Harlequin Superromance September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: This Good Man\Promises Under the Peach Tree\Husband by Choice (33 page)

“That was really thoughtful of you to give your mother some space.” She tucked the key to the barn in her pocket as she rejoined him, trying her best to get through this difficult meeting as quickly as possible. “Especially since the field manager's quarters are awfully cramped, at least they were the last time I saw them—”

Her cheeks flamed hot. Red-sizzle hot. Because the last time she'd been inside that little apartment had been with Mack, and things had gone too far, too fast.

“I remember.” Mack didn't bother to hide the smile in his voice, damn him.

Her gaze shot his way. A wicked grin stole over his face, an expression she hadn't seen in a long time. Funny how that warmed her in a different way.

“So. That was awkward.” She resisted the urge to fan her face at the memory of Mack kissing her shoulder and nudging off the strap of her tank top. Undressing her in the daylight had been a novel experience for both of them.

“Not the way I recall it.” His expression grew more serious, making her heart beat faster.

Her eyes stole over him. All of him.

Damn, but he looked better than ever in a pair of jeans.

“What I meant was—”

“I know what you meant.” Mack turned to face her on the path to the barn. “And you're right. The apartment is cramped.”

Nina folded her arms across a white eyelet tank top. The tank and cutoffs had been comfortable this morning, but suddenly she felt severely underdressed. Then again, she could be wearing riot gear and still feel twitchy and breathless around Mack.

“I just don't want you to get the impression that I'm flirting with you. Because that comment just leaped out without me even thinking it through.” She wanted to be very clear on that point. She had no intention of getting in the way of Mack's future.

“Yes, I remember that impulsive streak.” One dark eyebrow arched as he gave her an assessing look. “Remember when you freed the Death Row Chickens on the Johnson farm that first summer you came here?”

“I'm still not sorry about that.” Being a city girl, she'd assumed the chickens were behind bars as a form of punishment, their death imminent. She'd raised a neighborhood campaign to save them, not knowing they were on the farm to give eggs. “Mr. Johnson could have explained about the eggs instead of laughing at me.”

“In all fairness, I don't think he realized who he was dealing with.” Mack's eyes met hers. Held.

Her mouth went so dry she had to lick her lips. “Too bad those chickens had no idea what to do with their freedom.”

She forced herself to keep walking. To keep moving. Standing still with Mack this close would be dangerous.

“Mrs. Johnson wasn't happy to find them roosting in her flower beds after the big jailbreak.” Mack lifted a low-hanging branch on a pine tree, clearing the way for her to walk without ducking.

“
You
were pretty entertained by the whole thing, though.” Mack had insisted on bringing her back to the Johnson house the next morning where—from the safety of the bushes—she could witness the results of her elaborate plan to set the birds free.

Mack had showed her where to stand so they wouldn't get caught, keeping an arm around her shoulders to prevent her from running after the chickens and smuggling them off the property.

“Somebody had to keep you safe from trouble.”

“You were always looking out for people.” She'd benefitted from that quality in him for a long time.

Until the day when he'd had others to take care of besides her. His mother. His best friend's grieving girlfriend. Now, it was his brother. A better woman would have admired him all the more for that. But to Nina, it felt like others had always come first. Maybe she'd been too needy because of the way she'd been brought up. But when she'd fallen for Mack, she'd been all in. He was everything to her. So when she'd learned her spot on his priority list, she'd been deeply hurt.

Mack said nothing while she retrieved the key to the barn and popped the padlock. When she opened the clasp and slid the heavy door aside on the track, she noticed Mack staring back down the hill toward the moving van. The delivery guys dragged a dining room set into the barn.

“You're moving a lot of things home for someone who is only going to be in town for a few weeks.” He leaned against a pole support in front of the barn. “Are you sure everything is okay?”

Grief and frustration over her career battled with embarrassment at her failure. But the details of the scandal were a Google search away. It's not as if the locals wouldn't find out about it. Maybe it would be better if he heard her side first. She couldn't help feeling defensive about how the whole thing shook down.

“My business partner drained the funds from our bakery's business account and then eloped with one of our clients the night before a wedding we'd been hired to cater.”

