by Jane Porter
“You want to piss me off, don’t you?”
He gave her another long look over the rim of his glass. She was slender with dark hair that she usually wore in a ponytail—except when she was at the bar on a Friday night looking for trouble. Her slight boyish build made her look far younger than her twenty-five years. But her tight jeans and tank top showed off her curves all the same. “So what’s going on? Why are you here? I would have thought you’d be home doing your nails and getting all dolled up for the big Valentine Ball.”
“I’m not going to the ball, and even if I was, I wouldn’t be getting my nails or hair done. And it wouldn’t take me two days to get ready. Wouldn’t even take me two hours. I’d just shower, put on my dress and boots and go.”
He shook his head, checked his smile. She was still a sassy, smart-mouth thing, but he liked her sense of humor. He’d always found her refreshing. “So why aren’t you going?” He nodded at the young cowboys standing around the pool table looking forlorn now that Callan had left. “Didn’t any one of them ask you?”
“I have more fun here. Besides, the ball’s expensive. Two hundred bucks a couple.”
“And you’re telling me no cowboy was willing to scrounge up two hundred bucks to take you?”
Her cheeks flushed pink. She glanced away, lips compressing. “I was asked. But I said no.”
“Wrong guy?”
She shot him a sharp look. “Is there ever a right guy?”
“You don’t like men now?”
She gave him another severe look. “Just because I can ride and rope better than any cowboy my age doesn’t mean I’m gay.”
“Never said you were.”
“Good, because I’m not. I just don’t feel like dating and doing the whole romance thing right now.” She pushed her empty beer bottle across the counter, away from her, and signaled to Grey that she wanted another. “Trying to come to terms with something and it’s not easy. I’m mad. And confused. But mostly mad.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
She laughed once. “You might regret saying that.”
He already was. But, he couldn’t back out now. “Tell me. If it’d make you feel better.”
“I don’t know what could make me feel better. Except maybe another beer.”
Grey arrived, with the needed beer. He popped off the cap and slid the bottle across the counter to her.
Callan snapped it up and took a sip.
Troy frowned. This wasn’t normal Callan behavior and he didn’t know what to make of it. “What’s going on?”
She didn’t answer immediately, but then she looked up at him, brows furrowed, expression grim. “I learned some dark Carrigan family secrets.”
“How dark?”
“Pretty damn dark.”
“Why don’t you just tell me? Then I can get back to worrying about my own problems.”
“You think this has nothing to do with you?”
Her words were full of challenge—so like Callan. “Maybe you should get to the point.”
“Maybe I will. The thing is—our mom had an affair.”
He stared at her. Was this the beer talking? He remembered Bev Carrigan as a very proper sort of woman. Beautiful, with nice manners and a gentle way about her. “You’re talking nonsense, Callan. Maybe you should find a nice, gentlemanly cowboy to give you a ride home.”
“I don’t need a ride home. I plan on crashing on Sage’s couch when I’m done here.” Callan shredded the label off the bottle. “But first, hear me out. I want you to listen to my story.”
“Your mom’s been gone a long time. Why did this come up now?”
Callan’s smooth jaw tightened, her expression fierce. “The timing sucks. I couldn’t agree more. But with all that’s been going on with Mattie and her husband—they split up this fall—Sage decided to come clean. Apparently she’s been keeping this secret since she was only twelve years old.”
Troy’s head throbbed. He had enough drama with Trey in jail, and McKenna engaged, and Cormac trying to raise April and Daryl’s baby as if he was daddy material when Cormac was the least likely of all the Sheenans to settle down.
And now Callan was throwing all her family stuff at him, too.
“Hang on,” he said, rubbing at his temple. “Wes and Mattie are separated?”
“On their way to divorced.”
“Too bad.” He’d seen Wes at a few rodeos. The man knew how to ride a bull. But marriage—that could be harder. “So what does that have to do with Sage keeping a secret?”
