Last Chance Knit & Stitch

by Ramsay, Hope

  Miriam regarded him soberly. “And that should tell you something right there, young man.”

  Whatever comeback Angel was about to give Miriam was cut short by Simon’s arrival. He burst through the door, making the little bell jangle like an alarm. His brow was folded into a scowl, his dark eyes looked bright and angry, and his jaw had a hard-as-steel look to it.

  “Molly,” he said, “I need you.”

  Miriam giggled at this sudden display of alpha-male behavior.

  “For what?” Molly asked.

  He glanced at his mother and then back. “I need you to come with me right this minute.” He turned toward Angel. “Take care of Mother.”

  And with that he locked his long, masculine fingers around Molly’s arm and started to pull her toward the door.

  “Stop that man,” Charlotte said, standing up. “He’s a molester and a thief.” She shook her finger at Simon, and for a fleeting instant Molly saw the hurt in Simon’s eyes.

  “Mrs. Wolfe, it’s okay,” Angel said, stepping between mother and son. “It’s just a fight between Molly and her boyfriend.”

  Miriam giggled again, and Molly tried to pull away. But Simon put the kibosh on all her attempts at escape. He had some really powerful hands.

  “Molly,” Charlotte cried, “don’t go with that man. He’s no good for you. You can see that, can’t you? I mean, look at all that hair. Your father would never approve of a man with hair that long.”

  Which, actually was sort of true. Even so, Molly was tempted to tell Charlotte to put a sock in it for what she’d just said. Since when did she require Coach’s approval—for anything? And then she realized she didn’t need Coach’s approval because Simon wasn’t her boyfriend. Which was a good thing, wasn’t it?

  “Don’t be difficult,” Simon whispered. “I’ll tell you what’s going on when we get outside. There are too many gossips in this room.” He cast his gaze toward Angel and then back to Molly.

  “I’ll be back in time for tonight’s knitting class,” she said to the Purly Girls, who looked as if they hadn’t seen this much excitement in years.

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Miriam said.

  CHAPTER

  13

  Simon didn’t want to drag Molly to the sidewalk. He didn’t want to argue with her either. His argument with Uncle Ryan was already one argument too many. But when people started behaving like idiots, sometimes a man just had to act. Otherwise the anger could eat right through him, like acid.

  “Stop being difficult,” he said. “I’m here to help you.”

  He loosened his grip on her arm, and she pulled away. His hand felt empty the moment she escaped.

  She whirled on him. “I don’t like being manhandled.”

  “Sorry. But what we’re about to do requires stealth.”

  “You call manhandling me out of my shop stealthy?”

  “No. But explaining why I need you out here would have been stupid. The biggest gossips in Last Chance are in your shop right at this moment. I didn’t want to discuss my plans in front of them. We’re about to commit grand theft. Sort of.”

  “What?”

  He turned and headed down the sidewalk toward Bill’s Grease Pit. “Do you want your Shelby back or not?”

  “Are we going to break into Wolfe Ford?” Her voice carried, and half a dozen pedestrians on Palmetto Avenue turned to stare.

  “Keep your voice down,” Simon whispered. “And don’t act suspicious.”

  “Right. But what exactly are you talking about?”

  “My uncle Ryan is an a-hole. That’s what I’m talking about.”

  “Well, I’m glad you and I agree on something,” Molly said.

  “Why didn’t you tell me Uncle Ryan was trying to steal your car?”

  “I told you days ago that the car didn’t belong to the dealership.”

  “I know. But you didn’t say one word to me about how Ryan had locked it up and was insisting that it belonged to the dealership in payment of rent due. That’s just ridiculous. I talked to Les and Bubba, and they both confirmed that Daddy wasn’t interested in charging you rent for that garage space.”

  “Oh, is that the excuse Ryan used for hanging on to the car? He stonewalled me when I spoke to him about it. He pretended my bill of sale wasn’t good and that I would need to go get a lawyer.”

  “You should have told me.”

