The Stolen Suitor (2 page)

“Hell no.”

Nora smiled. “All right, sugar plum. I’m here if ya change your mind.”

She went back to waiting tables, which she did pretty much by herself until Francie came in at three o’clock, when school let out.

Nora was Jeremy’s favorite thing about working at the diner. He was damned lucky she’d given him a chance. Being the third Crassen male to come along in this town, Jeremy had been written off before he’d even gotten started.

The meat-packing plant, for instance. It was the biggest employer in the area that didn’t require a college degree. But after his father, and then Eric, had bailed on them previously, they took one look at Jeremy’s name and told him “thanks but no thanks.”

Not that Jeremy was dying to work at the meat-packing plant. The idea disgusted him, actually, and he was sure he’d hate it just as much as his father and brother had. But it was the best-paying job in town, and he needed to earn as much money as possible if he was gonna help Ma with bills and save up for college too.

Instead, Nora had taken him on. He’d worked as a busboy and dishwasher during high school and even a waiter on occasion. When she’d found out about the meat-packing-plant rejection, she’d asked him if he wanted to train as a short-order cook. Eduardo was getting up in years and didn’t like working long shifts anymore. So Jeremy had let Eduardo train him, and now Eduardo did the morning shift and Jeremy ran the kitchen from one to closing at eight.

It wasn’t like Jeremy had a dream of being a chef, or any particular talent for it. But the diner’s meals were nothing fancy and the place was busy enough to keep him on his toes most days. And when it wasn’t too crazy, he could think up plots and scenes and characters while flipping burgers. He liked that.

But as he savored Nora’s amazing blueberry pie, he wasn’t thinking about his stories. He was thinking about his mother and Chris Ramsey.

He was thinking about the fact that he, Jeremy, was gay, even though not a single person in Clyde’s Corner knew it. It had to be purely coincidence that his mother had come up with this idea. Right? She didn’t suspect. No one suspected.

But then, no one gave Jeremy Crassen much thought at all.

Could he do it? Could he seduce Chris Ramsey?

It was a stupid idea. Jeremy was a virgin, for God’s sake. He didn’t know any other gay guys in town—well, who weren’t already hooked up, like Joshua and Ben. And he hadn’t dared enough or been desperate enough to go through with an online hook-up. Also, he was the keep-to-himself type. Also, he was a low-paid short-order cook and a Crassen—why would anyone be interested? And also again, Chris Ramsey might not even
be
gay. As if his mother would know.

Chris had been in Trixie and John’s class. They’d been seniors when Jeremy was a freshman at Clyde’s Corner High School. Jeremy remembered Chris being very cute, with dark hair and a slender build, always classy and well-dressed, and popular too. He might as well have been a god compared to Jeremy, who was a loner at that age. Hell, at any age. He hadn’t even had his big brother around for company then, since Eric had graduated the year before Jeremy started high school.

As Jeremy recalled, Chris had been friends with John Stubben. John and Trix were a golden couple, part of the “cow crowd”—the ranchers’ kids. Chris’s dad, though, wasn’t a rancher. No, Berk Ramsey owned the biggest store in town, the Merc. Which meant the Ramseys were wealthy.

Jeremy had never gotten any gay vibes off Chris, but then, it wasn’t like they’d ever talked to each other. Or that Chris knew Jeremy existed.

Pretend you’re a character in one of them stories you’re always scribbling.

Could he? If Jeremy could be anyone, he’d be Gary Prince, a gorgeous, gregarious blond from his first novel, a novel that was now feeding termites in the bottom drawer of his desk. Gary had been based on Ben Rivers. He was a cowboy, all man, confident, and dashing. Gary Prince was
hot
.

He pictured Gary Prince, in boots and a Stetson, strolling into the Mercantile with a thousand-watt smile and grabbing Chris around the neck. They’d sort of shuffle-walk a few steps, like in
Brokeback Mountain.
Then Gary would kiss Chris so hard, he was bent back right over the register line.

Jeremy touched his own lips. What would it feel like to kiss a man? His only experience had been making out with Mary Lou Hengler at a senior-year party. He’d closed his eyes and pretended it was a boy, but her lipstick tasted nasty and her breasts refused to respect his personal boundaries.

Nora came up to refill his cup, and Jeremy gave her a Gary Prince smile.

“Thank you, darlin’. You’re lookin’ mighty pretty today!”

