Luke grinned. “Let me guess. Did Harry invite you? That man would be a professional fisherman if he could get paid for it. Go on over to Ernie’s across the street. They have pretty much everything.”
“Thanks.” It didn’t seem like enough to say to Luke, because it didn’t capture all that Colton really wanted to say, but he was a guy, and thanks was pretty much the extent of what he was capable of. “See you.”
Luke nodded. “See you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. Breakfast with his brothers. The word still sounded weird in his head, even weirder when he spoke it aloud. All the things he had lacked all his life, right here in this tiny little town. Yeah, maybe staying a while was a good idea.
He ducked into Ernie’s Hardware & Sundries, which sported a hand-drawn sign advertising a special on night crawlers. Colton waited a second for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior, the rows of shelves and the bins of garden tools.
“Good morning. Can I help you?”
He turned toward the lilting sound of a woman’s voice. That was what hit Colton first—her voice, which, even in those few syllables, seemed to have a sweet, happy tone to it, as if his coming into the store was the best thing that had happened to her all day.
Then he saw her, and decided maybe seeing her was the best thing that happened to him all day—because the woman behind the counter was stunning.
His grandmother would have called her willowy. She was tall and thin, with long, straight, light blond hair that was so pale it seemed ethereal. Her dark green eyes were wide and deep, and matched by a welcoming smile that made him feel warm inside. She wore a white button-down shirt with big silver buttons with the sleeves rolled up, tucked into a pair of dark jeans that hugged her curves.
“Uh...yeah, good morning,” Colton said, wondering when he’d become a guy who stammered. “I’m looking for fishing rods?”
“Right this way.” She crooked her finger, beckoning to him, and made her way down one of the aisles. He would have followed her to Timbuktu with just that one gesture. Not to mention the view he had from behind.
She stopped in the middle of the aisle and waved toward a display of tackle and fishing poles. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, but if you were to ask my dad, he’ll tell you the best one is this graphite bait caster right here. Lot of folks go for this spinning combo—” she pointed to another, fancier pole “—but my dad always says that the right pole sits in your hand like it was made for your palm. Not too heavy, not too light, and when you go to pull up on the hook, the pole does the work.”
It was all pretty much Greek to him. “Okay, let me see one of the graphic things.”
“Graphite.” She grinned at his mistake then handed him the pole. “It also matters where you’re fishing and what you’re fishing for.”
“Well, I don’t really know the second answer. I’m meeting Harry Washington over at Ray Prescott’s place. It’s a job interview. Sort of.”
She laughed. “I know Harry. He’s not much on formalities. Ray’s place is right on the water, so chances are you’re doing a little surf fishing. That’s a different animal from fishing in the lake. You might want to try this pole instead.” She pulled yet another from the seemingly endless rack. “It’s got a heavier reel. That will help you if you’re going for some striped bass or red drum. And the gear is heavy enough, in case you accidentally hook a shark.”
He took the new pole she handed him and hefted it in his palm. It seemed strong, solid. “Sounds like you know what you’re talking about.”
She turned and gave him a grin. “Well, when you’re daddy’s girl, and the only kid at that, you play soccer and catch fish and learn how to shoot a rifle. At the same time you’re learning how to curl your eyelashes and pick out lipstick and wear high heels.”
He chuckled then put out his hand. “I think with a line like that, we should be formally introduced. I’m Colton. Colton...Barlow.” The name sounded strange still, but it was beginning to grow on him.
Confusion muddied her eyes. “One of the Barlows? With Jack, Luke and Mac?”
Small-town living, Colton thought and grinned. “Sort of. I’m their half brother. From Atlanta. Firefighter, novice fisherman and decent first baseman.”
He didn’t know what made him give her that minirésumé, but then she laughed, and it made his day.
“Pleased to meet you, Colton Barlow from Atlanta. I’m Rachel Morris, daughter of the famous Ernie. Expert fisherwoman and not-bad shortstop.”