How could she have failed—the business, her clients, herself—so miserably? She'd developed her business because she'd loved seeing other people's happily-ever-afters take shape. But she'd had to cancel over a dozen orders for other weddings this fall, leaving brides scrambling to find other confections for their special day.

“Have you talked to your partner since she left? Do you know where she is now?” Mack squinted in the bright sun, the day growing hotter by the minute.

“No. She left me a note with her apology and some garbage about true love not always being ‘convenient.'” Nina had discovered the note perched in front of the cupcake tower that would have paid the next month's rent on their costly storefront on the Upper West Side. But with no wedding and a jilted bride in tears, Nina couldn't exactly collect on the wedding cake. “Olivia—my partner—was always adventurous, and she loved the romance of our business. Little did I know, she would find romance in our client list with a well-known hotel magnate.”

Mack gave a low whistle and shook his head. “Wow. She sounds...immature.”

“Yes. But she's also creative and energetic. Her father fronted us the money for the shop to begin with, and her wealthy friends helped to spread the word about us while we grew our reputation. I never could have gone into business without her. I really thought we were going to turn a corner this fall and start operating in the black, but...” Nina's heart still hurt to think about all the people she'd let down by closing up shop. How could she ever go back now? “Anyway, Gram has been battling some health problems, so this was a good time to come home and check on her. I'll go to New York and settle things there as soon as I regroup and figure out what to do next.”

“Because you still want to bake.” Mack seemed to weigh this. “And get back to the city?”

Maybe.

“That's what I've always wanted,” she dodged, not quite ready to tackle the question for herself, let alone him. “Sooner or later, I'll need an income source again. If not through the cupcake bakery, then through some other business.”

She could always apply to a restaurant as a dessert chef. The idea didn't hold much appeal after all the creative independence she'd had at Cupcake Romance.

“Just making sure.” He nodded. Then, pivoting toward her, he gestured to a couple of old hay bales. “Do you have a minute? I've got a proposition that might help us both.”

The hay bales looked far too comfortable for her to share one with Mack. A bed of nails, perhaps.

“I'm not sure that's a good idea.” She remained standing.

She could pretend he didn't affect her all she wanted, but she wasn't going to test her restraint that way. Mack had called it when he'd said she had an impulsive streak. And her tendency to leap before she looked usually led her into trouble. She'd shot her mouth off at Vince and he'd died.

“Okay. So just listen.” Straightening, he stalked closer.

She held her breath.

“You need to generate some income while figuring out what to do with your business.” He studied her with serious eyes. “And I have a festival to oversee from the ground up so I can free my brother to work on his marriage. Why don't we help each other?”

“I don't understand. How?”

“Traditionally, the fee for renting a vendor booth at the festival is waived for subcommittee chairs. So take over the food management subcommittee for me. That way, you'll get a booth for free to sell all the cupcakes you like.”

He was offering her a spot on the festival planning committee? It wouldn't be so ludicrous except that Mack was at the helm.

“You can't be serious. We've avoided each other for eight years and suddenly we should work together?” She shook her head. “Too much water under the bridge.”

Mack shrugged. “If it's water under the bridge, why not do each other a favor? I don't mind admitting to you that I'm in over my head with the festival planning, but I'm going to fake it until the bitter end so that Scott doesn't have to deal with it this year.” The stubborn set to his chin told her he was doing this only for the sake of his family.

Which shouldn't surprise her in the least. But maybe a small part of her feminine pride stung that he wasn't angling to spend time with her. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Then again, she was broke. And it didn't seem as if her grandmother was any better off.

“I could sell baked goods, not just cupcakes?” she clarified, thinking she could sell Gram's jellies and pies, too. They could both earn some extra cash, assuming she could find somebody to run a booth for them while she oversaw all the other food vendors.

It sounded like a big job. Then again, what else was she going to do while she was home?

“Absolutely.”

Nina could already see why Mack was a success in business. He didn't let a little thing like old heartbreak stand in his way of doing a job. Maybe Nina ought to be paying more attention to his methods.

“I'll consider it,” she agreed, more than ready to return to the house and leave Mack Finley to his own devices. She hadn't been prepared for this conversation.

“It could help us move on,” he reminded her. “Make peace.”

