Just My Type (29 page)
“There are a hundred massage businesses in Omaha. I’d be the only one here. I’d be able to offer a service no one else can.”
He pulled back and looked at her. She was serious.
“That’s important to you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Everyone here contributes something.” She sighed and propped herself up on her elbows on his chest. “There aren’t any businesses here that don’t matter, that aren’t needed. There’s no nail salon, no froufrou coffee shop, no purse stores. Those are all extravagances. Here everything makes life better somehow. I want to do that, contribute, be someone that they…need.” She ducked her head, not meeting his eyes. Mac lifted a hand and tilted her chin. “Why is that so important? Why here? Why them?”
“Because I’ve never done that before.”
“Done what?”
“Contributed.”
He swallowed hard. It should have sounded pathetic, but it didn’t. It sounded matter-of-fact. Still, it made him feel bad. Because she was kind of right. Not really, of course. She contributed in…intangible ways. For instance, she made him laugh. She made him look forward to every day. She made him…happy.
“Princess, you contribute.”
She gave him a sexy smile. “I can’t contribute like
that
to the whole town.”
“No, you definitely can’t.” In spite of her teasing, he couldn’t help the little rush of possessiveness he felt. “So contributing to me isn’t enough?” Yeah, that didn’t sound Neanderthal at all.
“No, it’s not enough,” she said, without blinking. “For one thing, you’re easily satisfied.”
“By you, I am,” he said honestly, moving closer and kissing her shoulder.
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Erin Nicholas
She sighed happily. “I need something I have to…work for, try at. For another, I can’t spend all my time in this house, in this bed.”
“Well…”
She giggled. “Stop.”
He sighed. “I know, princess. I just don’t see why Oscar is so important to you.”
“Because it’s important to you.”
Mac felt his throat and chest tighten.
“And it’s a challenge for me. If I can make it here, I can make it anywhere.”
“You sound like Frank Sinatra.”
She smiled. “These people work hard, Mac. They don’t take the easy way out or do anything silly.”
“And you want to massage them.”
She smiled slightly. “I do.”
“I don’t know, Sara.”
“Uh-oh.”
“What?”
“When you call me Sara instead of princess it’s serious.” She was right. “It’s just that I know this town. I know you’re determined to win them over, but it isn’t that easy. You’re not from here, never will be. You just don’t get the same treatment.”
“Then I’ll have to work hard, won’t I?”
He shook his head, giving up. “It does bother you that your sister just gave you the job at the center, doesn’t it?”
Sara snorted. “She didn’t just give it to me. She made the whole thing up.”
“She was taking care of you.”
“I know. And now I want to take care of others.”
“You’ve done that with the kids,” Mac said, believing it and wanting her to know it.
“I have,” she agreed. “So have the rest of you.”
“You need something that’s all yours, huh?”
“Yep.”
“You want a shop here in Oscar.”
“Yep.”
God, he loved her. It was so ironic that the woman he most wanted to care for and make happy most wanted to do something completely without his help.
But there were some things he now knew she loved and wanted that he
could
give her. Things she
needed
him to give her.
“Come a little closer and maybe you can talk me into it.” 164
Just My Type
Sara grinned and wiggled closer. “Well, you’re not really the one I need to talk into this.”
“Oh?” He was only half listening anyway. Her skin was so silky and warm and he wanted his hands and lips on every inch of it. Again.
“The bank has to agree to let me use that space. I pulled up some sample business plans on the Internet too. I’m thinking Angela might help me with it. I don’t know. I’m probably reading too much into the fact that we kind of talked…”
“You don’t need a business plan, princess.”
“Mr. Carlson said I did.”
“Mr. Carlson? You mean, Scott? You talked to Scott?” Scott was a high school buddy of Mac’s. And was the vice president of the bank.
“Yes, of course. Right after I talked to Mary I went to the bank to see where to start.”
“Princess.” Mac attempted to pull her close—and under him. She came as far as his chest. She even let him kiss her. When she pulled back he said, “Scott was messing with you.”
“Why? That doesn’t make sense.”
