Well, some things in common, anyway.
“You’re having a bad night,” she murmured. “Been there, done that.” She lifted her shoulder. “In fact, I’m there and doing it right now. Sometimes, things just close in, you know.”
Yeah, he knew. And their common ground and the bone-deep feeling of sadness that he’d never admitted to anyone else.
“You said you didn’t know if what you had with your husband was real. Whether it was true or false. I don’t know, either. Parts of it had to be real. Had to be,” he emphasized as the memory steamrolled over him. “But I don’t know when it became something else.”
Millie made a soft sound of agreement and then swallowed hard. The silence that followed should have been awkward enough to spur both of them to say a hasty goodbye and get the heck out of there.
It didn’t.
“Hey, would you like to have a drink?” she asked. “Not at Three Sheets,” she quickly added. “No need to stir up gossip that we’re drowning our sorrows together. Best not to go to my place, either. Neighbors.”
He didn’t have any of those. Not any who could have eyes on his house, anyway, but there was no way he would invite her there. Even for that brainless part of him behind the zipper of his jeans, that crossed lines he wasn’t anywhere ready to cross. Might never be.
“We could go in through the back of Once Upon a Time,” Millie went on. “My grandmother had a bar built into the office, and it’s stocked. We wouldn’t have to talk. I could show you some of the oddball items in the shop. Or we could talk,” she amended. “We could go over any ground rules you have about my shopping trip with Dara.”
Joe didn’t especially want a drink. Especially not one with Millie. And he didn’t want to see anything oddball. But he wasn’t sure he could face going back home right now, and it might be good to spell out those ground rules even if he wasn’t sure exactly what they were.
“Sure,” he heard himself saying. “One drink.”
She smiled and, man, was that something to see. It lit up her face. Okay, the headlights probably helped with that, but seeing her smile lifted his mood just a little. Right now, he’d take a little to stop himself from going over that dark slope. He’d been over that slope, and it was damn hard to get back up it.
“I’ll meet you at the shop in about twenty minutes,” he said.
Millie would probably think that was because he wanted to go to Ella’s grave. He didn’t. But the twenty minutes would give him time to find an out-of-the-way parking spot so he could walk to Once Upon a Time. Because Millie was right about stirring up gossip if they were seen together. Joe really didn’t want to deal with the questions, and the hope, that he was finally moving on with his life.
Joe waited until she’d driven away before he got back in his truck. Then, he just sat there, trying to talk himself out of doing this. He didn’t have Millie’s number so he couldn’t text her and say that he’d come to his senses and needed to cancel.
Besides, Millie had looked as if she needed “a drink” even more than he did.
And that’s why Joe finally started toward town. He decided to leave his truck in the parking lot of Three Sheets to the Wind. Or Three Sheets as everyone called it, and it had the “honor” of being the first saloon built in Last Ride. Hezzie Parkman had suggested calling it The Silver Spur, so there’d be less focus on getting drunk, but her suggestion hadn’t been taken.
Joe walked the four blocks to the shop and tapped on the back door. Millie opened it before he could even pull back his hand.
“I thought you’d cancel,” she said, the words rushing out with her breath. “I didn’t want you to, but I thought you would.”
Well, it’d been fifty-fifty for a while there as to what he would do, but here he was. “If you’d rather not—”
“No. Come in.” She stepped to the side, waving him inside.
Joe did go in, and he followed her through the maze of rooms. She’d ditched the boots and was now barefoot. What she hadn’t done was touch up her makeup or fix her hair. At least it didn’t appear that she had. He liked that because even though they had already admitted they were attracted to each other, her lack of fuss made it feel less like a secret rendezvous.
Or so he was telling himself.
Millie led him toward her office, the only fully lit room in the place, and she immediately opened one of the bookshelves to reveal the bar behind it. “My grandmother fell in love with the Harry Potter books and decorated her office to match Dumbledore’s,” she said when she saw him studying the decor.
Her tone wasn’t exactly conversational. There were tight nerves in her voice. “Before I forget, here’s my cell number.” She wrote it down on a note and handed it to him. “That way, if you want to check on Dara during the shopping trip, you can call me.” She paused. “So, what would you like?”
It sounded like a really hot invitation to his overly aroused body, but Joe figured she hadn’t meant it like that. Nope. The flush on her cheeks, however, told him that she knew how the question had sounded—and might or might not have meant it as an invitation. And might or might not want him to take her up on something more than a drink.
Obviously, both of them were doing a lot of emotional waffling tonight.
He had plenty of options for that drink offer. Millie had been right about the bar being stocked. Every type of liquor was there only with small bottles of mixers. There was even an ice maker and a wine cooler.
Joe spotted a nearly full bottle of Jameson. “That.” He pointed to it. “Two fingers, straight up.”
Millie poured the whiskey into a cut crystal glass and helped herself to a Baileys over ice. Once Joe had his drink in hand, she clinked her glass to his. And accidentally brushed her fingers over his. “To better times ahead,” she finished after a long pause. “We can stroll around the shop while we talk or stay in here.”
