Chapter 15

Luke looked up from the hose he’d been checking as part of routine maintenance. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Vicky Saunders ignored his ire as she pulled a tube of lipstick out of her enormous purse and applied it expertly without looking in a mirror, as though applying makeup inside a firehouse was completely commonplace.

She pursed her lips. “New color. You like it?”

He rolled his eyes. Vicky was one of his mother’s closest friends, and practically an aunt. He’d grown up being asked his thoughts on her new lipstick colors, and, somewhere around the age of fourteen, he’d learned better than to actually express an opinion.

“I’m not doing it,” he said, turning his attention back to the hose.

Vicky huffed, her expansive bosom quivering in dramatic disappointment. “Your mother warned me you’d act like this.”

“And by act like this, you mean declining to participate in a kissing booth at the county fair.”

She held up a finger. “Not just any fair. The centennial fair! Did you know that?”

“Yes, I knew that,” he said, still keeping his eyes on the hose. “You know how? Because there probably hasn’t been a kissing booth since that first fair a hundred years ago.”

She shook her head matter-of-factly. “Nope. Untrue. There was a kissing booth when I was a girl.”

“So. Seventy-five years ago?”

She swatted the side of his head. Or tried to—she was too short to do much more than brush his ear. “Mind your tongue. I don’t see why you’re being so difficult about this.”

“Have Ryan do it. He’s better looking.”

“Can’t,” Ryan called, not even trying to pretend that he hadn’t been eavesdropping as he checked the tanks. “Married.”

“So?”

“Bree’s not good at sharing. She’s been known to bite. Although I’ve been known to like it, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, I do know what you mean!” Vicky said, lighting up. “I once had a one-night stand with this drifter—”

Luke held up his hand. “No. Just no. How about Charlie? Make him do the kissing booth.”

“He said he has mono.”

“He doesn’t—damn it. Charlie!” Luke bellowed, knowing his friend was on kitchen duty.

Charlie’s red head poked out of the kitchen door. “ ’Sup?”

“Why are you trying to get out of the kissing booth? This seems exactly like one of your creepy fantasies.”

“Once upon a time, yes.”

“Once upon what time, like yesterday?” Luke asked his playboy friend incredulously. “What’s your deal?”

“He’s boinking the kindergarten teacher,” Ryan said, pulling a protein bar out of his back pocket and tearing the wrapper with his teeth.

“Third grade,” Charlie corrected, disappearing into the kitchen once more.

Ryan lifted a shoulder. “Guess he’s out.”

“You’re the only single firefighter,” Vicky said sympathetically. “Under fifty,” she added quickly, lest Luke try to submit Ivan Gash as a candidate, which Luke wouldn’t because Ivan chronically smelled like onion, and Luke wouldn’t wish that kissing situation on anyone.

“So bug the PD.”

“Firefighters are hotter,” Vicky whined, sounding closer to seventeen than her actual age of sixty-something.

Ryan wandered over, leaning against the back of the fire truck as he nodded. “We are. Everyone knows this.”

Luke finally got to the end of the hose and, finding no issues, began to wind it back up again. “No way,” he told Vicky. “Final answer.”

“Luke Elliott, don’t make me call your mother.”

He winced. It wasn’t an idle threat. He’d spoken with his mother just yesterday, and she’d launched into a fifteen-minute description of an article she’d read about how men’s reproductive systems age just like women’s and if he was going to give her grandchildren, he’d better get on it.

He’d claimed a fire emergency before she could describe what or whom exactly he was supposed to get on.

There hadn’t been a fire, but he didn’t feel even remotely guilty about the lie.

“Hello? Am I interrupting?”

Luke froze at the familiar voice. One he hadn’t heard in three days. Not since he’d heard it whispering and moaning against his lips. The very memory of the kiss made his entire body come to life, but that wasn’t even the part that pissed him off. What pissed him off was that he’d missed her—missed the way she provoked him and made him feel the most alive he had in years. He missed the ways she could coax a smile from him, the way she’d befriended his damn cat….

“Jordan!” Vicky said, beckoning the younger woman for what Luke knew would be an air kiss, heavy side of floral perfume. “Don’t you just look pretty as a picture. I haven’t been able to wear sexy shoes like that since I got my first bunion.”

Jordan made a wise, noncommittal murmur of acknowledgment as she accepted her hug.

Vicky’s warm welcome of Jordan, Luke could see. The woman had a knack for taking anyone and anything under her wing.

What Luke absolutely did not expect was for Ryan to wrap an arm around Jordan’s neck, planting a brotherly kiss on the side of her head. “Jordo. Good to see you again. The drill I gave you do the trick on that bathroom shelf, or you want me to swing by after work, take a look?”

Jordo?

And exactly when had they been discussing Jordo’s bathroom shelves?

“No, it worked great!” she said, beaming up at Ryan as though they were old friends. “Thanks so much. That’s actually why I’m here—I was passing by, realized I had the drill in my trunk, and thought I’d see if you were here so I could give it back.”

What.

The.

Hell.

Not only had Jordan never once glanced his way, but she was here to see Ryan?

