The Sweethearts’ Knitting Club

by Lori Wilde

  “You’re an old softie, that’s what you are.”

  “Shh, don’t let it get out.”

  “You ever have a pet?”

  “No, and I don’t have one now.”

  “That’s what you think. You fed her, she’s yours.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t get attached. I know better. Getting attached…”

  “What?”

  “It’s for suckers and fools.”

  Flynn could almost feel the pain in his voice. Jesse dropped his gaze, reached for the measuring tape. She let it go. What was there to say? Life had kicked him hard in the teeth. She couldn’t teach him something he had to learn on his own. That you have to give love in order to get it.

  They worked together in silence, measuring the wall, cutting the paper to fit, wetting the back, smoothing it into place with sponges. Surprisingly, in their work, the hush felt uncomplicated and easy. Then Flynn spoiled it all by noticing they were moving in tandem—their arms sweeping out, mimicking each other’s strokes, totally in sync. The tempo was spellbinding. Erotic. Almost like foreplay.

  Unsettled, she stepped back and pretended to assess their work. She squeezed her sponge tightly, felt the gooey adhesive create a sticky web between her fingers. Jesse stopped working too and peered over at her, his bold stare caressing her intimately. The sharp crackling of sexual undercurrent rippling between them raised the hairs on Flynn’s arms.

  “It looks good,” he murmured, but he was not studying the wall. He was looking straight at her and his voice was husky. “Real good.”

  Closing her eyes, she willed herself not to shiver, but then quickly opened them again. She felt too vulnerable here alone with him as it was. Shutting her eyes was just asking for trouble. “Real good,” she echoed.

  He reached out and took the sponge from her, his fingertips barely grazing her skin as he chunked both their sponges into the water pail.

  “You thirsty?” Perspiration had plastered his cotton muscle shirt against his chest.

  She was sweating too, but not just from the sultry summer day. She could smell the onion, garlic, and Italian sausage drifting up from Pasta Pappa’s across the street. Heard the sounds of tourists walking along the cobblestone walkway outside the window, talking to one another above the more usual town square noises—the dinner bell ringing for the next seating at the Funny Farm restaurant on the corner, the rumble of a diesel pickup truck motoring by, the strumming guitar of a street musician entertaining for pocket change.

  “Uh-huh,” she whispered.

  “Be right back.” He hustled downstairs and returned a minute later with two bottles of water. He handed one to her.

  It was cold and damp against her palm.

  Without ever taking his eyes off her, Jesse tilted his head and took a long swallow from his bottle.

  Her gaze tracked from his lips to throat. She watched his Adam’s apple work, and she fought the shiver slipping down her spine. Fretfully she shifted her attention away from him, looking for something else to focus on. She surveyed the room.

  It was fresh and homelike and inviting. Any knitter would feel at home here with the walls decorated with this pattern. But looking at it, Flynn felt…

  Bogus.

  Her big fat lie was splayed all over the wall right in front of her. You’re a fraud, a charlatan, an impostor.

  “What’s wrong,” Jesse asked, coming up behind her. He stood so close she could feel his body heat.

  “I don’t know if I can do this.” She crossed her arms over her chest, held her body tight.

  “Do what?”

  “Open this knitting store. Run this business. Keep pretending I’m something I’m not.”

  “Flynn, you can do anything you set your mind to. I’ve seen you in action.”

  His words warmed, but more than that, the look in his eyes set her knees to rocking.

  “Hang on,” he said. “I’ve got something I want to give you. I was going to give it to you later, after we finished getting the room ready, but I think you need it now.”

  “You got me a gift?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Ten years ago.”

  “Ten years ago and you still have it?”

  “I’d stored it in the Harley’s saddlebags and I’d forgotten all about it until I took the bike out of storage. Just stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  Puzzled, Flynn watched him leave. She heard the back door creak open and then slam closed. Where had he gone? She sat down to wait, to finish her water, and that’s when she met the cat.

  The shy little girl peeked around the top of the stairs, eyeing Flynn with big gray eyes almost the same color as her fur.