  “I didn’t think you would give a darn, to be honest. I thought you were just in a big, hot hurry to get back to Paradise.”

  He stopped and looked down at her. Her eyes were as amazing as her hair. Their color was so unique and changeable. He wanted to get lost in that look she was giving him. And suddenly all the rage disappeared, replaced by the simple need to make things right for her. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I can be very aloof. It’s just my way of staying out of arguments.”

  “But you’re getting into the middle of this one?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I am. We’re going to get your car, right now. I don’t like bullies.”

  “But—”

  “Hush, we can’t talk here.”

  Molly struggled to keep up with Simon as he strode down Palmetto Avenue toward Bill’s Grease Pit, where Bubba Lockheart was waiting in the parking lot, leaning up against the flatbed truck, idly tossing and catching the keys.

  “Hey, Molly, I’m real sorry about what LeRoy did. That was low, in my opinion, even if Les is a great mechanic.”

  “It’s okay,” she muttered.

  “Well, no, it’s not, which is why I told Simon that I’d be happy to help you liberate the Shelby. Anything for Coach’s daughter, right, Simon?”

  “Absolutely.” Simon gave Molly an I’m-up-to-no-good, devilish kind of smile that didn’t show any teeth. This time it made her feel light-headed, but maybe it was just the excitement of finally doing something about the car situation.

  Or maybe it was the fact that Simon was drop-dead gorgeous. And his take-charge attitude was sexy. Especially since he’d dressed for a car heist in skinny black jeans, a black T-shirt, and a pair of boots that had been polished to within an inch of their lives.

  He looked bad. All he needed to complete the outfit would have been one of those Celtic-motif tats around his upper arm. Sadly, he appeared to be tattoo-free.

  “Hey guys,” Bubba said, “I have a question. The dealership is all locked up. How are we going to get in? I’m not down with breaking windows or anything like that.”

  Simon reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a shiny brass key. “We’ll use this. It’s way more civilized than breaking and entering.”

  “You have a key?”

  “I reckon I do.”

  “How did you get that?” she asked.

  “I told my uncle’s secretary, Miz Linnette, that Mother and I were heartbroken about not having Daddy’s football memorabilia—you know all those team photos he’d hung all over the dealership. Not to mention the game ball from the 1990 championship season. Miz Linnette may work for my uncle, but I reckon she’s just about the biggest Rebels booster there is, now that Daddy’s passed. I promised her the autographed team photo.”

  Bubba snorted a laugh, and Molly found herself taking another look at Simon Wolfe. Maybe he hadn’t lost his southern accent or attitude. He’d just used the word “reckon” twice in a row.

  When he talked like that, it was deeply seductive. But she ought to resist. She was still Coach’s daughter and could get in a lot of hot water with her daddy for stealing things. Even if the stuff she was stealing was her own property.

  “You know, maybe we should rethink,” she said. “I really want that car back, but we’re going to get into trouble. I mean, when the car turns up missing, everyone is going to know it was me who stole it back. And I’ll bet Miz Linnette hasn’t given a key to anyone else. So they’re going to know that Simon helped. And since the Shelby is in bits and pieces, naturally they’ll assume that Bubba or Les helped with the truck. And I don’t even want to think about
the crap I’m going to get from my daddy for doing something like this.”

  “I don’t care what people think, not even Coach,” Simon said with cool resolve. “I’m not going to let my uncle steal your car, Molly, and we have to do it this way because he told me this afternoon that he’s got a buyer for it.”

  “But he can’t sell it. He doesn’t have—”

  “He can sell it, and he will. He’ll find some dirty, underhanded way of doing it, and he’ll pocket the money. And it will be a done deal while you’re still interviewing lawyers. So it’s now or never. He can’t accuse you of stealing your own car. And I have permission to be in the dealership. It belonged to my daddy. So what if I let you in to get your belongings, too. What can he do to you?”

  “Plenty. He’s got the money to hire lots of lawyers.”

  “And you have a bill of sale and a title.”

