Waking Up to Love (19 page)

Here we go. “It's nice to see you, too.” They'd been friends once. Even went to a homecoming dance freshman year.

“I wish I could say the same, I do. But your daddy screwed us over good. Promising to get that plastics plant and all them jobs for us. Said he'd do more as a congressman than Justin Mitchell ever did, and he'd take Harmony Falls along for the ride.” Bryce snickered. “Well, he took us for a ride, alright. All the way to prison.”

She gritted her teeth. “I don't agree with what my father did.” She didn't even know the details. Their relationship had become irreparable the minute she refused to beg Justin to go through with the wedding. “In fact, I haven't spoken to him since I left Harmony Falls.”

“And yet, here you are, still behind the wheel of Daddy's fancy car.”

“Actually, I want to sell it.”
I have to sell it.
But it was never good to show desperation on a used car lot.

Bryce's bushy eyebrows rose. “Is that so?”

He stalked the vehicle. When he peered into the backseat, Charlotte's car seat seemed to glow like a homing beacon.
Crap.
She should've talked to Charlie before she went to the bank. The last thing she needed was some townie running off to tell him Morgan was here … with a child when he'd spent the last two years thinking she'd placed their baby for adoption.

She bit into her bottom lip as Bryce's eyebrows rose.

“You got yourself a little one, huh?”

Morgan nodded but refused to take the bait.

“You know, Justin's the mayor now, happily married to Alice Cramer.” He kept his beady little eyes on the car, opening the driver's side door and plopping onto the seat. “And uh, your other
old pal
Charlie Cramer runs a fancy restaurant in town.” He cut his gaze to her, and it was equal parts suspicion and expectation. “You stay in touch with any of them?”

He was fishing for information about the car seat, wasn't he?

The sweat dripping down her back had nothing to do with the warmer-than-usual May temperature. Three years ago, she'd stood on Charlie's front porch and announced her pregnancy just days after Justin had left her at the altar. Alice, Charlie's sister, had always held a torch for Justin and animosity that Morgan seemingly stood in their way. Man, what a convoluted mess their lives must've been for anyone on the outside looking in—and there were a lot of curious people in Harmony Falls. The minute those people got wind of Charlotte, the speculation would begin.
Is she Justin's? Is she Charlie's?

Morgan couldn't blame them for that. She'd been a spoiled, unhappy young woman, wanting it all and used to getting what she wanted. And she'd wanted Charlie Cramer, even if she already had Justin Mitchell. Her fiancé's congressional schedule put him in Washington for weeks at a time paving the way back to Charlie's backseat for a handful of desperate transgressions exactly nine months prior to Charlotte's arrival

“I haven't stayed in touch with anyone,” she said. “I've been busy.” First, hiding the pregnancy from her father and mother, who would've pressured her into an abortion had they known she was pregnant with the wrong man's baby. Then, raising her little girl with no family support, because her parents deemed their wayward daughter and illegitimate grandchild a liability to dear old dad's political career.

He gave her a shitty grin. “Maybe you'll get to bump into them while you're here.”

God, she hoped not. She didn't want to bump into Justin and Alice—ever. And she wanted her visit with Charlie to go as smoothly as possible, a carefully planned operation.

“Can we skip the small talk and get down to business?” she asked.

“I can give you ten grand for the car,” he said.

Ten thousand dollars was a far cry from the twenty-five thousand she'd been hoping for. “Is that because the car is really worth that much, or because I'm a Parrish and you want to stick it to me?”

“The engine light is on. The mileage is sky high. The tires are bald. And that's just what I can see. If this vehicle belonged to my mama, she'd be offered ten grand, too.” He pushed off the steering wheel and stood beside the car. “Unlike some of us, I'm not in the business of screwing people over.”

The jab actually made Morgan feel a bit better. At least she wasn't being cheated. “Okay. I'll take the ten grand, but now I need another car. What's the cheapest reliable vehicle on the lot?”

Bryce put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest while he scanned the cars. “I can do $9,000 out the door on that red one over there, but not a penny less.”

The snub-nosed, boxy-looking economy car paled in comparison to the long, sleek, sexy curves of her Jaguar. She didn't want to drive something that looked like a clown car. She especially didn't want to hand over almost all of the money she'd just made. “Nine thousand dollars for that leaves me with a measly grand.” Plus the grand she already had. She might be able to afford first and last months' rent on $2,000, but it wouldn't leave much room for error. “How about $8,000?”

“Now, don't go getting snobby on me. She might not be the prettiest car on the lot, but with factory warranty and low mileage, that there's a gem. I can't just give it away.”

He was enjoying this, wasn't he?

When he waved at someone behind them, Morgan cringed, sinking her head into her shoulders.
Please, don't be someone who knows me.
She'd had about all the vitriol she could take for one day.

“Deal or no deal?” he asked.

“Deal.” She'd get over the vehicle's ugliness as long as it wouldn't shake apart into a million pieces on the highway or anything. “Let's go to your office so we can get this done.”

Once she'd signed on the dotted line, some way, somehow, Morgan Parrish was getting the hell out of Harmony Falls—again.

• • •

Charlie Cramer's pick-up truck guzzled oil the way he used to guzzle Jack.