Mac pulled back slightly and smiled. “I own that building, princess. If you want to put a massage business in there, that’s not a problem. If you want to store old chairs in there, that’s fine. Whatever.”
“You
own
that building?” she repeated, frowning.
“I own that whole side of the square.”
She gaped at him. “What?”
He shrugged. “Those buildings were falling apart and the city was considering tearing them down. At the same time the town wanted to keep the square intact and wanted businesses in there. I found out there were some businesses, like Style, that wanted space but couldn’t afford to restore the buildings themselves.
My parents’ life insurance policies were significant and I decided that was a good use for some of it.”
“So…I don’t have to… I still need money for inventory and furniture and…”
“No, you don’t. I can cover all of that.”
“I don’t want you to.” She put her hands on his chest, pushing instead of stroking.
“What do you mean?” He tried to pull her close. “Sara, I can take care of whatever you want or need.”
“But…” She gave up struggling against his hold and flopped onto her back. “I thought… Shit.”
“Shit?” He chuckled. “I’ve had women have opinions about my money, but never that one.”
“I wanted to do this myself. I thought you… You don’t act, or live, like you have money.”
“Sorry?” He wasn’t sure why he was apologizing exactly.
“I’m spoiled, Mac.”
He had
no
idea how to respond to that. Agreeing seemed less than intelligent. Disagreeing wasn’t likely to get him points either for some reason.
“I am. I’ve always had whatever I wanted. Now I want to work for something.”
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“You want to work for something?” he repeated. “What does that mean?”
“You don’t have to sound so skeptical. I can work.”
“Define work.”
“Try. Sweat. Put effort into. Take a risk.”
Mac propped up on one elbow to better look at his wife. “What’s this about, Sara?”
“This is a working town. They do hair, they milk cows, they grow trees… I have manicures and high heels.”
Mac blinked a few times, then said slowly, “And you feel like…” He hoped she would just fill in the blank.
“They all think I’m too spoiled to get my hands dirty, too lazy to climb a ladder, too dumb to do accounting.”
“Who cares what they think?”
“No, it’s not that I care what they think.” She took a deep breath and sat up, crossing her legs in a very distracting way. She noticed his preoccupation and pulled the sheet up to cover her lap. “It’s that…I’m afraid they might be right.”
Mac’s brows slammed together. “You are
not
dumb or lazy or…”
“I have to prove it. To myself.”
He was still frowning. Hard. “How?”
“I want to take classes in something completely new. And I want to paint and stain wood. I want to learn to balance books and I want to
use
my hands somehow to
do
something.” Mac considered that. She looked determined…and excited. What the hell? He was a sucker for her anyway. If Sara wanted something, he was going to move heaven and earth to help her get it. Even if that meant letting
her
do the heavy lifting.
“I have a few ideas about how you can use your hands to
do
something,” he growled, finally succeeding in pulling her body under his.
And he kept her there for a very long time.
166
Chapter Eleven
Sara cleaned Style With A Smile every day after the morning rush, while Angie sat and ate whatever treat Sara had brought in and looked through magazines or did book work. Then Sara spent a couple of hours on the Internet. Interestingly, Angie always left her alone during her computer time. So clearly she didn’t think Sara was going to steal anything or ransack the place. Sara wondered why Angie stayed during the cleaning. She probably just enjoyed watching Sara do manual labor.
They did talk, though. It wasn’t exactly conversation, since that would require a back-and-forth exchange. But there was verbalization. Angie liked to give yes or no answers to her questions, but Sara had no trouble filling the silence. She talked about her siblings, her friends, the Bradford Youth Center, movies she wanted to see, books she’d read, places she wanted to vacation. She also told jokes. Thanks to Dooley and her brother she knew some pretty raunchy ones too. Angie had yet to laugh out loud, but Sara had seen a smile more than once.
Sara figured if the shop owner was annoyed by Sara’s noise she could contribute herself, leave or tell Sara to leave. She did none of the above.
Two weeks into the arrangement, Sara finally asked, “So why don’t you like me?” Angie sat in one of the stylist chairs as Sara cleaned the front window.