Since Millie was so close right now that he could reach out and touch her, Joe opted for the strolling. It was better than face-to-face. Or finger to finger.
“Dara wants to do a makeover at one of those department store cosmetic places,” she said as they started out of her office. Apparently, Millie wasn’t going to waste any time launching into the main reason Joe had agreed to this drink. “Are you okay with that?”
Joe nodded. It was the least of his concerns for this bucket list trip. “Just make sure it’s not something that’ll hurt her skin or cause her to break out.”
“Will do.” She took a sip of her Baileys and stopped to make an adjustment to a display of antique fortune-telling stuff. Crystal balls, tarot cards, several bowls of crystals, a small poster advertising palm reading, tea leaves and a small tattered book titled, Practical Guide to Husband Divination.
Joe picked up the book, frowned.
“Apparently, it was the precursor to dating sites,” Millie joked. “It’s about how to find your perfect match. It’s been in the shop for years with no buyers, but I’m pretty sure several women have snapped pictures of the pages.”
Heaven help him, he smiled. Even more, the smile felt real and not one of those he plastered on to try to make people believe he was okay.
Joe pushed the “real” aside. The smile, too. And focused on Dara. “I’ve decided I don’t want to know about the underwear shopping.” He paused. “But if the subject comes up about any boy who might see said underwear, maybe you could—” He stopped and waved that off.
What the hell was he thinking? The idea was to put some distance between Millie and them, not suggest that Millie warn Dara about the dangers of boys.
“I haven’t had the talk with Dara,” he admitted. “But I will.”
Millie’s forehead bunched up, and they started walking again. “Uh, the talk might be better coming from Frankie. For girls, it’s not just about safe sex. Other things come into play. I can work in some of it in a gen
eral kind of way, and Frankie should fill in the details.”
“Shit,” he grumbled.
This was about periods, and he really didn’t want to be talking about this now. Not ever. Joe made a mental note to call Frankie and dump this on her. Frankie wouldn’t mind doing it, though Joe would have to insist that his sometimes flighty, hickey-sporting sister tell Dara that she should wait to have sex until she was in love.
Or thirty.
Yeah, thirty was better.
Millie stopped again, this time at a True or False display, and she muttered a curse word. “This shouldn’t be here.”
Joe looked at the, well, whatever the heck it was. It resembled an old-fashioned eggbeater with a rotary crank, but instead of a whisk, there was a wood cylinder the size of a hot dog.
“True or False,” he said, reading from the card. “This is a nineteenth-century butter maker. I’m guessing false.” He turned the card over. Blank.
“False,” she verified. Millie took the gadget and tucked it under her arms. “It’s a Victorian vibrator, and it’s going back upstairs in storage with the other vibrators and such that my grandmother found among some items she’d bought at an estate sale.”
Joe suddenly wanted a better look at it—and the “such” in the upstairs storage—but he didn’t need to give it any thought to know that was a really bad idea. Best not to discuss or view sexual aids even if they were intriguing.
“That leaves eating at Taco Cabana,” Millie said, obviously continuing their discussion about Dara. “She says it won’t bring up bad memories for her but will it?”
To hell if he knew. It would for him, but maybe Dara was in a different mental place than he was. “I’m not sure. But keep an eye on her just in case.” He stopped again, cursed. “I shouldn’t be putting any of this on you, and I should be asking if it’ll bring up bad memories for you.”
Millie shrugged, but the next sip she had of her Baileys was more than a sip. More like the kind of gulp a person needed when trying to steel themselves.
“I don’t know. Maybe,” she admitted. “It’s funny. Not ‘ha ha’ funny,” she quickly added, “but so many things trigger the bad stuff. A smell. Some random thing that someone says. Dreams.” She paused. “Not you though. I thought you would, but you don’t.”
Yeah. Joe was right there on the same page with her. Not the normal bad stuff. But this simmering heat was posing a problem or two. That problem went up a couple of rungs on the lust ladder when he looked at her. Now that they were in the light, he could see some freckles peeking through the makeup. He didn’t know why he found that “kick in the gut” hot, but he did. Then again, he was finding a lot of things hot about Millie.
She stared at him, licked the Baileys off her bottom lip. Sighed. And then started walking. Not easily. Joe could tell she’d had to force herself to do it.
“Let me give you a tour of my favorite part of the shop,” she said, sounding businesslike now. Mostly businesslike, anyway. There was still some heat in her voice, and her breathing was a little rushed.
Leading the way, she took him into the local artist room. It was a lot bigger than he’d expected and figured the space had been configured by tearing down plenty of other walls. What walls remained were filled with framed paintings, photographs and even some sculptures. More sculptures had been positioned throughout the room. Ditto for even more paintings on easels.
“My grandmother started this,” she explained. “Most are artists or photographers from Last Ride or from the county, but she made a few exceptions.” She pointed to a pair of watercolors in the corner. “Like those. They’re from an artist in Dallas who visited here back in the sixties. And I’m not sure about those.” She pointed to another grouping of three canvas paintings, all on easels. “But they’re my favorites.”
Joe turned to look at them. And got another slam in the gut. Not from heat this time. No. But from the shock of seeing those too-familiar paintings.
