He bent and kissed her. It was quite a kiss, despite the chainsaw between them. Then he strode off, whistling.
Bree tried to get her breath. Her knees were shaking.
Hank twinkled at her. “Nice to know you’ll be staying in town. Joy would be pleased to hear of your plans for the house.”
In her whirling world, Bree grasped that sentence. “Do you think so?”
“I know so. She always loved a romance.”
The chainsaw’s roar excused her from trying to respond to that. She held up the coffee mugs in explanation and ducked inside. Making the coffee, she also willed her blush to subside.
Josh shouldn’t have kissed her like that in front of his granddad! He’d kissed her as if they were an established couple. As if he had rights!
And as if she had rights. The right to call on him. The right to share her troubles.
Her hands curled around the edge of the kitchen counter. He was inviting her to believe that she belonged here, with him.
Car doors slammed out front and the sound of a second chainsaw joined Josh’s.
Bree reached up and tugged her ponytail tighter. Never mind that all these people were here for Josh, because he’d asked them for help. They were proposing to work on her house, to work towards her dream. The least she owed them was to be out there greeting, meeting and getting to work herself.
Three hours later, the tree was gone; cut up and piled onto someone’s truck. Just yesterday Bree had thought that she’d hate the smell of pine forever after the tree destroyed so much. But now, she stood in her front yard, inhaling the scent of newly sawn pine, and knew a rare and wonderful sense of hope.
People she’d only just met were everywhere, inside and outside her house, bringing it alive in the way she hoped the B&B would. From the backyard, where they were safe from the dangers of the ruined garage, little kids’ high voices indicated a healthy game of tag.
Hank and Josh’s mom—who was lovely—were attacking Bree’s roses. There was some debate on whether to risk a summer tidy up of the straggling bushes or wait for winter to prune them properly.
“It’s Bree’s decision,” Veronica said.
“Don’t be suckered.” Josh walked up behind her, tipping back the hat that shaded his face. He smiled into Bree’s eyes. “Neither Mom nor Gramps actually believes anyone knows better than them about roses.”
The words were ordinary. The expression in his eyes, anything but. He looked at her as if she were his whole world.
And she suspected that the same dazzled, delighted expression was in her eyes. Just yesterday, she’d thought she had to be alone. Today, in action and words, vividly and inarguably, Josh was showing her that she belonged to the town and to him.
She had to concentrate on making everyday conversation as delight bubbled inside her. “Well, they definitely know better than me.” She turned back to Josh’s family, very conscious of his tall figure close beside her. “Please, do what you think best.”
“A light trim, then,” Hank said and pulled secateurs out of his back pocket.
Veronica threw her hands in the air, pantomiming despair, but she winked at Bree.
Hank’s face, bent over a rose bush, was creased in a huge smile.
There could be no mistaking Josh’s family’s approval of their budding romance.
She gripped his hand and gave it a tug so that he walked a short distance with her where they couldn’t be overheard. “Lunch. How do I feed everyone? Will sandwiches do or should I order out?” It would be expensive, but worth it.
“Gran’s got it covered. She and her quilting circle are bringing over lunch.”
“But that’s…” She had no words. Everything had been thought of. She felt wrapped in a snuggly blanket of care.
“There’s a price, though.”
She froze, her heart dropping. Of course there was.
“Gran and her circle were friends of Joy’s. They’ll want to admire your changes to the house. Gran is very enthusiastic about your B&B for disabled guests. She’ll be full of questions and ideas. Do you think you can handle it?” His smile said that he believed she could.
She flung her arms around him. “Yes!”
“That’s my girl.”
The whistles and laughter didn’t distract from their kiss one bit.
Chapter 5
The day was done. Bree was tired to the point of exhaustion, but so happy that she couldn’t help smiling as she wiped down the kitchen table and counter.