There was a long silence, during which she continued scrubbing.
Finally, she heard Angie sigh. “I find a few things about you annoying. But mostly I don’t mind you.”
“Then why do you act like you don’t like me?” Sara took the glass cleaner and rag to the front door, thinking that perhaps she didn’t want to see Angie’s face during this conversation. Like confession.
“Because it’s easier to be bitchy to you than nice.”
“That just a personality thing or something specific to me?” Sara asked.
She heard Angie chuckle and almost turned for that rare occurrence. “A little of both, I suppose.”
“Because I’m new?”
Angie didn’t answer right away. When she did finally reply, it was soft. And honest. “Because you walked in here in high heels I would kill to wear but can’t because my back and legs hurt, looking great and confident, energetic, perky—which I haven’t been in longer than I can remember—talking about needing a manicure when I could barely make it through the clients I had scheduled. It just happened to be the worst day I’ve had in quite a while.”
Erin Nicholas
Sara did turn then. “I’m sorry. Are you… Is everything okay?” Something about Angie’s tone made her think the answer was more than just being overworked or overstressed.
Angie met her gaze. “I have fibromyalgia. My doctor had just called that morning to confirm it.” Sara wasn’t sure what to say. “I’ve heard of it. I don’t know a lot about it.”
“It’s a chronic condition—no cure. It’s all about feeling tired and sore all the time. Lots of fun.”
“There’s no medication for it?”
She shrugged. “They’re working on some things. There is a new one out now that’s working okay for me. But you can’t get rid of it. They say it’s like arthritis in the muscles.” Sara frowned. “I’m sorry, Angie. That must make it tough to be on your feet all day.”
“It does.” She pushed herself up from the chair. “Anyway, you’re not the only person who comes in here who I wish I could trade bodies with, but you are the one I can take it out on since I haven’t known you for twenty years.”
Somehow, that made Sara feel better. She smiled. “I can take it.” Angie lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah, I was really worried about running you off.” Her sarcasm was blatant.
Sara just grinned.
“You really going to open a massage therapy business?” Angie asked her then.
Sara smiled and nodded. “Yep, right next door. Lucky you.” Angie rolled her eyes. “You can’t talk through the massages. You’re supposed to get people relaxed.” Sara laughed. “I’m glad you find my conversation so stimulating.”
“Your
conversation
is incessant chatter,” Angie muttered. “You have to learn to just be quiet, Sara.
Let people just be.”
Sara thought about that as she stored the cleaning supplies. “I’m not sure I know how to do that,” she finally answered.
Angie sighed. It had been quiet in the shop for about three minutes straight. Sara knew that was a record since she’d been there.
“You just keep your lips together,” Angie said. “It’s not hard.”
“It is. I’m used to noise and interruptions and advice.” Sara leaned an elbow on the front counter, thinking about her words as she explained them. “I constantly have people asking me how I am, what I’m doing, what I’m planning, if they can help. Nobody’s ever just let me be.” Angie looked up from her magazine. “Is that a good thing?”
“Um, yeah. Mostly.” Sara was trying very hard to remember the last time she’d been in the same room with someone and
not
talked. She couldn’t come up with one single occasion. Her life was filled with a bunch of rambunctious teenagers and a nosy, bossy bunch of friends and family. The new ones, Ben and Danika, were no exception.
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Just My Type
“I’m always the center of attention.”
“I’m shocked.”
Sara smiled at that. “Don’t think I didn’t like it when I was younger. But eventually, believe it or not, I grew up a little and tried to do some stuff on my own without their advice or help.”
“Whose advice and help?”
Sara tried to hide her surprise and pleasure over Angie’s interest. “My sister and brother. And all of my brother’s friends. Like Ma—Jason.”
“You can call him Mac, I think I can keep up.” Angie closed the magazine. “What happened when you tried this stuff on your own?”
“It freaked them out,” she said honestly. “It made Jessica sad, because I didn’t need her anymore. It made the guys even more overprotective because they weren’t right there taking care of me.”
