by Melissa West
The woman took a bite from an apple slice and closed her eyes in satisfaction. “These are amazing.”
“You should try them in my apple pie.” Sophie motioned to her baked goods, and soon the family was loaded up with fresh fruit and veggies and two pies, one on the house because they’d hit the spending threshold that warranted a free dessert. And there was Sophie’s angle—taste over size. Freshness over quantity.
The sweet Cartee family told their friends as they passed them, pointing toward Fresh Foods, while Sophie waved hello. She cut more pies into sample bites, more fruit into slices.
An hour passed this way before Sophie realized she was out of the crappy, nonorganic fruit so necessary to prove her point and complete the sale.
“Watch this,” Sophie whispered to Glenda, who shot her that same concerned look she had given her when Sophie had said she wanted to buy the old Rochester farm and convert it to Fresh Foods. Like Sophie had drunk a gallon of trouble and was headed to the store for another.
“What are you doing?”
“Just watch.”
Sophie walked around her booth, careful to smile at the crowd that now surrounded her station, to hug a little girl with pigtails who wanted to try the peach cobbler and give a brochure to a family who wanted to know the names of the things that were killing their children.
Then she strutted directly to the booth across from hers and waited patiently in line. There was still a fine crowd around the Littletons, and Sophie couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. Why would these people choose lesser quality food just because it was a little cheaper?
Her eyes fell on the basket of apples in view from where she stood, the price shining out for all to see, and she stumbled on her heels. Okay, so maybe a lot cheaper. Man, how did they manage those sorts of prices?
Finally, the woman in front of her finished deciding between the two pieces of fruit in her hand, one speaking to her more than the other apparently, and Sophie dropped her arms to her side and slipped on her trademark grin.
Zac was ducked down, grabbing more fruit to replenish the depleted stock, so he hadn’t seen her yet, but Charlie and Brady had, and their eyes were now locked on her. Finally, Zac straightened, caught the expression on his brothers’ faces, and cocked his brow before he turned to follow their glare and fix his own firmly on Sophie.
“What are you doing over here? Already throwing in the towel and offering up that hundred?”
The market was bustling now, people filing in as fast as they left, the day a perfect seventy with a light breeze in the air. Sophie loved days like this and how they reminded her of life when she was little. Long before her parents died and Nana took over raising her. Back when nothing made her happier than a blanket and sunshine and puffy clouds that made shapes. She and her daddy used to lay outside, a clothesline full of clothes around them, and stare into the sky at the magical clouds that formed and moved and told stories she’d never heard. But then everything changed.
“Actually, if you want to peek over there, you’ll see we’re doing pretty well. And at three times your cost per fruit. Plus, did I mention the baked goods?” She cocked her head as though she were calculating. “I think it’ll be pretty hard for you to beat us.”
Zac’s jaw ticked. “We’ll see. What do you want, Sophie?”
She produced a twenty. “I actually need to buy some fruit.”
“Some fruit,” he deadpanned.
“Apples and oranges please. Ten of each.”
“You’re joking.”
She shook her head all innocent like and tried to bite back the smile threatening to take over her face. “No. I’m one hundred percent serious. I need ten of each please.”
His eyes narrowed. “For what exactly?”
And here it was, the moment she would be laughing about for the rest of the day. She tried to drag it out, but Zac had placed his hands on his hips and had that alpha, you’ll-tell-me-now-or-else vibe going on, and Sophie feared she’d start staring at him again instead of delivering the blow.
“See, I like to do a comparison with my samples. My organic, juicy fruit with your . . .” She picked up an apple and wrinkled her nose for effect. “Chemically derived version. Helps seal the deal with my customers.”
“Do I have ‘moron’ tattooed on me?”
Sophie leaned in closer to Zac, careful to study the tattoo on his left forearm, then the thinner one circling his right bicep. Good God, this man needed to drop the hot card before Sophie lost her nerve. She pulled back, wishing she could take a much-needed breath, but she suspected he would see her.
“Nope. Not that I can see,” she said, beaming at him. “Ten oranges, ten apples please.”
The booths on either side of the Littletons’ had quieted down, their eyes and gossipy ears trained on Sophie and Zac. For a moment, she considered waving to them so they’d at least pretend to ignore this, but she’d already pissed off the Littletons. The last thing she needed was to anger the rest of the town. After all, she was an outsider, moved to Crestler’s Key six months ago, ready to rebuild her life. Ready to rebuild herself.
She forced herself to put the thought out of her mind before it materialized. It didn’t matter now—the past was in the past.
Dropping the bill onto the change box beside the Littletons’ credit card machine, she smiled at Zac and started for the basket of apples, but he reached out and grabbed her hand. His rough fingers closed around her soft ones, and before she could help herself, her eyes darted over to his and she swallowed hard.
“No.”
He dropped her hand and thank God, because Sophie couldn’t speak, let alone berate him. A strange, swirly feeling had blossomed in her stomach at his touch, and she wasn’t sure what to say or how to say it without revealing that he had affected her. That was unexpected, and she made a mental note to not touch him again. Ever. Because she couldn’t afford to show weakness around Zac Littleton, and if that tiny touch made her knees wobbly, what would full-out hugging or something do? It was too dangerous to even consider. She needed to hate him if she planned to survive this battle of the farms.
