“Hey there, little lady.” He grabbed a handful of granola, popped it into his mouth, and pushed to his feet. His face puckered as he chewed. “How can you eat this stuff?”
“Granola is healthy.”
“And tasteless. I got two words for you: pork rinds. Now there’s a snack with some bite.”
“I’ll remember that the next time I’m in the health food aisle at the Piggly Wiggly. So what are you doing here so late?”
He retrieved his wrench and motioned to the kitchen. “Just changing that S-pipe under your sink.”
Since Kim had had the cable hooked up, her apartment had skyrocketed to the top of Mr. Camper’s maintenance list. If it wasn’t her S-pipe, it was her leaky toilet or a strange humming in her refrigerator, or the invisible mouse he still hadn’t been able to catch, despite his best efforts. Just last Saturday, he’d shown up with a TV Guide, a six-pack of root beer, and three cans of Cheez Whiz, the last of which he’d sworn would nab the little bugger. But after three hours and six episodes of Wheel of Fortune, he still hadn’t caught the rodent.
Not that there was one. The mouse, along with all the other repairs, were Mr. Camper’s excuses to watch her cable TV.
“I hate to keep you up so late. The sink could have waited until tomorrow.”
“No trouble.” He shrugged. “I just got my second wind.”
She smiled. “Just in time for The Dating Game, I see.” His favorite, though he enjoyed everything from Wheel of Fortune to The Price Is Right. And of course, a few episodes of Jeopardy here and there, or Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? didn’t hurt either.
“They got celebrity guest reruns on tonight.” His gaze shifted to the TV where a platinum blonde was capering about, dressed in go-go boots and brilliant blue eye shadow. “Why, that Pamela Anderson looks just like my Priscilla did back then. Man, but she was a looker.” Priscilla was the late Mrs. Camper. She’d died of heart failure more than ten years ago, and she was one of the main reasons Kim put up with Mr. Camper and his game shows. Not that she’d been personally acquainted with Priscilla. The woman had long since passed on by the time Kim had buried her own mother and moved into the Rodeo Street apartment. But whenever the old man mentioned his dearly departed wife, a soft, lovesick expression flashed in his eyes.
That, and a look of overpowering loneliness.
While Kim wasn’t the least bit familiar with the first emotion, loneliness she knew all too well.
“She certainly is pretty.” Kim left her laptop bag by the door, along with a few extra leads and collars she’d picked up in the barn after the students had forgotten them, and kicked off her boots.
“And stubborn.” He frowned as he watched Pam make her decision. “If I said it once, I said it a dozen times. Number one.” He punched the Off button on the remote and went to retrieve his toolbox from the kitchen. “So why were you out so late?”
“I got stuck working late on my lesson plans for next year.” She followed him out to the kitchen and braced herself for the coming lecture.
“It ain’t right for a young girl to be roaming the streets at this ungodly hour.”
“I wasn’t roaming the streets. I was at the school and then I came straight home.”
“It’s still an ungodly hour. Anything can happen. You got that Mace I picked up for you?”
“In my purse.”
“What about the whistle?”
“I don’t think I need—”
“Just ’cause this is a small town don’t mean you can run around as bold as you please and not have to worry about any crazies. Why, we got plenty of ’em right here, I tell ya. I saw Myrna Lynn Vernon slap Sally Ferguson with a loaf of French bread in the bakery section of the grocery store just yesterday and all ’cause Sally tried to cut in line. People live by a thread these days, I tell ya. A thread that can snap at any time. That’s why we got all this road rage now.”
The closest thing to road rage that they had in Rebel had been an incident involving two high school baseball players who’d taken out a few mailboxes after celebrating a little too much after playoffs. Not that Kim was going to mention that and risk getting Mr. Camper started on the disgruntled youth of today.
“… a girl’s got to protect herself,” he went on. “So what about the whistle?”
She indicated the nylon rope tied to her key chain and the small piece of metal that hung suspended.
“Good for you,” he said and a small spiral of warmth went through her. Mr. Camper might be nuttier than a pan of pecan muffins, but he was also sweet and caring. He constantly nagged her about being cautious, but he also left the newspaper on her doorstep every morning, took out her trash, and had even programmed her DirecTV to record the stock show finals in Houston. The least she could do was let him borrow her TV to watch his nightly game shows.
“So the sink is fully functional now?” she asked, even though she’d made coffee and done dishes just that morning.
“That’s how it looks, but don’t be fooled by appearances.” He tossed the wrench inside the toolbox sitting on her small, round kitchen table and slammed the lid shut. “It might look and run okay, but I’ve still got to put in a new seal.” He held up a piece of black rubber. “This’ll do away with that squeaky sound it’s been making every time you hit the garbage disposal switch.”
She turned on the switch. “I don’t hear anything but grinding.”
“Sure you do.” He leaned in close to the stream of water for several seconds. “There. That’s a squeak if I ever heard one.”
“I just hear grinding.”
“Don’t fret.” He went on as if she hadn’t said a word. He flicked the switch off and gave her a sturdy look. “I’ll get over here tomorrow night and get this puppy runnin’ real nice and quiet.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Price Is Right marathon?”
