California Dreaming: Four Contemporary Romances (2 page)

“Some choice,” she muttered. “Lose my job or go to New Jersey. Start all over again. Find a new place to live. Pack up all my stuff!” Her knuckles whitened as her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to pack up a house?” she yelled at the curve-ahead sign.

She zoomed up the hill, thoughts reeling through her brain, trying to still her emotions with logic. She’d made a good living through perseverance and hard work when no one thought she’d be more than a check-out clerk. This was a little bump in the road; that was all. No one was going to take away all she’d achieved, even if it meant she had to move to New Jersey.

Rapid raindrops pummeled her windshield, forcing her attention back to the road. She didn’t need an accident on top of everything else. What she needed was some relief. On impulse, she turned north on Highway 1 instead of south toward home. For years, the Ocean Reads bookstore had been her sanctuary from the craziness of her marriage. A cup of tea and a new romance novel would give her some downtime before she tried to convince David that moving would be a good thing.

She drove into the covered parking garage. Right on cue, a faded, wired-together Volvo pulled out of a space. She swung in with ease, beating out the Volkswagen bus headed for the same spot. At least something was going her way.

Inside Ocean Reads, she shook the raindrops from her coat and glanced around. Everything was as it should be: locals sat on the banquette under the clock, parents and children pored over brightly colored books in the children’s section, and patrons hunted through the used book boxes for bargains.

Her shoulders relaxed as she began her usual routine, wending through the sections of the bookstore, her fingers caressing the stories of other people’s lives, loves, and imaginations.

She browsed stacks of books on the current fiction table, migrating to the piles of romance novels. The covers showing multi-muscled men made her sigh. Fantasy had been her escape from real life since she was a kid — especially when reality was the pits. Fictional heroes weren’t the trouble that real men were, either. One book cover showed a rugged Stetson-topped cowboy posed in front of prairie grasslands; in the distance, snow-capped mountains towered. She stared at the cowboy, imagining herself carried off on horseback to a remote cabin in the Rockies, her worries forgotten.
Perfect.
She picked it up and walked toward the register.

And stopped short.

There he was. Long and lanky, with broad shoulders and slim hips. Thick dark brown hair brushed the top of his collar. Rippling muscles strained against his pale blue shirt as he carried an enormous stack of books to the front of the store. All he needed was the Stetson.

I haven’t seen him before. He must be new. I would have noticed.
Her eyes drifted down to the curve of his butt cradled by tight blue jeans.
Definitely would have noticed.

She strolled forward, keeping her eye on the man. If she worked her way to the front before he did, she could glimpse his face. Would it be as wonderful as the rest of him?

The clerk turned and caught her staring. Sky-blue eyes burned into hers. His thin lips twitched slightly and he gave her a nod as if he were tipping a hat.

Heat moved up Annie’s neck and warmed her cheeks. Jeez, she’d been caught gawking like a schoolgirl. Escaping out of sight to the magazine section, she spotted the latest
Cosmopolitan
. “Fifteen Ways to Spice up Your Sex Life!” No way. She needed something boring, something to tamp down the steam rising within her. Food and flowers — every woman’s refuge when she didn’t want to think about sex. Her hand skimmed the glossy covers and pulled out one to hide behind.

You’re being ridiculous
, a voice from the Greek chorus that lived in her head announced. Annie ignored it. Her eyes strayed back to the
Cosmo
cover. It wouldn’t take much to spice up her sex life; it had been so long since she’d been with a man she wasn’t sure she’d remember what to do with one.

But if the bookstore cowboy was available, she’d be willing to try. She looked at the
Cosmo
cover again. Maybe she should get a copy.

What was she thinking? She didn’t have time for sex.
Go home and take a cold shower, girl.
Or did that only work for guys? She peeked around the magazine rack. The coast was clear. She hurried to the counter to pay for her book.

Plunking the paperback down on the worn wooden counter, she looked up. Those same sky-blue eyes stared back at her. The same little smile played with his lips. He took a moment to study the cover of the book and looked up at her with a grin.