“You can’t refuse to sell me fruit.”
Brady and Charlie flanked Zac, and all three brothers crossed their arms like they were superheroes ready to defend the world. “Actually,” Charlie said, “we can.”
“That’s right. Now begone, before somebody drops a house on you, too,” Brady said, waving Sophie away.
Her brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“You know, Wizard of Oz.”
“I see. And you think I’m the Wicked Witch in this version of the story? Are you mad?”
“Witch, Tin Man. Same thing.”
Sophie laughed despite the sting she felt. She had been the quintessential nice girl her entire life. It bothered her to know the brothers disliked her so much, the nice girl in her eager to make everyone happy. But then she was no longer that girl in more ways than one. “Ah, so either evil or heartless. Gotcha.” Then she leaned in closer to the brothers. “Yet I’m not the one poisoning my customers with chemicals that should never be anywhere near food.”
Several of the customers around the Littleton booth stared down at their baskets, which were a nice touch, she had to admit. Inexpensive baskets with the Littleton logo that customers could fill with fruit and then place the basket on their kitchen table or counter, the logo reminding them where to go when the contents were depleted. If she didn’t despise them so, she’d have commended them on such a great idea. There was some brainstorming to be done on her end to come up with a comparable option, and she made a mental note to hit up Pinterest that night.
Brady opened his mouth to say something else, but it was Zac who spoke up.
“We can and will sell to whomever we like. Whenever we like. Now drop that apple in your hand, or I’ll have Tom arrest you for stealing.”
At that, Sophie laughed louder, this time a legit laugh instead of the ones she used to agg
ravate the brothers. “Tom.” She licked her lip and urged Zac toward her with her index finger and then pointed to her booth. “That Tom?”
Zac looked like he wanted to punch the table, but Sophie had to give it to him. He held his tongue. “Leave. Now.”
“No.”
“Fine.” Zac walked around the booth, stood over Sophie, and then in a whoosh, lifted her up, kicking and screaming, but helpless in his strong arms.
“Put me down right now!”
“Your wish is my command, madam.” He dropped her into her booth and bent close. “Come into my domain again, and I’ll do it again. This time on your ass. Understand?”
Flames broke across Sophie’s cheeks and up her ears, her anger taking over. “You’re an animal.”
He smirked. “Honey, you have no idea.” Then he walked back to his booth, his brothers high-fiving him and laughing, all at her expense. But this wasn’t over. Far from it.
It wasn’t until Sophie pulled her gaze away from Zac that she caught Prissy Tallon of Crestler’s Key Independent to the right, her camera fixed on Sophie before snapping a picture that was sure to show up in the paper the next day.
Damn it.
Sophie flashed a smile at her customers. “You’ll have to excuse us. Friendly bet going on, and poor Zac is a sore loser. Y’all should go buy something from him to make him feel a little better.” She paused, her finger to lip. “On second thought, don’t do that. You stay right here with me.” They laughed at her, and she continued taking orders. Her eyes lifted a few minutes later, only to find Zac watching her, that condescending smirk still on his face.
One point for you, Littletons. But I’m winning this bet and this town’s business whether you like it or not.
The day came to a close, the sun starting its descent behind the trees that cradled the market, and Sophie finally allowed herself to sit down and take a breath. She and Glenda had worked every second, never stopping, until there was nothing left in the booth’s bakery section and only a few cantaloupes and a bag or two of lemons in produce.
A light breeze floated in the air, and Sophie thought she might just take that hundred dollars from the Littletons and do a little online shopping at that new Earth Essentials online boutique she’d stumbled across last week.
Glenda settled into the chair beside her. “Okay, I have our total for the day. Ready?” She bounced in her chair, her excitement evident.
Sophie sat up taller and stared at her friend, pride all over both of them because they knew they had this. There was no way one could work that hard for that long and not win a bet.
“Two hundred, twenty-two dollars and ninety-seven cents.”
Jumping to her feet, Sophie took the slip of paper from Glenda’s hands and peered at the number. It was the most they’d ever sold at the market, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. “Woo-hoo!” The ladies hugged, and all was wonderful and peaceful and great in the world. Until the sound of a man clearing his throat brought them back to reality.
Sophie glanced over slowly, already sure of who’d invaded their fun. Damn fun-taker. That’s what Zac Littleton’s name should be. All right, so maybe that was a shade close to elementary schoolyard talk, but come on! Couldn’t he let her enjoy herself for five seconds before coming over to fight again?
“What?” Sophie asked, her hands on her hips and her lips pursed because she couldn’t bring herself to fake it with him right then. A grin spread across Zac’s face that reminded her entirely too much of his voice, all slow and soothing in a way that made you want to do whatever you’d done again just so you could see the grin light his face again. Of course, that was if she didn’t hate the pants off him. Which she did. Totally did.
And now she was thinking about him without pants on.
Gah, gah, gah.
“I asked you what you wanted.”
