by Marie Force
An art gallery shared space with a coffee shop and beyond that was a glassblower’s studio, a couple of restaurants and a bookstore. She glanced in the other direction and took in the brown and tan Victorian that housed the town hall with the volunteer fire department attached, and a white-steepled church at the end of the street. Her gaze landed finally on the Green Mountain Country Store, which was bigger than it had seemed the night before.
The green-clapboard building was two stories with a delightful front porch where black rockers lined up invitingly. She might’ve mistaken it for a private home if not for the painted GREEN MOUNTAIN COUNTRY STORE sign above the porch.
Cameron couldn’t wait to check out the store before the meeting with its owners, but first things first. She entered Nolan’s garage to find out the status of her injured car.
Bells on the door announced her arrival.
A good-looking man who Cameron gauged to be in his mid-thirties emerged from the garage area, wiping his hands on a red oilcloth as he came into the office area, wearing a navy blue work coat and pants with sturdy boots—the kind that got you through a harsh Vermont winter and mud season. He took one look at her face and grimaced.
“You must be the gal who went one-on-one with Fred last night.”
“That’d be me. Cameron Murphy. Nolan, I presume?”
“The one and only. I’d shake your hand, but I wouldn’t want to mess you up.” He had dark hair and brown eyes that glimmered when he smiled.
“Thanks for that and for fetching my car from the mud bath.”
“No problem.” He couldn’t seem to stop staring at her battered face. “Did you get that looked at?”
“Nah. Looks worse than it feels.”
“If you say so.”
“How’s my poor little car?”
“She’s seen better days.”
“Like yesterday, the only day I owned her before she got smooshed.” As she watched him choke back a laugh, she waved a hand. “Oh go ahead and laugh. It’s kinda funny.”
Clearing his throat, he said, “It’s not funny that you got hurt.” Seeming embarrassed by the blunt statement, he turned toward the garage. “Come take a look.”
Cameron followed him into the bay where her car was raised up on some sort of lifter thing. “Oh man. It’s way worse in the bright light of day.”
“She took a pretty good hit. Old Fred is a sturdy fellow, and you probably got him square in one of the legs. The way I see it, we’ve got two options. We can total it, and you can fight it out with your insurance company. Or I can fix it up pretty close to new, but it’ll take some time.”
“How much time?”
“How long are you here?”
“A week. Maybe two.”
“Two ought to about do it. I’m mostly a one-man operation, so I’d have to fit it in between other jobs. I’ve got a guy who’s amazing with the bodywork, but he’s somewhat unreliable. I have to take what I can get with him, so the two weeks is mostly an estimate. Could be more.”
Pondering her options and realizing she might have to be here longer than she wanted to be, Cameron took in the mangled front end. “This is the first car I’ve ever bought for myself.” She didn’t share the fact that she had used the last of her dwindling savings to buy it so she’d have a way to get all her stuff to Vermont and get around while she was there.
“Since you only got a day out of it, seems to me it’s worth trying to salvage. The engine is brand-new after all, and BMW makes a mighty fine engine.”
“So you’d try to save it if it were yours?”
“Oh hell, yeah, but I’ve got nowhere to be in the next coupla weeks. You might have other plans.”
Cameron’s tired brain whirled as she pondered her options. If she had to go back to the city before the car was done, she could always fly. She’d considered flying into Burlington, except she’d had too much stuff, such as the LCD projector that was still in the car, to manage the flight by herself. She had ballet tickets in two weeks that she had no intention of using, but her father had given them to her and would expect her back in time to “use” them.
Other than that, there was nothing on her calendar that she couldn’t handle from here, provided she could get a decent phone signal and Internet connection.
Will Abbott had intrigued her last night talking about the big family that worked together to run a business. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t interested in spending some time with a family like that, provided they decided to hire her, and provided Will and his siblings didn’t hate her for building a website they didn’t want. If they didn’t hire her, she’d fly home and then come back for the car when it was ready.
Cameron glanced at Nolan, who was watching her as she had her internal debate. “Go ahead and fix it. I’ll get the claim started.”
He pulled a card from his back pocket and handed it to her. “They can call me for pictures and estimates.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll do my best to make her as good as new.”
“That’s very kind of you. Would it be possible to get something out of the backseat?”
“Sure. What do you need?”
“The LCD projector behind the front seat. I need it for a ten o’clock meeting with the Abbotts.”
“I’ll fetch it and bring it over to you.”
“Oh, that’d be great. Thanks again. I’ll be in touch.”
“I’ll be here.”
With half an hour until her meeting, Cameron strolled across the street to the store. Walking through the front door, she felt like she’d traveled back in time as the sights and scents of the place filled her senses. Every square inch of space was in use. From barrels full to overflowing with peanuts still in their shells to Coca-Cola placards on the walls to antique household items sitting on thick wooden beams, it was almost too much to take in as she wandered down an aisle full of toys. She pressed the top of a jack-in-the-box and jumped back when the tightly sprung toy leaped out at her.
“May I help you find something?” a cheerful woman asked.
Cameron purposely didn’t look her way so she wouldn’t have to explain her injured face. “I’m just looking. Thanks.”
