Christie Ridgway

  As the phone was passed around, Zane half-listened to his buddies razzing their old friend and stretched out his legs and relaxed in his seat, for the first time in too long feeling comfortable in his life and in his own skin. So his sister and his brother went spinning off into true coupledom. Maybe his dad was having some sort of parallel mid-life crisis with the woman who was really more like a mom to Zane than the one he had. But he was now at Baldie’s, beer and cheese fries making friendly in his belly and warding off germs, and all was right with his world.

  He let his gaze roam the room skipping over his dad now shoulder-to-shoulder with Pete. Zane’s aim was to avoid Brenda, he didn’t need a glimpse of her online dater, no way, but a flick of movement from that direction caught his eye.

  His head jerked. His eyes narrowed on another table occupied by another woman. “She’s over there having a drink,” he said out loud. “At Baldie’s of all low-life places.”

  It interrupted the flow of conversation that had started up after his buddies had ended the call with Jack. The others gathered around the table looked to Zane.

  “This isn’t a low-life place,” Ryder protested. “I’m here.”

  “Too low-life for her,” Zane muttered, ignoring the other man’s joke and nodding in the direction of the table where Harper Grace sat, her long, dark honey hair swirling around her shoulders encased in that sweet, 1950s-style sweater. She’d exchanged the skirt for a pair of black, skinny-leg pants and instead of the flats, she wore high-heels, three inches of them, that had pointy toes and looked to be fashioned out of some black, snakeskin leather.

  “Man, Miss Woody is still a looker,” Wyatt said. “I can’t get over it.”

  Zane blinked. Oh. Oh, yeah. Sitting across from Harper was none other than their former high school teacher.

  Adam’s lips twitched. “Zane’s not looking at Miss Woody.”

  “Yeah?” Noah turned his head, took a gander. “Oh, the librarian. I thought there was something happening between you two today, Zane.”

  “Huh,” Wyatt said. “She’s not your usual type, Z. You go for the good-time girls. She looks like just a good girl.”

  Zane glared at him. “We’re only friends.”

  His brother snickered. “Really?”

  We broke up. He thought of saying it, he really did, but like when he’d spoken to Hildie earlier in the day, the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth.

  Forcing his gaze away from Harper, he topped off his beer mug from the new pitcher they’d ordered.

  “So, what else is new, Wyatt?” he asked. “You gotta line on that exciting new career you’re after? Grizzly wrestling, wasn’t it?”

  His friend ignored the banter, his gaze elsewhere. “There goes Miss Woody. Over to the bar. Now Augie’s got her cornered.”

  “Augie?” Adam craned his neck. “That suck-up. He drooled around her all through high school, cleaning her erasers and shit. He can’t imagine he has a chance with her now, can he?”

  Wyatt spoke up again. “Zane, your girl is alone. Looking a little uneasy.”

  Because she was better than this damn, low-life bar. But he wasn’t going to look. He was going to stay right here and enjoy being Zane Tucker, Confirmed Bachelor Man.

  Noah’s attention had been snagged too. “Andy Smerkman, as I live and breathe.”

  Smerkman. The man kept turning up like a bad penny.

  “Looks like he’s clocked your girl,” Noah said.

  “What?”

  “Yeah. He’s starting to prowl in her direction. A total Smerkman move, by the way. Lone woman, new to town, Smerkman’s moving in.”

  His jaw tight, Zane stared into his full beer. All remained right with his world, right here, damn it. With his buddies. Drinking brew.

  “Bet you can’t sit on your ass for the rest of that beer,” Adam said, his voice sly.

  “Sure I can.” Without another thought, Zane downed the contents of his mug, slammed it on the table, and shot to his feet.

  “Twenty says you’ll wake up in that woman’s—I’m sorry, your friend’s—bed in the morning.”

  “Forty says I won’t,” Zane bit out, and then he was gone.