  “Well hello, Miss Tabitha.” Flynn waited, letting the young feline come to her.

  The tabby eased across the floor, sniffing delicately at the air.

  “Wallpaper glue,” Flynn explained. “Nothing tasty.”

  The cat inched closer. Flynn scratched her behind the ears. Miss Tabitha purred. Flynn was in love.

  At the sound of Jesse’s feet on the stairs, the cat jumped up and darted into the closet. “Hey,” he said.

  “You scared Miss Tabitha.”

  “Who?”

  “The cat.”

  “You named her,” he said. “We’re toast.”

  “Can we keep her in the shop?”

  “Looks like she’s here to stay.”

  “Goody. I’ll buy her a litter box and pick up some cat food.”

  Jesse stood there clutching a big pink box wrapped with a red ribbon. At the sight of it, her heart gave a funny little chug. His shoulders filled out the dimensions of his black muscle shirt with the Harley emblem emblazoned on it, and Flynn found her gaze sliding helplessly down the front of his shirt to the waistband of his jeans.

  His belt was new, the silver buckle modest by Texas standards. His muscled masculinity made the pink box look incongruous, and the sight of it touched her more deeply than she’d expected. He’d bought her a present ten years ago, before he’d gone to prison, and he’d kept it all this time. Even when she hadn’t believed in him, he’d still believed in her.

  He handed her the box. “Open it.”

  Flynn untied the ribbon, lifted the lid. Inside, swaddled in red tissue paper, was a pink leather Harley jacket. She laughed. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “I can’t believe you actually got this for me.”

  “I’d bought it for you a couple of days before graduation. I was going to give it to you…” He hesitated. “You know, after that night on the bridge. But I never got a chance.”

  “Jesse, I don’t know what to say.” She felt as if she’d been turned inside out.

  “I’m giving it to you now so that you can see you’ve got a way out. You don’t have to be an impostor if you don’t want to be. You’ve got the jacket, I’ve got the motorcycle. There’s an open road stretching across America.” When she looked in his eyes, she could almost believe that anything was possible.

  “Besides, you’re the most authentic person I know, Flynn MacGregor. Even if you can’t knit.”

  Flynn met Jesse’s gaze. He knew her so well. How could he know her this well? He knew her better than anyone ever had, even her own mother. It was eerie the way he could see straight into her. See her, understand her, accept her.

  His eyes glistened with the same out-of-control impulses that were simmering through her blood. He moved toward her. She did not step back. “You’re an amazing person, Flynn MacGregor.”

  His comment brought a flush of self-consciousness to her cheeks. She ducked her head, put the lid back on the box.

  Jesse took another step toward her and then another.

  Her pulse spiked.

  He didn’t stop until the tips of his boots touched the tips of her sneakers. He reached up his hand.

  Flynn’s lungs deflated.

  His fingers landed in her hair. Unnerved, she flinched beneath his touch. “Wallpaper.�
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  “Huh?”

  “Wallpaper, stuck in your hair.” He gently tugged it from her hair, showed her the scrap of wallpaper.

  “Oh.”

  “You know,” he said, “some guys might take advantage of a moment like this and try to kiss you.”

  “But you’re not going to do that?” She meant to say it firmly, like a statement, but it came out hopeful, like a question.

  His gaze nailed her to the wall, and he leaned in so close that their noses were almost touching. “No.”

  “That’s good because I’m engaged to the sheriff.”

  “I know. I was at the party, remember. Me and Garth Brooks.” He hummed a couple of bars from “Friends in Low Places.”

  “That was an awkward moment.”

  “Kind of like this one, huh?” His lips were almost on hers. “Flynn.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m not going to kiss you.”

  “So you said.”

  Neither of them moved, but he was kissing her with his eyes. Thoroughly, completely. A blast of sexual heat rolled down her spine. His warm breath tickled her skin. He smelled so good. Flynn knotted her hands to keep from grabbing him around his neck and forcing him to kiss her for real.

