His First and Last (Ardent Springs #1) (11 page)

Spencer didn’t feel like sticking around after the meeting. Normally, he’d stay and visit, talking one-on-one to make sure everyone was on the same page. But not tonight. Tonight he wanted to confront Jebediah Winkle and string him up by his balls. The mayor hadn’t been man enough to come out and say what he really meant—that he didn’t want Lorelei there. Thinking about the way he’d looked at her, as if she wasn’t fit to scrape dirt off his shoes, had Spencer squeezing the steering wheel with enough force to snap it in half.

“I need you to stop doing that,” Lorelei said, breaking the silence that had traveled with them for several miles. He realized she could have ridden home with Rosie, but she’d gone with him to the truck without question. A gesture that soothed some of his anger, until she said, “You have to stop defending me.”

“Excuse me?” If she thought he was going to throw her to the wolves, she was wrong.

“You were right earlier when you said that I need to get back to the way I used to be.” Her voice was calm, practical. “It’s time I start defending myself.”

“I didn’t mean you had to face everything on your own.” She had to know he’d have her back whenever she needed him. Not that she’d needed a protector in the past, but they’d always been there for each
other. That wasn’t going to change now. “Winkle is a jerk. No one else in there backed him up, and everyone knew what he was trying to say.”

“The others didn’t chime in because you didn’t give them a chance.”

“Lorelei—”

“Spencer,” she said, cutting him off. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but listen to me. I have to stand up against whatever this town throws my way. How they feel about me is my own fault. I don’t deserve the hatred I saw in Jebediah’s eyes, but I sure as heck didn’t give the rest of them a reason to like me either.”

“That was twelve years ago. You were a kid.”

“A hateful kid with a chip on her shoulder and a burr up her butt.” Spencer couldn’t argue with the description. “I told them where to shove it, and they have every right to tell me the same thing. But if I’m going to be here for a while—not that I’m staying forever,” she added, “I can’t keep cowering behind other people.”

Maybe Winkle’s little demonstration had been what Lorelei needed. “I’m all for you fighting your own battles,” he said. “And I’m glad to see a little of the old Lorelei coming through.”

She shot him a droll look. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” he asked, holding back a smile.

“That,” she said, poking him in the arm. “Yes, I’m saying that you were right earlier. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I wouldn’t think of it.” Spencer slowed to make the turn into the driveway. “But, Lorelei?”

“What,” she mumbled, shifting from side to side as he rolled through the potholes.

“I’ve got your back.”

Lorelei reached for the door handle as he put the truck in park. “And my front if I’d let you.” Hopping out, she straightened her skirt, tugging it down with little success. “We’re not going there, so you can get the idea right out of your head.”

That wasn’t what he’d meant, and the fact that she dismissed his support as some kind of sexual play ticked him off. Spencer dropped onto the gravel and met her as she rounded the truck. “How do you know what ideas are in my head?”

“You’re awake and you’re breathing,” she said, marching past him without so much as a glance.

Spencer watched her sashay across the yard. If she walked any faster, she’d be running. Then it hit him. She
was
running. If she didn’t have the same ideas in
her
head, why was she in such a hurry to get away from him?

“I see there’s one thing that hasn’t changed,” he said, catching up to her as she reached the bottom step. “You still want me.”

“You’re delusional, Boyd,” she said, picking up the pace.

“Admit it, Lorelei.” They stomped onto the porch at the same time. Spencer knew he was playing with fire, but without a push, she’d never admit the truth. “You still feel it.”

“The only thing I feel right now is annoyed.” She reached for the screen, but he slammed it shut, cornering her against the door. “Spencer, don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?” he asked, lost in the heat coming off her body. Lost in the headiness of being so close to the woman he’d never stopped wanting. “Don’t stand so close? Don’t smell so good?” His voice dropped when she licked her lips. “Don’t kiss you right now?”

She made a noise somewhere between a plea and a purr. Though he was well into her space, she didn’t push him away.

“I’ve missed you, too, Lorelei,” he said before leaning in, turning his head left, then right, leaving nothing but a breath between them. He wanted her to come to him, and she did.

With a hard bite to his bottom lip.

“What’d you do that for?” Spencer asked, drawing back with his hand on his lip. He checked his fingertips to see if she’d drawn blood.

