Want You

by Stacy Finz

  “What’s going on?”

  “My mom wants me to run over to the hardware store to get a P-trap. Their sink’s leaking . . . water’s everywhere.”

  “You’ve got someone to fix it?” TJ knew Sid had a bad back and Geri wasn’t that handy.

  She hitched her shoulders. “Yeah, me. Or a plumber, depending on how bad it is.”

  A good plumber in Glory Junction got sixty bucks an hour. “I’ll give you a hand.”

  “No.” She stood up. “It’s your day off; you should get to enjoy it, not have to deal with a flooded kitchen.”

  That was the thing. He’d enjoy just about anything if it meant being with her. “No offense, Deb, but I’m guessing you wouldn’t know a P-trap from a mousetrap.” He shrugged on his jacket and followed her outside.

  Chapter Eight

  Win sat in his Jeep outside Britney’s condo. She was supposed to have been home an hour ago, but as usual she was late and not returning any of his texts.

  According to the airline, her flight from Palm Springs got into Reno six minutes early. He didn’t know what the hell the holdup was, and frankly, he was tired of her bullshit. They needed to hash out a plan on where they stood and she couldn’t be bothered. Apparently, discussions about bringing a child into this world weren’t as important as Britney’s social life. All weekend he’d stewed, and now he wanted to get the situation settled between them.

  He checked his phone again. Nothing. The neighbors more than likely thought he was casing the complex, he’d been sitting there so long. Except Cami, who he got the feeling was working in cahoots with Britney to warn her off. He was just about to leave, fed up, when a Lincoln Town Car rolled up. Britney got out while the uniformed driver popped the trunk and proceeded to unload three large suitcases. It seemed like a lot of luggage for a three-day trip. But that was Britney for you. She needed a trunk for her makeup alone.

  This was the woman he was saddling himself with for the rest of his life. Good God. He watched her unlock her door while the driver lugged her suitcases inside and waited for him to leave. As soon as the Town Car pulled away, Win got out of the Jeep. Ambushing her was his best strategy. Otherwise, she’d continue to evade him.

  She let out an inelegant snort when she found him at the door. “I just got home, Win. Now’s not a good time.”

  Women were usually happy to see him.

  “Too bad.” He pushed past her. “We have to deal with this, Britney.”

  “No, I have to deal with it.” She went in her bedroom and attempted to lift one of the bags onto the bed.

  Win did it for her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means it’s my problem, not yours.”

  He didn’t like calling a baby a problem, but he understood her fears. “Ultimately, it’s your decision, Britney. But I’m here for you all the way.”

  “Yeah right.” She started taking clothes out of the suitcase and refolding them.

  He put his hand on the back of her neck and felt the tension there. “I won’t bolt. You’ve got to trust me on that.”

  “Sure you won’t.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “I can’t afford a baby.”

  He couldn’t stop himself from doing a visual lap around the room. Pretty plush, right down to the 400-thread-count sheets. “I can.”

  She locked eyes with him. “They’re expensive.” What she meant was, she was expensive.

  “We’ll be fine, Britney.”

  “I have to think about it,” she said, but he could see the wheels spinning in her head.

  He sat next to her. “Take the time you need. Just don’t push me away. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You’re ready to be a father?” The way she said it reminded him of TJ. The subtext being, everyone knows you’re a fuckup.

  “I’m a Garner. We don’t shirk our responsibilities.” He clasped her chin in his hand and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “I’ll be a good father.”

  She pulled away. “I’m tired, Win.” That was a first. For Britney, the party never ended, but maybe it was hormones. The websites he’d read said fatigue was to be expected in the first trimester.

  “I’ll stay the night.” He’d do some household chores and help lessen her load.

  “What for?” She sounded perturbed. “I’m going straight to sleep.”

  He jerked back. “I wasn’t expecting you not to.” Did she think he’d demand sex? “I just want to help, Britney. Is that so hard to believe?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s the mood swings; they make me bitchy.”

