Hard to Resist

by Jean Brashear

  But another movie with a girlfriend was not what Rue wanted. Andrew had made her want things she knew she couldn’t have. He’d made her take another look at the life she’d carved out for herself, and currently she didn’t like what she was seeing—lonely evenings in front of the TV, Thanksgiving and Christmas and birthdays for one.

  Futhermore, it was getting harder and harder to pretend that being a combination of Mother Teresa and Lucille Ball was all Rue needed.

  Sighing, Rue walked home and called Patsy’s cell phone, prepared to leave a message. She was surprised when Patsy answered.

  “I didn’t think I’d get you, Patsy.”

  “We’re just checking in.”

  “I’ve got your dress back from the cleaners. I’ll bring it by the farm when you get back from Pocono.” The farm was nothing of the sort. It was merely the name Patsy used to describe the Grossos’ sprawling country estate.

  “So…how did it go? Was the dinner fabulous?”

  “The lobster was great. You knew about it before Andrew came over.”

  “Of course. Grace is friends with the caterer.” Patsy laughed. “The Tarts see all.”

  Not quite. Thank goodness.

  “Listen, Patsy. About that invitation to Watkins Glen, I really can’t go.”

  “I won’t let you back out.”

  “I have to.”

  “Why?”

  “Something’s come up.”

  “Rue Larrabee, the only way I’m letting you off the hook is if you’re in the hospital with fever of a hundred and ten.”

  “I’d be dead.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What if I just don’t show up to board your plane?”

  “I’ll send Dean over to get you. And you know that nobody says no to Dean.”

  Rue sighed. “You’re a hard woman, Patsy Clark Grosso.”

  “Thank you.”

  RUE INVITED Daisy over to watch the races on Saturday, and again on Sunday. Sitting on Rue’s sofa with popcorn and lemonade on Sunday afternoon, they watched the prerace interviews. Patsy and Dean, gracious as always, answered questions about their son Kent’s chances of capturing another NASCAR Sprint Cup Series championship. Recently he’d come in second at Daytona, first in Chicago and fourteenth in Indianapolis.

  “We’re very optimistic,” Dean told the press.

  But it was the interview with Andrew that had Rue glued to the set. If there was anything more enticing than a handsome blue-eyed man in a leather jacket covered with his company’s logo, Rue didn’t even want to think about it.

  “You like him, don’t you?” Daisy said.

  “He’s not my type.”

  “He’s nice.”

  “That’s just the point. What would a nice, shy man like that want with a flamboyant sexpot like me?”

  “Rue, don’t sell yourself short.”

  “How’s that baby? Kicking hard?”

  Daisy accepted the subject change without comment. When the “Gentlemen, start your engines” announcement was made, both women stood up and gave the rebel yell. As Kent Grosso blazed around the track, they stood up and whooped for joy. They both said they were hoping for a win for Patsy and Dean’s son at Pocono. Though, truth to tell, Rue was secretly pulling for Andrew’s stepson, Garrett. No particular reason, she told herself.

  Two bowls of popcorn, two hot dogs and two slices of apple pie later, Rue escorted Daisy to her car, told her to call when she got home safely, then watched until she had backed safely out of the driveway. Though neither Kent nor Garrett had won, Rue still wore the excitement of NASCAR racing like a favorite sweater she could hug to herself long after she was in bed.

  MONDAY EVENING Rue went to Patches, telling herself she needed some more bulbs and maybe one of the camellia bushes they had on sale. But the truth was, she wanted to revisit the place where she’d had her first really lovely encounter with Andrew, and maybe she was even hoping to run in to him.

  Rue wanted to see for herself whether her wild imaginings of the last few days made any sense. Visions of Andrew haunted her day and night. She’d be in the midst of giving a haircut when she’d remember the feel of his hands on her skin. She’d be making a cup of tea or slicing bread when she’d get hot all over remembering how they’d been, like two people who knew each other inside and out, lovers through time reunited after centuries of being apart.

