Can't Fight This Feeling (Cabin Fever)

by Christie Ridgway

She was small and built on a delicate scale. Her hair was nearly platinum and cut in way that curled around her ears and showcased her triangular face. Pink lips. Dusting of gold freckles. Big blue eyes—no, turquoise—that warmed with pleasure as she looked him over, too.

  His hands itched to snatch her up and kiss her. Instead, his fingers tightened on the brown bag and the crinkling sound had them both redirecting their gazes to what he held. His arm lifted. “I brought us lunch.”

  “You did?” Her mouth curved and he didn’t think he was wrong that it was delight that turned up the corners of those pretty lips.

  “I did. I needed a break and thought maybe you could take a little time off, too.”

  She grimaced. “I don’t have anyone to take my place.”

  “Oh.” Ridiculous to feel so deflated. After all, he understood what it required to build a business and keep one going.

  “But if you don’t mind sitting with me by the register...” she started.

  “Would love to,” he said, and followed her lead to the glass-topped counter at the side of the store.

  She dragged a stool toward him, the plastic seat advertising a waterproofing product. Hers was matching except it promoted an automatic sprinkler system. “What’d you bring?” she asked, glancing toward the bag.

  He scratched at the whiskers on his jaw. “I hope you don’t think this was cheating.”

  Her brows rose. “Oh?”

  “I asked at the deli two doors down for your favorite sandwich.” He reached into the bag. “Tuna salad on rye.” With a flourish, he set the wax-paper-wrapped package before her.

  She stared at it.

  “I was trying to make a good impression.” Had the clerk got it wrong entirely? Maybe Glory was allergic to fish. Maybe the seeds in the rye bread got stuck in her dentures.

  Then she looked up at him, her smile dazzling, her teeth obviously all her own. “Nobody has put out that kind of effort to please me in...maybe never.”

  “Not never,” he scoffed.

  Her smile still digging a dimple into her now-pink cheek, she unwrapped the paper around her sandwich, neatly cut in the middle. “And two pickles!”

  “You have to have two pickles, one for each half.” He pulled out his own meal—avocado, turkey and Swiss on sourdough.

  Glancing over, he saw Glory was staring at him. “Nobody gets the double pickle thing. Did they tell you I always order that way at the deli?”

  “Nope. It’s the way I always order at the deli.”

  Her eyes narrowed, suspicious. “Are you trying to pick me up again?”

  “With double-dill breath? I don’t think so.” He crunched into the first sour gherkin.

  With a little laugh, she applied herself again to her meal. They ate a few bites in companionable silence until she broke it. “Still painting, I see.”

  He held out his speckled hands. “Yep. How about you? How’s your day been going?”

  “We received a shipment of red, white and blue bunting. I carry the decorations—but starting in May, not September. A frustrating phone call later, I think it’s straightened out.”

  Kyle’s sandwich was the best he’d ever eaten. Or maybe that was the company. He grinned at her. “I heard you talking quite knowledgeably about toilet repairs.”

  She shook her head. “Now that’s an image a girl wants to put in a guy’s head.”

  His grin widened. “No, no. I was quite impressed. How do you know that stuff?”

  “My dad. I’m hopeless at keeping our back storeroom organized—or so says my friend Angelica who works here part-time—but I’m aces when it comes to advising on how to fix things. Reps come into the store and talk to me about products and I’ve gone to a seminar or two, but the best learning begins at home. Since I could walk, I’ve been helping my dad around the house.”

  “No ‘girls play with dolls and boys with tools,’ huh?”

  She shook her head. “No boys in the family. I’m the lonely only.”

  Kyle tilted his head. “Are you? Lonely, that is.”

  Pursing her pretty lips, she shook her head. “I don’t know how I could be. I’ve got customers coming in and out of the store all day long. Not to mention my retired—” she made air quotes around the word with her fingers “—dad popping in all the time to comment upon my business practices.”