  He cleared her suitcase off the bed, took her shoes off, and swung her legs up. “You want me to make you something to eat?” Perhaps food would help.

  She rested her back against the headboard. “No, thanks. Would you mind terribly if I spent the night alone?”

  Here she was again, leaving him in limbo. He let out a breath. “I want to resolve this, Brit. The sooner, the better.” Otherwise, it was more sleepless nights for him.

  “I need time to think and you’re crowding me. Frankly, that’s why I went away.” There was a long pause and then, “I might get an abortion.”

  “It’s my baby, too,” he said, knowing this was a touchy subject. “Shouldn’t I be part of that decision . . . or at least involved in the conversation?” He put up his hands. “I’d never pressure you one way or the other; it’s your decision. But I’d like to be included in making the choice.”

  She let her eyes close. “Fine, but I need some breathing room, some time to consider my options.”

  He knew when to stop pushing. “Okay, but promise me you won’t run off again.”

  “I won’t.”

  “No matter what you decide, we should see a doctor.” He pulled the down comforter over her.

  “All right. Just give me a few days.”

  Fair enough, he supposed. But it still irked him that they weren’t getting anywhere. “Anything I can do before I leave?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing I can think of.”

  “Then I’ll take off.” He kissed her on the cheek and started to walk away.

  “Win, there is one thing,” she called. “You think you could help me cover the rent this month? Harrah’s has been slow and I rely on tips.”

  Not when he’d been there. He looked at her for a long time, then said, “How much do you need?”

  * * *

  “Knock, knock.” TJ’s door was open, but he seemed so immersed in what he was doing that Deb didn’t want to startle him.

  He glanced up, surprised to see her. “Didn’t know you were here. You done at the diner?”

  “Uh-huh, and I have tomorrow off, so I can put in a full day.”

  “Come in.” He wheeled around in his chair and she noted he’d ditched his Vasques for a pair of cowboy boots. Common enough in Glory Junction, but she’d never known TJ to don a pair. He wore them well. “You see those papers I left on your desk?”

  “I did. But I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with them.” She sat on the couch.

  “Pick out a few of the sweatshirt and T-shirt styles you think will sell best and decide which logo designs should go on which pieces. After that, we’ll talk about numbers.” He leaned forward. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

  Because from the moment she’d walked in the room something in her chest had blossomed. Life suddenly seemed filled with possibilities. And even though she did her best to push down any hopes where TJ was concerned, she couldn’t help but feel like he was one of those possibilities. “I can’t believe I get to do this . . . shop with your money. It’s like the best job ever.”

  His mouth curved up in a heart-stopping smile and damn. Foster was right. Chris Hemsworth. She was going to have to rewatch Rush.

  “We’ll see how you feel in two weeks when I work your ass off.”

  “Bring it on. Who do I talk to about getting some office supplies?”

  “That would be Darcy.
Anything else?” He was dismissing her and she wanted to loiter.

  “Thank you for fixing my parents’ leaky sink.” She hated to admit it, but TJ was a better plumber than her. Over the years, living hand to mouth, she’d become a jack-of-all-trades and took great pride in it. But TJ had replaced the P-trap in half the time it would’ve taken her. “They loved seeing you.”

  “I should visit more often,” he said and turned back to a stack of papers on his desk, his brows furrowed.

  “Is everything okay? You seem distracted.”

  “Yep.” He didn’t look up and seemed to be reading and doing math on a calculator at the same time. “A group of clients trashed a couple of rooms at the Four Seasons and Stan the Man claims we caused him a hundred thou in damages. Just another Monday at GA,” he trailed off.

  Deb perched on the arm of TJ’s sofa. “Who’s Stan the Man?”

  “The client who took a ride down Glory Mountain in a porta-potty.”

  “Oh yeah, I heard about that.” She craned her neck to get a better look at what TJ was doing. “What kind of clients trash a hotel room?” GA’s customers were typically families, corporate types, or well-to-do adventure seekers. Responsible people.