Nora looked at him like he’d gone crazy. “What are you smokin’? Never mind. Whatever it is, I like it.”

“Just high on your nat-tur-rull beauty.”

Nora’s eyes widened comically. “That so? Well, this new purple smock is fetchin’, if I do say so myself. You still got an hour before your shift. You wanna have lunch? Then you can compliment me some more.”

“No. I was thinkin’ about takin’ a walk down to the Merc.”

“Oh, yeah? You need to pick somethin’ up?”

“Not yet. Just testin’ the waters,” Jeremy said seriously. He smoothed his long bangs with his fingers and tucked them behind his ears. He rubbed his face for errant pie crust crumbs and looked up at Nora questioningly. “Good?”

Nora took his chin lightly in her fingers, and her eyes grew fond. “Sugar plum, you’re pretty as a picture. Don’t I always say so? Who’s the lucky girl—at long last?”

Gary Prince winked at Nora and slid out of the booth without answering. Behind the facade, Jeremy Crassen was shaking in his boots.

CHRIS
was fixing a bulb in the twinkle lights above the coffee station when Jeremy Crassen strolled into the Merc.

The Merc, aka the Clyde’s Corner Mercantile, was the main source of groceries in town. They were small compared to the giant chain stores in the city, but big enough for Clyde’s Corner. Besides food, they carried beer, wine, liquor, and a small selection of the kinds of clothes a Montana working man or woman might need. And they were located plumb in the middle of Clyde Corner’s quaint old town, Westerny Main Street. So the folks who worked in the store saw pretty much everyone in town on a regular basis and almost all the tourists too.

Except Jeremy Crassen. Chris gave him a second, appraising glance. He couldn’t recall seeing Jeremy in the Merc since he’d come in to buy penny candy or a pop when he was a kid. Still, Chris knew immediately who he was.

That thick, shiny, straight-as-sin, red-brown hair couldn’t belong to anybody but a Crassen. And Chris knew Eric Crassen fairly well. He came in often to buy beer and snacks. Eric was still as big, beautiful, and useless as he’d been in high school. Ergo, this had to be Jeremy, Eric’s younger brother. The last time Chris had seen him, Jeremy had been a ninth-grader—all elbows and knees and a huge mop of that red-brown hair. Chris remembered the long bangs that had covered Jeremy’s face like a shaggy dog, like the boy was hiding.

Well. Jeremy wasn’t hiding today. He wore that mahogany hair straight down, all one length, and well past his shoulders. The front was tucked neatly behind his ears, revealing a face that made Chris wonder why he’d ever hidden it in the first place. He had high, sharp cheekbones and large, even features. He was not as brutishly handsome as Eric. It took a longer appraisal to notice his looks. He was finer, more delicate, like china compared to earthenware.

Damn it. Chris had been looking at too many dinnerware catalogs lately. And that reminded him, he had to get those touristy mugs ordered for the store this week.

Jeremy glanced over at Chris, and Chris hurriedly looked down at the bulb and wire in his hands. He replaced two suspect bulbs before he dared look up again.

Jeremy was at the cold-drink case, door open, perusing the contents.

He’d also grown into his limbs, Chris noted. He wore a beat-up leather jacket and jeans. He was tall, and his hips—visible as the jacket rose from him bracing an arm on the front case door—were narrow, yet with a tightly rounded—

Jeremy turned his head and looked right at Chris.

Chris choked on his spit, coughing like an idiot. He hurriedly went back to his bulbs and wire. Shit! Caught checking out Jeremy Crassen’s ass. Jeremy’d had an “aha!” look on his face too. Jerk-off. He was a Crassen, after all, and no doubt stupid and mean.

With a huff of self-disgust, Chris plugged in the twinkle lights and was unsurprised to see half the strand still wasn’t working. He’d deal with it later. He shoved the supplies under the coffee cupboard to get rid of them and walked toward the back room. He’d get Minola to come out and cover the register for Jeremy. He wasn’t—

“Hey.” A man’s voice, deep and smooth, spoke from close by, leaving no room to ignore it.

Chris turned and found Jeremy a mere few feet away. “Oh, hello. Can I help you?” Chris said it stiffly, and he frowned a little to let Jeremy know he wouldn’t put up with any bullshit.

Jeremy’s eyes were wide and innocent. “I was just looking for some cream, but, say, are you Chris? I heard you were back in town.” Jeremy smiled in a friendly manner.