“She thought Mattie might be more inclined to work out her troubles with Wes if she knew that our mother had an affair. And that it hadn’t ended in divorce for our parents.”
Twisted logic, in Troy’s mind. But he could sort of see the connection. “How did Sage know her mom cheated on your dad?”
“She walked in on them.”
Wow. That was pretty heavy. And life changing for a kid.
Kind of like him walking in and discovering his mom was dead.
“Sorry,” he said gruffly. “That’s shitty. For Sage, and for all of you.”
Callan took another long drink. “Thing is, Troy, our mother was with your father.”
Troy went cold all over.
For a moment he couldn’t think, or speak. For a moment there was just silence, and then a buzzing in his head. The sound a radio station makes when you haven’t dialed in properly to the right channel.
The buzzing continued unabated.
And he thought of his mom. Not his dad.
Was this why?
Was this the reason for her terrible sadness? For her endless loneliness?
Troy stared blindly down into the pale gold of his beer. He couldn’t believe it.
And yet…
He could.
Bev Carrigan and his dad?
“You’re sure?” he asked roughly.
“Yep.” Her voice was quiet, her expression strained.
Shit.
He wished he’d never stopped in at Grey’s. Wished he’d gone straight from dinner to his room. Wished he could have avoided this conversation tonight. Wished he could have avoided this conversation for the rest of his life. “Does everyone know?”
“No one knows. Just you, me, and my sisters.”
He drank, and then set the glass down and pushed the half empty glass away. “Lucky you, me, and your sisters,” he muttered, reaching for his wallet to drop a five and a couple ones on the counter.
He rapped his knuckles on the counter to let Grey know he was leaving and then glanced down at Callan who suddenly looked very small and young on the bar stool. “My dad’s dying,” he said bluntly.
She nodded once, her dark braid slipping across her shoulder. “Dillon told me.”
“But you didn’t tell Dillon about the affair?”
She shook her head. “He’s the one who moved home to take care of your dad. Doesn’t seem fair to lay this on him, too.” She managed a tight, tough-girl smile. “But you’re Troy, the V.C. I figured your big shoulders could handle the truth.”
His big shoulders, he silently repeated, leaving the saloon a few minutes later. Sometimes they didn’t feel very big at all.
He was opening the door to his SUV when his phone buzzed. Troy checked his phone. A text had just come in from Taylor.
Forgot to text from my car, but I am home.
He looked at the text a moment and smiled. Are you wearing that adorable robe with the big pink pigs? He texted in reply.
You’re just jealous that you don’t have one.
Troy grinned. Good night, book girl.
Good night, city slicker.
Chapter Nine
‡
It took Taylor a long time to fall asleep that night.
She wished she could blame caffeine or work worries on her inability to doze off, but it wasn’t anything like that. She wasn’t even worrying about Doug.
She couldn’t sleep because she had Troy on her brain and
the rational, practical part of her brain was lecturing her that it was most impractical to be lying awake at twelve fifteen, thinking about him. But then there was this other part of her brain, a very small but rebellious little part, encouraging her to remember their conversation at Grey’s and then the fun, albeit brief, text exchange once she was home.
The little rebellious voice inside of her was reminding her that life wasn’t always fun so she should enjoy the moments that were positive.
Right now, curled up in bed with a howling wind outside, she was wanting to throw her weight behind the rebel voice, particularly as it was often smashed under the guise of being responsible and doing the right thing.
But honestly, was it such a wrong thing to think about Troy Sheenan?
It’s not as if she was really falling for him. It’s not as if she was imagining happy-ever-afters. She was still grounded, practical, sensible Taylor. Still committed to small towns, crumbling libraries, great books, and taking care of one’s family.
And it’s not as if, by thinking of him, she was going to create any drama, or influence fate.
No one knew she was thinking of him.
