The Hog-Tied Groom (The Brides of Grazer's Corners #3)

by Charlotte Maclay

  Taking his place on the workout table, she waited for him to touch her, remembering the tactile feel of his hands, their roughness, their gentle caress. She drew a quick breath at the first stroke of his palm, so brief she almost thought she’d imagined it. Had wanted it that much.

  Her dreams—her memories—came alive beneath his hands. Her blood pulsed thickly through her veins; her limbs went limp. Deep within her, a throbbing started. Heavy. Aching. Her breathing grew rapid.

  His fingertips lightly brushed the sides of her breasts. She moaned and felt the clasp on her bra come loose.

  “Oh...” A sigh escaped her lips.

  “You’re doing fine, cinnamon girl. Just fine.”

  Yes, she was; no, she wasn’t. She wanted more, ached for more. For too many years, she’d denied this elemental part of her, the part that only Garrett had awakened.

  His hand slid under the elastic of her panties, and he squeezed gently.

  Her whole body reacted with a sharp clenching of muscles, particularly those meant to grip a man and hold him within her. Hold Garrett within her.

  When his hands skimmed over her thighs, his fingers trailing over the sensitive inner flesh, she sobbed his name. “Please, Garrett...help me.”

  “My pleasure, sweetheart.” As if she weighed nothing at all, he turned her over and lifted her in his arms. “After a relaxing massage, there’s nothing like a warm soak in a Jacuzzi.”

  “I’m not...relaxed.”

  “I’m workin’ on it, sweet thing. Be patient.”

  In a few easy strides, he crossed the room and stepped down into the pool of warm water. He settled her on his lap, his arousal pressing against her thigh until he shifted her to an even more intimate arrangement—face—to—face, straddling him.

  She was weightless and hot, the warmth of his body enveloping her, coiling around the juncture where his hard shaft met the sheer fabric of her panties. She pressed against him.

  “Easy now,” he said in a raspy whisper. “We don’t want to go too fast.”

  “It’s been so long....” The water swirled around her. His hands covered her—everywhere.

  Lifting her arms, she cupped the back of his head and pulled him closer. His mouth tasted of heavenly heat as she plunged her tongue inside. She moved against him, the sweet friction pure bliss.

  “Charity, sweetheart... You’re killing me. I don’t have any protection here....”

  “Oh, Garrett, don’t stop.” Through a mental haze, she did some quick calculations. She desperately wanted Garrett, but she desperately didn’t want to get into the same fix she had seven years ago, pregnant and unmarried. “It’s safe. I’m...” He shifted her weight again, and she nearly came undone, groaning his name, wanting him so much she would have died rather than end this heavenly feeling.

  The next thing she knew, her panties were floating free in the roiling water playing catch-me-if-you-can with Garrett’s running shorts.

  And then he was inside her, filling her. She rode him, panting, crying, moaning his name again as he thrust into her.

  He gave a low, guttural groan that sent her over the edge. She shattered into a million brilliant pieces, the rays of the afternoon sun catching in her vision like diamonds before she closed them against the beauty—and trepidation—that enveloped her.

  “SO HOW DO YOU LIKE your steak?” Garrett asked sometime later. On the way back from the farm while bringing Charity’s photography stuff to his house, he’d had the foresight to stop at the grocery store for some meat and salad makings. Not the store where Homer worked, he thought with a surge of possessiveness.

  “Medium, medium rare.” Hugging herself, she stood at the edge of the backyard patio watching the last rays of sunlight sink into the western clouds. “Whatever’s easy.”

  He turned the steaks on the grill. The evening air was still warm. In contrast, Charity had turned cool after their lovemaking. A bad case of guilt, he suspected. That’s not how he felt.

  Charity had been all he remembered, and more. He’d never known a woman who was more responsive, or one who had touched him more deeply at some basic level that went beyond sex. He wasn’t yet willing to give that feeling a name. Hell, it had been only two weeks ago that he’d been planning to walk down the aisle with another woman. If anyone had a right to question his judgment where it came to his relationship with women, he sure did.