“Enjoy. I’ll be up front if you need any help.”
The toys gave way to rows of health and beauty items and a table that held bushel baskets of fragrant handmade soaps in a variety of colors and shapes. Cameron picked up a square of tan soap and breathed in the spicy scent before returning it to the basket. She took a sample of one of the lotions that bore a VERMONT MADE sticker and rubbed it into her hands, absorbing yet another appealing scent, this one lavender.
Shelves were filled with kitchen tools, baking pans, modern mixed in with practical, gadgets she’d never seen before and wouldn’t know what to do with, spices and cornmeal and pancake mixes in brown paper sacks with colorful VERMONT MADE labels. An entire wall was devoted to jugs of maple syrup, which apparently came in a staggering array of colors and grades. Cameron, who’d never been a fan of syrup, took a minute nonetheless to read the sign next to the display that gave a brief overview of the sugaring process that resulted in maple syrup.
She picked one of the jugs off the shelf, noted the Abbott label and realized the syrup came from Will’s brother’s sugaring facility. Which brother was that? She couldn’t recall. She’d have to write down all their names if she got the job.
On the back of the jug was a photo of a man who resembled Will in the face except he had a beard the same color as his long golden-brown hair. Despite the overabundance of facial hair, he had the same sexy, rugged appeal as his older brother. Our guarantee of the finest maple syrup you’ll find anywhere, or your money back.—Colton Abbott, Abbott Family Farms. Below Colton’s signature the words Sealed in accordance with Vermont laws were bolded. A gold foil sticker on the front of the jug said VERMONT FANCY GRADE. Whatever that meant.
Cameron was suddenly very curious about what that meant. She wanted to know how the syrup
was made, what the different grades were about and what “Vermont Fancy Grade” was, too.
She returned the jug to the shelf and moved farther into the store. Smack in the middle of the building, a cast-iron potbelly woodstove cast a cozy glow over a wooden checkerboard. Two older men were bent over the board, engaged in a fierce battle of black versus red and didn’t pay her any notice.
Around another corner the pungent odor of cheese greeted her. A refrigerator case held every type and flavor of cheese imaginable, most bearing the VERMONT MADE label she was coming to recognize.
Another whole case was devoted to Vermont cheddar. A cheeseaholic through and through, Cameron would be taking some of that home with her.
She turned to head for the clothing area and nearly crashed into a red flannel-clad chest.
Will reached out to steady her and managed to save the coffee that jostled precariously between them.
“Oh, good save,” she said as he handed the cup back to her.
He took a long look at her battered face, but his expression never changed, scoring him a point or two in her book. Without the knit cap he’d worn the night before, she could see that his hair was the same honey color as Colton’s. He wore it on the longish side, and without the length to weigh it down it might’ve been curly. “You’re big on crashing into things, huh?”
“Only things that get in my way,” she retorted, annoyed to realize he was even more stunningly beautiful in the light of day than he’d been the night before.
Freshly shaven cheeks; full, sexy lips; golden-brown eyes and, judging from what she’d landed against, a rock-hard chest made entirely of muscle. And then he smiled and ruined everything. Oh. My. God. Cameron, who lived in a city full of extraordinarily good-looking men, had never seen one quite like him. Beautiful, sexy and rugged. Who knew that rugged was so appealing? Not her. Not before now anyway.
And then she remembered she looked hideous and was suddenly extremely self-conscious about her face. Her hand came up to cover her swollen upper lip.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, his tone gentler than she’d heard yet from him.
“Not too badly.” She forced herself to look up at him. “Thank you for the boots.”
“Oh. No problem. I figured you needed something substantial for the mud.”
“How did you know what size to get me?”
“I . . . um . . . I guessed. Was I close?”
“You were perfect.”
The words hung in the charged silence between them as he stared at her, and she stared right back at him, unable to look away.
“What did Nolan say about the car?”
“It’s going to take awhile to fix it, but he said it can be done.”
“Did you meet Skeeter?”
“Who’s that?”
“Nolan’s sometime assistant. That guy is a real piece of work. He’s amazing with cars but a total oddball.” He leaned in close to her, setting off heart palpitations as she tried to gauge his intent. “Rumor has it that when his cat died, he wrapped it up and stashed it in his mother’s deep freezer until he had time to bury it. They didn’t find it until the mother died ten years later.”
“You’re making that up!”
“Am not. He’s batshit crazy, but no one does bodywork like Skeeter does.”
“That’s very comforting. I think.”
Grinning, he said, “Do you want me to show you around?”
“I’d love that,” she said, even though her better judgment was telling her to run far and run fast from her sexy rescuer. Her heart beat a funny staccato when he reached out to re- lieve her of the heavy computer bag.
“I’ll carry that for you.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks.” Whew, is it hot in here or is it just me? Desperate to make innocuous conversation, Cameron tried to think of something she could say to get her mind off the fact that every cell in her body was attuned to him. “What do you do for the store?”
“I oversee the Vermont Made line.”
“I saw the stickers on the syrup and some of the other stuff.”
“Ever had Vermont maple syrup?”