“You should have backed off when I told you to,” she said, trying to look confident but her eyes gave her away. She may have won this battle, but the war still raged inside her.

Spencer would let her have the victory. Tonight.

“A simple push on my chest would have done the trick.”

A car came up the drive, drawing their attention. The pair watched as Rosie pulled her sedan along the left side of the house.

“This isn’t over,” Spencer said, backing away.

“Is that a threat?” Lorelei asked.

Turning at the bottom of the stairs, he tipped his cowboy hat. “No, ma’am. That’s a promise.”

Chapter 9

Lorelei measured out the flour three times before she was satisfied it was right. She’d burned the first batch of oatmeal cookies, and somehow messed up the measurements on the chocolate chip ones, because they were tasteless when they came out of the oven. As much as she wanted to cry, Lorelei refused to give up. She sent up a rare prayer of thanks that Granny was still at church, because if she were home, she’d be soothing Lorelei and nudging her out of the way to take over.

But this was not Granny’s responsibility. Lorelei had convinced Snow to sell desserts that
she
had made, not Granny. Besides, if Granny made them, everyone in town would know where they came from. Which was the reason Lorelei had pulled recipes off the Internet instead of using her grandmother’s steno pad recipe books.

Anonymity was the key ingredient in these cookies.

“Something smells good in here,” Spencer said as he stepped into the house. “Is that oatmeal?”

“Burnt oatmeal,” Lorelei said, wiping her hands on the blue polka-dot apron covering her from shoulder to knee. “I mistimed the first batch.”

“Good,” he said, snatching a blackened cookie off the counter. “That means I get to eat them.”

Lorelei had remained in her room doing recipe research all day on Saturday—some might have called it hiding, but whatever—so this was the first time she’d seen her former beau since the stunt he’d pulled on Friday night. She’d come so close to caving. Hell yes, she still wanted him. If her pride hadn’t reared up and bit him, she might have dragged his Wrangler-clad bottom into the house and up the stairs.

But she’d shave her head before ever admitting so. And Lorelei was highly attached to her hair. It was one of the few good things her mother had passed on to her.

“I haven’t decided if I’m talking to you yet,” she said, smacking a cookie out of his hand. “I know I’m in no mood to feed you.”

“Aw, come on, Lorelei. You can’t stay mad at me.” He reached for another cookie and, this time, was faster than she was. “You never could.”

“I’m older and more bitter now. You’d be surprised what I can do.”

The cookie paused halfway to his lips. “Now don’t be teasing me like that. You’re putting all sorts of ideas in my head.”

She should have known she wouldn’t win. Spencer had always been able to tease her out of a snit. “Just keep your sticky fingers off my cookies.”

Spencer snatched an inedible-looking one, stuck it in his mouth, then said, “Okay,” around the treat.

Lorelei rolled her eyes. She didn’t really care if he ate the dang things. They were headed for the trash anyway. But that didn’t stop her from flashing him a dirty look. He grinned as the timer on the oven went off.

“Oh, please let these ones be right,” Lorelei said to herself and whatever higher cooking power might be listening. The scent of ginger
filled the kitchen as she opened the oven door. The cookies looked exactly like the picture online, which she took as a good sign. Now if they only tasted good. “Come here, my little darlings.” She transferred the cookie sheet to the stove top and closed the oven.

“That smells like heaven,” Spencer said, creeping up behind her to look over her shoulder. “You’re going to need a taste-tester to make sure they pass muster. Lucky for you, I’m willing to offer my services.”

Lorelei spun around with a spatula in her hand. “Touch these cookies and you die.”

Instead of stepping back as she’d expected, Spencer stayed where he was, one brow dancing precariously close to his hairline and his body entirely too close to hers.

“What are you gonna do with that?” he asked, his eyes darting to the utensil then back to her face. More precisely, her mouth.

“I’d say use it on you, but I doubt that will get the desired reaction.” Her voice sounded breathy instead of stern. Dammit.

“Interesting choice of words.” Spencer slid a finger inside each of the apron’s pockets and tugged her forward. “What kind of reaction do you desire?”

Before Lorelei could answer, Champ started barking up a storm in the front yard, breaking the spell Spencer had cast around her.