Before Luke could wrap his head around it, she and Ryan were headed back out toward her car, laughing like the best of friends.

“Oh, Jordan, sweetheart,” Vicky called out, her eyes lighting in the way of the suddenly inspired. “How long are you going to be in Lucky Hollow, dear?”

“Still deciding,” Jordan said, her smile just slightly tense, although nobody but Luke seemed to notice.

“But through the weekend, at least?”

“Yeah, I expect so.”

Vicky clasped her hands in delight. “Oh, wonderful. I’m sure you’ve heard it’s the county fair? I volunteer every year, and I’ve been tasked with staffing the kissing booth. I need one boy and one girl.”

Jordan laughed. “Call me a girl, and I’ll do just about anything you want. The men in your town have been ma’am-ing me, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

“Wait, so you’ll do it?” Vicky asked, looking stunned but pleased.

Jordan shrugged. “Sure.”

“Now, hold on,” Luke said, speaking up for the first time, which trained Jordan’s attention on him. Also for the first time.

“Do you even know what a kissing booth is?” he asked.

Her glare was withering, but Luke pressed forward anyway. “It means you sit in a booth, literally, and guys pay to kiss you.”

“Or girls!” Vicky said. “That’s no problem with me.”

“I think I can handle it,” Jordan said, smiling at him sweetly. “Might be nice, actually. Been a while since I’ve been kissed…decently.”

Luke’s eyes narrowed, but Jordan turned back to Vicky. “Count me in.”

Then she spun on her heel and marched her jeans-clad ass out into the early autumn sunshine.

Ryan gave Luke an assessing look before following her.

Had it not been for Vicky still standing beside him, Luke might have punched something.

“So,” Vicky said. “I’ll count you in for the booth too? Saturday at noon?”

He pried his gaze away from Jordan’s backside to give his mom’s friend a look. “Could have sworn I told you no not five minutes ago.”

“Yes, Luke, but that was before,” she said patiently.

“Before what?”

She merely smiled wider. Before Jordan. “So I’ll count you in?”

Hell no.

But then his thoughts returned to Jordan. His mind pictured dozens of faceless men kissing her.

He didn’t want to watch it go down.

But not knowing would be a hell of a lot worse.

Plus, this way he could write down the name of every poor bastard who dared to put his lips to hers….

“Yeah,” he muttered gruffly to Vicky. “Count me in.”

The second Jordan opened the box of clothes she’d just received from New York, she called Simon.

He answered on the first ring, already laughing. “Don’t be mad.”

“What. Is. This?” Jordan asked, picking up a denim skirt she’d never seen in her life—the likes of which nobody had seen in at least a decade.

“Okay, so you opened that box first. I was sort of hoping for that. The other two boxes are all your stuff, I swear.”

“Is this a tube top?” Jordan asked, aghast as she lifted a tiny bit of white fabric out of the box of unfamiliar items.

“Yes, but it has a lace top to go over it. Layers are in, babe.”

“Layers never went out,” Jordan countered. “Tube tops definitely did, though. In the eighties.”

Jordan glanced at the clock on the stove. Four o’clock. Close enough to wine o’clock.

She grabbed an open bottle of white from the fridge and poured a small glass for courage before she resumed unpacking the box.

“Do I even want to know what the thought was behind all this?”

“My thought was that you’re in Small Town, Montana, and none of your clothes are well suited.”

“Not true,” Jordan protested. “I’ve got a couple pair of jeans, and those are the universal language.”

“You have AG skinny jeans,” Simon countered. “Not Levi’s.”

“How do you even know the word Levi’s?”

“You forget that I’ve been to Lucky Hollow. Have you gotten to the boots yet?”

“The boo—” Jordan hurriedly dug to the bottom of the package, where, sure enough, two boot boxes were stacked.

“I’m guessing these aren’t a nice pair of this season’s over-the-knee suede lace-up boots?” Jordan said, lifting the shoe boxes onto her kitchen counter.

“Well—”

Jordan opened the first one and groaned. “Teal? Are. You. Kidding. Me?”

“I know. They’re killer. I couldn’t believe it when I saw them. I looked right at them and thought, Jordan needs them, and you’re welcome. Don’t worry, the second pair is more practical.”

She’d give her friend credit there, Jordan granted, as she warily opened the lid on the second box. As far as cowboy boots went, they were…cute. Really cute.

For that matter, so were the teal ones, they were just…teal.

“Do I even want to know how much I owe you for all this stuff I didn’t ask for?”

“On me,” Simon said. “This is a perk of having a fancy lawyer as your best friend.”

“What, that you can buy me turquoise cowboy boots and tube tops?”

“Have you tried them on yet?” Simon demanded. “I want pictures.”

Jordan pushed the boxes away and picked up her wine, taking it into the living room and plopping on her couch. “I guess I should be grateful you resisted the urge to get me a cowboy hat.”

“Only because I didn’t know your head size. And I figured Manhattan wasn’t the best place to buy one.”

“You think?”

“Don’t even try to tell me you’re not going to look hot in those boots,” Simon said. “Your legs, those boots, and that tiny denim skirt, and the Montana boys will be eating out of your hand.”

