Carts detached, he moved on at a fast pace.
The cart came to a sudden stop, sending the handle bar into his ribs. “Shit!” Frustrated, he checked the wheels again, gave each a slight push, and summed up that the loose wheel was now stuck. He kicked it good with the toe of his boot, doing the trick. Smiling, he started down the aisle again and noticed that he was getting the eagle eye from a lady who was standing in front of the soup cans. He was ready to apologize again, not sure what for, and then he saw the blue basket she was holding in the crook of her arm. That’s what he needed. “Excuse me, ma’am. Where did you get the basket?”
She blinked as if she was surprised he was talking to her. A good three seconds later, she recovered and a smile spread her thin lips, revealing a set of uneven, decayed teeth. She arched her back and thrust out her chest, revealing the swell of large breasts underneath the thin T-shirt that read ‘Knock ‘em dead.’ He guessed it must be “braless” day. Her beady grey eyes did a quick sweep down his body and up again to meet his gaze. She pumped her stiff hair and winked. “They have a stack of them up front, hun. Looks like you’re having trouble with the cart.”
“Looks that way.” He wondered how many people came to the grocery store with the intention of meeting someone because this woman was certainly on the prowl.
“You don’t shop here often, do you?” She cocked a hip and her chin tilted, and he saw the proposal coming well before it began. He plastered on a smile.
“If you’d like, I can show you where they are.” There was more innuendo to her words than a politician’s speech before an election.
“Thank you, but I think I can manage.”
“That’s too bad.” Disappointment spread over her expression as he turned and wheeled the cart away.
Whirl—thumpity—thump.
This time the noise wasn’t his cart. The sound echoed from another aisle over. At least he didn’t feel like the odd man out now. He moved further into instant potatoes and macaroni and cheese, tossing in a few boxes. “Sounds like someone else didn’t inspect their wheels before they grabbed one.” He lifted his gaze to the elderly woman who was also grabbing macaroni. “A suggestion. Always grab a cart that someone has just left in the rack. Shoppers push the disabled ones to the side.”
“Good to know.” He could hear the loud thumping of the other bum cart moving closer. He turned his attention to the wretched noise in time to see a flash of a petite brunette, her hair pulled up in a high bun. It wasn’t just any brunette. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ve got to run, literally.”
Shooting his broken cart into overdrive, he rolled to the end of the aisle, his boots sliding on the freshly waxed floor. Thankfully, he was able to come to a stop before he smashed into another customer coming around the corner. He gave a nod of apology, then spun on heel, scanning the main aisle. “Where did she go?”
He didn’t move a muscle. He listened. Whirl—pop—pop—thump—thumpity.
Turning his cart, he followed the annoying sound. He rushed around to aisle three and there she stood, studying the selection of crackers. He skimmed his gaze along the long summer dress she wore to the tips of her pink painted toes. The dress did a good job of hiding her sweet curves, but he remembered every inch and his imagination worked overtime.
She reached for a box on the top shelf and her heart-shaped bottom molded against the thin material. She tossed the item into her cart then moved down the aisle and around the corner. He was stuck in his spot, remembering to breathe.
Hell, if he was going to do this, he needed to do it right. Otherwise, she’d think he was a stalker and that’d end any chance for a date.
He started grabbing items off the shelves and throwing them inside his cart. By the time he made it around to the aisle, she was almost to the end. He darted to the next aisle over. Before he could take a much-needed gasp, her head came up and their gazes met. In the next instant, he saw raw anger slide over her pretty features. Oh, hell. What had he done last night?
“Good afternoon,” he said.
Did her nose wrinkle? “Yes, I guess it is.” She turned her cheek and walked straight past him.
What the hell just happened? He made a quick U-turn and followed her. “Interesting how we keep running into one another.”
“Yes, very shocking.” She didn’t even bother looking his way.
“Can’t we stop and chat a moment?” They weren’t going to get anywhere with yelling over the whirling of their carts.