“I was just giving you a second to collect yourself. By the way,” he said, taking a step toward her, then two so he was in her space, that spicy, earthy, hint of lemony scent of his washing over her in the best and worst possible ways. “Do you ogle all men like this or just me?” He bit down on his bottom lip and stared at her with those soulful green eyes, and damn if she didn’t hate him all the more.
“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“Everyone thinks I’m funny.”
“Not me.”
He cocked his head. “I’m not sure you count. Enemies and all. And besides, you don’t really know me, now, do you?”
She opened her mouth to say that she knew him all right. She’d been with guys like him before, all beautiful face and hair and a smile that could move mountains. Until he flashed that smile at some other woman passing by, and suddenly you realized that mountain-moving sincerity wasn’t just for you. It was for any skirt willing to play with him. Well, Sophie wasn’t willing to play. But she knew she’d embarrass herself if she lost her cool, so instead, she closed the distance between them, glad she’d thrown on her new red heels rather than the flats she’d almost grabbed. Instead of a full head shorter than him, she was only a few inches. All right, six inches. But still, better than twelve.
Tilting her head up, she met his gaze with all the confidence of a woman who would not fail. Not today, not ever. “I have my number, I’m guessing you have yours, and that’s why you’re invading my personal space?”
“Hey, you’re the one who closed the distance, honey. Not me.”
“Stop calling me honey.”
“Stop smiling all the time like you’re sweet.”
“I am sweet.”
“So is a bee until it stings you.”
Drawing a long breath, Sophie told herself to calm down and think about Earth Essentials. That maxi skirt and tank top outfit they’d released for spring would look perfect on her.
“Your number, Littleton.”
“Eight five nine, four two three, two six eight seven.”
Sophie thought her head might explode. “Not your phone number.”
He grinned. “Thought you might need it. You know, so you could call me before you bring over my hundred bucks.”
“You’re not getting a hundred bucks.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?”
Sophie counted to three in her head, like she’d heard on Dr. Phil that time they talked about women who lost their cool on their children. And though Sophie didn’t have kids, she’d pocketed that tiny piece of advice, sure her Scorpio self could use it. And she’d been right. On more occasions than she could count.
“What? Get a little lightheaded around me?”
“Yeah, it’s all that arrogance of yours. Sucks all the air from the room. Now tell me your damn number.”
He was so close to laughter that Sophie contemplated challenging him to a fight instead of the bet. Maybe arm wrestling or something. Sure he was huge and she was tiny, but she needed to be aggressive with this man—manhandle him a little—before she exploded. And then, once again, her thoughts went south, and she wondered if he brought all that alpha attitude into the bedroom or if he—
Lalalala—think about something else, think about something else.
“Show me already,” she said through gritted teeth.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” He waggled his eyebrows, and Sophie sucked in a breath, sure he’d read her mind, but then she realized that no—he’d just gotten under her skin. Again.
Needing away from this man before she did something horrible like punch him—or worse, kiss him—she held out the daily sales receipt that Glenda had given her and snatched the sheet Zac had been holding. Her eyes scanned down the printout, so much fancier than hers, until finally she reached the total. Her heart sank into her pretty heels, too embarrassed to show itself again.
“Three hundred, fifty-five dollars, twenty-two cents. How did you—” But she stopped herself before she asked what she wanted to ask. How had they beaten her by so much when she’d had her best day ever and she charged so much more f
or her produce? The worry worm that liked to creep around in her brain began its slimy trek, bringing with it doubt and more doubt. But she couldn’t afford to show Zac how bad she felt right now, and she certainly didn’t expect him to reveal how he had hit that number.
So instead, she folded up his sheet and passed it back to him, the picture of poise. “Congratulations.” Then she walked over to the cash box, Glenda’s expression still hopeful until Sophie shook her head and her friend fell back into her wicker chair.
“Seriously?” Then Glenda glanced around Sophie to Zac. “What do you sell—crack with apples or something?”
“Glen,” Sophie warned. “It’s fine. We’ll get them next time.” She took five twenties from the change box and walked back over to Zac, counted out the twenties into his waiting hand, then turned around as the brothers started their victory celebration.
They might have won this round, but by God, Sophie and Fresh Foods would bring down Littleton Farms if it was the last thing she did.
She just needed a plan.
Chapter Two
“Hello?” Zac called as he unlocked the front door of his cabin in the woods. He’d bought the property when he and Carrie-Anne first moved back to Crestler’s Key, found a floor plan he liked, and then spent a year building the house while he worked through all the resentment and hurt he felt over Lora leaving.
It took him a long time to realize that his anger wouldn’t make her come back, that it was only hurting him and his daughter. Which was the last thing she needed.
So he finished the house, put a lock on the door, and when he showed it to Carrie-Anne, he vowed to make sure she would always have what she needed, including a father who would always put her first. They hugged, tears in both their eyes, but that was the first day of putting themselves back together.
Now she was a preteen, and often it felt like she was taking care of him instead of the other way around.
“In the kitchen,” she called, and the familiar pangs of guilt spiraled through his gut. But to be honest, Carrie-Anne was a caregiver by nature, and she would try to take care of him and anyone else in her life whether they liked it or not.
