Hooked on Love (Cotton Creek Romance)

by Jennie Marts

  It was a great story. She knew it. Knew it in her soul.

  But she also knew she couldn’t publish it.

  She’d written another article. A watered-down version that didn’t have the heart and emotion of this one and didn’t mention Sully or his shop. And she was okay turning that one in. Really.

  It was just one article. She could always write another one. This magazine wasn’t so bad.

  Sully was more important. He’d told her that he loved her, and her heart sang with joy this morning. She’d meant it when she said she didn’t care about the promotion, didn’t care about the other magazine; she cared about the man who acted tough but had a tender heart—the man who’d said she had made his heart beat again.

  It didn’t take her long to pack up her stuff, and she squared things with Miss Abigail, telling her to bill the magazine for the full ten night’s stay.

  Miss Abigail had given her a knowing look when she told her that she had another place to stay.

  “I heard about you and Sully. He’s a good man.”

  “You heard? What did you hear?”

  “I think half the town heard about the two of you necking on the dance floor at that Get Outside event in the park last week. And other folks have said they’ve seen you around town looking like a couple in love.”

  Avery shrugged, a grin curving the corners of her lips. “Maybe we are.”

  “Ahhh,” Miss Abigail said, her eyebrows rising. “Then it’s true.”

  “It’s true. I don’t know exactly how it happened. I’ve only known him a week, but dammit, I’m in love with the guy. He’s sweet and funny, and even though he doesn’t want anyone to know it, he’s got a really good heart.”

  “You better sit down. I’ll get you some coffee.”

  “No, really. I don’t have time to stay.”

  But Miss Abigail was already pouring her a cup and motioned for her to sit at the scarred wooden kitchen table. “You can take fifteen minutes. I adore a good love story. Tell me everything.”

  She sat. And she told her—not everything of course—but enough. She told her how they met and thought Miss Abigail was going to fall off her chair laughing so hard. She told her about the storm and falling in the river and getting stuck at the cabin. She told her about the article and how Sully didn’t want her to use his name or the name of his shop, but that she’d needed the story to be good to get the promotion. She also told her that she’d written two stories. And why.

  “I want to show the good story to Sully, and hopefully he’ll see himself the way I see him. Maybe he’ll even agree to let me send the story to my boss.”

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  Avery shrugged. “Then he doesn’t. I’m really fine sending the other one. Somehow the story doesn’t seem as important now. Not if it means hurting Sully or attracting the attention of his ex.”

  “I’ve known Sully since he was a boy. And that witch Sheila did a number on him. We all knew she was bad news when he brought her back to town. Thankfully, he shouldn’t have any trouble with her now, though, not since she just got remarried. Thank goodness for getting rid of bad rubbish.”

  “What? Did you say she got remarried?”

  Miss Abigail nodded. “Heard it at bingo the other night. She still keeps in touch with a couple of gals in town, and she was bragging that she’d met some rich guy out in California and they’d eloped in Las Vegas. Evidently she made it sound it all fancy, but running off to Sin City to get married doesn’t sound so great to me. Not that I give two craps about what that hussy does. I’m just glad that Sully’s going to be rid of her and she can’t hurt him anymore.”

  Avery threw her arms around the little old lady and gave her a quick hug. “I’ve got to go, Miss Abigail. Thanks for everything, but I’ve got to run. I can’t wait to tell Sully about this. He’s going to be so happy.”

  …

  Sully wasn’t happy.

  He’d woken up alone, the house feeling empty and still.

  At first, he’d thought he’d spooked Avery the night before by telling her that he loved her, and that she’d snuck out in the night.

  What an idiot he was for thinking she cared about him.

  He trudged out into the kitchen to make coffee. The pot was cold but a note was propped up against it, claiming she’d gone to get her stuff and to pick up breakfast.

  His heart did a little flip. He really was an idiot. She hadn’t left. She’d gone to get breakfast and to bring back her things so she could stay.

  A smile broke out on his face. He was going to get the girl and a burrito from Lou’s. Suddenly his day just got a hundred times brighter.

  He made a fresh pot of coffee, let the dog outside while it brewed, then settled down at the kitchen table with a warm cup. Taking a sip, he shifted through the loose papers that sat next to Avery’s laptop. His name caught his eye, and he opened the notebook and scanned through the notes she’d taken.

  What the hell?

  She’d said she wasn’t going to use his name or make the story about him or his shop, but everything in this notebook indicated that she did just that.

  Surely there was a mistake. She wouldn’t do that. Would she?

  The laptop sat open, and he touched the track pad, stirring the screen to life.

  A single square with a picture of a bright yellow daisy in it popped up next to a rectangular box that requested a password.

  He set down his coffee and held his hands poised over the keyboard.

  No, he shouldn’t. It was her private stuff. He wouldn’t want her snooping through his things.

  Oh hell, it wasn’t like he was going to read her email or hack into her bank account. He only wanted to read the article that she’d written. And it was about him, for chrissakes. So, he had every right to read it.