  Chapter 6

  Harper struggled against the urge to slide her book out of her purse or at least her phone. After all, part of being a new-and-improved Harper involved becoming comfortable with taking a meal alone, or even a drink. And Diana Woods, the woman who’d suggested they do so together, had merely excused herself to say hello to an acquaintance. Surely, she’d return soon.

  So instead of burying her nose in her paperback or the e-reading app on her phone, Harper sat back in her chair and reflected on what she’d accomplished that day.

  The Kids Reading to Dogs program had gone off without a hitch, despite, or maybe because of, Gambler’s unexpected appearance. The uneven ratio of pets to children had made her fret for a few minutes until he’d raced to the patio and found a literacy partner in adorable Bella.

  Watching the child read to the dog—and watching Zane Tucker watching the child read to the dog—had set off a flurry of warm tingles throughout Harper’s body. The man expressed concern he might frighten the girl, but like the dog, he’d been perfectly well-behaved in her presence.

  But Harper liked that he’d been worried. That said something. That said he was a good man.

  Diana Woods had confirmed it for Harper. The stunning fortyish woman had introduced herself to the new librarian some weeks back, welcoming her to town and explaining she worked at the local high school. They’d had a couple of pleasant conversations since then. This evening, after locking the library, a car had pulled up to the curb as Harper began her walk home.

  Diana Woods had smiled and suggested they go out for a beer or a glass of wine to further their acquaintance.

  Being spontaneous and not letting her usually shy nature stop her from new experiences were both on her new-and-improved Harper to-do agenda. So she’d climbed into the passenger seat and after a brief stop at her condo to change some of her clothes, they’d taken a short journey.

  Now here she was, at a bar called Baldie’s, that was as far as a place could get from the San Francisco drinking establishments she’d been known to visit with Geoffrey or her girlfriends. A jukebox belted out classic rock, the drinks menu boasted only three wines—red, white, and rosé—and people were being served huge platters of fusion cuisine…basically cheese fused to potatoes.

  She loved it.

  Nursing her bottle of Stella Artois, chosen because it seemed a beer with a feminine-sounding name might be more her style than the others with the words “hairy” “dirty” and “dick” in their titles, she slid a look at a table across the room from under her lashes.

  Zane. He sat with a group of big men about his age.

  Diana had caught her gazing that way earlier.

  I know all of those men. As teens, they filled up the desks during detention for an entire semester. Have you met any of them?

  Harper had admitted an acquaintance with Zane.

  Diana had admitted she’d already heard she and the man were an item.

  He has a good heart under that rough exterior, though I don’t think he’s even completely aware of what’s beneath all those rock-hard muscles.

  All night, through the first beer and now this second, Harper had been completely aware of his every laugh, his every gesture.

  Just as she was about to dare yet another peek, a man stepped to her table, blocking her view. Her chin tipped up.

  “Hello,” he said, smiling. His blond hair was cropped short and stiffened by gel. Unlike Zane, no hint of whisker grit edged his jaw. She could smell his aftershave even over the prevalent odors of beer and cheese-and-potato fusion.

  “Um, hello.” She glanced around to where she’d last seen Diana. The woman was still engrossed in conversation with a man with messy hair and egghead-style glasses.

  The stranger’s hand reached across Harper’s table. “I’m Andy S
merkman.”

  Politeness necessitated her own hand come up to meet his. But their palms had no chance to make contact because long fingers wrapped around her elbow and drew her instantly to her feet. “Hey, sweets.”

  Sweets. Zane Tucker stood beside her, wearing a pair of dark jeans and an ivory-colored, waffle-weave Henley that she’d been sneaking glances at all evening. Her gaze shifted from his broad chest to his face, noting again the five o-clock shadow around his mouth and along his jawline. His mesmerizing blue-green eyes were trained on her, as if the other man by her table didn’t exist.

  “Zane,” said that other man now, his tone annoyed. “I’m right here.”

  “Me, too,” he said, still without looking away from Harper. “And Harper and I have places to go.”

  Then he was hustling her out of the bar, forcing her to dig her heels into the sticky floor so she could scoop up her purse hanging over her chair. “I came with Diana.”

