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

by Charlotte Maclay

  Charity’s face flamed a bright red, and for a moment Garrett thought he was going to have to physically restrain her from attacking the old biddy. Instead, Charity turned away with great dignity, her chin held high, her back straight, and simply went about the business of herding the wayward pig out of the garden. Her restraint was something to behold, and Garrett knew it had cost her plenty.

  “Mrs. Buckworthy, I think it’s time you leave.” Taking her arm, he escorted her toward the open gate. “I’ll be more than happy to pay for your losses, but I don’t want you to set foot on my property ever again.”

  “Really, young man,” she huffed. “You simply don’t understand. You come from a good family, and your father would sorely disapprove of all these goings-on. That woman simply isn’t suitable—”

  “I think she is quite suitable.” If Charity could so quickly leap to Hailey’s defense, Garrett could damn well return the favor. And she was suitable—to be in his house, in his bed and in his... “I think you ought to keep your opinions to yourself, if you know what’s good for you.”

  Mrs. Buckworthy sputtered and fussed, finally shaking off his grip when they reached the sidewalk. “You’ll be hearing from my attorney, Mr. Keeley.”

  “Fine by me.” Distractedly he watched the woman stride across the street to her old Victorian house with its neat lawn and shrubs, and a flower garden that Rambo had methodically divested of anything that bloomed. No wonder she was upset. But Garrett’s primary concern was with Charity.

  Just what did he expect of her, want from her? What did he really think she was suited for?

  Great sex didn’t begin to cover it.

  But he was still hoping to land a spot on an NFL team before the season started. In spite of how she’d been treated by Mrs. Buckworthy, he doubted Charity would be all that eager to leave Grazer’s Comers. She seemed wedded to the town, to her family’s history here and their legacy—a subsistence farm with little more than a great view. He suspected, given a choice, she’d jump at the chance to move back to that hardscrabble farm. And despite Charity’s defense of her new sister-in-law, he was convinced Hailey wouldn’t last long as a farmer’s wife. Unlike Charity, she simply didn’t have the stamina and guts for the job.

  Realizing he was standing on the sidewalk looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, he retreated into the house to finish dressing.

  No woman had ever affected him the way Charity did. But given the fiasco with Hailey, how could he judge for sure how he felt about her? He couldn’t make a commitment. And that’s exactly what she deserved—a man who knew to a certainty that he loved her and would devote the rest of his life to making her—and her son—happy.

  He might never be that confident of his feelings.

  Maybe he didn’t have enough emotional depth to feel that strongly about anyone.

  That stunning thought nearly sucked the wind from him. If that was the case, he ought to keep the hell away from her because he’d bring her nothing but grief. She was too vulnerable, too loving to be treated in the same casual way he’d dealt with most of the women in his life.

  And that might be all he was capable of handling.

  CHARITY DROPPED to her knees and looped a rope she’d found in the garage around Rambo’s neck. It was all she could do to breathe. She swallowed convulsively. She would not disintegrate beneath the whip of Mrs. Buckworthy’s abuse, would not let her get the upper hand. Raised on the wrong side of the tracks, she’d been insulted before and with far more vindictiveness.

  But never in front of Garrett.

  Shame knotted in her belly as she pulled the rope tight. How could she have thought she could live with herself if she moved in with Garrett? If they became lovers?

  “Mom, I think Rambo misses us. That’s how come he followed us to Garrett’s house.”

  “You may be right, Donnie.” She’d heard of dogs and cats traveling great distances to follow their masters, but never a hog!

  Rambo nuzzled Donnie’s hand, and the boy petted his snout, the mutual affection between the child and his pet obvious. “I kinda miss him, too.”

  “I know, honey.” Odd how torn she felt, missing the farm as much as Donnie did but wanting to be with Garrett, too. Clearly her ability to reason had slipped away, probably somewhere in the darkroom.

  “Seems like us Ardens get in trouble when we come to town. Breakin’ windows ’n’ stuff,” Donnie said.