She certainly wouldn’t tell McKenna or Jane, or anyone else. Nor would she ever let Troy find out. (God help her.) But it was kind of fun to play tonight back in her head, skipping the uncomfortable parts like the whole McKenna-Troy-Trey conversation and jumping to the talking to Troy at the bar.
She could still see him leaning against the bar, smiling at her with those very dark, blue eyes. He had great eyes. A great face.
Great body.
Thinking about him made her feel warm on the inside. And just a tiny bit bubbly.
But no one had to know. And in the morning, when the morning arrived, she wouldn’t allow herself to dwell on the warm bubbly part anymore.
In the morning she’d go back to being practical and disciplined. She’d become sensible Taylor, Marietta’s librarian.
But that was the morning.
Tonight she was still free to wish…and dream.
Thursday afternoon Louise came bounding up the stairs to the second floor landing where Taylor was adding some of the photos and memorabilia of Marietta in 1914 to the second floor display cabinet. Taylor had found them in a box in the library’s storage vault and thought it was the perfect time to change displays with the Valentine Ball tomorrow launching the 100 year anniversary of the Great Wedding Giveaway.
“Does Margaret know you’re doing this?” Louise asked, stooping to get a look at the faces in one of the photographs.
“Nope.”
“She might not like it. She was very partial to the agriculture display. Her dad was a farmer.”
“Yes, I know. But the display was almost twenty years old. I think a change is in order.” Taylor sat back and dusted her hands on a soft cloth she’d picked up at the Mercantile on Main Street. “And what is she going to do? Fire me? She can’t. She didn’t hire me.”
“You’re feisty today.”
“I’m just tired of tiptoeing around, afraid of incurring Margaret’s displeasure. This library is in the dark ages. It’s time it embraced change and technology. Kids read on iPhones and tablets and we should at the very least have new adult and young adult books available for them as downloads.” And yes, Taylor silently added, she was still smarting after this morning’s meeting where Margaret rejected every single book Taylor had suggested as an interesting read for the local teenagers. Margaret still thought Nancy Drew was the leading series for girls. She couldn’t accept that young adults today might enjoy vampires, werewolves, witches or apocalyptic literature stories featuring strong heroines.
“Well, I support you,” Louise said. “And you’ll have a say in the librarian that’s hired to replace me, so be patient and know that change is coming.”
“I’m trying,” Taylor answered, positioning a new black and white photo of Marietta High with its graduating class of 1914 against a trophy dated 1914 before straightening. “Where is Margaret by the way? Still at the dentist?”
“Yes.”
“Good. And I’m finished here, so maybe she won’t even notice. She rarely comes upstairs anymore.”
“I’m glad you’re finished here because you need to come down. Something’s arrived for you. It’s in the staff room.”
“Books?”
“No.”
“Magazines?”
“No.”
“Information on the ALA conference this summer?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“Just come see,” Louise said firmly, but still beaming and clearly quite excited about something.
Taylor dusted her hands off, closed and locked the glass cabinet door before following Louise downstairs, behind the circulation desk, through the small office to the tiny staff room behind.
Inside the staff room, hanging on the antique coat rack, was an enormous silver garment bag with ornate black calligraphy, Married in Marietta.
“Lisa Renee dropped it off herself,” Louise said. “Just moments ago.”
Taylor arched a brow. “It must be a mistake. I’m not getting married, nor do I know anyone getting married.”
Louise rolled her eyes. “You know everyone’s gone there for their formal gowns for the ball. As a matter of fact, you were there with McKenna last night. Miss Renee was not. Apparently one of her sales associates was.”
“Yes, and the sales associate rang up my dress and the dress I bought is hanging in my closet at home right now.”
“Maybe there was a mistake—”
“There was no mistake. I bought my dress. It’s in my closet. This isn’t for me.”
“But it is. She brought this for you, and there’s a card with your name on it,” Louise said. “So open it. Read it. The suspense is killing me.”