“I don’t know who the artist is,” Millie continued. “They’re unsigned, but since the paintings are all of scenes from the area, I suspect the artist is local.”
They were indeed scenes from in and around Last Ride. The Fairy Pond that had gotten its name from the colorful rocks and the wild ferns. The painting wasn’t of the pond itself but rather had been done on a bluff above it with the pond in the background. The second was of a remote section of the Wildflower Vineyard. The third was an old gray windmill about ten miles away from town. What remained of the crumbling windmill blades were being battered by a storm from a bruise-colored sky.
Hell’s Texas bells. He remembered Ella painting these scenes. Portions of them, anyway. He’d walked into her she-shed a couple of times and had seen them. But he hadn’t had a clue that she’d sold them.
Obviously, it was another of Ella’s secrets.
“How’d you get the paintings if you don’t know who the artist is?” Joe managed to ask, after he’d had a huge gulp of his whiskey.
“The internet,” she answered with her attention thankfully on the paintings and not him. “I found a social media page called La La Land, and the artist had posted pictures of the paintings. I emailed him or her and made an offer. After some negotiations, the artist agreed but said the sale had to be anonymous. I paid through PayPal, and the paintings were left wrapped by the back door.”
Joe had no idea what Ella had done with the money. Maybe she’d used it to buy things for her lover. A thought that had him tossing back the rest of his whiskey.
Millie turned to him, obviously noticing the quick finish he’d made of his drink. “Are you okay?” she asked.
No. He wasn’t. And she clearly picked up on that.
“Joe,” Millie whispered. Not a question but rather a soft reassurance.
She set her Baileys on a table next to some small porcelain turtles and took hold of his arm. Joe could have sworn he felt her warmth through his shirtsleeve, and he sure as heck saw that warmth on her face.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered. Along with the warmth, she was obviously about to mentally beat herself up. “I shouldn’t have pressed you to come here. I shouldn’t—”
Joe kissed her.
He had one thought. To put a stop to that mental beating up. She’d been nothing but kind to Dara and him, and she didn’t deserve to feel any guilt because of him.
But his one thought quickly shifted to something else.
Millie’s mouth froze beneath his. For a second, anyway. Then, the sigh she made was long, slow and filled with what he thought might be relief. She didn’t throw her arms around him, but he could feel the need. It was as real as the heat from her hand that was still on his biceps.
Even with just the lightest touch of his lips on hers, he could still taste her. Not just the Baileys but Millie herself. There was warmth here, too, and the hint of something that he knew would be pretty damn amazing.
Joe didn’t deepen the kiss though, mercy, that’s exactly what he wanted to do. He ached to haul her to him and explore that sweet mouth of hers. And more. Much more. He ached to explore the rest of her, too.
But he stopped. Forced his mouth from hers.
“I should go,” he said.
Millie blinked like a woman dazed. “Uh, do you want to go?” There it was. An invitation that he couldn’t accept.
“No,” he admitted. “And that’s why I should.”
Joe set his glass next to hers and headed for the door.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MILLIE PUT HER coffee cup, the plate that’d held her English muffin and juice glass in the sink, streaked some dish soap over them and started washing. Hurrying a little because it was Sunday and nearly time for Dara to come over so they could go on their bucket list trip.
She had a dishwasher, but the problem with eating solo was that it took a week or more to fill it up. Plus, there was somethi
ng mindlessly numbing about having her hands in the sudsy warm water.
But the mindlessness didn’t stay with her.
When she washed the glass and put it on the drying rack, she got a full jolt memory of another glass. The one Joe had used to drink his Jameson when he’d been at the shop. The one he’d set aside when he’d kissed her.
Millie got a full jolt of that kiss, too, and the jolt went all the way to her freshly polished toenails. The man was a walking, talking definition of the things she should avoid.
But she didn’t want to avoid him.
She wanted to kiss him again. To hold him and, yes, even just talk with him while the attraction sizzled and snapped between them. It’d been so long since she’d felt anything close to that, and Millie wanted to feel it again.
Obviously, Joe didn’t feel the same. He’d walked out after issuing his That’s why I should, and she hadn’t seen or heard from him in the six days since that’d happened. But she might see him soon when he dropped off Dara. Of course, it was likely the drop-off would be fast and that he wouldn’t come inside.
That last thought barely had time to go through her mind when her doorbell rang. Dara wasn’t supposed to be there for another fifteen minutes, but maybe she was eager to get started on the trip. Since Millie didn’t want to risk not being able to at least give Joe a wave, she hurried to answer the door.
Millie tried not to appear disappointed when she saw that it was Frankie and Dara on the porch. Joe wasn’t anywhere in sight.
“Sorry about being early,” Dara immediately said. “Little T spent the night at my house, and when Frankie came to get him, I decided to get a ride with her.”
“That’s fine,” Millie assured her, hoping she kept the disappointment out of her voice, as well. She glanced around the porch. “Where’s Little T?”
“With Tanner,” Frankie provided. “It’s his day with him.”
Spring at Saddle Run Page 8
