Once Upon a Valentine (4 page)

Something on his wrist caught his eye. Wrapped around the stem of the gold watch his boss had awarded him for landing a particularly lucrative account was a strand of blond hair. He found the end of the hair and tried to pull it free, but it was as thick as fishing line. Afraid he would damage the stem, he opted to wait for a pair of scissors. But the sight of it reminded him of being wedged up close to Summer Tomlinson—close enough to kiss that bee-stung mouth. Beautiful women were common in New York, but he couldn’t recall the last time one of them had scrambled his senses to the point that he was undressing her in his mind…wondering what it would feel like to lose himself in her body—

A noise sounded from the kitchen, cutting into his inappropriate musings about Summer Tomlinson. Andrew went to investigate and found Red Tucker bent over, peering into the refrigerator. His father’s friend looked up and smiled wide. “Andrew! Hello!”

Andrew smiled and shook the older man’s hand. “Hello, Red.”

Red gestured to the back door. “I knocked, but no one answered.”

“I just got here, myself. But you know you’re always welcome.”

“Didn’t see your car in the driveway out back.”

“I put it in a ditch in front of the Tomlinson house trying to dodge a fugitive horse.”

“You okay?”

“Just irritated.”

Red laughed. “I’ll fetch the tractor and give you a tow directly.” Then he nodded to a covered dish sitting on the butcher-block table. “Debbie sent you a chicken casserole—I was trying to find a place to put it, but it looks like the church brigade has already been by.”

Andrew glanced inside to find the refrigerator packed with labeled food containers.

Red rearranged a couple of items and added his wife’s casserole. “If you want my opinion, I’d skip Tessa Hadley’s Mexican dip and Anna Kelly’s potato salad. But Roberta Bride’s apple pie is a keeper.”

Andrew smiled. “Thanks for the tip.”

The man closed the refrigerator door, then sobered. “Your father was a good man. He’ll be missed.”

Andrew nodded at the man’s heartfelt words. “Thank you. You were a good friend to him, Red.”

Red looked around the cluttered country kitchen. “Do you know what you’re going to do with the place?”

In light of his recent conversation with Summer, he hesitated. “I suppose I’ll sell it.”

Red nodded. “Figured as much.”

“I have to say, I’m a little surprised how rundown Dad let things get around here.”

The man’s expression turned pensive. “The last few months, your dad lost interest in everything but the stables.”

“Listen, Red, did Dad talk to you about a grooming product for horses he was planning to market and sell?”

“No.” Then Red pulled on his chin. “But that makes sense.”

“What makes sense?”

“Odd business expenses I called him on that he was vague about—lab expenses and chemicals and such.”

“How much money are we talking about?” Andrew asked, suddenly concerned.

“Several thousand dollars. Money he couldn’t afford to spend, between you and me. Did you know he was behind on property taxes?”

Andrew straightened. “No.”

“And that he’d taken out a mortgage?”

Alarm bolted through his chest. “But my parents paid off the property when I was young.”

Red grunted. “You should be able to get more for the property than your father owed, but with the way real estate has dropped around here, it’ll be close. And those taxes will need to be paid sooner rather than later.”

Andrew nodded, shot through with frustration that his father hadn’t let him know he needed money. Had he gone without things he needed to take care of those broken-down horses? Had Summer Tomlinson influenced him to spend money on the crazy hair conditioner?

When he went to see the distracting woman tonight, he intended to find out.

4

SUMMER WAS A NERVOUS wreck, second-guessing what to serve for dinner, what to wear, what to say to Andrew when he arrived. Gabby wasn’t helping with her running critical commentary from her perch on the windowsill where she supervised and apparently found everything from the rosemary pot roast to the green wrap dress wanting.

“Shh!” Summer said to her vocal cat.

Gabby blinked, then lifted her chin as if to say it was a lucky coincidence she’d just decided she
wanted
to be quiet.

Summer glanced around the room to check last-minute details—the pot roast was sliced and sitting on the sideboard, along with mashed potatoes and gravy. The simple dinner wouldn’t measure up the elegant meals Andrew was no doubt accustomed to, but it was the nicest cut of meat she’d had in the freezer and, she hoped, would remind him of the virtues of good home-cooking.

The women in New York had their tools of seduction, and the women in Tiny had theirs.

Next to the food she’d placed the binder containing the notes on the project she and Barber had worked on, and a container of the pinkish conditioner she and Barber had dubbed Mane Squeeze. Hopefully, she could convince Andrew their formula could compete in the marketplace.

The doorbell rang, and Gabby yowled in notification.

“Yes, I heard it, too,” Summer said. On the way to the front door, she slipped off the scarf she’d worn over her hair while cooking. Her heart thudded against her breastbone. Tonight was supposed to be about business, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t hoping it would lead to something else.

She opened the door and Truman rushed inside, licking her knees and her hands.

“Truman,” Andrew chided, “we haven’t been invited in.”

Summer laughed to cover her nervousness. Andrew was so handsome in brown slacks and a cream-colored long-sleeved dress shirt that highlighted his dark coloring. Now that the sun had set, the early-evening air gusting around him was tinged with the bite of the waning winter. Goosebumps raised on her arms. “Please, come in.”

He smiled, revealing white teeth. “I promise not to lick you.”

Her cheeks warmed as illicit images leaped to her mind. She stepped aside and tried to tamp down her pulse as he crossed the threshold.

