by Melissa West
“Yeah, well, this festival helps keep the lights on, so I don’t want to miss anything. Plus, Patty’s going to be here, and you know I can’t let that traitor show me up.”
And there it was—Patty, aka the traitor.
Emery used to ask Annie why she insisted on coming to this festival when there were others in the South, including the massive Yellow Daisy Festival in Stone Mountain, Georgia, and every time Annie claimed she came because she liked Triple Run’s people. But really, it was because she wanted to see if she could outbake Patty. Prove she was the stronger cookie maker.
“Are you going to make me buy some of her cookies?”
Annie shot me an incredulous look. “Foolish girl, no.”
“So you’re not?”
She went about arranging her cookie display, all pink boxes and cute ribbons and glittering swirls. “I’m going to have you buy one of her Bundt cakes and some of her cookies.” She winked. “But we’ll wait an hour or two. See what’s been bought up the most. The favorites, ya know?”
Emery shook her head. “No, I don’t know, you crazy old lady.”
“But you’ll do it anyway ’cause you love me. Now, sit down and look pretty. People are already here.” Her gaze landed squarely on Emery, then she peered around the table, under it, then back at Emery. “Where’s your cane?”
Shoot.
“Oh, I—” Emery’s words caught in her throat as she took in the man walking toward her, a crooked smile plastered across his face. Rugged jeans hung low on his waist, flannel shirt and Braves baseball cap firmly in place, like he slept with them on—or had no other clothes. She thought of his first days at Carlisle Farms, how he’d tried to impress her daddy with smart-looking outfits and overly combed hair, only to have Beckett all but laugh in his face. Then Trip was all nerdy T-shirts and worn jeans, his hands always a little callused, that smile of his always there. No wonder she fell so hard, and if she wasn’t careful, it was going to happen all over again.
“Hot damn, is that him?” Annie-Jean made no effort to hide her excitement, nudging Emery continuously in the side until Emery felt sure she’d have a bruise.
“Yes. Now stop before I kill you,” Emery said through clenched teeth. “He’s coming over.”
“Actually,” a deep voice said, “he’s already here.”
Emery’s eyes lifted to find Trip standing in front of their booth, his arms crossed, the sexiest smile she’d ever seen on his face. A fine layer of stubble covered his jaw, making him appear even more rugged than usual. God, why couldn’t he have aged to look like Mr. Sampson? Or act like most trainers? Or drink a lot, so he had a beer gut? Something, anything. But this man standing before her wasn’t like most trainers—or most people, for that matter—which made it all that much harder to ignore the connection between them. She wondered if he felt it, too, or if it was all in her head. She’d had that thought a lot the weeks and months after he left, doubt giving way to depression. Until she herself became an adult and realized he’d done the adult thing. He’d taken a job, an amazing job with Wyncrest. How could she fault him for that? Her mind couldn’t. Her heart? Another story . . .
“I didn’t think I’d see you here.” She fidgeted her way through the lie, sure she was going to hell any second, the fast track on a path paved by her lies.
“Really?” He cocked his head, fighting to smile wider. “So, the sponsored by Hamilton Stables didn’t give you a clue?”
Emery followed the direction of his nod to find a large sign hanging at the entrance to the festival, the Hamilton Stables logo visible for all to see. Chicken on a stick! She’d been here all of twenty minutes and she’d already stuck her foot in her mouth. She glanced over at Annie-Jean for help, but she only shrugged, then stood and reached out her hand.
“I’m Aunt Annie-Jean.” She flashed a flirtatious smile and stroked Trip’s outstretched hand like it was a loveable tabby cat. “You are something else. Do all Triple Run men drink from the same water as you?”
Good God. Was all her family this embarrassing? Yes, yes they were.
“Annie, I think he’d like his hand back.”
Annie-Jean’s smile broadened as she held his hand for another second. “Right.”
Trip’s knowing eyes fell on Emery, and her cheeks burned still brighter. “Is there a comment somewhere in that smirk?” she asked with a little too much sass. But she couldn’t help it. She didn’t do well with people mocking her.
