When he broke the kiss, her heart was thundering in her chest. Her breath scissored through her lungs like she’d been chasing after a whole herd of runaway pigs.
“Why did you do that?” she asked, her voice no more than a hoarse whisper.
“I didn’t get to kiss the bride. I figured I deserved a consolation prize.”
His words pummeled her like the sledgehammer he’d been looking for. That long-ago day of the picnic at the lake, he’d had his eye on another girl, a college coed who’d flaunted her cute little behind at him and then turned him down for an older man. Charity had been handy. And willing. His consolation prize, she supposed.
Just like now. Stinging pain rushed through her like a swarm of angry bees. But she would not let him know much his words hurt.
Lifting her chin and mentally adding a little starch to her spine, she got to her feet. “Our sows get really mean tempered if they don’t get enough to eat I suggest we get to work.”
“I certainly wouldn’t want Rambo to sic his whole team on me.” With athletic grace, he levered himself to his feet and brushed off his black tuxedo pants. It didn’t do much good. He’d gotten as much mud ground into his trousers as Donnie had on his soccer shorts.
He took a step to join her on the path to the pig parlor and winced as his knee buckled.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. She reached out to steady him, but he waved her off.
“Same old thing. My knee got zinged when Rambo flattened me.”
“Does it hurt much?”
He shrugged stoically. “No more than usual.”
“Do you want to put some ice on it? I could ask Donnie to—”
“It’s fine,” he insisted.
“I heard that you won’t be able to play again because of your injury.”
“You heard wrong. I’m going to prove those doctors don’t know what they’re talking about. I’m in rehab. My knee’s getting stronger every day.” As if to emphasize his point, he lengthened his stride.
Charity hurried to keep up. She’d wondered how he was coping with the loss of his career. Apparently he didn’t see it that way.
“My agent’s talking to a couple of teams now. I figure, with any luck at all, I ought to be wearing a uniform again by the time the season starts in September.” He slanted her a glance. “Then we’ll see who has the last laugh.”
“I hope it works out for you.” She knew how hard he’d worked to be successful in his career. It had been his whole life—outside of a string of women whose names had been linked with his. He seemed to have had plenty of time to fit them into his schedule.
The late-June sun beat down on the aluminum roof of the pig parlor, raising the temperature by several degrees even though it was an open-air facility. The pigs in the finishing pen greeted Charity with a series of pleasant ronking sounds as she checked their self-feeding bins.
“Hi, guys,” she said in return. “Looks like Bud didn’t forget you after all.”
“I thought pigs liked to wallow in the mud. This place looks pretty fancy. Almost high-tech.”
She glanced around at the separate pens with sloping concrete floors, automatic drinking fountains and spigots that could spray a fine mist in the air to keep the pigs cool. The installation of all this equipment had cost her far more than simply the need to pay off a bank loan. It had forced her to make a vow of secrecy she would never dare break.
“My grandfather upgraded about nine or ten years ago. Right before the floor dropped out of the price of pork. Until then the pigs did a lot of wallowing. This is much healthier for them.”
He absorbed that information without comment. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but are those black things in the pen bowling balls?”
“Uh-huh. We buy them used from the bowling alley in Modesto. Pigs get bored if they don’t have something to do. They’re likely to bite off each other’s tails.”
“So they started a bowling league?” Garrett asked incredulously.
She laughed. “Maybe I ought to challenge Henderson’s pig farm down the road. We could place a few bets on the side and cover the cost of transportation.”
“Sounds like a winner to me.” For the first time since Bud had hauled him into the house, Garrett actually smiled at her, that cocky grin she remembered so well.
A band tightened around her heart, and she had to look away.
He fell into step beside her as she headed for the nursery pen. Already they’d learned to adjust for their shackles, moving around the pig parlor like two dancers who had taken a while to sense each other’s rhythms and then finally relaxed enough to simply go with the music.
Charity suspected Garrett would be a terrific dance partner. She’d seen him—strong and agile—take off with a football in his arms and run the length of the field, eluding would-be tacklers with all the grace of a ballet dancer. She’d always been amazed that such a large man, six feet two and two hundred pounds, could move with so little apparent effort.
At the nursery, she knelt to pick up one of the piglets suckling at its mother’s teats. It nuzzled into her neck, making sweet, chattering sounds.
“Isn’t she beautiful,” Charity said.
“Which one? Mom or her kid?”
“Both, really.” The sow looked quite content with a row of her babies all suckling happily. Charity envied her total lack of worry over the future. Or the past.
“I can’t say that I’ve ever known anyone who thought pigs were all that pretty.”
“Then you’ve never met a hog breeder before.”
Hesitantly he patted the little pig’s head. “Suppose he knows he’s doomed to be somebody’s dinner?”
“Do any of us really know what our futures will be?”
“I guess not.” He slid his hands into his pockets. In his wildest dreams he never would have foreseen a day like this one. Nor would he have thought seeing Charity hold a silly little pig in her arms would make him think of her cuddling her own baby. At one time she had, he realized. A curly-haired little boy. He kept forgetting Charity was a mother. Apparently no one in town had thought to mention it to him. Not that there would have been a reason.
