Kiss Me Katie! & Hug Me Holly! (18 page)

It didn't work.

She was used to being as tall or taller than most men, but not this man, so the height intimidation didn't work on him, either.

Still smiling a little, totally at ease, enjoying himself, he tipped his head to the side, so that in spite of her attempting
not
to look right at him, she was.

“You still have the dog,” he said gently.

Not a question, but a statement, one that implied he thought all sorts of things. First, that she even
wanted
the damn dog, and second, that maybe she was too soft to get rid of it.

“You really should check your wallet,” she said between her teeth. “Because someone might have stolen something from it—a credit card, your license, anything.”

“You're in Little Paradise, remember?”

Oh yes, how could she forget one of their most basic differences? He trusted everyone—except for her—and she trusted no one. “You still should check.”

“Okay, just for you…” He relented with a smile that was far too innocent for her taste. He reached for it, bringing his torso inches within hers, and oh my, no expensive cologne for this cowboy. He didn't need it. He smelled like the outdoors, like hay, like sweet sunshine and warm, sexy male. If she moved, even a fraction of an inch, she could put her mouth on his bare shoulder. Her knees weakened at the thought.

He opened the wallet, still too close, still giving her that far too guileless smile. “See?” he said, showing her his license. His credit card. His twenty-dollar bill. “Everything of value—” He pulled out not one, but
two
condoms, and pressed them into her palm, “—is still here.”

Though she'd never, ever, in a million years admit it, her pulse took off like a shot. Heat flooded her body, pooling in all those erogenous zones she'd ignored for far too long, and all because his long, work-roughened fingers had held up two little packets that would allow him to have protected sex.

That she could imagine him doing just that, with her, was no longer such a shock.

“Mmm, that looks good on you,” he murmured.

“What?”

“That unguarded expression. You're not so polished now, Holly Stone, and it's a beautiful look for you.”

This was not happening. He was not seducing her with mere words.

But he was, and he dipped his head so that his jaw nearly brushed hers. His eyes were heavy-lidded, sensual, and she had to fist her hands on the counter behind her to keep them from misbehaving.

It was a hard habit to break, not turning on the charm full force to get whatever she wanted, including a man. But she wasn't that woman anymore, hadn't been since the moment she'd pulled into Little Paradise. And no matter how much she wanted him in that moment, she wasn't going to do it. She wasn't going to go after any man, not ever again.

She was going to make a success of herself, she was going to make a success of the café. She was going to learn to run it the way it needed to be run, and in the process, if she was beginning to realize she liked cooking, that she liked the peace
and quiet here, that she liked seeing people every day, liked pleasing them with her creations—

She went utterly still and backed up that last thought.

Oh, my God.

She was…
enjoying
herself.

Well, that was allowed, right? She was trying to please her parents, but she could please herself at the same time. And when she was done, she was going to get on with her life.

Any second now.

“I have to go,” she whispered, not moving.

“Have to? Or want to?”

Was there a difference? Yes, oh yes, there was. “There's a prospective buyer coming this afternoon. I have to show the café.”

He straightened and sent her a smile. “So you can go back home.”

Home? She had no idea where that was. “Yes.”

“Where is that, Holly? You've never said.”

To her absolute shock, her throat tightened. Her eyes burned. “I'll let you know when I figure that out,” she said, and bolted.

She was still holding the condoms.

T
HAT NIGHT
Holly looked at those condoms for a very long time. It was no longer the actual condoms she was seeing, but something much, much more.

Always before, wanting a man had been about the conquest. She wanted Riley, and yet it had nothing to do with the conquest. It wasn't even entirely a physical wanting. It was just a vague, haunting…
yearning
she couldn't put to words.

Riley represented everything she'd never allowed herself: stability, security, safety. And it was so far out of her realm to think about them that she opened up the trash and dropped in the condoms.

They lay there, perfectly good, perfectly wasted.

She wouldn't think about him having to buy more. That was his problem. She shut the lid of the trash and turned her back on them.

She paced for a while, trying to clear her mind.

It worked, too, an idea came to her. Granted, she
usually had ideas, but this one was perfect. All she needed was some…help.

At that deflating thought, she sank to her tiny couch in her tinier apartment, stared blankly ahead and laughed at herself.

She'd almost thought there…she'd almost forgotten…that she didn't have a soul in the world she could turn to for help.

She'd always liked it that way before. She'd been pushing people away her entire life, making sure the only person she could count on was herself.

And now, blithely caught up in the moment and her growing affection for this ridiculous little town, and even more ridiculous little café that wasn't hers, she figured she'd just suddenly turn to someone, just like that.

She could turn to Riley.

“I have no idea where
that
thought came from,” she said to the big, fat cat who insisted on climbing onto her lap. “I don't need help from anyone,
especially
him.”

Harry began to purr. “It's his eyes,” she told him. Despite Riley's easygoing, laid-back nature, he saw too much. She didn't trust him, or the way he made her feel. “Ugh. You're heavy, cat.”