Annie felt the flush rise up her cheeks.
Where was that hole in the floor when you needed it?

“Do you want the magazine, too?” he asked.

“What?”

“
Organic Gardening
.”

She looked down. She still clutched the magazine she’d used as a shield. At least it wasn’t
Cosmo
. But still … she gardened as little as possible — the results were nice, but the work was continual in the temperate California climate.

“Uh, sure,” she said.

“Frequent buyer card?”

“Oh, yes.”

She searched her wallet for the card and handed it to him.

“My mother gardened,” he said. “As soon as the snows left Montana, she’d plant spinach and lettuce. What do you grow?”

“Um, flowers.” she said. “Did you move here from Montana?”

“Yep. I bought this place after the Crawfords retired. My name is John Johnson.” He put his hand out.

She looked at it for a moment before gripping it with her own. His palm was calloused, his hand warm and his grip firm. A spark sizzled up her arm. “Hello,” she said, grasping his hand. She forgot to let go.

He peered down at their joined hands. “This is nice,” he said, “but it’s hard to ring you up like this.” He leaned closer to her. “And there are other customers waiting,” he whispered.

“Oh!” She dropped his hand and looked over her shoulder. A dozen people snaked through the stacks, their eyes riveted on Annie.

He chuckled, punched a few keys and glanced at the computer screen. “Thanks for being a frequent buyer … Annie Renquist.”

“No.”

He looked up. “No?”

“That’s not my name,” she said. “I mean, it was. I’m divorced. Now I use my maiden name.”

“Let me fix it in our records. What do you want to be called?”

“Annie Gerhard.”

John smiled at her and her heart gave a little jump. He stabbed a few more keys, handed her the credit card and slipped her purchases into a bag.

Annie turned. The row of eyes stared back at her.

For the second time that day, she squared her shoulders and marched out the door.

• • •

John chuckled as he watched her exit. He admired the spunk she showed when she strode past the long line of customers, raincoat flapping, allowing him a brief glimpse of the figure underneath.

When the sales assistant came back from her break to relieve him, he went back to shelving books. The memory of Annie’s actions lightened his afternoon. He found himself repeatedly staring at the section of the store where he’d first spotted her, willing her to reappear.

There was something about Annie — a combination of strength and vulnerability — that he loved. He absently rubbed the stubble on his chin. His wife had had some of those same qualities. Jessica had been gone a long time, but sometimes he felt as if it had only been yesterday. Fortunately, the pain was occurring less and less. But was he ready for a new relationship?

You’ve got enough problems, Johnson. Don’t be adding to your troubles with a woman. Isn’t buying a bookstore and finding a house at thirty-nine enough of a challenge for you?

One of the tattooed, pierced, and purple-haired denizens of Santa Cruz approached him.

“Where are your vampire books?”

He led her to the right section and pointed out a few new releases. On his way back to the front of the store, he spotted a boy with mousy brown hair slumped in one of the green wingback chairs scattered around the bookstore. The kid looked like he was about 12 and bored as hell. John squatted down beside him.

The boy glanced at him and then went back to picking at his nails.

“Your mom around?” John asked.

“Uh-huh.” The boy gestured in the direction of the mysteries.

“You look pretty bored. What’s your name?”

“Ted.”

“Don’t like to read?”

“S’okay.”

“A man of few words. I like that. Got a minute? I’d like to show you something.”

Ted shrugged again, but when John stood up, he stood too.

John strode in the direction of the children’s books.

The boy stopped. “I’m not going there … that’s lame.”

“We’re not going there … we’re going past there.”

John stopped in front of a cardboard display of books. He plucked one out and handed it to Ted. “This,” he said, “is one of the greatest adventure stories of all times.”

The boy looked at it, frowning. “There’s a mouse on the cover. I told you, kids’ books are lame.” He held it out to John.

“That’s where you’re wrong. Adults read these books all the time. I’ve read these books and I love them.
Redwall
is the story of someone trying to save his home from evil. There are lots of battle scenes and mysteries and adventure. Have you heard of
Lord of the Rings
?”