She looked extraordinarily natural standing there holding a pig, and utterly feminine. He doubted that the most classic cover model wearing the most expensive, revealing gown could look any more womanly.
That revelation struck him as odd.
Charity wasn’t truly beautiful. Though her hair was lustrous, it had a bizarre tendency to frizz when it escaped the braid she usually wore. And she had a slight widow’s peak that on someone else wouldn’t be at all attractive. On her it seemed to work. Maybe because it drew attention to her expressive eyebrows and gentle brown eyes.
Come to think of it, Garrett wouldn’t mind having her cuddle with him.
Immediately he felt a flash of guilt for admiring Charity quite so blatantly. He was supposed to be marrying Hailey today. He had planned to be as good a husband as he knew how.
It looked like he wasn’t going to get the chance. Still, it was too soon to be having thoughts of another woman.
“WOULD YOU LIKE something to eat?” Charity asked, tugging off the one rubber boot she’d been wearing and dropping it onto the back porch.
“Sure.” Garrett held the door open for her, then followed her into the house.
She wondered if she’d ever get used to having him so close beside her. Not that she wanted to make it a habit. Instead, she’d rather have Bud cut his honeymoon short. Very short. “Anything in particular sound good to you?”
“A wedding buffet would be nice. Three or four salads, fresh asparagus, rice or baked potatoes, choice of prime rib or roast turkey. Whatever you’d like to whip up.”
“They sure know how to do it right at the country club, don’t they?” Not that Charity had ever been invited to a wedding reception there except as the official photographer. She definitely didn’t run with that crowd. In contrast, Garrett’s father had once been the club presid
ent, she remembered. “Would you consider a cheese-and-bologna sandwich instead?”
“That’ll be fine.” He started to sit down at the kitchen table, then realized he had to stick close to her. “Hope the Olsons had a chance to cancel the reception. It was going to cost them a bundle.”
“They’re probably stuck with the bill—and a whole lot of doggie bags.”
“Maybe they can feed the homeless with the leftovers,” he muttered.
Taking turns, they washed up at the sink and then started on the sandwiches.
He took the bread she handed him and slathered mayonnaise and mustard on four slices. She dropped the meat and cheese in place. The TV was playing in the other room. It sounded like Donnie had found some sort of a sporting event to watch. Except that Charity and Garrett were shackled together, it all seemed very domestic. Like a family.
Which they weren’t, she sternly reminded herself. She’d never had any illusions about her and Garrett getting together. It hadn’t been in the cards eight years ago. And certainly wasn’t now.
The agreement she’d made with Garrett’s father made that out of the question.
“You want lettuce?” she asked, tamping down the sense of regret that surfaced in spite of her best intentions.
“Sure. You got any chips?”
“In the cupboard above the mixer.”
He went in that direction; she proceeded toward the refrigerator for the lettuce. And was instantly reeled back by her ankle. Whirling, she staggered, hop-stepped and lost her balance. His own equilibrium disrupted, Garrett barely caught her before she fell.
Her face slammed into his unyielding chest, and his arms wrapped around her. He smelled of musk and pure masculinity. Beneath her palms, she could feel his heart beating. A rumble of laughter started in his chest and rolled upward until it escaped in a deep-throated chuckle.
“This is crazy, Charity. We can’t even get a couple of sandwiches made without getting ourselves all tangled up.” His eyes were emerald green now and filled with wicked amusement. Dimples creased both of his cheeks. “You sure you don’t have a hacksaw around here someplace?”
She was about to tell him of course she had one out in the toolshed. Where else? But then she heard Donnie calling from the living room.
“Hey, Mom, somebody drove up outside. I think it’s that lady from the bookstore.”
“Agatha Flintstone,” Charity whispered, alarmed. The owner of the town’s one bookstore, as well as the city clerk, she had her pulse on the entire community and was the unofficial town crier. “Why would she—?”
“I don’t much care why she’s here if she’s got a car.” He palmed the side of Charity’s head, smoothing her flyaway curls. “I think it’s time we ended this charade. She can drive us into town.”
“No. You don’t understand.” Panic rippled through Charity and mixed in a frighteningly delicious way with the erotic feel of Garrett touching her. “Agatha’s the biggest gossip in all of Grazer’s Corners. If she so much as sees you here, the word will be spread all over town in a manner of minutes after she gets home. She might even think you’re the one who dumped Hailey.”
“I’ll be happy to explain that’s not the case.”
“But if Agatha gets hold of the story first, she’ll get it all mixed up. Bud and Hailey will never get to explain their side. The Olsons will be embarrassed worse than just having the wedding canceled. You can’t let that happen.”
“Everyone will know the story eventually.”
“But not yet. Not till Bud and Hailey get back,” she pleaded. Lord, her brother was relying on her. The last thing he’d want would be for Agatha to be spreading tales about him.
Slowly Garrett said, “Your brother’s a very lucky guy. I don’t think anyone has ever loved me as much as you love him.”
“Of course they have. Your parents—”
“My father wanted me to get the Heisman Trophy so much he could taste it. When I came in second in the voting, he figured I’d let him down.”