He extended a covered pie plate. “I brought dessert.”

“How thoughtful,” she murmured.

“I can’t take credit…Miss Bride made it.”

Summer smiled, but before she could take the pie, the sound of barking and hissing followed by a horrific crashing noise from the kitchen ended the moment. She rushed in to find the meal, the notebook and the container of conditioner spilled all over the floor. The edge of the runner had been pulled down, Truman was barking furiously and Gabby was sitting on the sideboard, her teeth bared and her ears laid back.

“Oh, no!” Summer cried.

“Truman, be quiet!” Andrew commanded.

The dog stopped and whined, then retreated to stand next to Andrew. Gabby, however, refused to retreat. She continued to hiss in the dog’s direction, leaning so far forward over the edge of the sideboard that it looked as if she might leap across the room onto him.

“Gabby!” Summer scolded. From a narrow closet, she pulled a broom and a few menacing motions sent Gabby bounding up the stairs. The Persian stopped at the landing to give everyone a piece of her feline mind, then lifted her tail in the air and walked away.

“I’m so sorry,” Andrew said, gesturing to the mess. He glared at Truman who hid his head.

“I’m sure he was provoked,” Summer said, frowning after her cat. Then she sighed and lifted her hands. “I don’t have a plan B for dinner.”

Andrew smiled and lifted his offering. “We have pie.”

Summer laughed, relaxing a bit. “That does sound good. I’ll put on some coffee.”

“And I’ll start cleaning up,” Andrew offered, reaching for paper towels.

The ruined dinner actually helped to break the ice, although Summer was upset to find her notes soaked with gravy and the spilled conditioner. So much for a classy presentation. They moved to the living-room couch and coffee table, and over thick wedges of pie and creamy coffee, she reviewed sticky pages and described how she and Barber had refined the recipe for the formula.

“Your father told me the secret is how the aloe-vera gel reacts with the evening-primrose oil.” She extended a rescued spoonful of the blush-colored lotion. “Barber made a new batch last week. He kept the inventory in the kitchen pantry, by the way.”

Andrew sniffed the conditioner. “It has a pleasant scent,” he admitted.

“We added rosemary oil for fragrance, and pomegranate for natural color. We found a cosmetology lab in Knoxville that doesn’t test on animals and our formula qualifies to be marketed as organic.”

He glanced over the reports that included a budget, his mouth pursed in thought. The pink-and-black lettering of the Mane Squeeze label and logo design she’d labored over now seemed painfully amateurish. She could tell he wasn’t bowled over when he returned to eating his pie. Finally, he swallowed.

“What about tests to prove it actually makes hair grow longer? That’s a big claim to back up.”

“The lab has been conducting tests for three months,” she said. “I regularly submit a few strands for analysis. The latest results are promising.”

He set aside the reports and gestured to her hair. “And how long have you been using it?”

She offered up a lock of her loose hair for his inspection. “Over seven years. Hair typically grows about six inches a year, and my hair is about forty-five inches long. So the entire length is the result of Mane Squeeze.”

He reluctantly took the proffered strand, then awkwardly rubbed it between his fingers. “It…has a nice texture,” he said, then cleared his throat. “And I noticed earlier that your hair is, um, strong, but maybe that’s your natural makeup.”

She shook her head. “Before I started using Barber’s conditioner, my hair would barely grow past my shoulders.”

He was still holding the hank of blond hair, and the sight of it entwined in his large fingers sent a quickening to her breasts. Erotic visions flashed in her head of his hands pushing into her hair and tousling it during carnal activity.

“So what do you think?” she asked. The words came out sounding more husky than she’d planned.

His dark eyes bore into hers. “I think you have beautiful hair.” His husky tone matched hers.

She wet her lips. “Does that mean you’ll try to market your father’s formula? That you’ll fulfill his dream to turn the Mane Squeeze into a horse-rescue center?”

His mouth opened. “I’ve decided to, um…do my best.”

Excitement and happiness bubbled up in her chest. “Thank you!” Impulsively, she threw her arms around Andrew and kissed him on the mouth.

What started out as a sweet thank-you kiss quickly morphed into a deeper, harder exchange. Summer opened her mouth and welcomed him inside. His tongue delivered arrows of desire to awaken dormant erogenous zones. He wrapped his hand around the nape of her neck and slanted his mouth against hers. She moaned as her body came alive, shifting to loop her arms around his neck. He eased her back on the couch and moved his kisses to her neck. She sighed in his ear, relishing the warmth of his body pressed against hers.

This was unlike her, she thought distantly. She’d had her share of suitors, but no one had ever made her feel so wanton with a simple kiss, had made her feel as if she wanted to roll around on the couch like a teenager.

He kissed lower, nuzzling her cleavage, and she arched into him, urging him on. Her nipples budded in anticipation of his tongue’s attention. He slid his hand down her back…and she inhaled sharply as her head went back in pain.

“Ow!”

He stilled his hand. “Sorry…I think your hair is caught again.”

“Your watch?”

“No…my cuff link.”

After some awkward levering, she sat up and he turned her around to try to loosen the wayward hair.

“Ow, ow, ow!” she moaned.

“I’m sorry.” After several long minutes, he grunted. “Almost…there.” At last he lifted his freed hand, then he laughed. “I keep getting tangled up with you.”