  Little wonder Charity had a few doubts, too.

  “You don’t have to feel guilty, you know. We’re two consenting adults.”

  “I know.” Her voice whispered across the patio as softly as the summer breeze.

  He went to her, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back against his chest. She was a perfect fit, and he nuzzled his lips to her neck. “This wasn’t just a roll in the hay, cinnamon girl. I care about you.”

  She sighed, leaning back a little and tilting her head against his. “When Donnie comes back, I won’t be able to... I mean...”

  “You don’t want him to catch you in my bed.”

  She nodded.

  In spite of the twisting in his gut, Garrett understood. Being a mother came first with Charity, and that included setting a good example. Intellectually he had to admire that. It didn’t do squat for his libido, however.

  “At least that means we’ve got the rest of tonight and tomorrow morning,” he said.

  Half turning in his arms, she lifted her face to his, her expression so sweet and troubled he ached to ease her concerns.

  “Yes,” she said simply, and kissed him.

  No determined pass rusher on any football field had ever brought him so swiftly and thoroughly to his knees.

  Chapter Ten

  The workers on the assembly line glanced in Charity’s direction as she toured the chocolate factory with Garrett. She could see the questions in their eyes.

  Is she sleeping with the boss’s son? Is that how she got the catalog job?

  With an effort, she resisted the temptation to check for a scarlet A—or some modem equivalent—pinned to her blouse.

  Huge vats of melted chocolate combined with nuts and fruits poured their contents into molds that then wound their way on conveyor belts through a cooler and to the wrapping machines. The workers, mostly gloved women with their hair covered by white shower caps, inspected the candy bars, discarding those that didn’t meet quality standards.

  The truth was, Charity hadn’t made love with Garrett for almost twenty-four hours, since Donnie had returned home yesterday. Already she missed the intimacy she’d shared with Garrett and desperately wished she was free to go to his bed morning, noon and night, unconcerned that her son might discover her.

  Or that her conscience would raise its insistent voice.

  She’d stolen one night. She should be satisfied with’ that.

  She wasn’t.

  “Mostly our Christmas line features Santa Clauses, angels, chocolate trains loaded with toys, that sort of thing.”

  Charity had to forcefully drag her thoughts back to the job at hand and what Garrett was saying. She leaned toward him to be heard over the roar of the equipment.

  “I need some samples to photograph,” she told him. “I’ll set the shots up at home. If you don’t have any objection, I think it would be good to have some pictures of the workers, too. Give the consumers the idea that the Fun House Candy Company is all one big happy family.”

  “Sounds like a good idea. I can arrange that.” His hand heated the small of her back as he ushered her safely around the end of a conveyor line, his gentle touch sending an electric jolt of yearning sizzling right down to her toes. “Having their pictures taken will be the highlight of their whole career for most of these women.”

  “Pretty boring job, huh?”

  “It drove me crazy the one summer I worked here. Hell of a good motivator to find myself a different career.” He held open the door that led to a second assembly area. “Besides, I’m allergic to chocolate.”

  She halted midst
ride. “Are you serious?”

  “Hives. One bite and I have to buy out the entire supply of calamine lotion at Grazer Drugs.”

  “Guess that means you’re not in charge of product tasting,” she said with a laugh. What irony the man who would inherit the company couldn’t enjoy the product. And what a relief Donnie wasn’t allergic, too, which would have been another guilty arrow pointing to Garrett’s paternity.

  There were fewer people working in this area, and one entire assembly line was shut down. Screwdriver in hand, Bud was bending over a control panel. Glancing up, he spotted Garrett and Charity in the room. He shoved the screwdriver into his overflowing tool belt and came in their direction.

  “Somebody ought to be talkin’ to your dad about the overdue maintenance on all these lines,” Bud said without preamble. “The ball bearings are worn thin, and half the V-belts are frayed. We’re gonna have a major shutdown one of these days if somethin’ isn’t done soon.”

