Not His Type (13 page)

As he drove,
Travis thought about Blair Carlyle’s comparison of herself to Brooke Valentine. 
He’d done the same thing that morning, matching Brooke against Lorna Morgan. 
So why had it made him so angry when Blair did it?  A sudden memory came to him
from his childhood.

Travis was about
seven years old and was tagging along with his older sisters.  They walked to a
nearby park where several of his sisters’ friends were already waiting.  One
pimply-faced boy draped an arm casually over the shoulders of Travis’ oldest
sister, Tracey; he sneered at Travis.

“Why’d you bring
him?” the boy asked.

“He wanted to
come,” Tracey answered, shrugging.

“Just because
the little twerp wanted to come didn’t mean you had to bring him,” the boy
argued.  “You shoulda left the little pest at home.”

“You shut up!” Tracey
had snapped.  “Don’t you call him a twerp!  Or a pest!”

“You call him
stuff like that all the time!” the boy said defensively.

“The difference
is,
I
love him, you idiot!”

Tracey had
jumped off the bench, pushing the boy’s arm away.  She took Travis by the hand
and pulled him away, ignoring the teenage boy’s calls to come back.  Tracey
stopped to buy Travis an ice cream cone from a cart; she handed the treat to
him and ruffled his hair, smiling down at him.

“You may be a
pest and a twerp,” she said.  “But you’re
my
pest and twerp, and nobody
else can call you that!”

Now, years
later, Travis suddenly understood.  He’d only known Brooke a little over a
week, but he cared about her and didn’t want anyone else saying hateful things
about her.  So she wasn’t his “type”, and didn’t really compare to a woman like
Lorna; she was a sweet woman, and obviously very compassionate to have cared
for her grandfather during his illness.  Travis had meant it when he told Blair
Carlyle Brooke deserved better.

Travis parked in
front of Babycakes.  He sat there for a moment, shaking off the remains of his
anger.  He lifted the bag containing his laptop and got out of his truck.  The
little bell over the door announced his arrival.  Brooke looked up from her
task of sliding a tray of pumpkin bread and spice cake into the display case. 
Travis grinned at her as she straightened.

“You’re just
like a bad penny, aren’t you?” Brooke asked dryly.

“Yup,” he
answered.  “You’re stuck with me, unless you move in the near future!”

“Hey, did you
hear anything from your friend about my car?”

“No, but I’ll
call him right now.”

Travis seated
himself at a table near the window.  As he dialed, Brooke pulled some cookies
from the display; she placed them on a small plate and set the plate in front
of Travis.  Without a word, she walked away from him, unaware that his eyes
followed her as she returned to the kitchen.  Jazz, however, noted the steady
blue gaze that watched the subtle sway of Brooke’s hips and she smiled; her
smile widened when Travis realized she’d seen him watching Brooke.

When the bakery
closed, it was Brooke’s turn to wait for Travis as he met with Jazz and Riley,
discussing options for a security system.  She busied herself by climbing up on
the step stool and organizing the higher shelves.  She knew neither Jazz nor
Riley had time to accomplish some of the more mundane tasks at the bakery
before they’d hired her, and she was happy to do so now.

Travis, on the
other hand, was
not
happy when he emerged from the office with Riley and
Jazz; the three of them stood looking up at Brooke who stood on her tiptoes on
the top step of the stool.  Travis frowned up at her.

“What do you
think you’re doing?” he demanded.

Brooke let out a
tiny squeak.  She wobbled a little.  Travis put up a hand to steady her; the
only place he could reach was her rear end.  A large warm hand on the curve of
her behind rattled Brooke so she jerked and wobbled even more on her precarious
perch.  Travis caught her when she fell, holding her against his broad chest
for a moment before setting her on her feet.  Brooke immediately pushed out of
his arms.

“Why did you do
that?” she asked, glaring at him, her violet eyes like a stormy sky.

“What, catch you
before you hit the floor?” Travis asked, returning her frown, his blue eyes
flashing.

