The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine (24 page)

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Authors: Kate Angell

BOOK: The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine
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Chapter 10
“Y
ou could have saved yourself the time,” he said, climbing back up the ladder. “I have nothing to say.”
“Sir, you can't force someone to stay in a rental agreement,” Sidney said. “You can enforce penalties, early cancellation fees, deposit forfeiture—”
“You heard me,” he bellowed, peering ahead like a general surveying the troops.
“But he can leave at any time,” she finished. “Why are you fighting this? You could get another tenant with an actual running business.”
“Nobody wants that place,” Crane said. “I don't even want it. And when he leaves, I'll be stuck with it.”
“That's not his problem!” Sawyer said through his teeth, stepping back forward. “The man lost his wife, for God's sake. Have a heart.”
“I'm aware of that,” Crane said, his tone going harsh.
“Sell it,” Sidney said.
“It has a giant soda fountain in it,” Crane said. “Layla had to have that installed, and it makes it a bit limited. I can't even turn it into a bar because that street's not zoned for it.”
“Coffee shop, bakery, other things can work there,” Sidney said. “Better than a closed business.”
“I didn't tell him to close,” Crane said.
“Quit being an asshole,” Sawyer said, his voice raising. “He can't keep paying your inflated rent with no income.” He paused. “And you owe me one.”
Crane stepped back down and leaned back a little, looking down his nose at Sawyer as if he were looking through imaginary reading glasses. “Are you seriously comparing getting Marie a job to this?”
“A favor's a favor,” Sawyer said.
“I thought that was what the car was about,” Crane said. “Now you want a two-for-one?”
“Fixing her car is just being a good person, Crane,” Sawyer said. “It's being a good businessman. This thing with Teasdale is—”
“None of your business,” Crane finished.
“To hell with this,” Sawyer muttered, turning around, walking off.
Sidney, however, didn't move. She stood her ground, looking up at the giant man with a pumpkin on a platform, crossing her arms over her chest and looking up at him patiently.
He kept his gaze on her, too, cockiness morphing into realization. Shit.
“Teasdale doesn't have money for an attorney,” he said. “Especially one from Boston. Who are you, really?”
Sidney lifted her chin. “An attorney from Boston.”
“You don't sound like it.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Like an attorney?”
He scoffed. “No, you have that droning drivel down. You don't sound
Boston
.”
She shrugged. “I didn't start out there.”
“You sound like Sawyer,” he said with a nod toward wherever Sawyer had headed. She refused to turn around to find out.
“Well, I'm sure there are more than just two of us from—”
“You know him,” Crane said, narrowing his eyes.
Sidney's tongue faltered, and she cleared her throat.
“You're from the same place, aren't you?” he asked. “The same little hick town.”
“Because we both have an accent?” she asked, laughing, hoping it would cover up her lie.
“Because of how I just saw him look at you,” Crane said, studying Sidney with a grin. “Like a lovesick schoolboy. Holy shit, you're
her
.”
Sidney's breath felt trapped in her chest, unable to move in or out, just held captive there. Sawyer had a
her?
And she was it? “I—I'm who?”
“The girl he came to town all messed up over,” Crane said, crossing his own arms. “A hundred years ago. Well, well, well.”
All messed up over.
After punching out his own father.
Defending her.
Damn it if all her carefully constructed and ancient defenses weren't crumbling around her regarding him. The boy who shattered her already shaky confidence. The reason she bitterly swore off love and dove into work, into making herself a hard and formidable beast. A beast without people skills but still. And now . . .
“We were friends in high school, yes,” Sidney managed to push out, her voice sounding decidedly wobbly. “That has no bearing on Mr. Teasdale's case.”
“Which came to you how, again?” Crane asked.
Sidney smiled. “I'll ask the questions.”
Crane winked, and she so much wanted to slug him. “Nice deflection. What firm are you with?”
“Finley and Blossom.”
“Blossom?” he asked. And it wasn't about the name. It was recognition. Shit.
“Yes, sir.”
“His damn niece,” Crane said, slapping a big hand against the ladder. “I forgot she was a lawyer. Damn it. She sent you.”
Oh, seven kinds of hell, now this wall was disintegrating, too. She needed a suit of armor.
“Everything okay?” said a voice from directly behind her. A voice that sent shock waves to all her nether regions, especially coupled with the hand that rested on the back of her neck. Crap, she needed more than armor. Sidney needed a force field.
“I work for her,” Sidney said, ignoring Sawyer's question and fighting the urge to settle back against him.
“And you need to bring back the win,” Crane said, chuckling.
God help her if she was ever up against this asshole in court. He could read her too easily. Or maybe she'd always been this easy. Sawyer's thumb moved a micro-centimeter along her skin, and her heart slammed against her breastbone. Then again, maybe he was just her Kryptonite.
“Mr. Crane,” Sidney said, moving one step forward so that Sawyer's hand would slip away. “Will you tell me why you are so hell-bent on keeping my client in this lease? Why you won't just charge the penalties and be done? Why you won't just take the
much
simpler route?”
Crane looked off as if studying the vast pumpkin battle plans before him.
“I can get your car in the shop and off the street,” he said. “But if there are parts needed—”
“There are,” Sawyer said behind her.
“Then Oscar won't be able to get them until Monday,” he finished.
“Monday?” Sidney exclaimed.
“At the earliest,” Crane said, climbing back up the ladder. “Best I can do, sorry. Guess you need to call in a few days' vacation to that stuck-up boss of yours.”
* * *
Sawyer was about to crawl out of his damn skin. It was as if a switch was flipped back there. Ever since he touched her. Ever since he caught her and held her against him. Now he couldn't quit. He couldn't get enough. If Sidney was within touching distance, his hands had to find her.
Which was an easy enough fix. He just needed to get her out of his truck. Out of his day. Out of his town.