  Right?

  He set his fingers on the keypad again, his chest filling with a black sense of dread. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. And who knew if it would work anyway? She might have been kidding about using her hamster’s name for all of her passwords.

  He took a deep breath, pushing back the tendrils of foreboding that were slipping through his heart like the twists of weedy vine that overran his garden, winding their way through everything and choking out all that was healthy and good.

  He struck the keys, typing the word “peaches” followed by the three digits of her birthday.

  The computer screen popped to life.

  Holy shit. It worked.

  The screen had two windows open, one was a Word document with what appeared to be the article in question, and the other was her email.

  A single email was open, a draft addressed to her editor at the magazine, with a subject line of: Completed Draft: A Week in the Wild at a Fly-Fishing Shop in Colorado.

  He picked up his coffee and pulled the laptop closer.

  His eyes scanned the article, his heart sinking with every word.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sully looked up as the front door opened, his heart heavy as Avery rushed in holding a paper sack from Lou’s.

  Her eyes were lit with excitement as she exclaimed, “I’ve got breakfast burritos and great news.” Then her face fell as she saw him at the table, her computer in front of him. “What’s going on?”

  He’d read the article three times. And three times a hundred is how many times his heart had broken.

  He couldn’t believe that she’d done it. That she’d tossed away all of his concerns—his specific request to not write it—and written the article about him anyway.

  The article itself was good, really good, and he tried to look at it logically and from her perspective. That’s what his head told him to do.

  His head told him that she was doing exactly what she needed to do. That the writing was good, and it would be enough to get her that promotion she was going for.

  But his heart told him that she’d used him. That she lied to him. And that she never cared about him at all.

&
nbsp; “I read the article,” he said, his voice as hard as steel.

  “Yeah,” she answered cautiously. “What did you think?”

  He was thankful she didn’t ask how he got into her computer. He felt like a shit for sneaking into it, but there were so many ways he felt shitty right now that having one more didn’t seem to make a difference.

  “I think you got what you wanted. You came here to get a story, and evidently you used every means necessary to get it. Including using me.”

  “Sully, it’s not like that.” She set the bag on the counter and took a tentative step toward him.

  “It’s not? Because it sure as hell feels like that. It feels like you let me make a fool of myself. You acted like you cared about me. Let me believe that we had something. You let me tell you that I loved you.” You let me trust you. His voice broke, which only fueled his anger. He hated to have her see him like this.

  “And I said that I loved you back.”

  “Yeah, you did. And I believed you. Like an idiot. I somehow believed that someone like you could love someone like me. What a fool. I believed it. Kidded myself into thinking it was true. Until I saw this. Then I knew the hard ugly truth.”

  “What are you talking about? I do love you.”

  “No, you don’t. You were just using me. Using me to get what you want. You never cared about me. All you ever cared about was the story—your fucking story.” His jaw hurt from clenching it so tightly. “Well, you’ve got your story now. So you don’t have to stick around anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you can go back to Chicago. You got what you wanted. It’s done. Over. I saw your email to your editor, and I attached your story and sent it.” He turned the computer toward her, her email on display.

  He knew what he was doing when he’d sent it. Knew that it would end things between them. But really, they were already over.

  Once he saw the article, saw what she’d written, he knew they were over anyway.

  She might not care about him, but he still loved her, would always love her.

  Loved her enough to want the very best for her. That just didn’t happen to be him.

  Her story was good. He recognized that. And he knew that he could probably save himself by just deleting it.

  But by sending it to her editor, he was giving her everything she wanted. The chance to have the life she always dreamed of. And saving her from a life spent in a sleepy little town with a boring guy that liked to read and fish.

  She wanted adventures and a spot on a good magazine, and he knew this story could do it for her.

  She sagged against the counter, shaking her head in disbelief. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I love you, and I want what’s best for you. Even though you used me, lied to me, pretended to care about me. My feelings for you were real.” His chest was tight, and he swallowed back the emotion building in his throat.

  “My feelings for you are real, too, dammit.” She raised her voice, her eyes flashing with anger. “And I didn’t betray you. You did that yourself. I don’t care about the article. I’ll call my editor right now and tell him not to print it.”

  “Why? Why would you do that? When you already got what you wanted? We made a deal, right? You’d help me get rid of Leanne, and I’d give you material for your story. Oh wait, that wasn’t exactly the deal, was it? I was supposed to give you material for the story then you were supposed to leave me out of it.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “I guess I got what I wanted, because it got rid of Leanne, so I thank you for your services and you can go now.”

  “Go? Go where?”

  “Go home. Back to Chicago—just like I knew you always would.”

  “I’m not going home. You are my home. I want to stay and work this out with you.”

  “Why? What’s the point? You lied to me—how can I ever trust you again. You used me for what you wanted, and now you don’t need me anymore. So go out and get your promotion. See the world. Go have your adventures. I don’t really care what you do. Just go home.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying to fight for this thing. You can trust me. I told you that I wouldn’t hurt you.”