“I wouldn’t have
fallen if you hadn’t groped my behind!”

“I wouldn’t have
groped your behind if you hadn’t been on your tiptoes on the top step of that
stool!” he snapped.  “And for the record, I didn’t
grope
your behind,
Brooke!  I barely touched you!”

Riley and Jazz
couldn’t stand it any longer; they both burst out laughing, Jazz leaning
against Riley for support.  Brooke and Travis both turned their dark looks on
the couple before them.  Riley recovered first, wiping a hand across his eyes
and taking a deep breath.

“You two really
need to take that show on the road!” he chuckled.

“It’s like
having our own little sitcom here in the bakery!” Jazz added, still giggling. 
“You two are hilarious!”

“I was just
trying to keep her from falling!” Travis muttered.

“Uh-huh,” Riley
said nodding.  His grin still stretched from ear to ear.  He chuckled again
before speaking.  “Why don’t you two get outta here?  Jazz and I will lock up
and be out the door right behind you.”  He looked at Brooke.  “See you in the
morning at six, Brooke.  And Travis, we’ll see you – or one of your employees –
tomorrow as well, right?”

“Yes,” Travis
agreed after a moment.  “I’ll just bring everything I need when I bring Brooke
to work.”

“You two have a
good evening,” Jazz said, a knowing smile on her face.  As soon as the bakery
door closed behind Brooke and Travis, she smiled up at Riley.  “He’s in so much
trouble, and he doesn’t even know it, does he?”

“Not a clue,”
Riley agreed, pulling her into his embrace.  “He has no idea how hard he’s
about to fall!”

Chapter
17

Travis was very
aware of his awkwardness as he tried to help Brooke up into his Hummer.  He
knew her leg was much better, but given her diminutive size, coupled with the
height of his truck, which was higher than the average Hummer was, he worried
about her reinjuring her leg.  He tried for a moment to figure out what to do
with his hands; it was absurd, really, because he’d helped her into his vehicle
several times now, simply placing his hands at her waist and lifting her up. 
Now, suddenly, he felt like an idiot.  Or worse, a creep like Mike Schmidt!

“Brooke, wait,”
Travis said finally.  “Let me help you up.”

Once again,
Travis put his hands on her waist.  He easily lifted her up to the passenger
seat and closed the door.  As he walked around the Hummer, he wondered why
Blair Carlyle thought Brooke Valentine was “dumpy”.  No, Brooke wasn’t tall and
willowy like the blonde, or Lorna; but beneath her faded jeans and the
sweatshirt she wore today, Travis could easily feel Brooke’s curves.  Not fat,
just curves.  Very nice, very feminine curves.  Travis shook the thought from
his mind as he climbed behind the steering wheel.  He turned and looked at
Brooke.

“You know that
was an accident, right?” Travis asked.  “My touching you like that.  I was just
afraid you’d fall.”

“Of course I
know that!” Brooke said.  Her expression implied she thought the question was
slightly crazy.  “I saw the woman who came in the bakery this morning, Travis. 
I’m not an idiot, you know.  I know a guy like you wouldn’t be interested in a
woman like…I know I’m not your type.”

“My
type
?”
Travis echoed incredulously.  “And a guy like me?  What does that mean?”

In the back of
his mind, an irritating little voice reminded Travis that twice today he’d
compared Brooke with two tall, slender professional women.  The little voice
reminded him that every woman he’d ever dated had been tall, cool, slender,
self-possessed and fashionable.  Travis wanted that little voice to shut up. 
He waited for Brooke to answer his questions.  She gave a little shrug, a
restless movement of her shoulders.

“Your type?” she
queried.  She began to list the very qualities the little voice in his head had
done.  “Tall, model-thin, gorgeous, successful, confident.  Pretty much the anti-Brooke.”

“The
anti-Brooke
?”
Travis repeated, his voice hard.  Brooke shrugged again, her eyes on the
windshield in front of her, even though the vehicle hadn’t moved yet.  “And
what did you mean, a guy like me?”