  “Coach is not going to be happy about this, and—”

  “Why not?” Bubba asked. “Simon’s got a point. I mean, it’s not stealing if you’re just taking back what’s yours to begin with. The only thief in this scenario is Ryan Polk.”

  “But we still have a problem,” Molly said. “Once we take the car from the dealership where the heck are we going to stash it?”

  “We’re going to stash the car at the Coca-Cola building,” Simon said.

  “But you’ve rented it already.”

  “That place is cavernous,” he replied. “You can have the area right by the loading dock. It’s perfect garage space. And I’ll take the front room with the windows.”

  “Oh, my God. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Molly threw her arms around Simon’s neck and gave him a big hug and a kiss.

  But something went seriously haywire with that kiss the moment her lips touched the stubble on his cheek. She got stuck there and made the double mistake of breathing in. Bad move. His scent was intoxicating.

  And then he put his arms around her waist and held her there for just the smallest fraction of a moment. A moment that expanded in time so it was long enough for Molly to feel the pressure of his thighs. Long enough for her to taste his cheek with the tip of her tongue. Long enough for her hormones to pitch a full-out, no-holds-barred female tizzy.

  Time started flowing again, and she pulled away. But her face felt like it had been blowtorched.

  Ricki ran from the Knit & Stitch without any real conscious thought of where she was going. She just needed to run—to get away from Muffin’s defection and the sorry state of her life. She’d thought things were looking up for her, and then, wham, here she was dogless, and jobless, and all in the space of a few hours.

  It would have been much better if she’d been wearing a pair of running shoes, or even the Skechers she used to wear at the Kountry Kitchen, because the heel of one of her little red shoes got caught in a sidewalk crevice. Her ankle turned, and her leg collapsed, and down she went, right onto her leopard-clad butt.

  She must have cried out in pain or something, although really it was mostly her butt that hurt. Anyway, the next minute, Les Hayes was there being all big and manly and surprisingly tender. He took charge, and that was nice. He wouldn’t let her get up.

  “You could have really broken or torn something. I’m taking you to see Doc Cooper.”

  “I’m okay, really.”

  But Les was exactly the kind of tenderhearted, take-charge guy she had a weakness for. So when he hoisted her from the sidewalk and started walking toward the clinic, she let him. It took him almost ten minutes to walk there, and he didn’t falter once. “You must work out,” Ricki said as he carried her through the doors.

  “A little.” A blush ran up his cheeks. She inhaled him. He was one part gasoline and two parts de-greaser, with a hint of good clean soap. He didn’t smell like Randy, that was for sure, but boy, there was something about him that ran circles around her ex.

  Probably the fact that he was twenty-five years younger. That cooled her jets a little bit.

  A moment later Les deposited her on one of the examining room beds. Annie Jasper, the nurse, bustled in, and Ricki gave her all the details of her fall. Les hovered beside the bed.

  “Did you try to put weight on it?” Annie asked.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  Ricki glanced at Les. “Uh, well, Les picked me up and carried me here.”

  Annie turned around and gave Les one of those measured looks. “Really?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Les said, and his face got pink again.

  “Does it hurt to move it?”

  “Not really. Not anymore, I mean.”

  “Right.” Annie gave Ricki one of her stern looks. “Why don’t you hop down from there, gently, and see if you can walk it off.”

  “Okay.”

  She slid from the bed and gave the ankle a little test. Of course it didn’t hurt. But with Annie Jasper staring at her, she suddenly felt like the biggest jerk in the universe, not to mention one of those cougars who prey on younger men. “It seems to be okay.”

  “Annie, you need to check her over top to bottom. She took a bad tumble. I saw it happen,” Les said.

  Bless his heart, Les cared.

  Annie glared at her, and Ricki had no problem interpreting that look. The whole town would be saying very mean things about her tomorrow morning. About how she was making a play for Molly Canaday’s man. And with Ricki losing her job, people would put two and two together and come up with the wrong answer.