  “Please…” she whispered, meaning to add, Let me go, but her throat muscles constricted so tightly she couldn’t say anything more, and his gray-blue eyes were so intense he’d snared her in a magical coil of sexual longing.

  She felt it all at once. An earthquake rumbling through her. Desire and lust, hunger and longing. Guilt, sadness, loneliness. Craving and confusion. So much confusion. It fell in on her, heavy and stiff and too, too much.

  His eyes were handcuffs; locking her to him. He tilted his head, inhaled audibly.

  She tensed. Aching for him to kiss her, but terrified of where it might lead and what it might mean.

  He took a step back.

  Don’t go, something whimpered inside her.

  Bound by desire that knew no reason or restraint, Flynn put out her hand and touched his forearm. She had to kiss him or die on the spot. The recklessness bothered her, but it was something she’d been burying for a long time, and the urge would not be denied.

  Heedlessly, Flynn wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight.

  Jesse shook his head.

  She swallowed, moistened her lips, whispered, “Yes.”

  His eyes glimmered, and a grin tipped up his lips. It was like watching a red light turn green. She felt the rush of his emotions because they welled up inside her as well. Dark and dangerous and forbidden. She didn’t think, just acted. “Kiss me.”

  “Dimples,” he murmured. “I want to kiss you more than I want to breathe. But I can’t, I won’t. Not as long as you have Trainer’s ring on your finger.”

  Jesse couldn’t sleep.

  He tossed and turned on the mattress in his Aunt Patsy’s guest room. When she’d found out he’d been crashing on Hondo’s couch, she’d insisted he move in with her. He’d been hesitant. Mainly because if Aunt Patsy figured out what he was up to, she would light into him with the rough side of her tongue. But she’d seemed so hurt that he’d stayed with Hondo and hadn’t called her the minute he got out of prison, that when she came for him, he’d just gathered up his stuff and followed her.

  His relationship with his aunt was complicated. He appreciated the fact she’d come to Arizona and rescued him from the foster home where he’d been living, but part of him—the part of him that had been eight years old and left completely alone when his mother died—resented her for not coming sooner. He knew it wasn’t Patsy’s fault. His mother had never told him about her, or her about him, but there it was. He felt what he felt.

  But Patsy had been staunchly on his side after his arrest, telling him not to take the plea bargain even though her husband, Jimmy, the lawyer, had advised him to do so. Patsy was certain he would be exonerated. He hadn’t been, and in the end, he should have taken Jimmy Cross’s advice. His sentence would have been years shorter. Yet the fact that his aunt had believed in him wholeheartedly had meant a lot to Jesse. She’d known who he really was at heart.

  Whereas Flynn…

  Jesse sighed, flopped over on his side, punched his pillow. He couldn’t blame Flynn for believing what everyone else in town believed. Trainer had filled her head with lies, poisoned her mind against him.

  The old anger pushed up inside him. Trainer. The bastard.

  He had to get out of here. Had to do something to put a headlock on these unwanted emotions. Jesse threw back the covers, pulled on a pair of gym shorts and sneakers, and then slipped out the back door. He went for a run around the lake, pushing himself hard, flying over the jogging path until his legs ached. Normally running calmed him, but not tonight. The air was muggy and stagnant, but it smelled of freedom. Overhead the moon shone down and the stars twinkled while Twilight slept.

  And all he could think about was Flynn. Even his revenge scheme against Beau couldn’t compete. Everything was coming together just as he planned. He should have been excited, elated. Instead he was worried. He had one shot at this and he wouldn’t blow it. He couldn’t make his move too soon. That’s why he hadn’t kissed her when she’d practically begged him to, and nothing had ever required more of his self-control.

  Ten years had only added to Flynn’s sexual allure, making it almost impossible for him not to touch her in some small way. He adored her wicked sense of humor that she was just as likely to turn on herself as on anyone else. And he couldn’t ignore the sharp-eyed intelligence that gleamed from behind her good-girl mien.