Nina knew he'd already moved on long ago—when he'd married Jenny. Maybe that's why she couldn't tamp down the words that bubbled up her throat.

“I've made my peace with the past.” She shot him an even look. “Once I learned not to trust a man's promises, I've been a whole lot better off.”

CHAPTER THREE

N
INA
STARED
AT
him with more animosity than ever.

“Maybe it's best to keep promises out of it,” he suggested, approaching her the same way he'd speak to a difficult employee or an unhappy customer at the bar.
Keep things level.
“We can just maintain a working relationship and build from there.”

Mack hadn't expected to run into her today, but he couldn't regret it entirely. First because just seeing her was a pleasure. He'd forgotten that. She wasn't textbook beautiful, exactly. He saw a lot of that in Nashville, a city overflowing with pretty faces. Nina was more interesting, with full lips and expressive eyes that worked with her strong cheekbones for a face that was perpetually animated. He couldn't take his eyes off her when she was around.

Plus, in spite of everything, he was glad for this time to talk to her. Maybe Scott had a point about putting the past to rest. Their history together was unhappy enough without piling on the awkwardness of not speaking to each other when they were both in town.

“Well I will admit I haven't had anyone knocking down the door to hire me for anything else,” Nina finally said, staring down at the ground.

“We wouldn't really see that much of each other, we'd have totally separate responsibilities. It would give you a chance to keep up your skills and turn a profit while you're here. And I'd be able to cross something else off Scott's endless list of stuff to take care of for the festival.”

She planted a hand on one hip. “You expect me to believe that Scott included ‘find a cupcake baker' on your to-do list?”

“Not in so many words, but I trust you to hold up your end of the bargain more than Cecily Alan over at the sandwich shop.” The woman who owned the old diner on Main Street was warmhearted but disorganized. “She gets more eccentric every year.”

“And crankier,” Nina muttered as she scuffed the toe of her tennis shoe through the tall grass and weeds, stirring the scent of goldenrod. “I tried ordering dinner for Gram from her a few times when I've come down here, but she always has some reason why she can't do deliveries.”

“You see why I'd rather work with you?” He watched as her hair slid forward over her shoulder, the lace of her tank top edging away from the narrow satin of a pale pink bra strap beneath.

His throat went dry as dust.

“I can't use the name Cupcake Romance at my booth. At least not while the insurance investigation is ongoing.” She shook her head, her jaw tight.

Didn't she realize he was trying to help her out?

“So call it Cupcake Love.” Was that such a big deal? “Bars change their names all the time and no one ever blinks.”

“Are you doing this just to help me out?” She studied him through narrowed eyes. “Because I will find work one way or another.”

Clearly, she could read him as well as she always could. He'd better be totally honest.

“It occurred to me you might be glad to have some work, yes. But even though you might have an independent streak, I also know you're a stubborn perfectionist, and if you agree to take care of the food, I won't have to think about it again.”

Her throaty laugh went right through him, vibrating along his skin like a touch. “Is that so?”

“You could probably get a story about the new cupcake business in one of the Nashville papers if you were willing to ship specialty baked goods. You could play up that you came home to find your roots...they love that stuff.”

“You're very good at this. No wonder your business is thriving.” She shook her head, her smile fading. “But since when do I have roots?”

“Sorry.” He understood her point and regretted his choice of wording. She'd been devastated as a kid when her parents had abandoned her and left her with her grandmother. “But everyone in this town claims you as one of us. This town
is
your roots.”

The words were automatic, a sentiment he'd expressed to her more than once when they were kids and she'd been reeling from her parents' betrayal. He reached for her automatically, too. Just a hand on her arm. A kneejerk way to offer comfort.

Not until his hand was on her bare forearm did the risks occur to him. But he felt the charge between them. It leaped from his hand to her skin. Or maybe the other way around. Whatever happened, the jolt was enough to make her gray eyes dart to his. Yanking his hand away didn't seem right. It would be an admission that touching her had been a mistake.

But damn. Attraction like that was a powerful thing. He swallowed hard and pulled his hand back slowly.

“Thanks.” She said finally, her normally expressive eyes now inscrutable. “I guess it makes sense that my roots are deep in Heartache.”

A soft, peach-scented breeze teased his nose and ruffled her hair.