But Taylor didn’t want to open the card. She suddenly knew who’d sent the dress and it wasn’t McKenna, or Lisa Renee, the elegant stylish manager who did all the ordering for the bridal boutique.
It was Troy. It had to be Troy. McKenna must have said something to him.
Taylor’s jaw tightened as she reached for the little envelope tied to the hanger with a silver ribbon. She slid open the envelope’s flap and pulled out the creamy white card.
Book girls do it better in red spangles.
Troy
Taylor’s heart jumped. Her pulse raced. She knew even without unzipping the garment bag which dress she’d find.
The couture gown.
Taylor peeked into the bag. Glossy red spangles caught the light, glowing and shimmering within.
Her heart fell. She exhaled in a soft, disappointed whoosh.
“Look at that,” Louise murmured.
“Mmm,” Taylor agreed, blinking back tears. It was such a gorgeous gesture on Troy’s part, so exciting, and she loved the thought… she did, but she couldn’t keep it. Couldn’t wear it. Couldn’t ever accept such an expensive gift. “But I have to send it back.”
But before Taylor could phone Married in Marietta, Margaret marched into the staff room.
“Troy Sheenan is here, Taylor. He apparently is interested in joining one of the book clubs. He asked specifically about the Tuesday Night Book Group. Personally I don’t think it’s the right place for him, but I’ll leave that to you.”
Taylor found Troy perusing the New and Notable bulletin board display across from the circulation desk, next to the library’s theme table, this month’s theme being Valentine’s Day, with classic romance novels artfully arranged. Jane Eyre. Wuthering Heights. Pride and Prejudice. Sense and Sensibility.
Taylor had fully expected Margaret to reject the theme and choice of books. But she’d left it there, and said nothing.
A victory, in Taylor’s mind.
“Thank you for the dress,” Taylor said, joining Troy in front of the bulletin board display. “But I can’t keep it. I can’t even imagine ever accepting something so extravagant—”
“I did
n’t pay for it,” he said, turning to face her. His chiseled jaw was shadowed with a day old beard.
Taylor was surprised how good he looked with a little scruff. She tucked her hands behind her back, fingers threading together. “I’m sure it’s not on loan.”
“No, it’s a gift, from Lily Jewel, the designer. She wants you to wear it and we’re to be photographed and Jane is to send the photos to all her big-wig publicist friends who will tweet and share and post the photos on every fashion blog imaginable, ensuring that Lily Jewel’s dress is seen by all.”
Taylor blanched. “That’s a lot of pressure. Maybe it would have been better if you’d bought the dress after all.”
“You don’t have to wear Lily’s gown. You have a very nice new dress from Married in Marietta at home.”
She smiled at him. “Are you making fun of my nice new dress, that happens to be practical, and affordable?”
“Just a little bit.”
“I see.” But she couldn’t stop smiling at him. He made her feel good on the inside. Bubbly. Happy. It didn’t make sense. Opposites shouldn’t attract. Big city tycoons shouldn’t like small town librarians. Impulsively, she reached up to touch his scruffy jaw. His skin was warm, his jaw was hard, the black bristles sharp against her fingertips. “I kind of like this,” she said.
He lifted a brow. “That’s good, because I don’t always like to shave.”
“You… lazy?”
“Can’t be clean shaven all the time. Where’s the fun in that?”
“You do look rather… wicked.”
“And that’s appealing?”
She blushed, and then pinched herself for blushing. “Maybe.”
“Why is it that nice girls like wicked boys?”
“McKenna says you’re the good twin.”
“McKenna has never kissed me. How would she know?”
She blushed again. Her heart was beating so fast that her head felt light. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. She had been determined to be practical and realistic today. “You say the most outrageous things.”
“I like to make you smile.” He dipped his head, kissed her lips, a swift brief kiss that caught her off guard. “We’re going to have fun tomorrow night,” he murmured, before stepping back, putting distance between them just as Margaret rounded the corner.