  Kyle knew from experience a person could be lonely anywhere: in a packed boardroom, among the tables of a bustling company cafeteria, pounding out miles on a treadmill in a busy state-of-the-art gym.

  On a sigh, Glory touched a finger to the nearby revolving display rack from which hung floatable key rings. “Take this stand for example. In summer, two rows of the chains are fine, they’re very popular. But now that winter’s coming on, on the lower rung I added a selection of miniature flashlights that you can hook to your ring. Dad did not like it.” She made a stern face and lowered her voice. “All the flashlights are situated in Aisle F and always have been.”

  Kyle could commiserate. His own parents hadn’t liked change either, especially the changes he wanted to make to his life. He’d been on the Scott-beaten path to a medical career and then diverted to go his own way. He’d tried to explain his interests to them, but they thought their field was the only one of value, and at best they’d been bored by his shop talk.

  Most women he’d tried dating hadn’t understood about business, either. They’d been impressed by money but not the man. Of course, he’d not had a chance to meet them as Kyle Scott, house painter, but still, he thought this instant connection he felt with Glory was...special.

  She reached over and plucked one of the spare pennies sitting in the ashtray next to the register. “For your thoughts,” she said, sliding it close.

  He put his hand over hers. At her jolt of reaction he almost lost his hold, but he curled his fingers under her palm and gently squeezed. “I’m thinking I like you, Glory Hallett.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “Are you sure, or are you just trying to butter me up?” she asked, her voice light. “Tell me the state of the toilet at that house you’re painting.”

  “As far as I know, my ballcock is in prime working order.”

  Her face turned pink even as she laughed. “Do you even know what a ballcock is?”

  “Sweetheart.” He gave her a look of gentle reproof.

  “Oh, you.” Now her face went really red. “You’re being so bad.”

  “Not in the slightest,” he protested, enjoying himself to the utmost. “I didn’t say a word when you asked about buttering you up.”

  She laughed out loud now. “And I thought the double dill had lifted my mood. I’ve got to admit it’s in the stratosphere now.”

  “Yeah?” He smiled at her.

  As if suddenly shy, Glory glanced down. Then her chin came up and her turquoise eyes were aimed right at his. “Yeah.”

  God, she enchanted the hell out of him. He let go of her hand so they could return to their lunch. But they continued to talk, him asking questions about the products he could see on the nearby shelves. She gestured with her pickle and munched on her tuna-and-rye and he watched her every gesture with an avid gaze.

  Glory, Glory, his inner voice commented. Hallelujah!

  Then a customer came in, interrupting their private bubble. With an apologetic look, she slid off her stool to help the older gentleman who wanted parts for his pond pump. Kyle finished up his sandwich and finally, reluctantly stood. The house wasn’t going to paint itself.

  Glory waved the customer out the door and looked over. “Time to get back to work?”

  “Yeah.”

  She walked with him toward the entrance. They lingered there. He flattered himself that she didn’t want to end their interlude any more than he did.

  “I have something for you,” she said. “A gift. A little payback for lunch—which I’ll get next time.”

  “No—”

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “And after that we’ll be splitting the checks.
”

  Kyle stopped himself from saying any more. Her concern about his finances was so damn uncommon and so endearing...and the fact that she was talking about next times wasn’t something he wanted to halt.

  “Okay,” he conceded, holding out his hand and wiggling his fingers. “Gimme my present.”

  From the front pocket of her butcher apron, she pulled out a soft cap of lightweight material. A painter’s hat. “Here’s a secret. You cover your head and you won’t be combing Evergreen out of your hair every night.”

  “Thanks.” He took it from her and put it on at a jaunty angle. “How do I look?”

  She was smiling as she pretended to consider the question, but as her gaze roamed over him, he saw the smile die and her body still. In the air between them, sexual tension hummed like a happy bee.

  Kyle leaned close and spoke in a low voice. “I have a secret, too, Glory.”

  “What?” she whispered back.

  “I might need your help with my ball cock after all.”