A grin crinkled his old face. “Family Feud is hosting famous reality TV families.” He hefted his toolbox and started for the front door. “The Kardashians are going up against that one housewife from New Jersey and her bunch.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“All in a day’s work, little gal. All in a day’s work. Speaking of work, I won’t be able to get over here next week on account of my grandson is coming into town. He’s helping out one of the local ranches, helping them to go digital with computers and some such nonsense.”
“So he’s into computers?”
“Lives and breathes the blasted things. So don’t go breaking anything while I’m busy.”
“Sure thing,” Kim murmured as she closed the door behind Mr. Camper. Her bones ached with exhaustion, but she wasn’t nearly ready to call it a night and climb into bed. Instead, she retrieved her laptop. She needed to make a few changes to the lesson plan and e-mail one of the local FFA chapters about new guidelines for this year’s stock show.
While the laptop was booting up, Kim grabbed her phone and tapped the Voice Mail icon.
“This is Katy. What do you think about teal? Jake likes teal but he doesn’t have to wear it. You do. Call me.”
While Kim loved her friend, she couldn’t help but envy her. Katy had found Jake living in the apartment below her in Austin. No dating apps. No swiping left or right. Just a knock on the door downstairs, and bam, instant life partner.
Beep.
“It’s Katy again. What about lavender? Royal purple? It’s an evening wedding, but we could go either way because I want you to be comfortable. To wear the dress again. I want to break the ugly bridesmaid’s dress cycle. Call me.”
Beep.
“Hi, Kim,” Gabe’s voice blasted over speakerphone. “Bad news. Can’t make our karaoke date. Mom has laryngitis from doing too much Rhianna and she doesn’t think she’ll have her voice back in time. But how about dinner? Saturday night. Our place. Seven sharp.”
Kim leaned her head back against the sofa, closed her eyes, and fought back a wave of despair.
So, he lived with his mother. So what? Liv
ing alone was not one of the Redbook requirements for a perfect husband. So long as the person he lived with wasn’t a significant other.
Being ready to settle down was one of the requirements, which was why the dates with Benny had progressed to two, then three. They were holding steady at four with no commitment as of yet since she’d yet to rule out Gabe. But Kim knew that Benny wouldn’t wait forever. He’d taken to playing Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On” whenever they were in his car.
While she liked his enthusiasm, she couldn’t quite picture herself waking up to him every morning. Or going to bed with him. Or being in bed with him.
Not that sex had anything to do with anything. Sex could be misleading. People married all the time on the basis of great sex—marriages that usually ended in divorce because humping each other’s brains out simply couldn’t take up twenty-four hours of the day. People had to talk to each other, to interact, and in order to do so, they had to like each other.
Beep.
“What about hot pink? Do you like hot pink? It’s Katy. Call me…”
Beep.
“I’ve got one word: camouflage. Mind you, it’s not my suggestion. It’s Jake’s. He thinks we should change the theme to Duck Dynasty, but I wanted to get your opinion first. Call—” The message cut off as the phone rang.
Kim snatched up the receiver. “Please stop obsessing about this. It’s not good for your nerves. I’ll waltz down the aisle in a Pokemon T-shirt if that’s what you want.”
“Just the shirt? Or are we talking pants, too?” The deep, compelling voice rumbled over the line and a tingle swept the length of Kim’s spine.
She sat up straighter. Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I—I’m sorry. I, um, thought you were someone else.”
Laughter rumbled, so deep and soothing and stirring. “A lucky someone if we’re talking just the T-shirt.”
Her cheeks burned hotter. “No, no, she’s just a friend. She’s getting married and she’s been stressing, trying to pick the right dress color even though I couldn’t care less.” Okay, so she was rambling on to a stranger. “By the way, who is this?”
“Carter Walls. I’m looking for my grandfather. I’m here at his place, but he’s not here. Your number was by the phone along with a TV Guide. He’s not by chance watching TV up there, is he?”
“He was, but he left. You might check at apartment 16B.”
“They have DirecTV?”
“Better. They’ve got peach fritters. Your granddad has a thing for old lady Maxwell’s fritters.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
A smile tugged at her lips. “It’s bunko night. She hosts every third week and makes her prize-winning fritters. If you don’t have the number, you could probably just stop by. I’m sure old lady Maxwell won’t mind.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that.”
“No problem.”
Silence settled for a few frantic heartbeats while Kim debated whether or not to hang up. “So,” she blurted before common sense intervened. “You’re in town early, huh?”
“I finished my last IT project a few days ahead of schedule. Thought I’d surprise Gramps. Listen, thanks for the info. I hope I didn’t take you away from anything.”
“Just work.”
“That’s no fun.” The words slid into her ears and sent a rush of warmth through her body. “So what about it?”
“What about what?”
“You want to get together and do something fun?”
“But you’ve never even met me.”
“My Gramps has told me about all about you. You’re the Agriculture teacher. You’re single and you spend way too much time on all those dating websites.”
“So you’re not swiping on Tinder, huh?”
“Hell, no. It’s all about chemistry. You can’t get that on a website. So what do you think? You want to go out?”