  God, could her life have gotten more complicated in the space of twenty-four hours? She forced one of her waitress smiles to her face. “I guess I’m okay, Les. Thank you for being so chivalrous. But I think I can make it home now.”

  “I’ll walk with you.” This was not a request, and it really worried Ricki when Annie Jasper rolled her eyes.

  But there wasn’t any way she was going to get rid of Leslie Hayes. Under other circumstances—like in a big city where nobody knew anybody’s business—Ricki might have let herself enjoy the sudden attention of a very handsome man. But this was Last Chance, where everybody passed judgment on everybody’s business, so there would be no enjoyment of this moment.

  “Thanks, Annie,” she said and headed toward the door. Les trailed after her.

  She had taken a few steps down the sidewalk in the direction of her apartment when her cell phone rang. She pulled it out of her purse and checked the number. It was Molly.

  Damn, was she already checking up on Les? She gave him a glance where he strolled beside her, looking kind of grim. “It’s Molly,” she said, then she pressed the talk button.

  “Hey, Molly.” She tried to keep her voice as neutral as possible. She was starting to think it had been a very bad idea to make such a scene during the Purly Girls meeting.

  “Honey, I’m sorry about your job. Really and truly. I don’t know if I can afford to hire you back, but right now I need you.”

  “You need me?”

  “Yes, I do. I have an errand I have to do, and I left Angel in charge of the shop. He may be able to knit like nobody’s business but I don’t really know him, you know what I mean?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So I’m hiring you back. I need you to go keep an eye on things and help Angel. And I need you to stay open for the gals who come in this evening for knitting lessons.”

  “But, Mol, I don’t know how to teach anyone to knit.”

  “It’s all right. Just get Angel to do it.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’re the best, Ricki. And I promise I’ll find some way to get your job at the Kountry Kitchen back for you. Don’t you worry, now, you hear?”

  Ricki refrained from telling Molly that she didn’t want to go back to waitressing. She liked knitting a whole lot better. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and Ricki had been a beggar for a long time.

  She turned toward Les. “I gotta go back to the store. Molly’s rehired me just for tonight.”

  “Oh. Uh, well, that’s great.” They had
reached the parking lot at Bill’s Grease Pit, where Les’s truck was parked. “I guess I gotta go then.”

  She stood there awkwardly. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

  “It’s okay. I probably deserved it. I’m glad your ankle is okay.”

  “About that, I—”

  He held up his hands. “I still think Annie Jasper should have called for an X-ray or something. My heart stood still when I saw you topple over.”

  “It did?”

  He nodded, and his cheeks got just a little red again. Man, he was cute when he blushed like that.

  “Well, thank you for carrying me. That’s the nicest thing anyone has done for me in ages and ages. Maybe ever.”

  He smiled. And when his mouth quirked up like that, it stole Ricki’s breath.

  “Maybe I’ll see you sometime down at Dot’s Spot.”

  “Maybe you will.”

  CHAPTER

  14

  Simon liked order in his life. He kept his drawers and his closet and his work organized. Every day, when he stepped into his studio, he knew where all his tools were, and he knew which part of a painting he was going to attack. He knew what he wanted to accomplish. He set goals for himself. He worked hard. And he always got up early in the morning.

  It was barely dawn on Thursday morning when he opened the Coca-Cola building, made himself a strong cup of coffee in the old coffeemaker he’d borrowed from his mother, and regarded the Harrison commission.

  All his focus and all his organizational skill could not save him from this disaster. The colors were wrong, the heart of the painting was missing, and he felt no deep, burning desire to finish it. He was lost and had no notion of how to get back on track.

  He stood there a long time, paralyzed by his indecision, until someone started banging on the front door. It was surprising that anyone was awake at six in the morning. But this was Last Chance, where farmers got up early and listened to the agricultural talk show on WLST.

  Simon was pretty sure a farmer would have better things to do at six in the morning than bang on his studio door. Unless, of course, the farmer was ticked off about having to go eighty miles to get warranty service on his truck.