“I don’t have time. I have things to do. I have someone waiting for me at home.” He barely paid attention to the item she took from the shelf, his mind trapped on whom this “someone” could be.
Should he ask?
He rushed to keep up with her. Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, he lost control of his cart and the front bumped into the end of the aisle display causing the stacks of paper towel rolls to come toppling to the floor. A young-faced boy wearing a red smock appeared out of nowhere, scowling and mumbling under his breath. When the young man brought his gaze upward and pinned Dillon with piercing eyes, he pointed at Peyton accusingly. She had no clue because she was already turning another corner.
Brushing past the evil worker, he finally caught up to Peyton again. How many aisles did this store have? “Did I say something last night that has made you angry?” He knew he was buzzing—maybe a little more than a buzz—but he hadn’t been drunk. He didn’t remember anything going horribly wrong—of course, his idea of horrible may not be her definition.
“Why would I be angry?” She continued shopping.
“I thought last night was nice.”
She came to a screeching halt, the sudden quiet of the cart alarming. She twisted and her gaze drilled him. He slowed and stopped. “Are you shopping for your girlfriend?”
The question threw him for a loop. “No.”
Her fist settled on her cocked hip. “Then it’s your time of the month?” One brow flipped upward.
“My time of the month for what?” He was at a complete loss. Since he’d entered this store, he’d been the target of Kung Fu stares and awkward flirting. Now he knew why he stayed out of chain grocery stores. This was out of his league.
Reaching into his pile of items, she grabbed a box and held it up. “Feminine napkins?”
He looked closer, reading the small print. “Shit!” What had he picked up? “They’re not mine.”
“I sort of guessed that.” One corner of her mouth lifted. At least she no longer eyed him like she could drop kick him into the wall.
“Okay, I’ll confess. I don’t shop here. In fact, I don’t shop at all.” With that admission, he pushed the cart to the side and stepped away, feeling a sudden sense of relief.
“Really? That’s a shocker.” Her sarcasm dripped from each word.
“I stopped at the studio and the sweet neighbor woman told me where I could find you.”
“Thanks for telling me. She also cleans the studio for me. Now I have a reason to fire her.”
“What? Are you serious?” Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. Where was the tornado to drag him out of this mess?
“No, but I will need to discuss my privacy with her.” She crossed her arms over her chest. There it was—the defensive stance. Could he work around it?
“It’s my fault. I can be convincing at times.”
“Hmm, I’ve never seen that side of you.” Her sigh echoed off the high ceiling, sending birds scattering in the rafters. Birds in a store? Now he was creeped out.
He laughed, hoping to ease the tension, but her frown sent chills through him. This wasn’t the same hot-blooded woman he’d held last night. “With the chance of sounding like a stalker, I looked you up online. I realized I didn’t ask for your number.”
“And why would you?”
“I hope you’ll allow me to take you on a date. I’m really not a bad guy.” He wasn’t used to selling himself and suddenly this felt like a pitch.
Her chuc
kle told him he was severely failing. “Look, you and I had a good time last night. Let’s leave it there.” She turned on sandaled foot, prepared to continue her shopping, but he couldn’t let her walk away.
“So you’re not going to tell me why?” He needed to know.
“Why?” She looked at him over her shoulder.
“Why you won’t go out with me.” Rejection never settled well with anyone, especially when he’d wanted this a lot.
She blew out a long breath. “Okay, I’ll tell you. Apparently, you have a selective memory. You remember coming into the diner the night I was waitressing, but you fail to recollect the best part.” Her frown deepened. “You and I made plans for the following evening. You asked me to meet you at that cozy little seafood restaurant. Too bad you missed the lobster. Best I’ve ever had.” His stomach shot into his throat. Fuck! “By that expression, I’d say your memory is coming back loud and clear.” She shook her head and a tendril of hair slipped from her bun, sweeping along her blushing cheek.