  Jesse admired her grit and determination, and he even admired the way she stuck to her guns, even though she was clearly on the wrong track with this knitting store thing. The woman was as stubborn as he was. And she was going to be renting out the top floor of his motorcycle shop.

  It was a serendipitous turn of events he could not have anticipated. For once fate had smiled on him, delivering him not only a legitimate reason for hanging around her, but giving him a metaphorical sword with which to pierce Beau Trainer’s arrogant armor.

  Priceless.

  He swiped the back of his arm across his sweaty brow and cornered the lake not far from the marina. Froggy’s lay two miles north. Flynn’s house was a half mile beyond that. He picked up the pace, kept thinking about how she’d looked in that loose-fitting T-shirt, how it draped softly over her breasts. She’d been trying so hard not to look sexy that she’d ended up looking even sexier in those faded jeans and those modest gold studs at her earlobes. The woman could make a tow sack look sexy. All she had to do was flash that double-dimpled grin and he was a goner.

  But who was he kidding? He would forever be the kid from the wrong side of the tracks. He had no business believing he could have her for his very own.

  No business at all.

  He ran. Harder, faster, legs pumping, trying to outrun his demons, but it was useless. They hitched a ride wherever he went.

  And then there he was. Where he hadn’t realized he’d been headed all along.

  The old Twilight Bridge.

  He sprinted up onto the runners, lungs chugging. The wooden slats creaked and swayed beneath his sneakers. When he got to the middle, he stopped, panting hard, chest heaving, and bent over trying to catch his breath.

  Then bam!

  He was folded into the arms of the past. Jesse sank to his knees as the old bridge shimmered and memory eclipsed the present. He was back in time, on this bridge, right in this same spot, with Flynn in his arms.

  He’d kissed her, cradling her head, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of her. The bridge swayed, adding to the heart-pounding thrill of the moment.

  She wriggled against him with pleasure as his hand slipped up underneath her blouse, skimmed over her bare belly. He undid the hook of her bra, pushed her shirt up, then moved his mouth from hers, traveling down her neck, burning her tender skin as he went. He found her
nipples, nibbled them lightly one after the other.

  Flynn moaned softly, and the sweet sound drove him crazy.

  He undid the snap on her shorts, eased his palm past the waistband, touched her through her panties, his mouth still softly suckling one nipple.

  She threaded her fingers through his hair, whispered his name like a mantra. “Jesse, Jesse, Jesse.”

  He stroked her, steadily, firmly. She wriggled, breathed in a sigh. He increased the tempo, his fingers rubbing against the thin cotton, strumming her straining nub beneath the material.

  And then she shuddered in his arms, let out a strangled cry, tightened her hands in his hair.

  She came! He’d made her come.

  A deep sense of pride swept over him, and he felt a tenderness for Flynn so strong and true it constricted his throat. He zipped her pants, hooked her bra, tugged down her shirt, pulled her into his arms, and rocked her slowly there on the swinging bridge.

  Time passed.

  It could have been hours. It might have been only minutes. They were caught in a blissful vortex stretching full of possibilities. They were young and falling in love and…

  A pickup truck rumbled down from the highway. They paid no attention to the vehicle until it came to stop at the west end of the footbridge. A metal barricade erected at both ends of the bridge prevented cars from driving out on it, so even then, they didn’t take much notice. The truck, which had been jacked up with a lift kit, turned on a row of bright off-road spotlights—the kind hunters used—that ran along the elevated cab, and blasted them with a blinding glare.

  Flynn untangled herself from his arms. He could hear her breathing quicken. “That’s Beau’s truck.”

  The truck door opened. The sound of country-and-western music spilled out. Hank Williams. “Your Cheatin’ Heart.”

  Jesse stood up, pulled Flynn to her feet. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go tell him about you and me.”

  “No!”

  He saw it then. The look on her face. Guilt, confusion, regret. She was ashamed of him. Ashamed of what they’d done. He couldn’t have been more hurt if a wrecking ball had smacked into him, crushed his chest.

  “No,” she said, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “Let me handle Beau.” She pointed to the east side of the bridge. “Go home now. We’ll talk later.”