He laughed. “There’s lots of comments, but I’ll hold my tongue.”
“I’d like to hold your—”
“Annie!”
She looked over at Emery innocently. “What?”
Emery drew a long breath. Was nine a.m. too early to start drinking? “I need to grab another box. Want to help me?” she asked, hoping to save him before Annie jumped over the table and straight into his arms
“After you, lady girl.”
“Why do you call me that?” she asked once they were away from the crowd.
Trip shrugged. “It fits the you I see in my head. The before and the now. A beautiful woman on the outside, a spunky girl on the inside.”
“You think I’m beautiful?” He’d once told her she was the most beautiful girl in the world, but eight years had passed, and with it brought age and scars and a lot of things that made Emery feel anything but beautiful.
“Everyone on the planet thinks you’re beautiful. Me? I think a lot of things about you. But don’t worry, most of them are completely inappropriate.” He winked, and a laugh broke free from her lips.
“Something tells me you shouldn’t be admitting that to me. Or anyone else.”
Trip tucked his hands into his pockets. “You’d be right, but I promised you once I’d always be honest with you. See no reason to start lying now.”
Emery felt his gaze drift over to her as they continued on to Annie’s Suburban, but she refused to look over. She didn’t trust her face to hide her thoughts. The truth was, she didn’t feel he’d been honest with her at all. If he were honest and upfront, he would have told her about Wyncrest before he accepted the job. Instead, he’d kissed her cheek and walked away, never to call or return again. A part of her wondered if she’d sought him out just to see if he’d flinch the first time he saw her again, but she couldn’t deny he was the best, and feelings aside, her career needed him . . . even if her heart received a little damage along the way. She told herself she could handle it, but with Trip a foot away, the sentiment didn’t hold like she’d hoped.
Once at the ridiculously large SUV, she opened the back cargo doors, but the box had slid to the farthest spot from where she stood. She peered into the endless abyss, knowing she couldn’t reach it without crawling inside. Her foot tapped against the gravel road as she tried to think of any way around it. Just when she’d decided there was no way she was crawling into this truck with Trip outside, staring at her ass, she heard a soft chuckle.
“Well, go ahead. Do you need me to lift you up? Or maybe I could fetch you a step ladder?”
She glared at him. “Funny how you giants all act like it’s so, so hilarious when we short people can’t reach something.”
“Honey, I’m not sure you count as short. Maybe we should call you mini. Mini Emery. I like that.” His grin widened, taking over his face, perfectly white teeth flashing at her, with the exception of the front incisor, which had a small chip in it. She didn’t remember the flaw being there before and felt it suited him just fine.
“Let me guess,” Emery said, pointing at the tooth. “You pissed off the wrong lady and she decked you?”
Trip full-out laughed, the sound so intoxicating Emery forgot momentarily why she was so agitated. God, she missed their flirting—missed him. Sadness clamped down on her heart, and she bit her lip to keep from showing just how much he affected her.
“True enough. Though she didn’t deck me so much as toss me into a fence. We’re still friends, though.”
Emery’s frown curved into a
smile. “Wait. You were thrown from a horse?”
He leaned in closer. “I’ll tell you a secret: everyone’s been thrown. Many times. Part of the job. The question isn’t if you’ll get thrown, it’s if you’ll get back on. What about you, lady girl? Will you get back on?”
Her heart slowed down, beating in time with his breaths, their eyes locked, and she could swear he felt it, too—that intense pull in her gut that urged her to press her mouth to his and see if he tasted as good as she remembered.
She thought of how perfectly they used to fit together. Their hands laced. His arms around her. And then the sweetness in his eyes as he slipped inside her for the first time—her very first time—and she was gone. So far gone she didn’t know it until she reached the sky, and then he left her with no way to get back down. The fall back to reality after he left had broken her heart. Did she really want to trust it with him again? Was he worth the chance?