  “A group of old college buddies who relive their glory days by breaking shit.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Don’t you know that event planner at the Four Seasons?”

  He lifted his head up. “How’d you hear about her?”

  “Colt told Delaney you’re interested in her. Delaney told Hannah and Hannah told me.”

  TJ shook his head. “Glad everyone’s talking about my personal life.”

  “You could call her and ask her to help smooth things over with the Four Seasons’ management. Or if you want, I could. What’s her name?” Deb made the give-me sign with her hand.

  “Mandy Forsyth.” He fixed her with a look. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Deb didn’t recognize the name. Even though Glory Junction was a small town, the resorts were like countries onto themselves. A lot of the employees lived on the property or commuted from Reno.

  “Well? You and Mandy Forsyth dating?” Her mind immediately jumped to whether he was sleeping with her, and then she wondered what TJ was like in bed. If he was as good as he was at extreme sports.

  “Nope.” He went back to what he was doing.

  “So Mandy Forsyth isn’t The One?”

  “The one what?”

  She reached over and poked him in the arm. “The One . . . your dream girl.”

  He looked up, shook his head, and went back to scribbling something on a piece of notepaper.

  “Let’s say for argument’s sake you had one,” she pressed, “what would she be like?”

  “Hmm?” He wasn’t even listening.

  “Your dream girl,” she said it loudly, like he was hearing impaired. “What would she be like?”

  He stopped what he was doing, pulled his office chair closer, and acted as if he were considering her question. She knew he was pretending because he was doing an imitation of that famous sculpture of the naked guy, resting his chin on one hand.

  “Brunette, five-seven, a hundred and forty pounds, brown eyes, fantastic athlete, nosy as hell, doesn’t get any work done, has a shitty car.”

  “Ha, ha, very funny.” She pushed his chair back and got to her feet. “And by the way, one hundred and forty pounds, really?” According to her scale this morning, 142 and change. But he didn’t need to know that.

  Deb went back to her office and, ten minutes into measuring the pros and cons of hoodies versus crew necks, she came to the staggering conclusion that TJ had just said she was his type. On Saturday, he’d watched her trudge through her parents’ flooded kitchen in an old pair of waders and a Shop-Vac. And here they were today, engaging in sexy banter. While she tried desperately not to read too much into it, she experienced a zing of optimism all over again.

  “What are you doing?” Hannah wandered in and checked out the room. “Girl, you need some furniture.” She plopped into one of the folding chairs that had been left in the room to die.

  For the first time, Deb noted the white walls, the boring beige carpet, and the lack of any ornamentation at all. No one would ever believe that a fledgling retail goddess resided here. “I need the Property Brothers.”

  Hannah laughed. “Don’t worry; I’ll hook you up.”

  “Good, because I don’t have time for decorating. You on a break from the store?”

  “Uh-huh. I have one of my high-school kids today. What are you looking at?”

  Deb turned the catalog so Hannah could see it. “TJ wants me to pick out sweatshirts. After I pick out the ones I want, I’m supposed to custom design them with these graphics.” She pointed to various GA logos.

  Hannah studied the offerings and noted the zip-up hoodie Deb had also admired. “These are wonderful but expensive. Pullover crew necks are going to be your best sellers because the price points are lower.”

  “That’s good information.” Deb jotted down the style number of the crew neck. “What else should I know?”

  “You’re buying for spring and summer, so don’t get the ones with the fleece lining. Stick to lightweight. These are the most popular colors for women.” She grabbed a pen and circled an assortment of pastels. “Men typically go navy, black, gray.”

  Deb continued to take notes. “Anything more?”

  “Don’t put Glory Junction on your stuff because if you do, you’ll cut into my business.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that. I have your back.”

  “You should do caps with the GA logo,” Hannah continued. “Glory Junction and Sierra Nevada hats are my best sellers at the store.”

  “TJ didn’t say anything about hats. Should I mention it to him?”

  “Deb”—Hannah shot her an exasperated look—“this is your baby. Of course you should suggest hats and anything else you think of.”