  Zane paused long enough to let out a short, sharp whistle. More than one person looked up, including Harper’s drinks companion. He pointed to Harper, then at his chest, then jerked his thumb in the direction of the door.

  With a smile, Diana nodded she understood the pantomime and sketched a small wave.

  Zane began moving again, forcing Harper to tottle after him to keep up with his long strides. His hand remained curled around her arm and she tried breaking free, but he wasn’t having it. And because of the tottle, she gave up, thinking she’d be more embarrassed on her way out the door if she fell on her behind before getting there.

  Once in the chilly evening air, he led her in the direction of his truck.

  “What if I have my own car?” she said, trying once again to halt his forward momentum.

  “Do you have your own car?” When she didn’t answer, he began tugging her again, pulling her around his back bumper to the passenger side of his vehicle.

  There, he pushed her against the door and just stared down at her, exasperation written on every line of his handsome face. “What am I going to do with you, Harper Grace?”

  He’d asked that once before. She opened her mouth.

  But before words could escape it, his own mouth was there, his tongue sliding deep as one big, rough palm tunneled beneath her hair to curl around her nape. That raspy touch felt so good her knees melted, but it didn’t feel nearly as good as his tongue sliding over hers, exploring everywhere. Then his lips left hers, but only to wander across her cheek where they touched the outer shell of her ear.

  His hot breath dispatched cold chills down her neck and across her chest. Her nipples tightened to instant, painful points and her hands clutched at his biceps.

  Then his head came up and he gave her another exasperated look. “Damn it. Now we’re going to have to talk about that kiss,” he said, as if it was all her fault.

  Her temper kindled, but it was such an unusual sensation that it distracted her long enough for the man to bundle her into the passenger seat. Then he was behind the wheel and they were heading out of the Baldie’s lot.

  Despite the cold night, Harper felt hot under the collar, felt hot everywhere.

  And the tension inside the cab of the truck was thick and heavy and made her skin prickle on top of the heat already there.

  Due to all that, it took her a while to realize he wasn’t heading directly to her condo. She frowned, trying to get her bearings in the dark. “Where are we going?”

  He slowed, pointing out the building she knew was to house his sister Bailey’s new restaurant. “That’s my sister’s place, the one she’s opening in a short while.”

  “Okay.” Harper peered at the stone building and continued looking at it over her shoulder as they drove on, lights illuminating the sign that said “Coming Soon—Blue Moon” receding in the distance.

  “This is the diner, of course,” he said a few minutes later, braking again. “No alcohol is served there, which keeps the atmosphere usually well south of raucous, but sometimes hunters come in after a morning of keeping warm with whiskey and begin to argue over the bullshit that hunters argue over. Occasionally the wait staff is forced to call in Dad or Brenda.”

  Her bewilderment grew. “Um, why are you telling me this?”

  “I’m telling you that Dad and Brenda can handle things if you run into trouble at the diner, but most everywhere else you need to keep your eye out for unruly tourists and ill-mannered local mountain men. You’re safe at the library and at your condo too. Then there’s the Broadleaf—that upscale hotel in the middle of town—it has a quiet atmosphere and a sweet little bar called Sunfish. Diana should have taken you there.”

  “I like Baldie’s. I like potato cheese fusion food.”

  He cast her an odd glance. “It’s cheese fries.”

  “Same thing.” She lifted a shoulder. “And I would be happy to go back there again. You were there. Your friends look nice.”

  “My friends are nice.” He paused. “But not nice for you. And definitely Smerkman—who is not a friend—is not nice for you.”

  Harper crossed her arms over his chest as Zane hit the accelerator again. “I don’t need a keeper.”

  “A woman like you needs to know the right places for a woman like you to go.”

  Her temper bubbled. “Oh, I get it. The sweet places, the quiet places, the safe places.”

  He pulled into her condo complex, and turned into a visitor’s space.

  “The boring places.”