  Forcing a smile, she tousled her boy’s curly hair and tried to tamp down the sting of emotions. She hadn’t wanted Donnie to suffer the verbal slings and arrows of townspeople who thought raising hogs was a lowly occupation. “Guess they can take the Ardens off the farm, but they can’t get the farm out of the Ardens.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind, honey. It’s just an expression.” Another reminder that she didn’t belong here, not in town and not with Garrett. “Help me get this beast tied to something sturdy till I can get Bud to bring his truck into town.” Her chin trembled. Then maybe they should all pack up and go home.

  Garrett might be used to shacking up with a woman—he’d certainly had enough women in his life to know the rules and not be troubled by criticism. But Charity wasn’t nearly as comfortable with the idea as she’d hoped. For her, it simply wasn’t working.

  For a moment, she felt herself floundering, untethered from any place she could call her own. Living with the newlyweds had been awkward at best; staying with Garrett now seemed impossible. Where, she wondered, did she belong?

  “Need any more help there?” Garrett came sauntering out of the back door dressed in jeans, a T-shirt with the sleeves ripped out and running shoes.

  In spite of herself, Charity’s gaze dropped to the snaps on his jeans and the fly that was nearly white from wear. Images of him above her, loving her, his body sun-bronzed and naked, popped into her mind unbidden. Blinking, she tried not to think about that.

  “I think I’ve got things under control for now,” she said, though she couldn’t seem to hog-tie her thoughts as easily as she had lassoed Rambo. “I’ll call Bud to bring the truck into town and haul Rambo back home.”

  “I’ll ride back home with him,” Donnie volunteered. “He doesn’t like to be in the truck all alone.”

  “How ’bout you go put some clothes on, Donnie. I’d like to talk to your mom.”

  “’kay.” Giving Rambo one last scratch between the ears, Donnie ran off toward the house.

  Garrett hooked his thumbs in his pockets, framing his hips and drawing Charity’s attention to his pelvis once again. He was such a big man....

  “I’m sorry about Mrs. Buckworthy,” Garrett began. “She was way off base.”

  Standing, Charity brushed the dirt from her knees and tried to look anywhere but at the denim that was stretching between his hips. “I can’t blame her, Garrett. If Rambo got into her garden—”

  “It’s her other comment that was out of line. You didn’t deserve that.”

  “Maybe I did.” Pursing her lips, she expelled a long breath and finally met his troubled gaze. “A woman who moves in with a man is fair game.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Thousands of women live with—”

  “Need I remind you, Grazer’s Comers is a very small town. The rules are different here than they would be in a big city, and if you break them... well, there’s a price you have to pay. I thought I’d be able to live with that. I can’t, not when my son is likely to suffer, too.”

  His forehead furrowed, deep creases that suggested he really did care. “Does that mean you’re moving out?”

  “I think it would be better for all concerned. Maybe I can still find an apartment somewhere.” Heart aching, she lifted her shoulders. “Or maybe I can talk to Bud again about not being quite so lovey-dovey with Hailey.”

  He clasped her upper arms with his big strong hands, his thumbs circling the curve of her shoulders. “I don’t want you to go, Charity.”

  Her heart leaped, and she waited for him to ad
d a reason for her to stay, something about love and happily-ever-after. Something about not ever wanting any other woman. Something about spending their lives together and growing old in each other’s arms.

  But the words didn’t come.

  Mentally she lifted her chin another notch. “I’d better go call Bud so we can take care of the immediate problem. I wouldn’t want Mrs. Buckworthy calling the zoning cops on you. Then I’ll try to sort through the rest of it.” And do what she knew she had to do, whatever else her heart might be telling her.

  He dropped his hands to his sides. “I was going to go find those kids who got Rambo drunk and give ’em a good talking to this morning, but I’ll stick around till Bud comes.”

  “No, I’d rather have you come down on the kids.” And in truth, she needed a little time alone to rein in her wildly vacillating emotions. “If you can stop them, that’d be a big help. They need to understand giving an animal alcohol isn’t a joke. It could seriously harm Rambo.”