“Oh, yeah, hey, um….”

“Jeremy Crassen.” Jeremy stuck out his hand, and Chris reluctantly took it. “I don’t blame you for not remembering me. I was a few years behind you in school.”

“Oh, right, I remember now.” Jeremy was being so nice, it seemed mean-spirited to continue to pretend he didn’t know who Jeremy was. “You’re Eric’s little brother. How are you?”

“Great,” Jeremy said, with another charming smile. “How about you? Are you back in town permanently? Going to take over the Merc from your old man?”

It was a fair question. It wasn’t Jeremy’s fault if Chris wasn’t quite ready for that commitment.

“Well, it’s what I’m doing for now anyway. My dad had knee surgery, so I’m helping my folks out. Say, let me show you where to find that cream.” Chris strode over to the milk case and opened the door, Jeremy trailing behind him. “We’ve got regular cream, organic whole cream, and half and, um, h-half….”

His tongue stumbled as he turned his head and fell headlong into Jeremy’s eyes.

Holy shit.

Eric was known for his blue eyes. The big stud had an honest to God dimpled chin and eyes the color of a deep blue sky, like some Disney hero. Women went nuts over those eyes. Eric had been a year ahead of Chris in school, and at the height of his teenaged hormones, Chris hadn’t been immune himself.

Jeremy’s eyes, however, were something else. They were a golden brown with a reddish cast, a few shades lighter than his hair and ten times as luminous in the light reflected from the cold case. Chris swallowed.

“Sure you don’t have any other kind of cream? In back, maybe?” Jeremy’s words were silky. His eyes dropped to Chris’s lips, then to his crotch.

Chris felt his face flame, and in the same instant, his cock start to swell. His goddamn blood was tag-teaming him.

Jeremy looked back up, his expression neutral, as if he hadn’t just…. Had he?

“Sorry, I was on my way to the back,” Chris said quickly. “For business. Have to take care of something. Excuse me. If you have any more questions, Minola can help you.” Chris jerked a nod of his head and fled.

“CAN
you cover the front for a few minutes?” Chris asked Minola. She was unboxing and sorting stock in the back, a never-ending task he’d asked her to tackle a half hour ago.

“Sure,” she said amiably. In her forties and single, Minola was always happy to do anything they asked as long as she was on the clock. She dusted off her hands and went out front.

Chris went into the small office that had been his father’s all during his childhood and was now, at least temporarily, his. He shut the door, locked it for good measure, and flopped down in the ancient roller chair behind the desk.

He swiped a hand over his face.
What was that?

He scolded himself.
That
was him being attracted to a good-looking guy. He’d promised himself he wasn’t going to indulge that. Not here in Clyde’s Corner, and especially not now. In fact, if his future went ahead as planned, not ever again.

Chris wasn’t self-delusional. When it came to his “bisexuality,” he knew he was more like 80/20 by proclivity. He’d dated a few girls in high school, had sex with them. It was okay. It wasn’t like he was averse to it or found it disgusting. It just didn’t compare to the rush he got from men, a purely physical-hormonal-bestial urge that he’d been born with.

But at the end of the day, sex was just sex. Everyone had to grow up sometime, take the longer view. He’d had his share of men in college. He’d burned through dozens of one-night stands and even a god-awful “relationship.” He was twenty-four now, and he’d made his decision. He was going to settle down, have a real family and a real home. Trix and Janie needed him, and he loved them. He really did.

God, John. Such a fucking tragedy. I miss you, buddy. I’m so sorry you were taken from your girls
.
From me.

It was John’s place to be with Trixie and Jane. John, Chris’s best friend, had never judged him, not for anything. The two of them had talked about everything under the sun, and often about what they wanted in life. What John wanted was to stay at Big Basin forever, marry Trix, have a passel of kids, and live the life of a rancher. John was a straightforward, happy guy. Chris had been more conflicted, less sure where he was going. But John had always listened and encouraged him. He liked hearing about Chris’s life in Denver, had called him every single week. Right up until the time that call didn’t come.

Chris had flown home for John’s funeral. It was pure fate that things had been going to hell in Denver at the time. He’d been downsized from his marketing job, and his relationship with Sebastian had self-destructed in a spectacular final argument from hell. Meanwhile, Chris’s dad was scheduled for knee surgery, something that would keep him down for months.