Charity drew in a shocked breath. Dear heaven, she’d known so little about him eight years ago. None of his troubles, none of his hurts. “You can’t mean—”
The doorbell rang.
“Mom!”
“If you answer the door,” Garrett said, “that woman is sure to see me.”
“I’ve got to. She won’t go away. She’s already heard Donnie, I’m sure.” Fortunately Donnie would never leave a sports program on TV to open the front door knowing it was one of his mother’s friends. “You can hide behind the door,” she told Garrett, improvising while she half dragged him into the living room. “I won’t let her in. She won’t stay long if I keep her standing on the porch.”
“This isn’t going to work, Charity. She’s sure to notice something is wrong.”
“Not Agatha. She has a one-track mind.”
At least Charity hoped that was the case as she opened the door. Meanwhile she reminded herself to warn Donnie not to mention Bud’s little “practical joke” to anyone in town.
“Hello, dearie, I’m not catching you at a bad time, am I?” As always, Agatha’s gray hair looked like she’d teased it into a rat’s nest. She was wearing one of her usual homemade smocks. Today it was a cotton pansy print in purples and reds. Just the thing to attract the Norman conquerors who were so much a part of her reading fantasy.
“Well, I was, ah, trying to sort out a few things.” Like her responsibilities to her brother—and her feelings about Garrett Keeley.
“Then I won’t keep you a moment. Just wanted to bring the photography book by that you requested.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to.”
Squinting, Agatha tried to peer inside through the screen door. “I know. But it came in yesterday, and I was going to give it to you today when you were in town to photograph the Hailey Olson wedding. Of course, you heard the wedding was called off.”
“I heard.” With an effort, Charity avoided glancing in Garrett’s direction. The shackle around her ankle had never seemed so heavy or conspicuous.
“Canceled at the very last minute. Can you imagine those two young people. Whatever were they thinking about? The whole town, not to mention her parents, all excited about the event of the year. Marrying a star quarterback. Such a waste that they would run off like that. Such a waste.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true.” Charity opened the screen slightly. “Did you want me to pay you now for the book?”
“Oh, no, dearie, that can wait till you’re in town. I just knew how anxious you were for the book and I didn’t want to make you wait.”
She’d also wanted to find out what, if anything, Charity knew about the day’s events, she suspected. “That was very thoughtful of you.”
“I don’t suppose you know where that Olson girl and her beau have run off to, do you?”
“I haven’t talked to Hailey since she arranged for me to take the photos,” Charity hedged.
“Well, yes, I suppose you wouldn’t know, then.” Agatha finally passed the book to Charity. It was a heavy one and fairly technical. “I guess I should be going. I thought maybe... well, your brother used to—”
“Bud isn’t here. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”
“Of course, dearie. Well, toodle-loo.” She waved her fingers in Charity’s direction. “Enjoy the book.”
“I will. Thanks for bringing it by.”
As soon as Agatha stepped off the porch, Charity closed the door and collapsed against the wall. Her eyes locked on Garrett’s.
“You have talents I never suspected,” he said.
She raised questioning brows.
“You can lie without blinking an eye.”
Chapter Three
“A few more minutes, Donnie, and then it’s your bedtime.” Charity kept her finger on her place in the photography book she’d been reading. Not that she hadn’t already read the same paragraph three times. She still didn’t know what it said.
“Aw, Mom. Garr
ett and me have got to finish this game first.”
“That’s why I’m warning you now. When the game is over, you’re off to bed. You’ve stayed up too late as it is.” Largely because Charity had wanted her son’s presence as a chaperon.
Donnie scrunched his face into a scowl but he didn’t directly challenge her authority. He and Garrett had been playing checkers since they’d finished a dinner of spaghetti, salad and garlic bread several hours ago.
So far Garrett was down two games to one. He was trying to even the score with this final game.
He jumped one of Donnie’s red pieces and smiled grimly. There were four black pieces still left on the board versus seven remaining red ones.
Of necessity, Charity was sitting at the oak dining table with them, all too close to Garrett. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, baring muscular arms covered with a light matting of sandy blond hair. His hands were large, the backs crossed with an assortment of scars that marked him as a professional athlete.
At dinner she’d been struck by how easily her son and Garrett had fallen in together, as if at some instinctive level they had recognized each other. How would they feel if they knew the truth? she wondered.
A shudder of apprehension went through her. She couldn’t let that happen.
Bud had been Donnie’s father figure since her grandfather died. She’d been comfortable with that arrangement. Until now.
Guilt niggled at her conscience. Perhaps she’d done both Donnie and Garrett a disservice. But she’d had no other choice. Not really.
Donnie double-jumped Garrett, his smile as smug as Garrett’s had been grim.
“This kid’s too good,” Garrett complained.
“I learned from my great-grandpa,” Donnie told him proudly. “He used to let me beat him, and then he got too old. So I let him beat me some.”
“You’re all heart, kid.”
Charity smiled at the exchange. Both of them played the game as if their lives depended upon the outcome. Talk about a competitive spirit! A genetic trait, no doubt.
The Hog-Tied Groom (The Brides of Grazer's Corners #3) Page 3