The moment drew long, and Emery thought maybe, just maybe, he was going to take the risk, but then he looked down and ran his palms over his thighs. “Um, I’ll do it.”
“Do what?” she asked, unable to hide the desire in her voice.
“The box. I’ll grab it.”
“Right. The box. Sure, thanks.”
God, she needed an antianxiety pill or six if she hoped to survive her time around him.
Grabbing the box, Trip followed Emery back to the booth, but the easiness between them had shifted to something darker. “All right, then. Good seeing you, Emery. I need to . . .” He motioned toward the rest of the booths. “Check around, make sure everyone’s good.”
She nodded. “Of course. See you tomorrow, then.”
He hesitated, like something else—more—was on the tip of his tongue, then sighed. “Yeah . . . tomorrow.”
Clenching her eyes shut to gain some distance from him, she reopened them to find Kate sitting at the booth beside Annie-Jean. “Um, hey. What are you doing here?”
Kate crossed her legs and grinned, pointing over to the Hamilton Stables sign. “I heard the Hamilton boys were sponsoring this event, and I wouldn’t mind seeing a certain Hamilton brother again.”
A few customers came by, and Emery scooted out of the way, taking a seat on the ice chest between Annie and Kate. “What about Chris or Matt?” Or hell, anyone else. The last thing Emery wanted was her best friend shacking up with Alex Hamilton. Her life was complicated enough as it stood. Add in Alex the player breaking her friend’s heart and she would have yet another reason to turn her back on Hamilton Stables. She couldn’t do that—not now, when she was so close.
“They’re just . . . I don’t know. Not the right fit.”
Emery reached for a white chocolate macadamia nut cookie from the sample tray, only to have Annie swat her hand. “For customers.”
“I’m a customer.”
“You are paid help,” Annie said, pushing the tray out of Emery’s reach.
“Since when have you paid me?”
Annie sighed. “Fine. I’ll buy you both drinks at Rudy’s after the festival.”
“So, let me get this straight—I sit here for eight hours and you buy me a five-dollar drink? Something’s not right here.”
Annie stared pointedly at her niece. “Yes, you’re right. Something’s not right here, and it don’t have a thing to do with me or cookies. Though I guess that depends on what you kids call it these days.”
Shaking her head, Emery turned back to her friend. “And Alex is the right fit?”
“Not sure yet, but with an ass like his, I’m willing to find out.”
Annie hit Kate’s arm, and both women peered up to see a mother in front of them, her hands cuffing her son’s ears, a goofy grin on the son’s face.
“Cookies?” Emery asked innocently.
The boy pointed at Kate. “I’ll take her, please.”
Trip rushed through the central annex of the festival, eager to get out of range of Emery and her tempting mouth. It took every bit of willpower he had to step away from her.
He remembered the year he worked under Beckett, learning from his expertise, and then a thousand secret moments with his daughter. At times, Trip thought of telling him, asking permission and praying he said yes. But then Trip had been twenty to Emery’s seventeen. What decent father would approve?
He blew out a long breath and had started around toward city hall to check in with Mayor Phillips when he heard his name called from behind.
The day had warmed up, not a bit of wind blowing through the trees, making it all that much easier to smell Patty’s perfume even before she made it in front of him. He fought the urge to cough as she took yet another step closer, her white bob shaking as she beamed up at him from an overly made-up face.
“Trip, sweetie, I thought that was you.”
Trip knew he had no choice but to speak now, forcing him to also take a giant whiff of Patty’s candy-floral-God-knew-what scent. “You were right. What can I do for you, Patty?”
She sweetened her smile and placed her hand on his arm. “Well, you’re on the town board, so I wondered if you knew of any new businesses coming to town? A new bakery, perhaps?” She peered around in disgust, her gaze landing decidedly close to Annie-Jean, who seemed to notice her gaze and took it upon herself to give Patty the finger.
Trip choked out a laugh before he could stop himself, because old ladies flipping each other off was funny any way you slice it, until he caught sight of Patty’s glare, now pointed at him. The expression if looks could kill might very well have been modeled after Patty Tanner and the look she was using on Trip that very second.
