
She lifted one shoulder casually. “I guess I’m just tired of waiting.”
Porter frowned. “Waiting for what?”
She closed her eyes wearily, regretting her comment instantly. Then she gave up and answered him. “Everything. Anything. Nothing different ever happens in this town. It’s like Groundhog Day over and over and over again.”
“You unhappy in Maris?” he asked, a sliver of surprise in his voice.
She shook her head quickly. “No. I love this town, you know that.”
It was one thing they both had in common.
He nodded as if relieved, which sort of surprised her. Why would he care how she felt about Maris? “So I’ll ask again. What are you waiting for…specifically?”
She wasn’t sure how to answer that question without revealing more than she wanted Porter to know. They weren’t exactly the kind of friends who shared confidences.
Nope.
They were more like actors in a sitcom. He was the charming cowboy who enjoyed pushing her buttons, while she was the girl next door who hid her lust for him by pretending to be constantly annoyed with him.
What she was waiting for was something more.
Something real.
Something Porter Cormack would never be able to give her because he didn’t do more, real, or second-night stands.
Then her gaze landed on the small barbeque-themed Christmas tree she and her cousin, Paige, had decorated last weekend, and she found a safe yet true answer. “I’ve spent my whole life waiting for a white Christmas.”
Porter chuckled. “We live in Texas, darlin’. You might be waiting for snow a damn long time.”
She gave him a half-hearted grin. “It’s not unheard of. Besides, I figure I’ve got a better chance of that happening than...”
Porter didn’t push for an answer, but it was clear he was waiting for one.
Love.
She was waiting for love. A love like her sister had found with Coop.
And while her mind filled in the blanks, there was no way in hell she was saying that out loud. Porter didn’t need any more ammunition on the teasing front and it was obvious, given his dating track record—or lack thereof—that he was not waiting for love.
Finally, she said, “I’m just tired.”
His brows furrowed and she blinked, hoping he didn’t push her for more. She wasn’t one hundred percent sure she’d be able to keep shielding her feelings, hiding how much she thought about going to bed with him, about how much she wanted him, even if it was only for one night.
She forced a lighthearted laugh, turning the conversation back to something safer. “Besides, I think this might be the year we get snow. God knows it’s cold enough. Not sure when the last time was I had to pull out my winter coat, but…” She gestured to the closed storage closet door. “Mine is hanging up in there tonight. Maybe Santa will finally grant my wish.”
Porter didn’t laugh at her weak attempt at humor. Hell, he didn’t crack a smile. Instead, he studied her face, looking at her too closely.
God only knew what he was seeing there.
She hadn’t lied about being tired, but it wasn’t the kind of tired provoked by a lack of sleep. No, her weariness went bone-deep and had everything to do with loneliness. Most of her beloved cousins had fallen in love over the past couple of years, and she was starting to feel like odd man out, the “single” girl surrounded by happy couples…and in Jeannette and Tyson’s cases…throuples.
She held Porter’s gaze for just a moment, then she looked away first, glancing over his shoulder to the only other people in the restaurant. She’d dropped the bill off at the Powell’s table ten minutes earlier, but they were still chatting, finishing up the last of their coffee and dessert.
She needed to get out of here. Go home, crawl in bed, sleep off this shitty mood, and pray she was out of this funk come morning.
Porter followed her gaze. “Looks like the Powells are almost finished. I’ll help you clean up after they leave so you can get out of here early.”
She smiled. “You don’t have to do that. I know you worked all day too.”
Porter was the foreman on her brother-in-law Coop’s ranch. The two men were best friends, as close as brothers. Adele knew for a fact his days started at sunup, while it was unusual for her to pull her ass out of bed before nine.
“It’s no problem,” he said easily. “Don’t like those dark circles under your eyes.”
She brushed off his concern with a wave of her hand. “Never seen anybody up before dawn and out after midnight like you. What are you? Some kind of vampire cowboy? Don’t you ever sleep?”
If she looked up the definition of confirmed bachelor in the dictionary, it would be Porter’s picture gracing the page. Unlike Coop who’d married his first wife, Sharon, when they’d been just twenty-two, Porter had never made a trip to the altar, instead choosing to cut a swath through the available ladies in Maris as well as the surrounding towns. It wasn’t unusual for him to wrap up his long days at work, either here, having a beer at the bar, or over at Cruisers, a local redneck hangout that tried to pretend it was a nightclub, situated right off the highway.
He could party all night and still be up before the rooster crowed at dawn. She didn’t have a clue how he did it.
And, while he was definitely a ladies’ man, at least he seemed to be somewhat choosy when it came to whom he invited to his bed. Though she thought he could probably be a little more discerning, given the way some of his past lovers liked to tell tales about his bedroom prowess. She’d heard more than a few sighs from women wishing they could score a second night between his sheets.
According to the Porter legend, he was well-endowed and well versed in the female anatomy, the type of guy who didn’t call it a night until the lady in his arms had come three, four, five times. One woman had called him the Energizer Bunny, her eyes wistful, as if she’d seen the Promised Land for just a few seconds and was now fighting to get back there with everything she had.
However, that was also the other well-known part of Porter’s reputation.
He didn’t date.
Period.
End of story.
A one-night stand was all anyone had ever gotten as far as Adele knew. And lately, her powers of resistance had grown weak, and she’d spent way too much time wondering what it would take for her to get one of those magical nights.
So far, she’d resisted the temptation because the sensible part of her insisted
that going to bed with Porter, even just for one night, would be a huge mistake.
For a couple reasons.
Unlike him, she didn’t do one-night stands. She’d had exactly two lovers in the past and both of them had been long-term boyfriends. She’d dated Alex all through her senior year in high school and he’d been her first. But then he’d gone off to college, and while they’d attempted the long-distance relationship, it had failed after a few months. He’d landed a job in Seattle after earning his degree, Maris forgotten as he took off for greener pastures.
She’d broken up with her last—and longest, most serious—boyfriend, Keith, a little over a year ago when he got a job promotion that required him to relocate to St. Louis. He’d begged her to come with him and she’d seriously considered the idea of following him, for weeks. She’d never felt so torn in her life. But in the end, she realized she’d never be happy living somewhere else. She would have been a fish out of water in a big city, and while Keith had been hurt, eventually he’d understood, offering her an open-ended invitation if she ever changed her mind.
Lately, she’d wondered if she should call him up to see if the offer still stood. After all, if she’d known how slim the pickings were in Maris, maybe she would have reconsidered that decision to move right from the beginning.
Because it had been a painful, lonely dry spell since then.
The other reason Adele believed sleeping with Porter would be a mistake was very simple. If the rumors about him were true, he’d probably ruin her for other men even worse than he already had with those three damn dances. While sex with Keith had been fine, she’d never felt the need to wax poetic about it the way Porter’s past lovers did after their encounters with him. All those rumors had fueled her curiosity, but she knew his bedroom abilities were something she was better off forgetting about.
Ignorance was bliss and all that jazz.
She was struggling hard enough to find a man as it was. She didn’t need Porter setting her bar any higher.