His soft chuckle whispered over her senses and her heart pounded faster.
Pounded? Holy moly, her heart was pounding. And she was tingling. And there was this heat …
“Kim?”
“Um, what?”
“What about it? Dinner? Tomorrow night?”
“I don’t…” The words seemed to catch in her throat and she swallowed. “That is, we really shouldn’t…” Her throat tightened again and damned if she could get the words out.
“If you’re busy, we could try for a different night…”
“No, no. I’m not busy.” Now why had she told him that? He’d given her an out, but she hadn’t taken it.
Because she didn’t want out. She wanted dinner.
“Why not?” she heard herself say.
It was just dinner. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do. Like she was putting off the rest of her life to follow a whim. Gabe had canceled, after all. That meant sitting home, swiping prospects on her phone and listening to her own arteries harden because she was sure to reap the consequences of that extra large order of French fries she’d had at lunch.
A weak moment, but no more.
“But no BBQ,” she added, determined to get back on her diet. “And nothing fried.”
“That just about rules out all the food groups around here.”
“Actually, I know this great little health food place.”
What? She might be going against all common sense at the moment, acting on hormones rather than cool, calm logic, but she hadn’t hitched a ride on the Crazy Train just yet.
She had her priorities straight, even if her heart was beating ninety to nothing.
CHAPTER 28
“What do you mean she’s still in bed?” Hunter asked when Pam informed him that Mimi wasn’t in the common room. “It’s after lunch.”
Pam shrugged. “She’s not feeling well.”
“Nonsense,” came the voice from a nearby doorway.
He turned to see his Mimi wearing the pink robe he’d bought her for Christmas last year and a pair of matching slippers.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” She grimaced. “I’m fine.”
“You’re wearing a robe,” he pointed out. “You never wear a robe in the middle of the day.”
“I wear this robe plenty. It’s my favorite.” She motioned to Pam.
“That’s right,” the woman agreed. “I see her in it all the time.”
But she’d never worn it during one of his visits. Instead, she was always dressed in a pantsuit or a dress, her hair perfectly coiffed, her lipstick on and eyelashes in place.
“I’m fine.” She waved another hand as if to say the subject was closed. “Now tell me you gave the slingshot subject a little more thought”—she motioned to the white bag in his hand—“and changed your mind about bringing me contraband.”
“I’m afraid not. It’s just a muffin,” he said, holding up the bag. Because he’d done plenty of thinking the night before about all his great-grandmother had done for him. And all she asked in return? A slice of lemon loaf and a slingshot. Since he wasn’t about to make it past the front desk and Beatrice Tucker, the dietician who monitored all of the food that came in via family members, he’d picked up a healthy alternative that couldn’t be confiscated.
“The cookie didn’t work. Stella Blankenship is allergic to peanuts and accused me of trying to send her into shock, which wouldn’t have been a bad thing if I could have convinced her to take at least one measly bite. But Beatrice caught up to us and confiscated the blasted thing so I didn’t even get a chance to stab her with the EpiPen.” Clara waved a hand. “A muffin isn’t going to work unless there are some nuts hidden in the center like a file in one of those cakes they sneak into a prison.” Hope fueled her gaze. “There’s no chance of that, is there?”
“The muffin isn’t for her. It’s for you.”
“I’m not allergic.”
“I know that. There are no peanuts in it. It’s bran.” Brandy Tucker had told him it was perfect for anyone on a r
estricted diet when he’d stopped by the bakery that morning. He’d been after a dozen of Jenna’s favorite cupcakes. A gesture that had caused a raised eyebrow and a questioning look from Brandy Tucker McCall.
* * *
But in all honesty, he’d bought the cupcakes as a consolation gift because he wasn’t going to see Jenna tonight. Or tomorrow night. Or any other night.
He was putting a stop to their arrangement before things got any more complicated.
Before Hunter DeMassi got in over his head to the point that he stopped thinking about the good of the town because he was too busy thinking about her. Wanting her.
Falling for her.
Hell, no.
The truth had hit him over the past few days as his thoughts had been more and more consumed by their after-hours activities, to the point that he’d almost blown his cover out at the still site. He’d been so busy thinking about Jenna that he’d almost missed a new camera that had been set up a few yards into the tree line. Proof that they were suspicious that someone was on to them.
He couldn’t get careless again.
He had work to do. A town to run. His sanity to preserve.
“It’s good for you,” he added when Mimi stared at him as if he’d grown two heads. “It’s low in sugar.”
“What’s the point of a muffin if it has to be good for you?” She glanced up. “I didn’t stick around this long so that I could spend my glory years eating bran. How depressing is that?” she asked Pam.
“I think it’s nice that he cares about you,” the nurse told Mimi. “You’re lucky to have someone who loves you so much.”
“I am, aren’t I?” A smile touched her lips, along with a hint of sadness. “At the same time, there is such a thing as caring too much.” A frown pulled her expression tight. “You spend too much time here. Don’t you have anything better to do on a Sunday afternoon?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Shouldn’t you be at the church picnic?”
“I already put in an appearance, drank a glass of tea, and now I’m here.”
Tempting Texas Page 17