He’d lived in Triple Run his whole life, leaving only for the various jobs and apprenticeships he’d taken over the years to learn the ins and outs of training. So, he’d known Patty a long time, and he knew he had all of thirty seconds to back out of that laugh or he would be stuck here for twenty minutes, listening to her dissect its deeper meaning. But Trip was a guy. He didn’t have deeper meanings to pretty much anything.
“You know, I’m glad I ran into you, Patty. Mama V asked me to pick up one of your Bundt cakes. Did you make the white chocolate raspberry this year?”
Patty’s face switched from anger to pride so fast you’d have thought it were programmed. “It so happens I did. How many did you say you needed? Two?” She gave Trip a look that said he would pay for his laugh in expensive cakes and cookies.
“Right . . . two. I’ll swing by in a few minutes, then. I just have to talk to Mayor Phillips.” He started away, but clearly not fast enough, because Patty was back at his side.
“One more thing, Trip, honey. Was that Emery Carlisle I saw you with earlier?”
Trip blinked. “Sorry, what?”
“Out by the road. I saw you with Emery Carlisle. What was that about? She came by the shop a few days ago. Is she in town now? Is she visiting the stables? Is she working for you?”
He shook his head and took a step back, unsure how one small woman could ask so many questions without her head spinning. “Sure, that was Emery. If that’s all, I need to—”
“I saw him with her, too.”
Trip drew a breath to calm himself and turned to see Hayden Christian leaning over his jelly and jam booth, accidentally knocking one of the jars to the ground and shattering it into pieces. Several people passing back jumped out of the way of the red glob and glass, but even that didn’t keep Hayden from watching Trip for a reaction.
“I . . . yes, that was Emery, but I’m not sure how that’s—”
“But what’s she doing here?” a third voice asked, and Trip prayed to the Man above to give him an ounce of patience before glancing over to the booth on his left. Charlotte Myers had her hands on a rack of handmade purses and hats, but her eyes were fixed on Trip. Suddenly the warm air felt downright scalding. He needed an escape route, fast.
Just then, he felt someone’s hand on his forearm and swung around, sure the whole town surrounded him now, only to find Emery standing imp
ossibly close, her face lit with humor.
“Hey there,” she said, squinting into the sun. “Annie-Jean asked me to fetch your muscles for some lifting. You up to it?” She winked, and Trip thought that might be the best thing he’d seen all day.
He peered around at Patty and Hayden and Charlotte, and now even Mayor Phillips was outside town hall, suspenders fastened tight to his pants like always, scratching his head like he’d just seen the most peculiar thing imaginable. “I’m going with yes,” Trip said, pressing his hand to the small of Emery’s back to lead her away. “Though of course you realize you just made this worse, right?”
Emery lifted her gaze to his. “What is this?”
“Our affair.”
“Our what?”
“Yeah, they’re plotting out the details right now. Half the town saw me help you with that box, and then you came over and flashed me that smile. It’s done now. Might as well hold my hand. Give them a good show, ya know?”
“Wait a sec.” Emery stopped walking, her hands on her small hips, her face all scrunched up in anger. Trip couldn’t help but grin. Even mad, she shined. “How did I supposedly smile at you?”
Trip leaned in close, catching the faintest scent of vanilla on her neck, before whispering in her ear, “You know, like you want me.” He pulled away with a smile of his own, and her face flushed Red Hots red. From embarrassment or rage, he couldn’t be sure, though he had an inkling she erred on the rage side these days.
“You’re impossible.”
His grin widened. “Impossibly right.”
“Ugh, forget Annie-Jean; I’d rather pull a muscle than ask you for help.” She stormed off, but Trip’s long legs caught up in no time.
“Settle down, lady girl. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to mess with you. I’ve missed it.”
She flashed him a cocky smile. “First beautiful, now missing me? Damn, I must have done a number on you.”
Trip stared down at her, not a hint of humor on his face. “No denying that.”