  “You’re sure you don’t need me here? Wrestling that many pork chops all at once won’t be easy.”

  She shrugged. “Bud and I have managed before. We’ll be okay.” The two of them had been forced to take over the farmwork years ago. They’d been a team while Garrett had been earning his fame and fortune in a much different arena, and living a lifestyle where Charity would never feel at home.

  GARRETT found the town jocks exactly where he expected them.

  The football practice field hadn’t changed much. There were a few more initials carved into the old wooden goal posts, and the grass looked a bit scruffy and unkempt, but outside of that everything was pretty much the same. Even the rickety bleachers where he’d kissed his first girl looked unchanged.

  For a moment, Garrett was swept with a powerful sense of nostalgia. He’d trained hard on this field and learned a lot about life from Coach Riddler in the process. Mostly the memories were good, the coach’s influence on him a more positive force than that of his own father.

  With a shake of his head, he refocused on the present.

  In the center of the field, two kids were doing stretching exercises; another couple of jocks were jogging around the oval track going so slowly they probably weren’t even breaking a sweat.

  “Is that as fast as you clowns can go?” he called to the runners. “I’ve seen five-year-olds doing better. And they were girls!”

  Both heads turned in Garrett’s direction, and there was a flash of challenge in the boys’ eyes before recognition set in.

  “Hey, Keeley!”

  “How’s it going, man?”

  Nonchalantly Garrett crossed the field toward them. “I’m looking for somebody to help me out.”

  “Hey, man, whatever you need.”

  The two boys who’d been stretching ambled over to see what was happening, giving Garrett a looselimbed, one-of-the-guys salute. All the guys wore running shorts and tacky gray T-shirts shorn to midriff length. The joggers were sweating more than they should have been, suggesting they weren’t exactly in peak condition. But that’s how it often was in preseason. Coach Riddler would whip them into shape when the time came.

  “I’ve got this friend,” Garrett said, letting his gaze shift among the adolescents. “Understand me now, she’s a real good friend. Seems she owns a pig farm out east of town. Kind of a run-down place, but she really likes it there.” A bit of guilty color began to darken the cheeks of the two kids who’d been running. “She’s especially fond of an old hog she calls Rambo.”

  The taller youngster darted a quick look at his buddy. His friend had found something fascinating to study on the toe of his running shoe.

  “I’d take it as a personal favor,” Garrett continued, “if everybody would sort of watch out for that load of pork chops—and the nice lady who owns him—and not let anything bad happen to either one of them. If you know what I mean. Think you can help me out with that?”

  “Yeah, sure, Mr. Keeley,” one of the kids who’d been stretching said.

  Garrett didn’t think that boy or his friend had had anything to do with the beer incident, so he zeroed in on the other two. “How ’bout you guys? Think you can handle that?”

  The taller one shrugged. “Guess so.”

  When the second one didn’t respond, Garrett moved in close enough to smell the kid’s sweat. “How ’bout you, son?”

  “Hey, man, I don’t even like pigs. I’m not going out there for nothing no more, okay?”

  “That suits me just fine, thanks. Now, then—” Garrett rolled his shoulders and stretched the kinks out of his neck “—I thought I’d run a few laps this morning. You guys think you can keep up?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Garrett jogged off the grass onto the track. The kids fell into step beside him. Fortunately his knee was feeling pretty good, so after a half lap he picked up the pace. Breathing a little harder, the youngsters stayed with him as Garrett knew they would. Nothing like the challenge of trying to keep up with a pro to motivate a young person. Garrett had sure felt that way when he first hit training camp, not wanting anyone to outshine him—and every season it almost killed him to stay with the others.

  As he finished the first lap, he said, “How you guys doing? Anybody want to make a race of it?”

  Only one of the youngsters was even able to grunt an affirmative response.