“Meow,” he said with reproach.

Guilt actually swamped her. “I'm sorry, you're right.
Harry.
You're heavy,
Harry.
” Then she laughed at herself for being silly. Harry couldn't care less what she called him as long as she fed him. “Why are you here, anyway? And you, too,” she said to the dog who lumbered into the room from the bathroom, where he'd been lapping at the toilet water again. “You're disgusting.”

He blinked, insulted, and she relented. “Okay, I'm sorry. But surely someone else,
anyone
else, has a bigger pad for you to crash in.”

He licked her hand, walked in a tight circle exactly three times before plopping at her feet with a loud grunt.

Her heart tugged. There was no denying it, it tugged hard. Because the dog had chosen
her?

That's pathetic, she told herself, but she let out a little sigh and leaned back on her couch, totally and completely…content.

It was nice.

Oh man, she'd really lost it if that was the case, if she could feel contented a million miles from nowhere.

Someone knocked at her door, saving her from her own agonizing thoughts. The dog didn't even lift his head.

“You could at least
pretend
to protect me,” she
told him, and opened the door. “Dora,” she said in surprise to the grocery clerk.

Dora's hair was even bigger today, if possible. It had to have at least an entire bottle of spray in it to keep it that height. She wore tight leggings and an even tighter crop top—white with neon-green polka dots.

Her bubble gum was purple this evening. “You're in.”

Holly laughed. “Well…I'm out. Out of my mind, actually. But feel free to leave a message.”

“Is the job still open?” Without waiting for an answer, Dora pushed her way into the apartment, walked into the postage-stamp-size kitchen and opened the plastic container she carried.

A heavenly scent wafted through the room.

“Homemade lasagna. I brought three different kinds—meat, three-cheese and—” she shuddered “—this one is just for you, sweetcakes. Low-fat vegetarian.”

Holly grabbed a fork and took a mouthful of heaven. “You're hired,” she said before she'd even swallowed.

“I want big bucks.”

“How big?”

“Bigger than what I'm making.”

“That should be easy enough.”

“I want Mondays off, that's my nail-and-hair day.”

“Which I can see is very important to you,” Holly said, tongue in cheek.

“I want—” Dora broke off and looked at her in surprise. “You mean it? You want to hire me?”

“Absolutely.”

To Holly's horror, Dora's eyes filled with tears. “I'm sorry,” she gasped, pulling a tissue out of her cleavage and blowing her nose so loudly it woke up the dog. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” Then she rushed to the door.

“Wait—” Holly stood there awkwardly. Tears were a complete bafflement to her. Not her own, which she sometimes shed in the deep, dark of the night, then pretended the next day nothing had ever happened, but someone
else's
tears. Dora's.

“Thank you for believing in me,” Dora said softly. “Not many do. I'm not exactly…popular.”

“I thought everyone who was born and raised here was popular. It's the outsiders who aren't.”

“I've made myself an outsider all my life. I'm pushy, I'm aggressive and I like to gossip. I work at the grocery store because my aunt owns it and it would look bad if she didn't let me. But I've wanted to get my own job for years now, I've just never had the skills.”

“You really did cook this lasagna, right?”

Dora blinked in surprise, then laughed through her tears. “Yes. I said I was obnoxious, not a liar. Is the job still mine?”

“Are you going to cry every day?”

“No.”

“Then it's yours.”

Later when Holly was alone again, she stood surrounded by both dog and cat, marveling at the truth.

She wasn't really alone at all, and she hadn't been since she'd first arrived.

 

R
ILEY SPENT
the entire next two days dealing with a ring of ranch thieves. The property in question was on the far north quadrant of the county, which meant he spent more time out of town than in it.

He had invaluable help from both the neighboring county sheriff and his own staff, but it was still Wednesday before he was back in his office on a normal schedule.

He pulled up to his building after a morning of chores on his own ranch and took a double take at the Café Nirvana.

The parking lot had cars in it.

Amazed, he crossed the street, envisioning a nice hearty breakfast, something he hadn't had
time for since Maria had cooked his last one on Sunday.

Just the thought had his mouth watering.

And his heart pounding.

Because truth was, it wasn't just his stomach he was thinking about. No, it was that odd little quiver in the region above, where his heart lay.

Damn, but he was doing it again. Thinking about a woman he didn't want to be thinking about. Why couldn't it be simple? If he had to start thinking soft, mushy thoughts, why couldn't it be for someone he could
really
fall for, someone who could actually fit into his life?

Not someone like his own mother, someone who would never stick around. He'd had plenty of women in his past, but he'd never felt the earth move or heard fireworks in his head while being with one. He'd never really thought about a particular woman in the permanent sense before, and he wasn't superhappy about doing it now, but he wouldn't shy from it.

He just didn't want it to be Holly.

He opened the door to the café, anticipation thrumming through him in spite of himself.

And found utter chaos.