  “You already have. And I don’t trust you. I should never have let myself believe in you.”

  “Sully, please.” She was crying now—tears running down her cheeks.

  Her pleading tone almost crushed him, but he was still too angry—and hurt—to let it get to him. If he backed down now, even a little bit, he’d never be able to do what had to be done.

  He’d never be able to let her go.

  His stomach churned with acid, and he could feel the vein pulsing in his neck as he struggled to find the right words.

  Dragging his hand through his hair, he spoke in a carefully controlled tone. “Look, I’m a fisherman at heart, so I know when it’s time to fish and when it’s time to cut bait and go home.” He gripped the chair so hard his knuckles were turning white. “And it’s time for you to go home. Just leave.”

  Her defiant tone was back. “No, I won’t. This is too important. You mean too much to me. I’m not leaving.”

  He pushed up from his chair, his limbs almost too heavy to move. “Fine, then I’ll leave.”

  Crossing the room, the air felt as if it were full of molasses. He opened the front door, finding it hard to breathe, he turned back. “I really did give you my heart. Even knowing that you’d probably break it someday, I just didn’t expect for you to shatter it so damn soon. Don’t be here when I get back.”

  He turned his back, expecting her to plead with him again, but this time she was deathly quiet. The room echoed of heartbreak, of the pain of broken promises. He walked out the door, leaving her alone as he pulled it shut behind him.

  …

  Sully sat behind the counter of the empty shop, thumbing through an order catalog, not really seeing anything on the brightly colored pages as he tried to keep his mind from thinking about Avery.

  It had been four weeks since he’d seen her.

  Four desperately long weeks since she’d walked out of his life. Well, she hadn’t exactly walked out. He’d pushed her out.

  And she was really gone. She hadn’t called or texted him. It was almost as if the time with her hadn’t been real—like she hadn’t even existed. He checked his phone every night, just in case she’d called and left him a message—even knowing that if he heard her voice, it would break him.

  He wanted to call her—thought about her every day—had even picked up his phone and brought up her number. But it was too late. He’d said too much, felt too betrayed, the hurt had gone too deep, and he didn’t know how to repair the damage that had been done.

  The new issue of The Wild Outdoors magazine had come out a few days before, and her article had been included. Half the town was talking about it, and someone had dropped off a copy of the magazine, evidently thinking he’d be excited to see it.

  He hadn’t read it yet. The thing sat on the counter in front of him almost as if it were mocking him.

  He picked it up, taking a deep breath and steeling himself for the pain of betrayal to slay him again when he saw the freaking story that had started all this mess. He flipped the magazine open to the page someone had conveniently dog-eared for him.

  Shock ran through him as he read the words on the pages—but not the words he expected to see. The story was there, filled with the same heart and passion, but it only referred to the man who taught the reporter how to fish as the “elusive fisherman” and claimed his shop was one of the local secrets of Colorado.

  She hadn’t betrayed him after all. Even after he’d sent the article with his name in it, she must have convinced the editor to let her change it.

  He read the story again—every word like a punch to the gut. Reading the article brought everything back, but this time he tried to see it from a new perspective.

  Avery had really captured the essence of his shop and of his personali
ty. The things she said about him showed that she’d paid attention, that she’d listened, that she’d really gotten to know him. And that she admired and respected him.

  As he thumbed through the article again, her words leaping off the page at him, he felt worse and worse the more he looked at it. The final stab to his already wounded heart was turning the last page and seeing her author headshot—Avery’s face grinning up at him, her lips curved into a smile.

  He grabbed the magazine and flung it across the room—he was such an idiot. He’d thrown everything away—assumed the worst—and she hadn’t betrayed him after all.

  He looked up at the sound of the front door opening, his injured heart hoping it might be her.

  “Hey there, Sully,” the visitor to the shop called out, drawing him out of his musings. It wasn’t Avery. Not unless she’d aged about forty or fifty years.

  “Hey there, Miss Abigail,” he said, trying to rein in his emotions and keep his voice steady. “What brings you out my way?”

  “My grandson asked me to stop out and see if you have any wooly buggers. He’s doing a program in the park this weekend and wanted a couple of them. I told him I’d run out and grab them. I wanted to see you anyway.”

  “Yeah? Why’s that?”

  “Oh, I just wanted to see how you were getting along.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Uh-huh. What are you up to?”

  She batted her eyes at him. “Who, me?”

  “Yeah, you. Spill it.”

  “I just wanted to check up on you. You know, after the article came out and everything. See how you were holding up after such a scathing exposé was released.” Her sarcasm was not lost on him.

  He blew out a breath and pointed to the thrown magazine. “I just read it. It was good.”

  “I read it, too. I thought it was great. Almost didn’t recognize that it was you she was writing about, she made you sound so amazing. She’s a good writer, you know.”