Or beer. Or any other alcohol that found its way into his hands.

He shook his head as he detoured from Main Street and pulled into Becker Car and Truck, thankful for more than a thousand days of sobriety. He had his dream job as chef at Char-Grilled Bistro. His sister was happily married. Life as a once pitiful, laughable Cramer had taken a damn good turn.
Finally.

But maybe he'd spoken too soon.

A white Jaguar with Connecticut plates parked on Bryce's lot. Charlie hit the brakes and rubbed his eyes until they burned. Apparently, there was a downside to sobriety—too many dry days caused hallucinations.

It had to be a hallucination, because that looked like Morgan Parrish's car. He had spent the better part of a year in pursuit of that car and its driver.

With hands clenched around the wheel, he drove straight at the figment of his imagination. At the last minute, he chickened out and turned the wheel. What if it was real? What if Morgan Parrish came back to town?

Son of a bitch.
When she'd left town with his baby in her belly, after Justin dropped her cold, Charlie had followed. He'd hoped she would give them a chance to be happy together like they'd been that summer between her freshman and sophomore years in college, before her father stepped in and broke them apart. But once he'd reached her in Connecticut, she'd refused to talk to him except to threaten a restraining order. So he backed down, got sober, and enrolled in culinary school. Then, the baby had been born and he'd received papers to declare paternity. Charlie scratched an itch over his heart. He didn't fight Morgan's wish to place the child for adoption. As a newly recovered alcoholic, he'd been the last person on earth who should've been a father. And Morgan was no prize, either.

He touched the gritty surface of the white car—just to make sure it was real—and then he headed straight for Bryce's office. If she did have the nerve to show her face in this town again, he had a few things to say.

As he weaved through racks of auto parts and man-sized stacks of tires, the soles of Charlie's cowboy boots echoed. He needed oil and then he needed to get to the bistro for dinner prep. He
didn't
need this aggravation. Pushing the Mitchell family to invest in a small restaurant instead of the bakery they'd proposed meant there was a lot riding on his success.

And it'd been slow to come.

“Afternoon, Charlie,” Roberta Urlacher called from behind the checkout counter. “What's on the menu this week? More of that veal? Rudy can't stop talking about it.”

“No veal. This week I have duck.”

She crinkled her nose. “Ew. Duck is slimy and tough.”

“Only when it's cooked by someone who shouldn't be cooking it,” he said. “Is Bryce in?”

“Bryce is, uh, closing a deal. Can I help you with something?”

“Oil,” he said without taking his eyes off Bryce's office door.

“You use a 5w20 in her, right?”

“Yes.” He leaned against the counter, wishing it was a bar.

“Be back in a jiff.”

A few seconds later, Charlie heard a door click open and the words, “Good luck to you.”

He met Bryce's wide eyes as the man exited his office with a woman behind him. Charlie's heart hammered against his rib cage. She wore her dark hair in a ponytail—something Morgan never did—and the baggy sweatshirt was wrong, too. But he'd have known that face anywhere.

Her mouth opened when she saw him. Maybe his did, too. He was so numb he couldn't feel a damn thing except the vicious thrashing in his chest.

“Well, well, Charlie Cramer, isn't this a surprise?” Bryce grinned. “I'll be right with you.”

Morgan stepped toward Charlie, looking different enough he couldn't help but stare. It took him a few seconds to realize she wasn't wearing makeup—not a stitch. For a woman who used to leave smudges of color on his white T-shirts after a hug, it was a shocking change. Was she sick? He used to pray she'd pay for agreeing to that wedding her father wanted and choosing Justin over him, then leaving town the minute they actually got their chance to be together. But he didn't want her to be ill.

“Charlie,” she rasped. “I'm … ” her mouth closed, and he watched the muscles of her throat move as she swallowed, “visiting my aunt.”

Which was weird, too. The high and mighty Parrishes had stayed far away from Kitty's reclusive sister, Phyllis.

“5w20,” Roberta said. Her voice ended in a whoop, and the plastic container thudded loudly on the counter.

He might have things to say to Morgan, but he wasn't going to say them here in front of an eager audience.

Reaching into his back pocket, he grabbed his wallet and tossed a twenty onto the counter. “Thanks, Roberta.”

“I'm going to call you,” Morgan said.

Charlie clenched his jaw.
Two years too late.
He gave Morgan a curt nod but otherwise stood stock still until she and Bryce left the building.

“I should've warned you.” Roberta handed him his change. “I was hoping they'd stay in the office long enough for you to get out without seeing her. It must be hard. Is that the first time you've seen her since she left town? ”

Charlie's nostrils flared. He didn't like to share details about his life or talk about his feelings with people close to him. He sure as hell wasn't going down that road with an auto parts store cashier.
Small towns
. These people needed to mind their own business.

A growl caught in the back of his throat as he retreated.

It wasn't until he stepped out of the building, clutching the quart of oil, that his head cleared enough to go on the attack again.
Phone call, my ass.
He wasn't waiting around to hear from her.

Charlie jumped into his truck and headed for Phyllis Marion's farmhouse. They had unfinished business.

To purchase this ebook and learn more about the author,
click here.

In the mood for more Crimson Romance?