  Garrett was surprised Bud would approach him with the problem. They weren’t exactly on cordial terms these days, though they’d both tried to be civil when Hailey and Charity were around.

  “That’s Harry Baumgarten’s job,” Garrett said. “He’s the factory manager. Why don’t you talk to him?” Garrett sure didn’t know anything about the inner workings of the plant and didn’t really want to know the details.

  “I have. Every time I talk to him, he says he’s going to do something about scheduling the deferred maintenance but nothing ever happens. Tell you the truth, I think he keeps forgetting.”

  “Isn’t Mr. Baumgarten way past retirement age?” Charity asked.

  “He doesn’t want to quit.” Bud pulled a rag from his hip pocket and cleaned his hands. “Says if he retires, he’ll die. I think since his wife passed away several years ago, the factory is all he’s got left. They never had any kids.”

  “I’ll talk to him about the problem,” Garrett promised. Baumgarten had been old when Garrett had worked in the factory, or so it had seemed to him as an adolescent. Now the man had to be well over seventy and had probably been with the company for close to fifty years. Hard to throw a man out on his ear after that much dedication, but if he wasn’t doing his job...

  “Look, I’ve done what I can to keep the machinery rolling, and I can’t exactly go over Baumgarten’s head to your father about this,” Bud said. “But if the maintenance schedule isn’t sped up, you’re in for real serious problems when we get to peak production this fall.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Garrett repeated.

  Bud glanced from Garrett to Charity. “Everything okay with you and Donnie?”

  “We’re fine. I’ve got my darkroom all set up now.”

  “That’s good, sis. Stay in touch, huh?”

  “I will.”

  “Well, gotta get back to work.”

  He left, and Charity said, “Bud must be terribly worried to bring up the maintenance problems to you.”

  “It wouldn’t be that he’s trying to get some extra overtime to support his new wife? Or make waves just before Dad goes into labor negotiations with the union?”

  “Bud isn’t like that.” Charity’s eyes flashed as she leaped to her brother’s defense. “He loves machinery of any kind, whether he owns it or someone else does. He claims he can actually hear a welltuned machine singing to him. If he says there’s a problem, there is. And probably one that’s too serious for him to fix himself.”

  Someday Garrett would like to see that fierce love and loyalty in Charity’s eyes and have it meant for him. But he wasn’t all that sure how he could earn it.

  They repeated the tour of the plant, this time with Charity checking the light and taking a few shots to develop at home. She was all business.

  In contrast, Garrett’s thoughts were out of sync with hers, wondering how he could seduce her back into his bed.

  He was still developing a strategy to do just that when she barricaded herself in the darkroom later that afternoon.

  “When the red light’s on, nobody can go inside,” Donnie explained. “She gets real, real mad if you do.”

  Garrett hooked his hand over the boy’s shoulder. “Well, I sure don’t want your mom mad at me. How ’bout we play some catch?” A little exercise might help to get Garrett’s mind out of the very determined rut it was in.

  Donnie brightened immediately. He’d been looking bored since they’d picked him up from the park recreation program that morning.

  “I’ll get my mitt,” he said. “And my bat, too.”

  He thundered up the stairs to his room and back down again in a flash, making Garrett wonder how somebody who weighed about sixty pounds could make so much noise when he ran.

  The street was empty of life. A couple of cars were parked along the curb, but the occupants of the stately Victorian houses were either at work or hiding behind closed doors. Like Charity was hiding from Garrett, he suspected.

  He and Donnie tossed the ball back and forth a few times, Donnie’s arm strong and his throws accurate for such a little kid. Whoever his father was, the guy was missing out on something really special, watching his son grow and mature.

  Garrett frowned. The thought that he might be the one who’d been missing out was disquieting. Surely Charity wouldn’t have denied him—or any man—the privilege of seeing his son grow up.

  “You want to try hitting some?” he asked the boy.

  “Yeah! Sure.” Grinning, he dropped his mitt and picked up the bat, taking a couple of practice swings. “Bet I can hit a home run.”