  And when she began to laugh, he kissed the sound off her lips. At his first touch she went serious again, and he did, too, because it had never been like this for him before. This sense of excitement, of rightness, of connection.

  When someone passed on the sidewalk beyond the front window, they broke apart, both breathing hard.

  “This isn’t the place, the time,” he said.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “But come back soon? I’m really liking getting to know you, Kyle.”

  “The feeling’s mutual,” he said with a smile. Then he left, taking the spurt of guilt he felt with him. There was an important part of him that she didn’t know and that he was intentionally keeping from her. It could have come out at the bar. It should have come out today.

  But damn, everything was going so well. If he spoke the whole truth now, it might ruin what they were just beginning to build.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ANGELICA INHALED A long breath on the doorstep of the Maids by Mac offices. The help-wanted sign was still displayed and it called to her like a siren. After two nights sleeping in her car and showering at the gym—her membership had been paid up in advance, thank goodness—she’d decided to take a second chance at getting the job. Yes, it might mean Brett eventually found out—and that would still sting her pride—but her situation became more critical each passing day.

  Her circumstances had to change. For the better.

  Staying in the mountains continued to be the best plan and the best place from which to construct her own, new life. Not only did she have at least part-time work at the hardware store and the emotional support of Glory, her own attorney had given her the heads-up. The financial press had been in touch with him. They wanted to talk with Angelica.

  What were the odds that they’d look for her here, where she was selling paint and cleaning houses?

  She hoped to be cleaning houses, anyway, but standing outside of Mac Walker’s office wasn’t going to make that wish come true.

  On another deep breath, she turned the knob and stepped inside.

  Three pairs of female eyes immediately locked on her.

  Angelica froze, taking in the tableau. Two of the women she recognized. Brunette Mac Walker sat perched on the desk on the other side of the front counter, a coffee in her hand. Auburn-haired Shay Walker leaned against the back door that led to the courtyard when open. She held a mug, too, with black block printing on white that read I’m Silently Judging You.

  “Angelica?” she said.

  A pretty blonde with Brett’s same gray eyes was already smiling at her. “Hey!” she said in a friendly tone. She glanced at her sisters. “Our brother’s Angelica?”

  “Not at all—no, um, well, we’ve met, but...” Angelica babbled incoherently under their increasingly interested gazes. Her face went hot.

  “You need coffee,” the blonde said kindly, crossing to a pot. Without asking, she doctored it with cream and sugar.

  Angelica realized she’d seen her before. She’d been in the booth at Mr. Frank’s that night when Brett had kissed her.

  “I’m Poppy,” the small woman said, walking the cup to Angelica while wearing a second winning smile. “You know, Brett’s nice sister.”

  Mac rolled her eyes. “Also known as the village idiot.”

  Shay smothered a laugh. “Mac, you’re proving her right, you know.”

  Leaning toward Angelica confidentially, Poppy lowered her voice. “Mac has a thorny side. We think it’s because...well, never mind. Just don’t worry about it.”

  “What?” Mac straightened from the desk, outrage on her face. “I don’t have a thorny side!”

  Poppy paid her no mind. “She needs to get l-a-i-d.”

  “What?” Mac stared daggers at the other woman. “What did you say?”

  “I said, you need to get laid,” Poppy told her sister with a little shrug.

  Taking a step back, Angelica considered a full retreat, not sure if the family dynamics were amusing or frightening. Mac did look as though she had sharp edges and the way the sweet-looking blonde talked about her sister getting laid—or not—was too much after a night trying to get comfortable in the convertible’s cramped passenger seat.

  As Mac continued to glare at the blonde, Angelica held out her coffee to the third woman, standing just outside the fray. “Um, maybe I should go.”

  Shay shook her head. “Relax. Not a single one of us really bites. Did you need something?”

  The other two were distracted from their standoff and looked over, expressions now curious.

  “Um...” But this was no time to be tentative. She took a bracing sip of her coffee to wet her mouth, then managed to get out the words. “Can I apply for a job?”

