The Sweethearts’ Knitting Club (12 page)

She scurried out of the boat, relieved to have her feet planted firmly on the dock.

“Good night, Dimples,” he murmured. “Sweet dreams.”

Then he started the boat and disappeared into the darkness, leaving Flynn wondering what in the hell had just happened.

The next morning Beau dropped by as Flynn was getting ready to head out to Froggy’s. Beau’s appearance was a surprise. She hadn’t expected him. She’d just stepped out on the front porch and was juggling her keys, ledger book, and glass of iced tea as she pulled the screen door closed behind her. She’d spent the night tossing and turning. Thinking about Jesse’s proposition and how much she wanted to start the Yarn Barn and live up to the promise she’d made her mother.

“Morning,” Beau greeted her, coming up on the porch steps and doffing his Stetson in one smooth movement. He leaned in for a kiss. It was nice, comfortable, perfunctory. She waited to feel some kind of tingle, but she didn’t. Okay, that wasn’t fair. It was a simple hello kiss. It wasn’t designed to be knock-your-socks-off.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing’s up, just wanted to drop by and say hi.”

“Hi.” She smiled.

“I took the liberty of talking to some Realtors on your behalf,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t mind, that’s fine. I appreciate the help.” She pocketed the keys, tucked the ledger under her arm, and took a sip of tea. “So did you have any luck?”

Solemnly he shook his head. “There’s nothing for sale anywhere even close to the town square, not even for rent.”

Except for the space over Jesse’s motorcycle shop.

“Furthermore, no one thinks anything will open up within the next year.”

Flynn muttered a strong curse word. Beau frowned, but said nothing. She knew the look. He hated when she cussed. “Sorry,” she mumbled an apology.

“With that in mind, I was thinking we should just go ahead with the wedding plans and then you can start the business after we’re married.”

Panic seized her. “But you promised me that I could get Lynn’s Yarn Barn started before we made wedding plans. That was part of the deal. You can’t renege on me now,” she protested.

“I know it was, Flynn, but get realistic. It might be several years before the right property comes along.” He touched her shoulder, gave her a soft smile. “I can’t wait that long to have you as my bride.”

Feeling cornered, she gulped, and then blurted, “Jesse offered to rent the upstairs floor of the theater to me.”

Beau stiffened. “What?”

She repeated what she’d said even though she knew he’d heard her the first time.

“No.” Beau gritted his teeth. “Absolutely not. I forbid you to rent from Jesse Calloway.”

Anger and adrenaline pumped through her. “Excuse me? You
forbid
me?”

He put out a restraining hand.

She jerked away and ended up dropping her glass of tea to the porch, not even caring that it splashed on her legs. She shook the ledger underneath Beau’s nose. “We are
not
married yet, mister, and you cannot tell me what to do. I have been taking care of my entire family since I was thirteen years old. I’ve worked and I’ve scrimped and I’ve sacrificed. And when my mother was on her deathbed, I made her a promise. I swore that I would open the yarn store that she never got the chance to open and give her knitting club an official home. And you have the audacity to stand there and forbid me to do this one last thing for my mother—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Beau put up his hands in a defensive gesture. “That was a poor choice of words. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, back up the chuck wagon.”

Flynn clenched her fist; she was trembling all
over. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this angry. Why was she so angry? “Do you want your ring back? Is that what you want?”

Beau paled visibly. “No, no, things have gotten out of hand, this isn’t—”

“What do you think is going to happen if I rent the top floor of the theater? That I’ll start getting tattoos and riding motorcycles?”

“No, of course no.” He paused. “It’s just that…”

“What?”

“Calloway’s up to no good. He’s trying to get even with me.”

“Get even with you?” Flynn canted her head. “For what?”

“Umm, for my father arresting him and sending him to prison.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“Try telling Calloway that. He’s jealous of me. He’s always been jealous of me, and he knows being friendly with you sets my blood boiling.”

“Well, it shouldn’t set your blood boiling, Beau. The man is simply trying to put his life back together.” Was he? Or was Beau right? “He’s been to prison. He’s paid his debt to society. He’s allowed to make a living. Find some Christian charity in your heart and forgive the man.”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Beau grumbled.