“That makes two of us.” He watched her fidget and wondered how to get back on track. “I know you're not sure about the Harvest Fest, Nina, but can't we move forward...as friends?”

She didn't look at him for a long moment, her attention fixed on some peeling paint on a low windowsill of the barn.

“It's a nice idea,” she said finally. “But that's a lot of layers of hurt, Mack.”

For him, too. Not that he was going to say it in so many words. She ought to know better than anyone.

“How does the saying go—shoot for the moon and you'll still hit some stars? We could at least make a stab at forgiving each other.”

“I'd like that,” she said finally, tucking her fidgeting hands into the pockets of loose jean cutoffs. “I'll try doing some of the baking for the Harvest Fest and we'll see what happens. I'm here, so I might as well be involved. Besides, it will be good for me to get back to work.”

He was relieved she'd agreed, but her practical reasons surprised him. Nina had changed more than he realized; some of her passionate impulsiveness had been tempered.

“That's great.” Normally, he'd shake hands to seal a deal, but since he couldn't risk touching her after what had happened the last time, he ended up jamming his fists into his pockets, too. “I'm really glad. There's a festival meeting today at three in the town hall if you want to go.”

“I'll try, but I have to supervise the movers. How about I copy off your notes instead?” She arched an eyebrow at him before heading into the shadows of the barn. “Just like in high school.”

“Suit yourself. If I could copy off someone else's notes, believe me, I'd ditch this committee gathering, too. But if you're not going to be there, you should set up some appointments to talk to some of the local restaurant owners to see how they can contribute.” He followed her into the cool, musty depths of the barn. “I'm supposed to be meeting a couple of guys here who will be picking up the wagons. We can pull them out when they get here.”

“Okay.” She stalked to the back of one wagon, and leaned down to check a tire. “I just wanted to make sure there aren't any flats. I'm sure there's an air compressor here somewhere—”

“We'll be fine.” As much as he wanted to patch up their relationship, he wasn't ready to test it in the confines of a dark barn just yet.

He still saw that pink bra strap when he closed his eyes.

“Okay.” She straightened. “If anyone comes to the house I'll send them back here.”

“The kid who cuts your grandmother's grass is one of the people I'm expecting. Ethan Brady.”

“Right.” She snapped her fingers. “I met him this morning. He was going to pick peaches after he mowed the lawn, so I'm guessing he's in the orchard.”

Peaches. Orchard.

Mack was right back on a blanket beneath the stars on a long, hot summer night. He closed his eyes to shut out the mental images of their first time together, but new images crowded with the old ones.

Nina's throaty laugh. The pink strap. Her flushed cheeks when she remembered the day they'd fooled around in that little vacant apartment...

“Mack?” Her voice was close to his ear.

He opened his eyes. Shook his head.

“Are you okay?” She stood just a couple of feet away.

It was dark and hard to see in the barn, but she was close enough that he could smell the fragrance of her shampoo.

“I'm fine.” His voice was a heavy rasp of sound, his heart thudding in his chest. “Allergies,” he explained. “From the hay.”

“Oh.” She stepped away, the delicate curve of her bare collarbone still close enough he could have cupped her shoulder there. “Maybe we should step out of the barn.”

“Good idea.” He stalked away from her toward the sunlight, needing to breathe air that didn't carry a hint of her fragrance.

Or ripe fruit.

Had he really told her they should try to be friends? Damn, but coming home had messed with his head.

“Hey, isn't that the boy you were looking for?” Nina stretched an arm out, pointing toward the south with one long, bare arm. “Ethan?”

Mack followed her gaze and saw a hint of a blue shirt between the trees in the orchard beyond the field.

“Probably.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “I'll shoot him a text and remind him to meet me over here.”

She nodded absently, her eyes still on the figure in the distance.

“It's been years since I picked peaches.” Her words hung in the air.

A gauntlet dropped.

His gaze went to hers, but her gray eyes gave away nothing. Did she realize she was killing him?

His fingers froze, hovering above the screen of his phone while he wrestled with how to respond to that.

But then, her eyes slid toward him. A sly smile curved her full lips. She turned on her heel and sauntered away.

Damn. Her.

This friendship thing was going to be the death of him.