  “Okay, get ready.” Garrett tossed the ball overhand.

  Donnie took a big swing—and missed. He went running down the street after the ball, catching up to it when it rolled to a stop in the gutter. He came trudging back up the block and threw the ball to Garrett.

  “How ’bout we use the wall for a backstop?” Garrett suggested.

  Rearranging themselves crosswise of the street, Garrett threw another pitch. This time Donnie topped it, and the ball dribbled about ten feet into the street.

  “That’s getting a piece of it, son. Next time try to keep your swing level.”

  He took a practice swipe with the bat. “Did you ever play baseball, Garrett?”

  “A little when I was a kid. But I liked football better.”

  “Mom said she ‘n’ Uncle Bud used to play baseball in the vacant lot down the street.”

  “Bet she was good.” That would also explain how she’d managed to bean the shotgun-toting gangsters with a film canister at Kate Bingham’s wedding, he thought with a smile.

  “But soccer’s still the best.” Spreading his stance, the kid looked like a major-league hitter getting ready for a three-two pitch.

  Garrett grinned, imagining Donnie’s father—whoever he was—probably loved sports, too.

  The next pitch was right in there. Donnie’s swing connected with a satisfying tink of the metal bat. The ball soared over Garrett’s head. He watched it sail right through the front window of the neighbor’s house. The sound of glass shattering disturbed the peaceful neighborhood.

  Garrett grimaced.

  “Oh, man,” Donnie groaned. “Mom’s really gonna be mad at me.”

  “It’s okay, son. My fault for having you hit that direction.” First thing—after he retrieved the ball from the neighbor’s living room—Garrett was going to buy the boy a backstop. No wonder there weren’t any other kids playing on the block, assuming any lived nearby. The whole street felt like an old-folks’ . home.

  CHARITY WAS in the darkroom when she heard the phone ring. She expected Garrett to pick up. When it kept on ringing, she got worried, almost as if the tone itself was a warning that something was wrong.

  She reached the phone on the tenth ring.

  “Sis, is that you?”

  “What’s wrong, Bud?”

  “Hailey called. She’s coming unglued. Those darn teenagers got into the pig parlor and attached the water hose to a keg of beer. Ramb
o drank himself senseless.”

  “Don’t those boys have anything better to do with their time?”

  “I guess not. But now Hailey doesn’t know what to do. With all the problems we’ve got here at the plant, I can’t get away.”

  Charity shot a glance toward the darkroom and her unfinished work, and wondered briefly where Donnie and Garrett had gone.

  “Okay, I’ll go out there,” she told her brother. Though mostly Rambo took his own sweet time about sobering up. But she could understand why Hailey, a town girl, would be concerned. Sounded like she needed a little hand-holding.

  Outside, she discovered Garrett and Donnie. When she explained what was happening, they both volunteered to come with her.

  “I’ve never seen a drunken pig before.” Garrett canted her a wicked grin as he got into the passenger’s seat of her Chevy. “How could I pass up a chance like this?”

  Before they reached Main Street, she’d figured out why both of them had been so eager to escape the neighborhood.

  “I didn’t mean to break the window,” Donnie assured her after she’d heard their confession.

  “It was a heck of a hit,” Garrett said. “I had no idea he could send one out of the ballpark like that.”

  She rolled her eyes. “The park is exactly where you both should have been. That street’s too narrow for a decent game of baseball.”

  Donnie scrunched down in the back seat. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  “Mrs. Buckworthy got a little hysterical about broken glass all over her living room, but I calmed her down. I gathered she’s not used to kids playing in the neighborhood.”

  “Or grown-ups, either, I imagine.”

  “I told her to go ahead and have the window fixed. I’d pay for it.”

  “No, you won’t. Donnie did the damage. He’ll pay.”

  “Mo...om! I don’t have any money. I’m just a little kid.”

  She suppressed a smile. Her son, who often protested he was getting too big to be kissed goodnight, was now using his youth as an excuse. “We’ll work it out, son. You can do extra chores.”