“A lot of men look at me that way, Beau. Haven’t you been to Froggy’s on Saturday night?”

“It’s not the same,” he mumbled.

“I’m engaged to you, Beau. You know I’m not the kind of woman who cheats. Even though we weren’t officially together when you were in Iraq, I
didn’t date anyone else. Not to mention, the sheriff’s office is right across the frickin’ street from the theater. You could pop in and check up on me at any time. If you want this wedding to happen, then just let me rent the damn space and get on with it.”

Beau swallowed, licked his lips. He looked at once both vulnerable and hopeful. Flynn suddenly felt extraordinarily sad and she had no idea why. “If I say yes will you set a date?”

Compromise
.

Her heart felt leaden. “I’ll set a date.”

“Christmas?”

“That’s only six months away!”

“Christmas?” he persisted, his eyes glistening darkly.

She could feel his controlled emotions simmering just below the surface. He was hurt and scared and looking for reassurance. But she was scared too. She didn’t know what was happening to her. To them.

Compromise.

“It’s cutting things close,” she mumbled.

“There’s plenty of time. My mother will pull strings. She can help you get everything organized.”

“Christmas,” she confirmed, and the tightness inside her chest loosened a little.

His shoulders relaxed, and a smile replaced the dark expression marring his features. “All right then.”

“So I can tell Jesse that I’ll take the space?”

The smile vanished at her mention of Jesse’s name and the muscle at his temple pulsed. “Yeah.”

“Okay, then.”

“Fine, great,” Beau said, “I’ll call my mother and tell her the good news.”

They were both breathing heavily, eyeing each other like adversaries, spilled tea pooling at their feet. Flynn felt like she’d just won a gigantic battle, but yet something niggled at her, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It wasn’t just the look in Beau’s eyes or the defiant way he lifted his chin. She had the strangest feeling he was crossing his fingers behind his back, telling a lie but making it okay with the rationalization. But that was a ridiculous thought because his hands were on his hips. Whatever it was, she didn’t trust the victory.

Because she had a feeling that this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Wrong. This was all wrong. Flynn building the Yarn Barn above Calloway’s motorcycle shop.

Beau furrowed his brow, pressed his lips into a hard thin line, and paced the confines of his office. He could feel Flynn slipping away from him and he had no idea what to do about it. This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. He’d invested ten years into their relationship and he wasn’t about to let her go without a fight.

Calm down. Be cool. Don’t let your anger get the best of you. She agreed to set a date. That’s progress. It’s a step forward. You crowd her, you lose her.

He couldn’t lose her. Not after all they’d been through. He’d just have to find some way to get rid of Calloway. Shouldn’t be hard. He was a parolee. Wouldn’t take much to send him back to Hunts
ville. It was up to him to protect Flynn. He’d failed with Jodi, but he wasn’t going to make that mistake twice.

“Sheriff,” Madge’s voice came over the intercom. “Dr. Cheek is here. He’d like to speak with you.”

Beau blew out his breath. “Send him in.”

Madge buzzed the outer door, and a minute later Sam was standing in front of him, his dark brown eyes looking troubled. “We need to talk.”

Beau motioned to the chair opposite his desk.

Sam shook his head.

“What’s this about?’ Beau asked, both annoyed and relieved for the interruption from his emotional turmoil. Sam wasn’t a complainer. If he had something on his mind, he was serious about it.

“The old Twilight Bridge.”

“What about it?” Beau crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against his desk.

“My boy got hurt on it taking a shortcut home from school. He fell through a hole in the runners, scraped up his leg pretty good. Termites are eating away the wood. It should come down or be rebuilt.”

“You’re right,” Beau said. This was a cause he could get behind. He’d hated that damn bridge ever since the night he’d seen Flynn up there with Jesse. The memory—and the old anger—rushed through him, but he quickly squelched it.

“It’s a hazard,” Sam said. “You’re lucky it was my kid and I’m not the kind of guy to bring a frivolous lawsuit against the town, but next time we might not be so lucky.”