“Just what I always wanted,” Jordan muttered.

“Well, admittedly not as good as them eating your—”

Jordan made a buzzing noise. “Nope. No sex advice from the gay guy.”

“Your loss. Is this grumpy thing you’re doing your way of telling me you’re no closer to getting Hunky Luke to be part of your show?”

“Hunky Luke? Is that what we’re calling him? And, no, he’s still not interested.”

“Well…at least it’s not a surprise, right? I mean, the guy did rather clearly ignore your emails and phone calls, and from what I saw, he looked a lot more interested in boning you than in becoming a superstar.”

Jordan rubbed her forehead. “He does not want to bone me.”

“He does. And if he doesn’t, the cowboy boots and short skirt will change his mind,” Simon said.

“I want him to be intrigued by the girls on the show, not by me,” Jordan said.

A total lie, but her friend either didn’t notice or was smart enough to know Jordan didn’t want to talk about that.

It had been days since their unexpected kiss and she’d thought about almost nothing else, even as she’d been casually trying to coax someone into dropping details about Luke’s former almost-brides.

“Honey, question, and you can’t get mad,” Simon said.

“If I was going to be mad, it’d be over the tacky boots.”

“They have character,” her friend argued. “But, okay, don’t bite my head off, ready?”

Jordan rolled her eyes. “Sure.”

“You don’t sound all that miserable.”

Jordan laughed. “That’s what you think I’d be mad about?”

“It’s just…you know how you were on the drive there? You couldn’t wait to get out. But now you seem…happy.”

“Maybe that’s because I know I’m coming home soon.”

She waited for that to feel true—waited for relief at the thought of getting back to Manhattan. To her busy life, where she never had time to think, much less miss her family or think about her future, or…

“Are you coming home soon?” Simon asked skeptically.

“Depends. Raven’s coming to grips with the fact that Luke’s probably a no-go. I guess they’ve got another guy. But before she pulls me out, she wants me to figure out if there’d be a story with his exes.”

“Wow, they’re thinking spin-off already?”

“Five steps ahead or bust,” Jordan said, automatically parroting her boss’s favorite pep talk.

“Makes for a nice inspirational post, but do you think there’s a story there?”

“Hard to say,” Jordan admitted. “So far the only one I know is Stacey. And she’s gorgeous, completely likable, and still single, but…”

“But?”

“I dunno,” Jordan said, sipping her wine. “Is it weird that I like her too much to ask?”

“I knew it!” Simon said. “You’re falling for that town and all its little people.”

“They’re not little,” Jordan said, her tone testier than she ever used with Simon.

There was a moment of silence. “No, they’re not. I didn’t mean it that way. But, babe, what the hell is going on with you?”

She swallowed. “I don’t know. I’m working, I am. I check in with Raven daily. It’s just…I worry my reasons for being here are muddy.”

“Jordan Elise Carpenter, are you crushing on that firefighting cowboy?”

Jordan adored Simon too much to lie, but she still stayed stubbornly silent, not quite ready to admit just how much she liked Luke Elliott.

Jordan wrinkled her nose. “Kind of?”

Simon made a sigh that was half happy, half dismayed. “Oh, sweetie. Have you slept with him yet?”

“Simon!”

“Have you?”

“No!”

“But you want to,” her friend said smugly.

Jordan scowled into her wine. She was going to need another glass if this conversation kept up.

“I’d be fired.”

“Maybe. If anyone found out.”

“It’s not gonna happen.”

“You and your small-town morals,” he said with another sigh. “But okay, fine, let’s say he’s off-limits. Is there anyone else you can hook up with? If you have to live in the boonies for a month, you at least need to come back with a fling under your belt. Oh, speaking of which, I put a cowboy-style belt buckle in there. I was thinking you could pair it with the skirt and that blue blouse that makes your eyes look amazing.”

“Oh, so you actually did pack some of my clothes,” Jordan said sarcastically.

“Yes, and I watered that weird plant in the corner.”

“It’s fake, Simon.”

“Shit. Well, okay, I’ll try to swing by later, make sure there’s not a leaky mess. Your neighbor’s cute.”

“Straight.”

“Damn; figures. Okay, but, listen, Jordan—let yourself do your thing with Luke. For you, mostly, but also because I’ve heard that straight men will do just about anything once they’ve experienced the Magic Hoo-Ha.”

Jordan laughed. “Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“To try on your new boots, I hope. Remember, pictures. Surely you have a hoedown to wear them to? Carnival? Corn-shucking contest?”

Jordan winced. “There is the county fair on Saturday.”

“Stop it right now. You’re going, right?”

“I may or may not have agreed to sit in a kissing booth.”

“Tell me that’s as deliciously old-fashioned as it sounds.”

“Old-fashioned, yes. But I don’t think this is going to be the Girls Gone Wild version of a kissing booth.”

“Wear the outfit I picked out. You’ll get some.”

“I don’t want to get some,” Jordan said, standing and going to the fridge for more wine.

“Sure you do,” her friend said, with a smirk so obvious, it came through in his voice.

Okay, yeah. Maybe she kind of did.