“The restaurant. I didn’t forget asking you, I just forgot that I didn’t show up. There is an explanation.”
“Good, but I don’t care to hear one. Too late for excuses. That’s history.”
“Then you should forgive me.” He was a blindfolded man throwing darts and making a quick muddle of things. He should just pull up his big boy boxers and walk away, call it a lesson. So why didn’t his feet move?
“Oh, so I should also overlook the fact that last night you got into a fight over a woman, one who you are still wanting. I’m sure I could have eased your pain momentarily.” Her gaze slipped to the crotch of his jeans and back up. “But you see, I’m not a bandage for any man’s bruised ego. And I’m certainly not a second choice.” Her tongue clicked, as if to drive her words straight into his chest.
“Deckland has a big mouth.” Maybe he’d decked the wrong brother.
“Don’t blame your brother. Was it a secret? I should have guessed you weren’t drowning yourself in whiskey in celebration for coming home. I also missed the telltale bruising on the knuckles.” Both brows came up over disappointed eyes. “I’ve had my fill of men like you. You think your good looks, money, and charm can get you anything you want. I’m not your type, Dillon. I can see right through the bull shit.”
He shoved his hands into his front pockets. “It appears you know everything there is to know about me. I’m sorry that I disturbed you.” He tipped his hat and walked away, wishing he’d done it before he realized her low opinion of him.
Since he’d be spending the night alone, he decided a nice juicy steak would appease his hunger—unfortunately, the hunger for a spicy brunette would need to be laid to rest.
CHAPTER FIVE
PEYTON FINISHED PILING the last of her grocery items onto the conveyer belt when she caught a glance of Dillon in the next checkout lane. He had two things—steak and beer—another indication that they lived in different worlds.
She scanned her items and smirked. Microwave mac-n-cheese, apples, pouches of fruit for quick snacks, bread, milk, pizza turnovers—everything Oliver had been after her for weeks to get, and a few other items just for her, which didn’t happen very often.
Hearing Dillon’s smooth Texas twang as he spoke to the cashier made her throat compress. The flirt! Swallowing the tightness, she shrugged it off. She’d told him exactly what she thought and yet why didn’t she feel justified or satisfied after putting him in his place? He deserved the truth and he got it. After all, he’d asked.
Truth was, he looked hurt when she’d lashed out and that hadn’t been her intention. She wasn’t a mean person, but she’d stooped low, no matter what her reasoning. She’d certainly never see him again after today.
“That’ll be eighty dollars and fifty-two cents, ma’am.” The pert blonde behind the register announced, breaking through Peyton’s thoughts like a jackhammer.
“Oh, okay.” Had the price gone up on some of her beauty items? She dipped her fingers into her purse and pulled out her debit card, handing it over to the worker who snapped her gum tenaciously.
Peyton mechanically peeked at Dillon. He had his two items and headed toward the door.
“It says the card is declined,” the young woman said between snaps.
“What?” Embarrassment tangled with confusion and spurred through her veins. “That’s not possible.” Or was it? She quickly did a mental list of her payments. Shit! “Can you scan the card again?” she asked, feeling all eyes turn on her. She prayed that Dillon was gone…long gone.
“Is there anything I can help with?”
She had lousy luck. She looked up into the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen. “No Dillon, it’s all okay. There was a glitch with the computer.” Peyton’s head ached with the words.
“No, I’m afraid not. You can’t use this card. Do you have another?” The worker asked with a growing annoyance.
“No, no I don’t.” Peyton had a strong desire just to walk away. Unfortunately, if she did, she’d have to go somewhere else and buy the necessities. She pulled out her change purse and found three dollars. Why did she have to be one of those people who never carried cash?
“Here. I’ll cover the cost.” Before she could get a word out in protest, Dillon was handing the worker money and she smiled at him in satisfaction, which drove Peyton’s humiliation deeper.