  They didn’t fall down in dead faints, so Angelica supposed they knew some of her financial situation. But she did see them taking notice of her designer handbag and luxury leather boots.

  Mac returned to her place on the corner of the desk. “Unfortunately I don’t need office help. The position I have to fill involves scrub brushes and vacuum cleaners.”

  “I can scrub. I can vacuum.”

  Mac’s expression turned doubtful. “You don’t want to do that.”

  Angelica set her coffee onto the counter and straightened her spine. “It’s not a question of what I want to do,” she said quietly. “I’m in a bit of a predicament, as I’m guessing you’ve heard.”

  Mac nodded. “Sure, but it can’t be that bad—”

  “It’s that bad.”

  Mac tilted her head as if considering the veracity of the statement.

  Memories of two cold nights in her car welled up. The darkness seemed to go on for hours and hours and hours and Angelica had started at every tiny sound, thinking some mad hunter might emerge from the woods and murder her in the hardware store parking lot. She could have slept on Glory’s couch, but Angelica already knew the other woman was giving her more hours than she could afford.

  Taking additional advantage was something she couldn’t stomach.

  Said stomach growled now, its emptiness exacerbated by that small taste of sweet and creamy coffee. She hoped Mac, Shay and Poppy hadn’t heard.

  “It’s hard physical work,” Mac said. “I only have three days a week to offer.”

  Angelica felt the first stirrings of excitement. She could give Glory back one of the hardware shifts and still be working five days a week.

  “Then there’s half mornings on Saturdays—”

  “I’ll take it.”

  Mac held up her hand. “Wait. I’m not sure I think—”

  A roaring was in Angelica’s ears. Desperation sounded like that. So did a meager thirteen dollars in her wallet. Weak hot tea and a Slim Jim from the convenience store as her only meal the day before. A breeze blew at her back, but she didn’t let it divert her focus from the woman who had three-and-a-half days of work a week to offer.

  “Please,” she said, her voice a little husky with emotion. Her knees were mu
shy and she reached out to grasp the counter to steady herself. “I’ve been sleeping in my car. I’ve—”

  “You what?” a male voice bellowed.

  Angelica froze. Humiliation washed through her. It was one thing to admit her troubles to these women and quite another to air the details in front of a man. In front of Brett Walker.

  She closed her eyes. “I think I’ll just go now,” she whispered to no one in particular.

  “Brett,” she heard Poppy warn. “You’d better grab hold of her. She looks as if she’s going down.”

  Angelica’s eyes popped open. “I’m fine. I’ve got to be somewhere—” But hard hands grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. A furious face got too close to hers.

  He was still holding her and heat seeped deliciously into her cold skin. The silk sweater had been a bad idea. The autumn chill went right through it. Her eyes drifted closed again.

  Brett shook her a little. “Damn it, Angelica. You’re falling asleep on your feet.”

  No. Her head was just a trifle muzzy. She’d been so nervous coming here and then it hadn’t gone the way she’d imagined. Especially not the part about Brett showing up. Then he had one hand behind her head and he tipped her so her forehead met his chest. “She needs coffee. Pop?”

  The woman sounded very far away. “Right there on the counter, Brett. It has lots of cream and sugar.”

  He pulled Angelica back by a hand in her hair and brought the cup to her lips. “Drink,” he ordered.

  She tried pushing his hand away, and he pinned her with a ferocious stare. “Drink.”

  The only reason she sipped at the stuff was because she wanted to, she thought, perfectly aware she felt both peeved and petulant.

  “Another.”

  He smelled good, she decided, her mind oddly drifting again. If you had to be held by a man and bossed around by him, he might as well be pleasing in an olfactory sense. Brett smelled clean, like soap, and brisk, like an autumn wind. Four inches from her face was his pale blue plaid flannel shirt and it carried the faint scent of laundry detergent.

  She wanted to rub her nose against it.

  That was such a terrible idea that it woke her from her weird stupor. She struggled in his hold and moved back. This time, he let her.