Cameron turned up her nose and instantly regretted it. Wincing from the flash of pain, she blinked back tears that pooled in her eyes. “Note to self: Don’t wrinkle injured nose. Ouch.”
“Are you okay?”
His concern touched her. “Yep, but that hurt. Anyway, I don’t like maple syrup.”
He looked at her like she’d just said something downright un-American. “For real? Who doesn’t like maple syrup?”
“Um, me?”
“Have you ever had any that didn’t come from a grocery store?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve never liked it.”
“You have to try ours before you rule it out forever.”
“I’ll take your word on the fact that it’s good.”
“You have to try it.”
“No, I don’t.” She turned away from him and stepped into a scent that made her mouth water. “What is that? What do I smell?”
“Vermont cider donuts. Best donuts in the known universe. Want one?”
The muffin she’d brought from the inn was quickly forgotten. “Ah, yeah.”
Damn it, he smiled again. That smile was freaking lethal. “Plain or cinnamon sugar?”
“Cinnamon sugar. Definitely.”
“Morning, Dottie,” he said to the older woman working behind the counter.
She lit up at the sight of him. Hell, she was only human. “Morning, Will. What can I get you?”
“We need two cinnamon donuts, a coffee for me and a refill for Cameron.”
“Hi, Cameron,” Dottie said. She was busy filling their order so she didn’t notice the face from hell—until she looked up to hand them their donuts and gasped. “Honey! What happened? Oh, you’re the one who hit Fred, aren’t you?”
“Does everyone know about that?” Cameron asked with a moan.
“’Fraid so,” Will said with a grin. “Word travels fast in a small town.”
Cameron longed for the anonymity of New York City. “Fabulous.”
“Don’t worry,” Dottie said, patting Cameron’s hand. “Something else will happen in a day or two to make us forget all about your auspicious arrival. In the meantime . . .” She smiled and shrugged.
“It’s all me and Fred all the time, huh?”
“You got it.”
Next to her, Will chuckled, but Cameron didn’t look. She didn’t need to see that smile again. Twice was enough for one morning, she thought, as she took a bite of the piping-hot donut and went straight to heaven. “Oh wow, that’s good.”
“Told ya,” Will said. “Thanks, Dottie.”
“Yes, thank you,” Cameron said. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too, honey. Hope you heal right quick.”
“I hope so, too.”
A loud argument from the center of the store drew them in that direction.
“My grandfather’s two best friends fight like cats and dogs,” Will said as they approached the red-faced men. “What seems to be the problem, boys?”
“He’s cheating, as usual.”
“Better watch yerself, old man. I ain’t too old to punch yer lights out.”
“Cameron, meet Cletus Wagner and Percy Flanders.”
Both men shook her hand. Cletus was bald with a bushy white mustache and blue eyes. Percy had a head full of white hair that looked like it hadn’t been combed in a year and warm brown eyes.
They muttered greetings and got back to their game.
Will gestured for Cameron to walk toward the clothing area, which was still selling warm winter wear long after the stores in the city had switched it up for spring.
“What a couple of characters,” Cameron said.
“They’re here every day, year-round. And they fight every single day.” He glanced over his shoulder to ensure the two men were absorbed in the game. “My gramps told me they called Cletus ‘Clitoris’ all through school.
”
Cameron sputtered with laughter even as her own clitoris tingled at the sound of that word coming from him. “Why would you tell me that? I’ll never be able to look at him and not think of that!”
“Welcome to my world,” Will said with the engaging grin that brought all her girl parts to the party. He was just too hot for words.
“I love those sweaters,” Cameron said between bites of delicious donut. She was desperately seeking another topic of conversation that didn’t involve her most sensitive region. The Icelandic knit sweaters came in red, blue, brown and tan and bore the VERMONT MADE sticker.
“They’re handmade by a woman in Rutland. She shows up every September with a truckload of sweaters for us.”
“They’re gorgeous. Oh look!” She laughed at the flannel pajama pants with the moose on them. “I need to get a pair of those to commemorate my meeting with Fred.”
“It’s cool that you can laugh about it.”
“Should I not laugh? Fred wasn’t really hurt, was he?”
“The town vet, Myles Johansen, went out to check on him this morning.”
“How did he know where to find him?”
Will shrugged. “We all know where to find him. He hangs pretty close to town, thus his official status as town moose. Anyhow, he’s fine. Your car definitely got the worst of it.”
“Maybe people will stop worrying about poor Fred and start worrying about my poor car now that he’s been checked out.”
“Sorry, the moose is always going to trump the car around here.”
“That’s really not fair.”
“Life’s not fair.”
Truer words were never spoken, but Cameron kept the thought to herself.
“I still think it’s cool that you can laugh about it when you got so banged up.”
“What else can I do? Crying won’t get me anywhere.”
“Don’t do that,” he said, seeming stricken by the thought of it.
“Why not?”
“I don’t do tears. Especially girl tears.” He shuddered dramatically, making her laugh.
“Wimp.”
“Guilty as charged.”
Liking him more with every passing second, Cameron wandered around yet another corner and came to a stop in front of an extensive collection of Beatles memorabilia that was sealed off behind a glass wall. “Whoa. What’s all this?”