The young woman rang up the amount and gathered the change from the drawer, and she looked from Dillon to Peyton as if she was confused on who got the change. Humiliation bombarded Peyton. In between wanting to cry and a scream, she grabbed up two of the bags, at least one she knew contained something for dinner. “The rest are yours,” she said and brushed past Dillon, hitting him in the thigh with her chicken. She wanted to apologize, but that meant she’d have to look at him, and at the moment she didn’t want to face anyone.
By the time she arrived home, some of her humiliation had faded. She knew she didn’t need the mascara, the eyeliner and the lip balm. Or the bag of dark chocolate. All of it could have waited until payday. How could this happen?
Carrying in the two bags and dropping them onto the kitchen counter, she looked up to find Oliver watching her. “Did you get the fruit snacks?” he asked.
Lord, she hoped she did. “Let’s see.” She dug through the first bag. Damn!
“You don’t remember if you got them?”
“Of course I did.” Then she checked the second bag and, at the bottom, she found the box. She jerked the container out as if it were gold. “See. Here they are.” He took the box, tearing off the top. “Don’t eat those right now.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m making dinner.” She received a rolling of eyes. They were definitely going to have to talk about body gestures.
“What are we having?” He dropped the treats onto the counter and several packets fell out, falling to the floor.
“Roasted chicken.” She placed the gallon of milk into the fridge.
“Again?” he whined.
She couldn’t tell him she’d planned for tacos, but after looking at the contents in the bags, she knew it wasn’t going to happen. She wondered if Dillon was eating tacos tonight with his steak. Shaking her head, she refused to dwell on what she couldn’t change. She just hoped Oliver didn’t remember her promise of—
“Tacos. Didn’t you say we were having tacos tonight?”
The kid did listen to her talk. “Chicken was on sale. We could settle for salmon cakes. I believe I do have a can in the cabinet.” She opened the door and sifted through several items.
“No. Chicken is fine.”
Smiling, she pushed the salmon can into the back and playfully tousled his hair, reminding her that he was in need of a cut. Before long, he wouldn’t see past the fringe hanging down his forehead.
“I’m going to play a video game,” he said.
“How was practice?” She heard the bedroom door close with a thud. Of course, he didn’t want to talk to her now. Even she�
�d appreciate someone else’s company this evening besides her own. Maybe she’d call Aspen and invite her to dinner.
After preparing the chicken with seasoning, she put it in the oven, just as she heard a soft knock on the door. She glanced at the digital clock. Maybe she didn’t need to call Aspen. It was possible the other woman sensed her emotional trauma.
She pulled open the door, ready to vent when her words were lost on her tongue. Standing on her welcome mat was someone completely unexpected. “Dillon, what are you doing here?”
“I hope I’m not intruding, but you left something at the store.” He brought his hand up. Three bags hung from two fingers.
Gathering her senses, she shook her head. “Those are yours.”
“Don’t let the feminine napkins fool you, I don’t use women products. And it looks like you have a craving for snacks. No worries, I’ve just come to drop these off.” He set the bags at her feet.
“Who’s at the door, mom?”
Peyton stiffened. Dillon’s eyes widened.
“Mom?” Dillon whispered.
She couldn’t get her tongue to move as Oliver came up behind her.
“Hi, I’m Dillon. I’m a friend of your mom’s and I ran into her today at the grocery. She was in such a hurry to get home she walked right off without a few of her bags. Can you take these to the kitchen, sir?” Dillon handed the bags over.
Oliver didn’t say a word as he took the groceries and disappeared.
“I had no idea.” Dillon scratched his jaw.
“You wouldn’t. I didn’t mention my son.”
“He’s waiting for you at home.” The words seemed more as an afterthought and not a comment.
“Thank you for bringing the groceries. I have some cash tucked away. I’ll go get it.”
“No, Peyton. I won’t accept the money. It’s not a big deal, especially now.” His gaze slid past her.
Second Dance Cowboy (Second Chance) Page 4