“Travis, come
on,” Brooke said, sounding tired suddenly.  “Is this really necessary right now?”

“Yes.  Yes, I
think it is.”  Travis turned in his seat so that he fully faced Brooke.  With
one hand, he gripped her chin gently and forced her to look at him.  “What did
you mean, Brooke?  What kind of man do you think I am?”

“Travis, do you
not see yourself in the mirror every day?” Brooke asked.  “Do you not see women
looking at you when you walk past?  You’re gorgeous, exactly the kind of man
who’d date women like that redhead this morning!  Or Blair!  You’ll see when
you meet her!  She looks like a blonde version of the redhead!”

After a long
moment, Travis removed his hand from Brooke’s chin.  He turned back in his seat
and started the engine.  Without another word, he backed out of the space in
front of the bakery and drove away.

Inside the bakery,
Riley pulled a dollar from his wallet and handed it to his wife.  Jazz grinned
unrepentantly.  Riley shook his head.

“I just knew he
was going to kiss her!” he said.  “How did he miss that chance?  It was
perfect!  She was angry, he was embarrassed – you saw the look on his face,
right?  When he put his hand up to steady her?”

“I did,” Jazz
nodded, tucking the dollar bill into the pocket of her tunic.  “But I think, as
you pointed out, that he’s fighting it.  He’s not ready to see our little
Brooke in that way.”  She smiled and kissed her husband.  “And you should know
better than to bet against me when romance is involved!”

The silence in
Travis’ vehicle was broken when Brooke asked, “So my car?”

“Oh!” Travis
said.  “Yeah.  Brooke, someone disconnected your battery cables.  Both of them,
so it wasn’t an accident.”

“You’re saying
somebody did it on purpose?” she asked, frowning.  “But who in the world would
do something like that?  And for what purpose?”

“You can’t think
of anyone, Brooke?” Travis asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.  “Someone
who, in your own words, spent several hours ogling you?  The same someone who
just
happened
to show up when you needed a ride?”

“Mike?”  Brooke
stared at Travis.  “You really think he did it?”

“I absolutely
do,” he answered.

“So we could go
get my car right now!” Brooke said suddenly.  Travis shook his head.  “Why
not?”

“My friend wants
to check out a couple of things on your car,” he answered.

“Travis, I can’t
afford that,” she protested quickly.  “It was running okay.  I can’t afford a
mechanic to just check a couple things out.  You call your friend and tell him
we’re coming to get my car!”

“We can’t now,
Brooke,” Travis said reasonably.

“Why not?”
Brooke asked again.

“Because it’s
kind of in pieces.  He’d already started working before I called him.  Flushing the radiator, cleaning the carburetor, that kind of thing.”

“Travis!” 
Brooke’s voice was sharp, a little panicked.  “I can’t afford that!  I know the
job at Babycakes will be better, but I just started working there!”

“Brooke, don’t
worry about it,” Travis said calmly.  “My friend will let you pay it out,
okay?  Will that help?  He’s a good guy, he’s not going to do anything that’s
not necessary.  But when he found out the car belonged to a single woman, he
wanted to make sure it was running really well.”

Brooke sighed,
still sounding a little frustrated.  She glanced over at Travis.

“Are all of your
friends like you and the mechanic?” she asked.

“What do you
mean?”

“You know,
rescuer of damsels in distress?  Savior of lost strays?”

“You need to
stop putting yourself down, Brooke,” Travis said.  His tone was sharp, he knew;
between his own little annoying inner voice, Blair Carlyle’s unflattering
comparison between Brooke and herself, and Brooke’s own self-deprecating words,
he was more than a little irritated.  “You’re not a stray.”

Brooke ignored
his words, asking instead, “So how much longer will your friend be checking
things out?  When can I get my car back?”

“Uh, he said one
day next week.”

“Next week!”

“Probably.”

“Probably?  Are
you serious?”  Brooke wanted to cry.  “Travis, what am I supposed to do until
next week?  I don’t think I’m up to riding my bike yet!”