Josh was with her. Everyone else had gone, after hugs were exchanged and promises to drop in or for Bree to visit had been made, but he stayed. They’d eaten leftovers from lunch, and he’d taken out the trash and vanished for a while outside. There’d been noises, but she’d ignored them. Now, he stood in the kitchen doorway.
“Have I said thank you?” She walked towards him.
“Repeatedly.” A small grin.
She stopped a bare hand’s distance from him. She wanted a hug and a kiss.
Instead, he put an arm around her and guided her outside.
“That’s what you were doing!” She slid an arm around his waist and leaned into him.
“It needs a coat of paint and new cushions…”
“It’s beautiful.” She’d only mentioned her intention to install a porch swing that afternoon, and here it was, all the more beautiful for its look of age.
“It’s solid. Mrs. Grace had it taken down when she enclosed her porch, but she stored it carefully. Tyson brought it over for you.”
The white paint had flaked. The green, blue and pink cushions were faded and flat. But in the soft porch lighting, it was the essence of romance.
“Want to test it?” Josh asked. He turned off the porch light and they sat in the twilight. He put his arm around her.
Happiness shivered away her exhaustion.
A waning moon hung over the apple and peach trees at the end of the yard. The stars were out, inviting wishes, but she had nothing more to wish for. Crickets sung in the newly cut grass and the freshly turned dirt of weeded garden beds added an earthy tone to the fresh, green scent. Her yard had been transformed by knowledgeable, enthusiastic volunteers. New friends.
“Bree?”
She turned to him.
But he hadn’t been asking a question. He’d wanted her attention. His mouth covered hers and his hand tangled in her hair.
She fell into his kiss, gripping his shirt and loving the electricity that sparked between them because she could trust it. She could trust him.
They cuddled and kissed in a way that was sweetly innocent yet promised so much more. Finally, she rested against his heart, both of them staring out at the starlit sky, dreaming dreams and believing them.
“I’ve thought of a name for the B&B,” she said. “Joy House.”
“Joy House.” Repeated in his low drawl, the name became a promise.
It thrummed through her. Dreams were so much more powerful when they were shared. She stretched up and kissed him. “You bring me joy.”
His answering kiss was fierce. “Then I’m repaid a hundredfold because you are my heart, Bree.”
Joy House opened for Thanksgiving as Bree had hoped, and then, provided its guests with magical Christmas memories. However, it closed for a month in February—for Bree and Josh’s honeymoon! They were married on Valentine’s Day.
Note From The Author
Following our dreams is vital. Our enthusiasm gathers up and encourages others. When I wrote Bree’s story, I wanted to discover how being true to her dream would open up her life to love. Josh walked on stage as the perfect hero. He’s not perfect, as such, but he understands the power of dreams and he supports hers.
Jenny
Fall Into His Kiss
Jenny Schwartz
The path reluctantly taken can lead to love.
Rachel Cruft lost her dream job at a New York advertising agency because she refused to compromise her principles. Now, she’s back in her hometown of Bideer, Texas,
trying to pick up the pieces of her life—and pick herself up from the floor of the supermarket. Ouch!
Wyatt Allenjo is trying to save Rachel from flying cans of tuna when he knocks her over. It’s not the best way to introduce himself. However, life is filled with second chances, and Wyatt gets his when he enlists Rachel’s expertise to prepare for a magazine photo shoot at his house and gallery. The photo shoot has the potential to establish him as a major wood sculptor, and put Bideer on the tourist map.
As Rachel spends time with Wyatt, she’s charmed by his gentle strength, woodcraft and kindness, and laughingly appreciative of her extended family’s attempts to help.
But Wyatt isn’t the only one offered a second chance. Rachel is presented with the opportunity to return to her New York career, with her principled stance respected. Will she choose her old ambitions of advertising success or allow a new dream the freedom to grow?
Chapter 1
Rachel blinked rapidly as the cans of tuna in front of her shimmered a little. Just a little. She wasn’t really crying, not over tuna, but she couldn’t help remembering that only a month ago she’d been eating sushi in New York, and now, here she was, back in Bideer, Texas, shopping to make tuna casserole for her Gramps.