  “Bailey’s restaurant won’t be boring,” he said, his voice mild. He exited out of his side and came around to meet her as she jumped off the high passenger seat. When she teetered on her heels, he reached out both hands to steady her at her waist.

  “But it’s also the restaurant of a French-trained chef. So it’s likely to be very proper, and, again, quiet.” Harper turned away from him and began to march toward her unit. “Perfect for a boring person like me.”

  Without speaking, he trailed her to her unit, waiting while she unlocked the door. Then he pushed it open and followed her inside, swinging it shut behind him.

  The living room was dimly lit, the timer having taken care of flipping on the lamp in the big picture window once it turned dark. The space was small but she’d decorated with light-colored walls and furniture upholstered in bright paisleys. To her eye, it was homey but not homespun. But Zane didn’t seem to be admiring it, or even actually absorbing his surroundings, because he was staring at her.

  “What is this about you being a boring person?” he finally demanded, as if he found that annoying.

  When it was she who was annoyed.

  “It’s what my ex said about me when he broke our engagement,” she informed Zane. “After two years of being my fiancé. After six months of him cheating on me with various one-night stands. On the very day I put down the deposit on the wedding venue.”

  Zane swore beneath his breath.

  Now Harper put one hand on her hip, a pose she never thought she’d struck in her life. “But you know what? I don’t think it’s me that’s boring. It’s those kid gloves people like you put on when they get a look at me. Then they’re telling me the places I should visit are only the safe and sweet places. That’s the problem. The truth is, it’s people like you who make me boring!”

  He only continued to stare.

  So she added, just to be honest, “Well, it’s only mostly people like you to blame. Because I am a little shy. I grew up with my head in books. I’m always making up stories.”

  Now Zane looked like he was fighting a smile.

  It caused her to glare at him. “But I might have been exciting if I was ever asked to do exciting things!”

  “I’ll take you kayaking,” Zane said quickly. “Rafting too. Get you up on a paddle board and—”

  “Not good enough.” She leaned toward him, her temper still running hot. “To be exciting, I have to do exciting things in bed, too. That’s also what Geoffrey told me.”

  Zane’s eyes narrowed. “Ge
offrey’s an ass.”

  “Who has exciting times in bed.” Now it seemed completely unfair that the new-and-improved Harper hadn’t yet had new-and-improved sex. She half-wondered if this idea came from the two Stellas she’d downed in quick succession. It seemed a notion that a “Stella” might have. In any case, it deserved addressing.

  “Why don’t I get exciting times in bed?” she demanded from the only other person in the room.

  Zane’s chest started moving up and down, as if it was difficult for him to draw in air. “I don’t know exactly how to answer that,” he finally choked out. “And maybe this isn’t the time.”

  “Oh, that’s right, you had something else you wanted to talk about.” Harper rolled her eyes, something her sister did often, but that she’d never much taken to before. It felt good, though. Expressive. “That last kiss.”

  Somehow Zane had moved nearer without her noticing. His broad chest was only an inch or so from her and one of his boots was wedged between her high heels. She’d noticed his size before—who couldn’t notice his size, all that delicious, manly expanse of muscle?—but he seemed to expand before her eyes now.

  Miles of hard planes and long bones and those blue, blue eyes with their searing touch of green.

  Now Harper couldn’t breathe, and barely hear with the pounding of her heart sounding so loud in her ears. With widening eyes, she watched his hand come up, and then sift through her hair to once again cup her nape. To once again thrill her with the rough sensation of his callused palm against her softer skin.

  “I don’t think now’s the time to talk about that last kiss,” Zane said, his voice low. The sensual look in his eyes was making her shiver. “I think we have to go directly to talking about the next one.”

  Oh, God. Another quiver shook her body.

  But she wasn’t backing down—because it wasn’t exactly fear, or all fear, that was causing these trembles. “Talk,” she scoffed on another eye-roll, trying to sound brave. “Don’t you get it? I want action.”

  “Action.”

  At that one, nearly growled word, she shifted her gaze to Zane’s amazing eyes again. They’d gone even more intense. Hot. Burning.