  With an ease that pleased him—not because he was beating a couple kids but because it meant his leg was on the mend—Garrett accelerated so fast the kids were left several yards behind him. He rounded the end of the track with his legs and lungs pumping hard, and feeling damn good about himself. When he got back home, he was going to call his agent. He was ready to go back to work, the sooner the better.

  He crossed the spot where they’d started, cruised through another lap, then slowed to a jog. The boys straggled up beside him, all of them panting hard and sweat dripping down their faces.

  “You did good, men. You hung in even when it hurt.” He slapped their shoulders and gave the youngsters who’d done the mischief at the Arden farm an extra high five. They got the message—he could outrun and outmuscle them, but he didn’t hold a grudge. They wouldn’t be lugging any more beer kegs around unless it was to a party of their own. And if he were their coach, he’d see to it that didn’t happen, either.

  After telling them goodbye, he stopped for a drink from the faucet, running the water long enough that it cooled to lukewarm.

  He was anxious to get back to Charity, to convince her to stay with him. But if he succeeded, would that be fair to her? he wondered. And what about Donnie?

  “MOM, CAN I RIDE my skateboard while I wait for Uncle Bud?”

  “Of course, honey, but stay on the sidewalk and wear your helmet. And please don’t get into any more trouble with Mrs. Buckworthy.”

  “I won’t, Mom. I promise.”

  Smiling into the mirror, Charity wondered if it was possible for any little boy to actually keep that kind of a promise. Men, it seemed, were virtual magnets for trouble.

  She brushed her hair, pulling it back and looping it in a loose knot. Bud had said he had to finish his chores and it would take him about an hour to get here to pick up Rambo. Garrett would be back soon, too. And Charity hadn’t decided yet what she should do.

  Every instinct she had screamed at her to run away. She’d already risked too much by moving in with Garrett. However much he might want her in his bed, he didn’t love her. If he did, he would have said something. He wasn’t exactly a bashful guy. But when the opportunity had come to speak up, the silence had been deafening.

  Emotion tightened thick and hot in Charity’s throat. She’d been lying to herself all along. She’d never wanted a “temporary” arrangement with Garrett. From the beginning, from that night at the lake, she’d wanted it all.

  And had known damn well that wasn’t in the cards.

  She’d known that eight years ago. There was no reason why the shock of that truth would bring tears to her
eyes now.

  Through the blurring of her tears, she looked around the room trying to remember where she’d put her suitcase. A witch’s cauldron of emotions churned in her stomach. Her head began to throb. She never should have moved in with Garrett. She had to leave.

  Outside, she heard Rambo squeal. Ooooooeeeeennnnkk .

  She shot a look out the window and to the street below, catching the terrifying scene in the time it took to snap a camera. A scream formed in her throat.

  “Donnie!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Garrett turned the corner onto his street and slammed on the brakes.

  “Oh, my God...”

  Rambo was galloping wildly down the street, squealing and screaming. Behind him, his ankle snared by the rope that was tied around the pig’s neck, Donnie was being dragged along the asphalt.

  Garrett jammed the gearshift into Park, threw open the door and raced toward the pair of them.

  On the playing field, there’d been times when he’d thrown an interception and he’d had to sacrifice his body as the last man who could make the tackle to save a touchdown. This time it was even more important that he make the play. Donnie’s life was at stake.

  He launched himself at the animal, colliding full force with a thousand pounds of flesh and bone. His shoulder took the brunt of the impact with the pig, and his knee collided with the street. Pain exploded up his thigh. He ignored everything except wrestling the animal to a halt.

  He heard a woman screaming, assumed it must be Charity, but he was too busy wrapping his wrist and hand around the rope to keep Rambo from blasting off again. The crazed hog must have been scared out of his wits or he wouldn’t have been dragging the boy down the street. But somebody else would have to release Donnie. It was all Garrett could do to hang on to the animal.

  Once he calmed Rambo, he checked what was happening to the boy. A few feet behind him, Charity was cradling her son in her arms, his head in her lap, his plastic helmet looking almost too big for the youngster.