Of course, her tuna casserole was famous and she loved her Gramps, but how had everything gone so wrong, so fast? She’d been on the fast track to success, a rising advertising executive—okay, maybe executive was stretching it, but she’d been respected and good at her job and…
“Excuse me.” A long, tanned and muscular arm stretched past her and nabbed a can of tuna, hesitated, and then, calloused fingers added a second can. That was a mite ambitious. The cans were large. The first can tilted, wavered and hurtled down towards Rachel’s toes, bare in casual sandals.
She jerked back. The other customer lunged sideways and, off balance, Rachel toppled.
“Peachy. Can life get any better?” Here she was, lying on the floor of a small supermarket, the mushrooms she’d placed in her basket bouncing away. If only she wasn’t twenty years too old for a toddler tantrum, she’d start bawling. And her elbow hurt.
“Um.”
She looked up, and then, up some more. It had been a few years since she’d been home for more than flying visits. Once she left for college, life had been busy. Study, work, interning, more work. The point was, she didn’t recognize the stranger standing in front of her.
He was tall and burly. Burly was a good word. Broad, solid and strong. His faded blue t-shirt stretched over wide shoulders and a massive chest.
But once she looked above his shoulders, above the rugged line of his jaw and surprisingly sensitive mouth, she connected with his eyes.
Gentle, deep brown and startled, his eyes tracked her sprawled disaster in horror and evident apology. He had to be a few years older than her, nearly thirty, but this was no swaggering he-man, despite his size. Dark brown hair fell over his eyes, needing a cut.
“I’m sorry.” He reached out a hand to help her up.
She stared at the large paw and delicately cleared her throat.
“Oh!”
They both studied his dilemma. He’d caught the delinquent can of tuna, and now had one in each hand. Slowly, he put both on a shelf.
Meantime, she scrambled up. Even standing, he remained significantly taller than her. That was a novelty. She was a tall girl and had had to learn not to hunch over in an attempt to fit in.
“Did I hurt you?”
She rubbed at her elbow. “No.”
He raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Nothing that matters,” she amended.
“I really am sorry.” He crouched easily and gathered up her mushrooms, tumbling them into her basket.
“It doesn’t matter.” She sighed. What did one more hit to her dignity matter? She picked a can of tuna off the shelf and departed to replace the bruised and abused mushrooms. As she turned the corner of the aisle, she saw he watched her, but she couldn’t summon a neighborly smile.
Wyatt Allenjo stood in the canned foods aisle and mentally kicked himself. If he could have physically kicked himself, without alarming other shoppers, he’d have done so. “Way to go, man,” he muttered under his breath.
The woman was gorgeous. He’d seen her in the vegetable department, selecting carrots and green onions, not to mention those mushrooms, and he’d over-filled his own bag of apples, watching. It had taken two aisles of surreptitious stalking for him to build up his nerve to speak to her, and even then, it was only because she’d stood for so long in front of the canned tuna that he’d dared to address her. And what had he said? “Excuse me.”
So witty. So dashing and debonair. No wonder he was single. Something that hadn’t bothered him too much, until her.
It was her red hair and that tall, lithe body, athletic and strong, in jeans and a casual white cotton shirt that attracted him. Jeans suited her.
He could delude himself that he’d have thought of something intelligent to say to her if only, in standing close to her to pick up the tuna, he hadn’t inhaled her scent.
She looked classy and big city confident, but she smelled of sweet violets.
The incongruity had rocked his world and made him uncharacteristically clumsy.
He winced. Yeah, knocking her over hadn’t been his finest moment.
She’d definitely hurt her elbow. She probably considered him a wild man of the mountain and would cross the street rather than encounter him again.
Disgusted with himself, he headed for the frozen foods section and meals-for-one.
Some things never change, and that was a good thing.
“Come here, girl, and give me a hug.”