Out of his head.
That one would be harder. It took a long time the first go-around.
And now she wouldn't be leaving Sunday. Or Monday. Maybe Tuesday. Hell, he'd drive her to Boston personally by then.
He waited for the never-in-a-hurry Oscar to come with the tow truck, complaining about days off and wearing shoes and a multitude of other things. Waited for Sidney to update Teasdale on where they stood. Waited for her to slide those legs across his seat again, so he could drive around in a state of torture.
“Do you have enough clothes to make it that many days?” he asked once they were moving again.
Sidney sighed. “Well, I assume Amelia Rose has a washer and dryer?”
“Of course.”
“Then I'll be okay,” she said. “I always bring an extra casual outfit for the return home. Maybe I'll be the laid-back lawyer tomorrow.”
“That might be better,” Sawyer said, changing hands on the wheel so his right hand didn't go wandering.
“I was joking.”
“I'm not,” he said. “It might be more approachable. You could give Crane another shot tomorrow.”
“You saying I look uptight?” Sidney asked, crossing a leg and making him do a double take. Again.
If uptight meant so hot that he wanted to shove that skirt up and do her right there in his truck, then
yes
. God, yes.
“I'm saying you looked like a million bucks, trying to reach a man on a ladder throwing pumpkins,” he said.
“So I should have thrown a pumpkin?” she asked.
He grinned in her direction. “Might have been worth it.”
The breathy little chuckle that accompanied the tug at her lips made his dick twitch. In that one second, she reminded him of the old days. Of the
them
they once were. He shook his head free of that. That was the last place he needed to go.
“Making a quick stop before going back to the cottage,” he said.
“Where?”
“My place.” The look she gave him was priceless, and he had to laugh. “To feed my dog,” he said. “Relax. I forgot this morning and I'm probably working late tonight.”
“Because of me,” she said.
“That's what I'm telling Duke.”
Not that every other reason hadn't crossed his mind at least four hundred times, he thought as he pulled into the driveway and opened his garage.
“I'll be right back.”
It only seemed a few minutes while he let Duke attack him, filled his bowls, and grabbed two bottles of water. But when he stepped back through the door to the garage, Sidney was out of the truck, in the garage, and peeling back a tarp. Her eyes going soft.
* * *
Sidney didn't know what drove her to step out and see if it was the same wheels peeking out from under that tarp. The same wheels that she'd watched all of senior year. The same wheels that almost carried her away graduation night.
But once it was in front of her, she had to see. And peeling the top back, her heart thudded in her ears as the faded black metal and cracked worn seat fell under the light. Sidney couldn't help but smile as she ran her fingers along the seams, back up to the handlebars—
“Oh—” Her breath hitched, her eyes burning with unexpected tears. “Oh my God,” she whispered.
“It's been a lot of years since she saw the light of day,” came Sawyer's voice from the doorway.
Sidney sucked in a breath that sounded like a hippopotamus snort, and backed up two steps. Wiping at her tears, she tried to read the troubled crease above his nose as he walked up to the other side of the bike and pulled the tarp back over it.
“I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to—”
“Be nosy?” he finished.
A nervous laugh escaped her throat. “Yeah, I guess,” she said. “I'm—I just saw the wheels and—I don't know.” New heat filled her eyes. “My ring.”
Sawyer's eyes locked on hers. “It's how I kept you with me for a while. Why I used the name you gave me.”
If she could have scaled that bike gracefully to get to him, Sidney would have stripped bare and mounted him like a monkey.
He'd kept her class ring. Tied to the dashboard of his bike. He'd actually cared about her. It wasn't just a story. It wasn't just words. No one had ever done anything like that for her since. Or ever. And it was possibly the hottest thing she'd ever seen.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Well, she was crying like a little girl. She laughed through her tears and nodded. “Just—very few things surprise me. And you keep doing that today.”
He held out his arms and let them drop. “My special talent.”
“Your dad,” she began, unsure whether he'd want to know. “He was affected by you leaving. Just so you know.”
Sawyer frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, he may have been an asshole,” she said, wiping two new tears away. “But after you left—after everyone pretty much knew you weren't coming back—he kind of
shrank
.” Sidney watched his jaw work as he processed that. “He retired from the school early. And just sort of became—old. Before he was old.”
Sawyer blinked fast and looked away, his brows knitting together like he was trying to push that image away.
“He still alive?”
“I don't really know,” she said. “After Nana died, I left. There was no one there anymore to keep up with.”
He nodded, blowing out a breath, physically clearing the trouble from his eyes. He peeled a corner of the tarp back instead, that being an easier subject. “You want it back?”
She shook her head. “Keep it.”
Keep me.
“Will do,” he said, walking around the bike. Walking straight up to her without blinking. “Do you still have mine?”
“Of course,” she said. “In a box. Inside another box.”
His fingers came up to her face and wiped new tears away as she blinked them free.
“And if I wanted it back?” he said so softly she barely heard it.
“Not a chance in hell,” she whispered.
A smile spread slowly across his lips. “That's my girl.”
* * *
Sidney felt like a preteen, sneaking out of her room to the kitchen in her flannel pajamas. Socks on her feet, no bra, hair a mess. But she needed some of those cookies. It had been a
day.
A day followed by staring at the ceiling, totally awake for hours, thinking about too many things.
Finding the tin, she carefully removed the lid and felt her mouth water. The sense of calm and well-being and peace washed over her, just inhaling the aroma.
“I need to live on these cookies,” she whispered, taking the tin and carefully sitting at the big wooden table. Closing her eyes, she took a bite. Dear God, it didn't get better than that.

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