“That dog better be dying or I’m going to kill him,” Spencer growled, releasing Lorelei’s pockets and exiting the kitchen.

Lorelei closed her eyes and leaned back on the stove, only to jump forward when the heat hit her bottom. A car door slammed outside, and she glanced out the window over the sink to see if it was Granny, though Champ didn’t usually bark like that for someone he knew.

A man she didn’t recognize was walking across the yard. From this distance, he looked like one of those men who aged well. His dark hair was dotted with bits of silver that caught the sunlight. She couldn’t see his eyes, but he looked fit and wore a pair of jeans almost as well as Spencer did.

Curiosity carried her onto the porch as the two men shook hands. And as the pair drew closer to the steps, the stranger looked her way and stared as if he were looking at a ghost.

“Mike Lowry,” Spencer said, “meet Lorelei Pratchett.”

“I . . .” he started, then shook his head as if to clear it. “Sorry, you just look a lot like your mom.”

“You knew my mom?” she asked. How did someone she’d never even heard of know her mother?

“Yeah,” the man nodded. “Donna and I went to high school together.”

Lorelei never thought of her mother aging beyond the point when she’d died, but this slightly graying man brought the reality to mind. Her mother would be pushing fifty right now, if she’d lived. But she hadn’t lived. Lorelei did some quick math and realized her mother had been thirty when a drunk driver had run a stop sign and killed her on impact.

The same age Lorelei was now. For the first time ever, she truly understood how short her mother’s life had been cut. The revelation sent her swaying on her feet.

Spencer charged up the stairs to steady her. “Lorelei?” he said. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t,” she said, shaking him off. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

She wasn’t sure of anything except the fact that every day she woke up was one more than her mother had been given.

“Yes, I’m good,” Lorelei said. “I haven’t eaten is all.” Which was true. She’d been so nervous about the baking, she’d skipped breakfast.

“From the looks of things, I’d have thought you were making breakfast right now.” Mr. Lowry nodded toward the spatula Lorelei had forgotten she was holding.

“Oh.” She stared at the secret-revealing utensil. “No. Um . . . I was emptying the dishwasher.” Lame, but plausible.

“No, you—” Spencer started, but Lorelei cut him off with a swat on the arm.

“Can I see you inside for a second?” she said, dragging him by the sleeve toward the door. She’d forgotten to tell Spencer about the strict secrecy of this project. Mr. Motormouth was going to blow her cover before she’d made her first delivery.

“Excuse me for a minute, Mike,” Spencer said over his shoulder. Then he whispered into Lorelei’s ear, “What is wrong with you, woman?”

“You can’t tell him what I’m doing,” she hissed once the screen slammed behind them and she’d pulled him far enough away to not be overheard.

“What’s he going to do? Report you to the burnt-cookie authorities?”

She smacked him again for the sarcasm.

“If you do not stop hitting me—”

“No one in town can know these cookies come from me or they won’t buy them.”

“What?” he said, brow furrowed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I need this, Spencer. I can’t take the chance of someone finding out. Not right away.” She hated it, but Lorelei edged closer to begging. “Don’t blow this for me with your infernal need to tell the truth all the time. Please.”

He hesitated, as if fighting with his conscience, before caving in. “Fine. If you don’t want people to know, then they won’t hear it from me.”

“Good,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to see the man outside. “Now who is that? Did you know he knew my mother?”

“I had no idea,” Spencer answered. “Mike moved to Nashville after high school and worked a lot of construction. I think he went down to be a country singer, but it never panned out. About a year ago he came back and started his own construction business. He gives me a lot of work putting in custom cabinets.”

That statement won her full attention. “You build cabinets?”

“That’s my business. Boyd’s Custom Cabinets.” Spencer raised a brow. “Where did you think I went all day?”

“I don’t know.” She hadn’t thought about it. She knew he had a job—seeing as that fancy truck didn’t pay for itself—but it never occurred to her that he owned his own business.

“I’m going to try not to take your lack of interest in my life as an insult.” Spencer snatched the spatula from her hand and tossed it on the island. “Now step outside and try to act normal.” He looked down her body. “And you might want to take that apron off. The flour is a dead giveaway.”