Obedient to the smiling command, Rachel walked around the checkout counter and hugged Mabel. The older woman had worked at the supermarket for as long as Rachel could remember, and looked set to do so forever. Mabel adored being at the center of things, and the supermarket gave her a chance to pick up all the latest gossip. Not that Mabel was ever unkind. She was simply interested in people.
Rachel returned Mabel’s cuddly hug before they got down to the business of ringing up her purchases and asking after family.
Mid-way through the conversation, and fortunately before Mabel could ask the reason for Rachel’s reluctant homecoming, someone queued behind her at the only open checkout.
“Hi, Wyatt.” Mabel positively beamed.
Rachel turned and found herself staring at her tuna assailant.
“Hi, Mabel.” But Wyatt looked at Rachel.
“How’s your house going?” Mabel asked. “Are you ready for the big photo shoot?”
“No.”
An unexpected grin turned up the corners of Rachel’s mouth. She could feel the smile threatening. If Wyatt thought monosyllabic answers would deter Mabel, he was out of luck.
He stood solid, but looked hunted.
“You should ask Rachel for help,” Mabel said.
Rachel’s head shot around to stare at her. “What?”
“Your aunt Lucy said you’ve lost your fancy New York job. So you have time to help Wyatt.”
Rachel cringed. So much for hoping Mabel didn’t know her story. Small towns, you had to love them—and grit your teeth as you smiled. “I’m sure…uh…Wyatt doesn’t need my help.”
“I do.”
“You…what?” She’d have whiplash at the rate she was spinning around. “You don’t even know me.”
Mabel fixed that. “Wyatt, this here is Rachel Cruft, Alan’s granddaughter. Rachel, Wyatt Allenjo. He moved to town three—”
“Four.”
“Four years ago.” Mabel took the correction in her stride. “He’s a carpenter.”
Rachel handed over money to pay her bill.
“Actually, I’m a sculptor. I started out as a carpenter, worked construction with my stepdad.”
“I’m sure you’re a nice guy.” Rachel put her change away and picked up her shopping bags.
“Stop right
there, missy,” Mabel said. “This is not just about Wyatt and his big break. If he becomes famous, the whole town could benefit from tourism.”
Panic flitted across Wyatt’s stoic expression. Evidently, fame scared him more than it appealed.
Rachel halted. She watched Mabel deftly scanning Wyatt’s shopping: apples, cereal, milk, ready meals.
“Who is the photo shoot for?”
Wyatt named a hugely famous house style magazine.
Rachel blinked. “Really?”
“My agent organized it. Mikal’s cut up he can’t be here. Broke his leg water skiing.” Wyatt ducked his head. “I do need some help presenting the house. Mikal had me send photos of how it is now and he says it’s too soulless. He says people want to see the house of…” He grimaced. “An artist and woodsman.”
“Manly, comfortable, but styled,” Rachel said.
Mabel beamed at her. “That’s the ticket.” She pushed Wyatt’s change at him. “Now, you take Rachel for coffee and explain the whole thing to her. Maybe buy her pie, too, at the diner. She always liked cherry pie.”
“Mabel, the man has frozen meals. He can’t go having coffee.” Rachel rolled her eyes, offering Wyatt a means of escape.
“I’ve got a cooler in my pickup. The food’ll be fine in there…unless you’re busy?”
And if Rachel said she was, there stood Mabel, ready to pounce and remind everyone that Rachel was out of work, fired from her New York job, slinking home with her tail between her legs. “Coffee sounds good.”
“Sorry.” Wyatt nudged Rachel’s knee under the diner’s narrow table, for the third time. “I’ve got long legs.”
“So have I.”
“I noticed.” Heck, he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He hid his red face, or part of it, behind his coffee mug.
Rachel took pity on him, or else she really wanted to get this done and escape. “Tell me about the photo shoot. When is it and did they give you a brief?”
The Texas Kisses Collection Page 12