The stark white walls were halfway painted in a soft pastel color he couldn't have named to save
his life. On a ladder, covered in paint, was his deputy sheriff, Jud.

The counter was stripped of its usual disorganization and assortment of salt and pepper shakers, sugar holders and napkins containers. Straddled on top of it, scrubbing for all she was worth was…Dora? The grocery clerk?

Seated in the corner, listing ingredients into a small tape recorder was Maria.
Maria?

That settled it, he'd stepped into an episode of the
X-Files.

It got even more curious.

Both the dog and Harry slept on a rug at his feet. Together.

The red booths were all ripped out and upside down on the floor. Replacing the faded red vinyl with new, dark-blue material was Mike, who looked to be in the middle of a sales pitch to Holly about his latest paintings.

“They'll make great wall hangings,” he was saying around the two nails sticking out his mouth.

Holly herself didn't look like Holly. Her hair was up, but not in its usual sophisticated style. Instead it'd been shoved into a ponytail holder. Blond strands escaped everywhere, curling around her temples and cheeks. She wore a sleeveless cotton number in can't-miss-me-green and…jeans.
Jeans.
He looked twice to be sure, but yep, that was form-fitting, soft-looking denim clinging to her every curve.

When she saw him, she went still. Then she smiled. It knocked his socks right off and for a moment he couldn't remember why he was here.

Then she moved toward him, setting down her clipboard. When she stood before him, separated only by the mat holding the sleeping animals, she clasped her hands together and looked at him.

He wondered if her hands had the same itch to reach for him as his had to reach for her.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“Hey back.”

“You've been busy.”

“Yeah. So have you.” He nodded to the animals, both of whom looked as if maybe they'd been washed clean. “You have mascots now?”

Her smile faded. “They're not staying.” She looked around her. “Don't you…notice anything different?”

“You're wearing jeans. Nice. Very nice.”

“I meant the redecorating.”

“I liked it the way it was. Those jeans though, they can stay.”

She didn't know what to say to that, he could tell.

“I guess you're not offering breakfast,” he added.

“I'm going to reopen on Monday. Newly decorated, with a new style. That family thing I was telling you about. Three meals a day.”

“You're…up for that?”

Her smile was a little tight, tenser than before. “I've hired help. This is going to work. It's going to be perfect.”

“What do the new owners think of that?”

“There hasn't been an offer on the place yet.”

He'd like to think he saw a flicker of relief at that sentence, but he was probably just reading something into nothing. He was sure of it, because Holly was nothing if not utterly forthcoming. If she wanted, for some odd reason, to stay in Little Paradise, she would just say so.

Hell, she'd just buy the place and make the announcement.

But she wasn't going to do any such thing and he needed to remember that.

“I was really hoping for breakfast,” he said, rubbing his empty belly.

Her gaze followed the movement. Then as if she were afraid he'd notice her staring at him, she turned away and said quickly, “I have oatmeal in
the back. It's not instant this time, honest, I got the recipe from Dora and it's…”

“It's…?”

“Good.” She smiled as she once again looked at him. “It's really good.”

He was still digesting the fact that she and Dora—complete opposites—were working together, that Holly had cooked oatmeal, that she was offering him some, when she apparently took his silence for rejection.

As if she didn't know what else to do, she hunkered down and stroked a hand along the dog's back, then Harry's before rising and turning from him.

He just caught her arm before she vanished on him. “Wait—”

“I have work.”

“Just wait a sec.” Turning her to face him, he looked into her still-tense face. Lord, what was it about her? Unable to help himself, he stroked a thumb over her jaw.

Her expression wasn't unreadable as it usually was, and he saw her confusion. Then, as if with great effort, she blinked and stepped back, sending a haughty I-don't-care-what-you-think glance over her shoulder at the other people in the room.

He'd never been one to care about what others
thought, either, and he didn't particularly care now. If he wanted to touch her, he would because in truth, they'd been heading toward this since the day she'd stepped out of her Jeep and into Little Paradise. But in deference to her obvious discomfort, he sent everyone a pointed look and suddenly they all became busy again.

“I'd love some oatmeal,” he said. “In the kitchen?”

She nodded, and he followed her, enjoying the way her jeans showed off her body in ways her dressier clothes never had.

Mike high-fived him as he passed, looking happier than Riley had ever seen him. They'd gone to school together, until Riley had left for college. Mike had gone into his father's remodeling business, even though everyone knew he wanted to be an artist with all his heart. But painting in a small ranching town with little to no tourism didn't pay the bills, and he had four kids and a wife to support.

“I'm going to put up some of my artwork on the walls,” Mike said proudly. “Maybe even sell some.”

“Can't wait to see it all. Maybe I'll pick one up for the spot over my mantel.”

Mike beamed. “That would be nice.” He
stopped to swipe at his brow. “I won't fool myself, I won't be retiring from the building business any time soon, but this is fun, getting to see my work up on walls that aren't even mine. Assuming Holly doesn't accidentally burn the place down next.”