  Oh, she was turning into a foolish woman. Before, she’d been able to laugh off her failures with men. She’d been able to joke with her girlfriends about her infamous escapades.

  But her night with Andrew had been different. She’d let her heart get involved.

  Looking back at how it had all ended, Rue didn’t know whether Andrew had failed her or whether she had failed him. Maybe it was both.

  Rue parked her Mustang in the Patches parking lot and hurried inside. Forget Andrew, she told herself. Still, she found herself remembering a certain blue-eyed bachelor in the herb section.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Larrabee.” It was the young horticulture student who worked at Patches in summers and holidays.

  “Hey, Jonsey. What’s new?”

  “We got in a shipment of orchids.”

  “Any purple phalaenopsis?”

  “We’ve got one purple left. You’d better hurry.”

  “Thanks, Jonsey.”

  The orchid display was stunning—white phalaenopsis and yellow oncidium, the dancing ladies. There was even a coveted cattleya. Rue targeted the orchids like a heat-seeking missile, her eyes darting among the gorgoues, exotic blooms.

  “Oh, no, where’s the purple phalaenopsis?”

  She hadn’t meant to voice her dismay aloud.

  A tall man in jeans, T-shirt and baseball cap turned around, holding the purple orchid.

  Andrew Clark. Heat seared Rue from the roots of her hair to the tips of her curled-up toes. She didn’t know what she wanted most—to die on the spot or to wrap her arms around him and kiss him silly.

  “Hello, Rue.”

  “I…” She put her hand on her throat to loosen the words. One look at him and her traitorous mind replayed every erotic moment of their date. “I thought you might still be in Pocono.”

  “No. I got back late last night.”

  “Did you have a nice weekend?”

  “Yes. And you?”

  Just how great a weekend did he expect her to have after he’d left her without a word?

  “It was great.” Her smile felt so false it’s a wonder her face didn’t crack.

  “That’s nice.”

  For Pete’s sake, if either of them said one more sentence that included nice, she was going to throw up on his shoes. That is, if she didn’t fall to his fatal attraction first. Delicious memories assaulted her, and she felt her face going pink. Did he know he was the cause of her blush? After the way he’d left her shop, Rue didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

  “I have to be going.” Rue started to walk away.

  “Wait.” She turned back around and he held out the orchid. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

  Days of waiting for a call that hadn’t come boiled over. “You don’t have a thing I’m looking for, Andrew Clark.”

  Let him chew on that. Rue marched out but he caught up with her. His hand on her shoulder felt like a white-hot branding iron.

  “Rue, I’m sorry about what happened.”

  Nothing deflates the ego faster than being told the man was sorry he had sex with you. Rue wanted to die on the spot.

  “Not half as sorry as I am,” she snapped.

  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Forget it, Andrew. It’s water under the bridge.”

  “Do your eyes always turn emerald when you lie?”

  “Don’t you dare talk to me about lying, Andrew Clark. I’ve had it with men who take what they want then dump me like a sack of potatoes.”

  This time when she stormed off, he didn’t try to follow her. Good thing, for she was so mad sh
e wouldn’t be responsible for what she did.

  She was so upset she stopped at Baskin-Robbins and had a banana split. It would serve Andrew Clark right if she put on twenty pounds.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AFTER HIS SUPPER break at Patches, Andrew worked well into Monday evening. By the time Patsy arrived at FastMax, everybody had finally left the garage and he was under the hood of his Novi, trying to take his mind off his unsettling encounter with Rue at Patches. His sister had come unannounced for the second time. Was the world coming to an end?

  He could guess why she was there. Since she had gone to all the trouble to lend Rue a dress, Patsy was taking some kind of unusual and nosy interest in Andrew’s so-called love life.

  She’d probably been the chief instigator in his dinner date with Rue in the first place.

  He had no intention of talking about it. Sister or no sister. He knew she’d consider it impolite if he kept his head under the hood, but he did it anyhow.

  “Hey, Patsy. What’s up?”