“Maybe you could teach me a thing or two about catching the right one.”
Her smile reached into her eyes, lighting up her entire face. A flirty, teasing look in those green depths toyed with the edges of her lips. “Is that what you’re here for? Because we don’t sell matches made in heaven. Just fishing poles and garden rakes.”
“I’m just talking trout and bass.” He picked up another pole from the ones she’d pointed out to him, hefted it for weight, put it back and reselected the one she’d given him. From feel at least, it seemed like Rachel’s choice was the best. “Definitely not long-term commitments.”
“Just what this town needs. Another confirmed bachelor.” But she laughed when she said it, took the fishing pole from him and walked back to the register. She punched in a few keys then recited the price and thanked him when he handed over a credit card.
While she was finishing the transaction, Colton racked his brain for something else to say. Something to prolong the moment before he had to leave. He liked Rachel. Found her intriguing. And it had been a long, long time since he’d met a woman who interested him like that. “So, have you lived here all your life?”
Yeah, way to go on the lame question. Clearly, he was out of practice.
“Pretty much. I was born and bred here.” She printed out the credit card receipt and handed the white slip of paper to him, along with a pen. “Are you thinking about moving here? If you get the job with the fire department?”
“Maybe.”
“Still testing us out, huh?” She grinned. “Well, I can tell you this much about Stone Gap. It defines small town. If you sneeze over your Wheaties at breakfast, half the town is lined up for a flu shot by lunchtime. Most everyone here grew up in each other’s pockets, as my dad likes to say. Which means everyone knows pretty much everything about everyone else.”
“Sounds...suffocating.”
“It can be.” She shrugged. “But in a small town, someone’s always there if you need help. If you’re down, there’s a neighbor or a friend to pull you back up. Stone Gap has its faults, like any place, but at its core, it’s a great town to live in. And you can’t beat the weather or the fact that we’re right on the water.”
He chuckled. “Are you with the welcoming committee?”
She blushed, a soft pink that stole across her cheeks. “No, I just...finally learned to appreciate this place.”
“I’ve never lived in a place that I loved like that. Atlanta’s fine, but it’s a big city. You can get...lost there pretty easily.” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head.
“Lost in more ways than one?” she said softly.
Colton cleared his throat. He wasn’t about to unload his life history in a hardware store with a woman he barely knew. Even if every time she smiled, she made him want to linger for hours on end. “Well, thanks for the tips about Stone Gap. I’ll keep them in mind.”
“Sure. Anytime. And if you want the twenty-five-cent tour, you know where I am.”
“Twenty-five cents? That’s it?”
She blushed again. “It’s a small town.”
That made him laugh. “Harry already told me where the best apple pie is.”
“Then you’re down to the twenty-cent tour. Unless you have already discovered the best place for making out.” The blush intensified. “I meant, for the
teenagers.”
“Of course.” Making out? That made him think about climbing in the backseat of his car with Rachel and seeing where it might lead. Not a good train of thought to follow, but that didn’t stop him from a quick mental image. “Us old people are too mature for that.”
“Definitely.”
Yet everything in the undercurrent of their conversation said differently. He might be out of practice in the dating arena, but he sensed some definite attraction in the air. He had the strangest urge to lean across the counter and kiss her right now.
“Uh, I should sign this.” He bent his head and scrawled his name across the receipt then handed it back to her.
“Thanks,” she said. She lifted the fishing pole and gave it to him. “Need anything else?”
Your phone number, his brain whispered. Because he definitely wanted to get to know Rachel Morris, fisherwoman and shortstop, much better. But he was leaving in a few days, so asking her out wouldn’t make any sense.
But as he headed out of the store, Colton had to wonder if maybe forgoing her number was the thing that didn’t make any sense, because she lingered in his mind long after he cast the first line into the water.
Copyright © 2016 by Shirley Kawa-Jump, LLC
ISBN-13: 9781488002502
From Good Guy to Groom
Copyright © 2016 by Tracy Leigh Ritts
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