“Thanks for bringing this to my attention,”
Beau said, and clasped Sam on the shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do.”

For the rest of the weekend, Jesse worked on gutting the bottom level of the aged theater, pulling out all the old wooden seats, ripping down the screen, piling the debris into the back corner of the lot until he could haul it away later. Determined not to think about Flynn and what had happened—or not happened—on the river on Friday night. He was confused by his behavior, uncertain of why he’d taken her out in the boat. It had been stupid. He could have blown everything.

Hondo came by and pitched in for a while before starting a twenty-four-hour shift at the fire station. Jesse pushed himself hard, sleeping only four or five hours, going back at it again. Reveling in the punishing ache assailing his muscles.

Then at eight o’clock on Monday morning, after he’d already been working for two hours, he looked up from where he was pulling up the threadbare carpeting to see Flynn standing in the doorway. The sight of her caused his heart to skip a beat. She was here. In his shop.

Flynn was dressed in an oversized, loose-fitting pale blue T-shirt, faded blue jeans, and sneakers. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail that made her look sixteen again. She held a sack in her hands from the Twilight Bakery.

“I come bearing breakfast croissants and hot coffee,” she said, and her tentative smile swept over him like a gentle caress.

“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” he asked, dusting his hands against his pants.

“I came to talk to you about the offer you made on Friday night,” she said, digging around in her purse with her free hand. “Here you go.” She tossed him a package of premoistened towelettes.

“What a little Girl Scout you are,” he said, tearing open the package and cleaning his hands with the damp wipe.

“Hey, don’t get smart. You want food or not?”

“Gimme.” He reached for the sack. “How did you know I haven’t had any breakfast?”

“You possess a lean and hungry look.”

“Cassius from
Julius Caesar.”

Flynn looked surprised. “You
did
pay attention in Mrs. Martin’s English lit class.”

“I’m far more than just a pretty face.”

She smiled vaguely and from the sack pulled an egg and sausage croissant wrapped in wax paper. It smelled like heaven. She handed it to him along with a cup of black coffee. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Straight up works for me.”

“Where can we sit?” She glanced around the empty, dusty room.

“The stairs?”

“Um…sure, that’ll do.”

They perched on the second step of the stairs, their thighs almost touching. Hot, horny images flashed in his head. He saw her sitting there completely naked, her knees primly pressed together. He took a bite of croissant and closed his eyes.

Stop torturing yourself
.

“You okay?” Flynn asked. “Did you swallow wrong?”

“Yeah,” Jesse lied, his voice coming out all hoarse and husky. She smelled so good. Like sunshine and
orange juice and happiness. “I swallowed wrong.”

“Ooh,” she said, “you’re about to…um…lose your sausage.”

Flynn must have realized how that sounded at exactly the same moment Jesse realized the sausage patty was sliding out the pastry’s buttery folds, because she audibly sucked in her breath.

Jesse jerked his hand back just as Flynn reached out and caught his meat before it could hit the step. Their eyes met over the sausage. She held it clasped delicately between the tips of her thumb and forefinger.

Blood pooled in his lower abdomen and he felt himself harden. Dammit.

“You want it back?” she whispered, her voice seductive as hell. Or was it his perverted imagination? Her hazel eyes were rounded wide and completely guileless.

He sucked a deep breath into his lungs and split apart the two sides of the croissant. “Load it on for me.”

She nestled his sausage between the flaky buns. But he wasn’t looking at his breakfast. Rather his gaze was glued on her. A few tendrils of dark hair had escaped her ponytail and were curling softly against her shoulders. Sunshine slanted in through the open window, bathing her creamy skin in a heated glow.

“There you go,” she murmured. “Good as new.”

Good as new, hell. What about the erection straining against his zipper? Good thing he had the wrapper in his lap for camouflage.

“How did you get out of prison early?” she asked.

It was the last question he expected, and it did the trick of deflating his arousal.

He shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about it. Especially with her. “I was a good boy.”

“Exactly how good?”

“Why are you asking?”

“I heard a rumor,” she said, “that you did something heroic. The details were shaky. It’s why I’m asking.”