  “I have no intention of talking to the side of a car.”

  “This is important. Can you give me a sec?” Maybe if he kept her waiting long enough, she’d try to quit minding his business and go home.

  “Get out from under that hood and face the music.”

  “What music?”

  “You know darned good and well, Andrew Joseph Clark.”

  Grabbing a chamois cloth to wipe his hands, Andrew emerged from the bowels of the antique race car. One look at Patsy’s face told him she was on the warpath.

  “I want to know what happened on your date with Rue.”

  “Nothing.” At least nothing that was his sister’s business.

  “Something must have.”

  Here we go again. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had aired her problems with Andrew in public.

  “What did she tell you, Patsy?”

  “She didn’t say anything. I just know, that’s all.” That was a relief. Still, at Patches, Rue had barely contained her dislike of him. It wouldn’t be long before the whole town caught on. “She’s so upset with you that she backed out on flying to Watkins Glen with me.”

  Just when Andrew thought matters couldn’t get worse, they had.

  “I don’t know why you invited her to New York.” But he could certainly guess. Apparently, his sister had decided he’d been a bachelor long enough. From the looks of things, she was determined to hitch him up with somebody, come hell or high water. “Look, I know I asked to fly with you so Garrett could take my plane early, but I’ve changed my mind. I’ll cancel my meeting and fly with Garrett and the rest of the team. Or better yet, I’ll go up early with the car. That ought to fix things with Rue.”

  As Patsy mulled that over, she looked like a woman who had bit down on something she didn’t want to chew.

  “She’s a wonderful woman, Andrew.”

  “Probably so.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “There is no problem, Patsy. We had a nice dinner together. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  Patsy had the good grace to squirm a bit, which had been Andrew’s intent. The only way to win with his sister was to turn the tables and put her on the hot seat.

  “What I want is for you to fix whatever went wrong so Rue will feel comfortable accepting my invitation. You can catch her at Maudie’s tomorrow night with the Tuesday Tarts.”

  “If I had a clue what women want, I wouldn’t be single.”

  “I just want you to be happy, Andrew.”

  “Who said I wasn’t?”

  “How can you be? You never go anywhere or see anybody unless it’s race or family related. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up an old man living all by yourself.”

  “I’ve got Garrett and Grace and the kids.”

  “So do I. But everybody needs a partner to love.”

  “As much as I appreciate your concern, Patsy, it’s my life, isn’t it?”

  His sister was nobody’s fool. She changed the subject to the race at Watkins Glen.

  When she left, she wasn’t in a huff, but she wasn’t too happy, either. Andrew could say the same for himself. Patsy had opened up a subject he’d rather forget. What to do about Rue.

  Obviously, Rue was upset enough that it showed in public. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have run out of Patches like her coattail was on fire.

  Further proof of Rue’s inability to chalk their intimacy up to a mere lapse in judgment—as Andrew was trying to do—was the fact that Patsy had marched over to FastMax and read him the riot act.

  Andrew would never understand women. Why couldn’t Rue figure out that he was not the kind of man to wake up a woman to give his agenda? Or take the time to leave a note when the most important thing was to save her reputation by vacating her shop before the caterers got there and half the town started arriving at Maudie’s?

  Heck, he wasn’t even the kind of man who had sex with a woman on the first date.

  Work, that was the answer. That, plus going about his business as if Rue Larrabee had never happened.

  BY TUESDAY EVENING, Andrew realized the only way he could set himself free was to apologize to Rue. Though calling would be simple and much less painful than a face-to-face confrontation, Andrew liked to think of himself as a man who didn’t opt for the easy way out. Besides, there was the redoubtable Dr. Sylvia, admonishing him from the pages of her self-help tome—face your greatest fear.

  Between the Tuesday Tarts and the beauty shop grapevine, everybody in town would already know far more than they should about his date with Rue. A public personality such as Rue deserved a public apology.