“Yeah. Everyone’s heard of that. I saw the movie.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yeah. It was great.” Ted grinned, his eyes opening wide with excitement.

John nodded. “Then you’ll like this book. Tell you what. I’ll give you a discount — half-off. But … ” He raised his index finger. “You have to come back and tell me how you like it.” He took a piece of paper from his pocket, scribbled a note and handed it to the boy. “Have your mom give this to the cashier on the way out.”

Ted eagerly took the paper. “Thanks!” he said.

That’s why I’m a bookseller. If I can keep this old store financially alive, I can get more Teds excited about reading.

He headed up the stairs to the office. It was one of the things that had attracted him to the store in the first place — this aerie where he could survey his domain. He sat in his chair, scanned the view below, and smiled with satisfaction. People dotted the sections, perusing the shelves. Some paused before the displays he’d painstakingly created; several people stood by the list of upcoming author visits.

I wonder if Annie ever attends those.

He could feel his smile broaden.

She’d obviously been interested in him and she’d awakened feelings in him he thought were dead, or at least in a deep freeze somewhere. His one attempt at dating after Jessica’s death had been a disaster. Maybe it was time to try again.

The moment he’d seen Annie staring at him, he wanted to pull off the knit cap she wore and release the blond curls peeking out from the edges, surrounding her face with their halo. She’d run off like a startled deer to the magazine section. John grinned again at the memory. He hadn’t had that effect on a woman in a long time.

Close up, she’d been even more enticing than he’d thought. Her pixie face was fresh and natural. Brown-flecked green eyes had peered out from under thick, dark lashes. Dark pink lips, with a little bit of a pout. What would it be like to touch her, feel those lips against his? He’d wanted to shut down the register, whisk her away to a dark corner and find out.

He shook the fantasy from his head. It would have to wait. First, he had to make this business viable. Second, find a house to live in. Once he’d accomplished those two tasks, he could discover what kissing her would be like. He turned on his computer.

An hour later, he called downstairs on the interoffice phone. “Can I have the invoices from last month?”

“What’s up, John?” Sunshine asked when she sauntered into the office. “You’ve got this silly smile on your face.”

He frowned at the soft face of the older woman, pretending he was giving her a stern lecture. “Ah, Santa Cruz. The place where employees have permission to tell the boss whatever’s on their minds.” With her graying hair in a long braid and feathered earrings, she was living proof that the 1960s counter-culture was alive and well on the Central Coast of California.

Sunshine shrugged. “We were raised to ‘Question Authority.’ You’re authority and I’m questioning. Is there a problem?”

He laughed. His bookstore manager was incorrigible.

She laid a folder of invoices on his desk. “What’s her name?” she said over her shoulder before she clattered down the stairs to the main floor.

“Bring me the sales report from last month too, please,” he called after her.

“Yes, boss.” The answer floated up the stairs.

He thumbed through the invoices. If sales didn’t improve soon, he’d have to cut back on book orders. He tapped his pen on the desk. Cutting back on books meant cutting down on service and he didn’t want to do that. Maybe he should rethink his marketing budget instead. He leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head.

“You must be thinking about her again,” Sunshine said, back in his office with another folder. “Here’s the sales report you wanted.” She put the papers on his desk and eyed him. “Or maybe you’re trying to pretend it’s not as bad as I know it is.”

He looked up at her. “Sometimes you’re too smart.”

“Don’t get concerned. The store always hits a slump at this time of year. Students study for exams and the tourists haven’t arrived. We’ll be okay.” She patted his shoulder. “We’ve got loyal customers.”

“Umm, do we have a list of our loyal customers?”

“Sure do, boss. I’ll be happy to get you one if you promise to tell me her name.”

“Not on your life.”

“Gotcha!” She whistled and headed down the stairs.

John shook his head. He’d have to work to keep his private life safe from Sunshine.

“You’re late, Mom.” David folded his five-foot-nine frame into the Prius.