  In this case, it was Hannah doing the thinking, but Deb wasn’t above riding her friend’s coattails. Glorious Gifts was hugely successful. Hannah’s late aunt had founded the store, but it had been Hannah who had reinvented it and increased sales tenfold.

  Deb found a pad of sticky notes and marked the sweatshirt pages with them. On her way out, she stopped at TJ’s office. He was on the computer.

  “Hey, can we meet tomorrow? I have the sweatshirts figured out and I think we should carry hats. Caps and maybe even some of those floppy ones, the kind military dudes wear, with the GA insignia.”

  He grabbed his phone and pulled up his calendar. “Ten a.m. work?”

  Look at me having meetings. “Perfect. See you tomorrow.”

  He went back to what he was doing and she lingered because she liked looking at him. Watching him work . . . well, he was just so gorgeous. His sleeves rolled up just above his elbows, his hair tousled from repeatedly running his fingers through it, and his chin covered with dark stubble that hadn’t been there this morning.

  “You want something else?” he asked, giving her a slow once-over that made her tummy do funny things.

  You. “Nope.”

  Chapter Nine

  TJ was in a piss-poor mood Tuesday morning. He’d overslept, missed an important phone call, and hadn’t had time for breakfast. And to keep things copacetic between GA and the Four Seasons, he’d agreed to pay two thousand dollars to cover the damage their clients had caused.

  Stanley Royce was a whole other story. TJ was waiting to hear back from GA’s lawyer before countering Stan’s demands. He just wanted the guy to go away.

  “I’m going to Tart Me Up,” he told Darcy as he crossed the lobby. “Text me if you want anything.”

  Boden was unlocking the front door of Old Glory as TJ passed. “Morning.”

  “Morning.” TJ stopped because in Glory Junction, if you didn’t say hi to your neighbor, you were considered a douchebag. “How’s it going?”

  “Fair to middling. Haven’t had these kinds of crowds in a
while.” Nope. Thanks to the snow, they were Disney on Parade, which was fine by TJ.

  “Good times. Let’s hope they last.” TJ glanced at his watch. “I’ve gotta motor.”

  “Catch you later, then.”

  “Yep.” TJ crossed the street to the river walk, where he’d be less likely to run into one of the shop owners. He could really do without pleasantries this morning.

  No such luck. Colt pulled up alongside him in his police cruiser and rolled down the window. “Where you going?”

  “Tart Me Up.”

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  Perfect. TJ rolled his eyes and walked the block to the bakery. Colt found a parking space and met him inside.

  “Get me one of those ham and cheese croissant sandwiches and I’ll grab us a table,” Colt said.

  “I’ve got to get back, Colt.”

  “You can spend ten minutes with your big brother.” Colt was a bossy SOB.

  It wasn’t worth arguing with him, so TJ waited for his number to be called, ordered them both sandwiches and coffees, and joined Colt at the table.

  “You and Win kiss and makeup?” Colt asked, snapping up TJ’s sandwich and taking a bite before TJ could stop him. “Mmm, Swiss and bacon.”

  “You’ve got your own, jerk-off.”

  “I like yours better,” Colt said around a mouthful. “You and Win?”

  “We’re good.” TJ grabbed his sandwich back and accidentally on purpose kicked Colt’s shin under the table. “Haven’t seen him around much, though.”

  Colt took a slug of coffee. “He’s been seeing a woman in Tahoe since summer. Who knows how serious it is, though? By now, he’s probably hooked up with her sister.”

  Their youngest brother was certainly the playboy of the family. And the charmer. Josh, who was second youngest, was the war hero. As a kid, Josh had always been the determined one, the Eagle Scout, and the one voted most likely to be president. Colt had always been the one they’d all gone to to take care of their problems. Colt beat up the school bullies, covered their asses from their parents’ wrath when they screwed up, and looked over them like a mother hen. Somehow, TJ had earned the label of the studious one and the go-getter. The one most likely to run GA while the other brothers had all the fun.