  And because of his sister, he knew exactly where Rue would be. Andrew walked out of his office, announced he was leaving to get dinner for everybody at Maudie’s, then took orders. And a whole bunch of ribbing.

  “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the redhead who was in here, would it, boss?” Robbie, the brownie thief, was nobody’s fool. He’d been around long enough to know about Tuesday nights at Maudie’s.

  The glare from Andrew shut his crew chief up.

  As Andrew left FastMax he thought of the purple orchid. The purple one Rue had wanted.

  He’d bought it to add to his collection, which he kept in his den near a bank of windows with plenty of eastern exposure. A true gardener with a love of seasonal bloom, he always stocked up on orchids in late summer so he’d have something blooming all winter. Nothing perked him up like coming home to the surprise of exotic blooms.

  Amend that. Almost nothing. Lately—in fact, since he’d been with Rue—he’d wondered what it would be like to come home to the soft embrace of a lively, interesting, kindhearted woman. One who loved gardening and racing, classic movies and great music. And hopefully the St. Louis Cardinals.

  He thought about stopping by his place to get the purple orchid as a peace offering, then decided against it. For one thing, he didn’t have time. For another, a man bearing gifts would send the wrong message.

  On the way to Maudie’s, Andrew called to place his large take-out order. Then he started whistling. His conscience was clear as a bell.

  Or, it soon would be.

  TUESDAY EVENING, Rue found the Tarts holding court in the back room at Maudie’s. Grace, who was catering a wedding reception, wasn’t there, but Patsy, taking a supper break from working with her team, scooted over to make room for Rue. “We were just discussing our trip to New York.”

  “I’ve already told you, Patsy. I can’t make it this year.” Rue didn’t miss the look that passed around the table.

  “I don’t know about you, Rue, but I wouldn’t let any man knock me out of seeing a NASCAR race in person.” Sheila grabbed some cheese and crackers from the center of the table. “I never figured you would, either.”

  “Who said it was a man?” Rue tried for feisty, but failed.

  In addition, the door to the back room opened and in walked Andrew Clark. If ever a man was made to wear an ope
n-necked white shirt rolled at the sleeves, he was the one. He ought to be on a billboard advertising something sensual. A men’s cologne that brought women to their knees.

  Every one of Rue’s chimes was ringing.

  “Speaking of the devil,” Patsy said and waved her brother over.

  “Don’t.” Rue grabbed her hand, but it was too late. Andrew was heading her way. She stood up to leave, but Sheila pointed to one of the empty chairs on the opposite side of the table.

  Freedom lay past Sheila. Considering her starring role in the date fiasco, Sheila Trueblood wouldn’t be about to aid and abet Rue in a hasty escape.

  She might as well sit down and act like Andrew was any other man in Mooresville. And that was the burr under her saddle. He was anything but.

  “Hello, ladies,” Andrew said. “Rue. Patsy.”

  Rue nodded at him, hoping she didn’t look like a woman about to jump out of her skin. But when Andrew leaned over her to kiss Patsy on the cheek, Rue had to bite her tongue to keep from groaning. The lingering fragrance of his soap washed over her, and she remembered the feel of his skin against hers, the taste, the smell, like sunshine and outdoors and desire.

  “Hey, Patsy,” he said.

  Rue was so flustered she should hang a sign on her chest that said Woman in Flames.

  She didn’t know how much longer she could stand to be this close to Andrew without reaching up to touch him.

  “How’s it going, Andrew?” Patsy had the distinct look of a woman up to something.

  “Good.” Andrew straightened up but then proceeded to lean against the wall next to where Rue was sitting. The entire right side of his body was practically glued against her.

  Heat seared her and she was certain her face had turned ten shades of red. If she shifted half an inch toward Patsy, she might have some breathing room, but she wasn’t about to give Andrew the satisfaction of knowing what his nearness did to her.

  Besides, everyone was watching.

  “Listen to me,” Patsy said. “Carrying on like I’m the only one in the room. You didn’t come all the way over here to talk to me, did you, Andrew?”