Her chin quivered as she shoved the phone in her purse. In, out, she breathed, searching for a happy place. Rebuilding her relationship with Holly—who was like a daughter to her already. Making a success of the inn. Even... Daniel? You are perfect just the way you are.
He might be partly a happy place, but he was also a complication she couldn’t afford.
A craggy voice called her name. “Dorothea!”
She turned to find Virgil Porter striding toward her. He wore a pair of faded, paint-stained overalls and mud-caked boots. Despite his age, he was an imposing man. Surrounded by old buildings with exposed brick, concrete and wooden beams, he was a slice of Americana come to life.
Her nerves kicked up a fuss, but she held her ground. No more running away from tough situations. She’d kissed Daniel. Heck, she’d made him come in his pants. Spontaneous Combustion Girl could do anything.
Fake it till you make it.
She forced a smile and waved. “Hi, Mr. Porter.”
He grinned in return. He hadn’t just given Daniel his height and width; he’d given his son his smile, too. A mischievous smile bursting with charm.
“Heard my Danny boy is your new clerk.”
“Yes, sir. And you must have raised him right, because he’s a good one.” It was the Lord’s honest truth. Daniel did nothing halfway. He was self-motivated, finding things to fix when no guests were at the desk to ask questions and even putting a new security system in place.
Thou shalt do your best, not just what’s good enough.
If only his work ethic carried over into his dating life.
Virgil puffed up with pride. “Wish I could take all the credit, but his momma was a force to be reckoned with, God rest her precious soul. She wasn’t afraid to spank his bottom whenever he turned on the sass.”
“So that’s the secret, huh? Spanking his bottom.”
Virgil snorted. “Look at you. Like a possum eatin’ a sweet tater. Just don’t be alarmed if he wants to spank your bottom right back.”
Oh, she figured Daniel would love nothing more than to bend her over his knees and paddle her blue for giving his relationship offer the stanky boot.
For a man who claimed to relish a good challenge, he sure got crazy when things failed to go his way.
Because I’m important to him?
Nope. Not going there. The answer didn’t matter. She was no one’s dirty little secret. Besides, she could never forget he expected the end to come. Seek and you will find.
“Well,” she said, and cleared her throat. “I should probably get going.”
“Where you headed?”
Welcome to small-town living. “Ryanne and I are going shopping.”
“I hope you’re not going to the city. No one there has the sense God gave a goose. Only thing you’re gonna get is mugged.”
She swallowed a laugh. “I’ll take care, Mr. Porter. I promise.”
“Call me Virgil. Shoot, I watched you grow up, feel like I’m your favorite uncle. I know how special you are.”
The simple proclamation flipped her entire world upside down and inside out. Her own dad had rejected her, but this man who wasn’t actually blood related thought she was special. The tears she’d been fighting spilled out and flowed down her cheeks.
“Now, now.” He drew her in for a bear hug and gave her back an awkward pat. “I didn’t mean to go upsettin’ you.”
“I’m not upset.” Not here and now. She clung to him. “I’m happy.”
“There’s no need to blubber like a baby, then, is there?”
A surprised laugh escaped. “You’re right.”
He released her and kissed her damp cheek. “You go on now. Have fun and stay safe, and make sure you get home before midnight. Excuse my French, but by then there ain’t nothing open but legs and hospitals.”
She choked on a laugh. A genuine laugh. He was such a good man, and he liked her. Truly liked her. And his son—
Nope. Still not thinking about him.
Today, she’d had to deal with few ups and a lot of downs. Which one she focused on—that was what mattered. It would mean the difference between victory and defeat, happiness and despair.
I’m going to stay happy, and that’s that.
She stopped at Holy Grounds, bought the strongest espresso on the menu for Ryanne, adding milk and sugar—lucky girl!—and ordered herself a cup of plain black coffee. Whimper. But better she wish her coffee tasted like candy than wear the milk and sugar in her thighs like saddlebags.
Miracle of miracles, Ryanne was waiting outside the bar, already dressed and ready to go. She swiped the cup of espresso and drained half the contents before Dorothea could utter a greeting.
Dorothea noticed the fluffy clouds ghosting along the sky—and frowned. Was that a man sneaking down Ryanne’s stairs? The staircase that opened to the outside and led straight to her bedroom.
No, it most certainly wasn’t a man. It was two men.
Brock Hudson and Jude Laurent, a seriously good-looking man with pale hair and a slight limp. As sunlight stroked over his bronzed skin, Ryanne stiffened.
“So you guys are having playdates with my friend?” Dorothea asked when they reached her.
Brock gave her a half grin before lighting a cigarette. Jude plucked the cigarette from his fingers and ground the entire thing into the sidewalk.
“Nothing happened,” Ryanne said. “After Jude took Brock home, Brock returned and drank too much, like a teenager at his first rave, and refused to get inside a cab because the driver might—and I quote—‘steal his seed.’ As if he doesn’t hand it out for free every night. I let him crash on my couch. Called Jude but didn’t hear back from him till this morning, and he came to get Brock.”
Brock spread his arms, the king of the castle. “The couch wasn’t made for a man like me. You should have invited me to share your bed.”
“I was seconds away from doing just that...until I remembered I would rather cut off your balls and feed them to you,” Ryanne replied.
Jude’s scowl deepened. He stepped in front of his friend, blocking the guy’s view of Ryanne. The action was almost...dare she say...possessive. And the tension crackling between the couple? Oh, my stars.
What an interesting development.
“Your hospitality sucked,” he said without any inflection or emotion.
No way could Jude pass the ten commitments test. Being kind to others didn’t appear to be in his wheelhouse.
“I’ll be sure to mention my raging guilt in my diary.” Ryanne brushed an invisible piece of lint from her shirt. “Oh. Meant to tell you. I accidentally tossed Brock’s car keys somewhere in the parking lot. Y’all should probably start lookin’.”
“You took the keys straight out of my pocket and said, ‘I’ve been working on my throw. Watch.’” Once again Brock spread his arms. “Then you added, ‘Expect to find those keys in kingdom come.’”
“Well, darn.” Ryanne snapped her fingers. “There’s another entry for my diary.”
“I’ll call and let you know when we find the keys,” Jude said, “to ease your conscience.”
She smirked. “You don’t have my number.”
“I found it on the bathroom wall next to the words Gives Good Head...aches.”
Her eyes sparkled with humor—humor?—as she hooked her arm through Dorothea’s and tugged her forward. “Enjoy your day, boys. My friend and I have things to see and people to do.”
Can't Hardly Breathe (The Original Heartbreakers #4)
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