CHAPTER 3
Jared cursed himself for wearing yet another pair of casual leather shoes as they became saturated from walking across the large, grassy field. “I’m going to need to buy my damn shoes in bulk if I can’t get over my obsession to see her,” he whispered irritably under his breath. “Who the hell gets up at the crack of dawn just for a farmers’ market?”
Apparently, Mara did.
Sarah had mentioned that Mara came to the Amesport Farmers’ Market every Saturday to sell products. That was all it took for Jared to decide he needed to investigate his first farmers’ market. So here he was, traipsing across a wet field before Brew Magic even opened in the morning. So far, he was less than impressed by this particular Amesport event.
He needed coffee.
He needed his breakfast.
And he needed to have his head examined. Desperately.
As he ducked underneath a rope that was acting as a temporary fence for the market, he admitted to himself that he had to see her, had to know that she was doing okay after the news she’d gotten about losing her home. He hadn’t completely worked out the details of exactly how to help her yet, but he would. Hell, he could very easily set her up for life with funds and not notice a dent in his net worth. But he’d scratched that idea almost immediately, knowing Mara well enough to realize she’d probably starve before she took money she hadn’t earned. If she was already determined to solve her problems on her own, there was no way she was going to take his money.
He had to admit, the idea that a woman didn’t want his money was . . . strange.
Wanting to fuck her as desperately as he did, making some kind of sexual arrangement had also been a possibility, but he knew she wasn’t about to accept that, either. To be honest, the thought was actually distasteful to him for some reason.
Because I want her to want me as much as I want her. I need her to give herself to me just because she wants me.
It was another weird thought. When the hell had he actually cared why a woman screwed him?
“The market doesn’t open until seven,” an older gentleman called to Jared as he unloaded vegetables onto tables from his truck.
“I’m here to help a friend,” Jared answered, annoyed.
The man nodded slowly, a doubtful look on his face as his eyes moved over Jared.
Did he look that damn useless? Okay, maybe he didn’t look ready to work at a farmers’ market. He had deliberately dressed in casual clothing, but he guessed a pair of designer tan slacks and a dark blue button-down shirt wasn’t the usual farmers’ market attire. Nothing fancy, but he still stuck out like a sore thumb compared to other men wearing old jeans and T-shirts that were already dirty, and sweating and disheveled from setting up their sales tables for the day.
You usually look immaculate and perfect.
Mara’s words drifted back to him, and he wondered if looking immaculate and perfect was good or bad. Most likely, he did look different. In his world, he was dressed casually. For Amesport, he probably looked like a billionaire snob, and for some reason that bugged the hell out of him. He used to like doing manual labor, getting sweaty and downright filthy. There had been a certain satisfaction in feeling his muscles burning after working all day. Suddenly he missed that sensation and the pleasure of accomplishing something he thought was important.
“Jared! Yoo-hoo! Over here!”
His head turned sharply to the right as he heard a high, singsong female voice calling him. Smiling as he spotted Beatrice Gardener waving her arms in the air to get his attention, he made his way around other booths to the elderly woman.
“Beatrice,” he acknowledged as he stood in front of her table and smiled at her. “Are you sure it’s healthy to actually be up this early in the morning? What are you doing here?” It was a dumb question. Judging by the table in front of him, which was loaded with crystals, she was here to peddle her wares. She had polished stones and jewelry, some of it obviously from her Natural Elements store. Jared considered it a New Age store, but Beatrice had once told him she was a student of all philosophies and religions, and she was an original. In the weeks since he’d been here, and judging from the conversations they’d had, she was definitely unique. His eyes ran over her long, pink shorts, sneakers, and T-shirt with her store logo emblazoned on the front. “Where’s Elsie?” Where Beatrice was, Jared could usually find Elsie Renfrew. The two old ladies seemed almost inseparable.
“Oh, Elsie refuses to get up before seven in the morning. Says she’s retired and deserves to sleep in now,” Beatrice said unhappily. “She’ll probably drop by later.”
“Did you set all this up yourself?” Jared asked with a frown. Beatrice was spry, but it didn’t seem right that she had unloaded the van behind her alone.
Beatrice chortled merrily. “I might be old, young man, but I can handle a few boxes. I only bring my crystals out here on the weekends to help people.”
Jared eyed the table. “The table is too heavy,” he told her politely.
“George always helps me with my table. He’s such a gentleman. He sells produce here every weekend.”
Jared shot her a conspiratorial smile as he asked, “Have you gotten yourself a beau, Beatrice?” He put a dramatic hand on his chest. “You’ll break my heart.”
The silver-haired woman shook her finger at him. “Save your flattery for someone who believes it, young man. Remember, I can read your aura.” She raised her eyebrow at him knowingly.
“Then you know I’m telling you the truth,” Jared replied, deadpan.
Beatrice considered herself the town mystic and psychic. She was also the unofficial Amesport matchmaker, apparently able to foresee matches before they happened. And . . . she could supposedly read auras. She’d told him more than once that he had a complex, mixed aura—whatever the hell that meant. Sure, Beatrice was different, and some people might find her peculiar, but she was adored by most of the people in Amesport because she was quirky but sweet, and Jared had liked her almost immediately. She and Elsie were completely harmless. Both of the women meant well, no matter how interfering or gossipy the ladies might be.
“You aren’t telling me the truth,” Beatrice argued, tilting her head first one way and then the other as she looked at him. “But something is changing with you.” She continued to observe him pensively.
“What?” He was starting to squirm beneath the woman’s intense scrutiny, feeling downright uncomfortable. Not that he really thought Beatrice could see into his inner thoughts, but damned if she didn’t have the mystical look thing down pat.
Beatrice rifled through the stones on the table, finally lifting a dark, polished object. “You could use this one.” She held out the long rock attached to a key chain. “Carry it with you. It can help you with your guilt and your grief. You have to get rid of your emotional blocks before you can be happy again,” Beatrice informed him in a warning voice.
Instinctively, Jared reached out and took the key chain. He wasn’t about to argue. Things were getting a little too weird for him. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out several bills.
“No, no!” Beatrice exclaimed. “The crystal is a healing gift. I don’t want your money,” she insisted.
Startled, he looked at the elderly woman’s distressed expression and put the bills back in his pocket. “You’re running a business, Beatrice. You can’t give things away.” Honestly, he was touched, even though the conversation was a bit eerie. Other than his siblings, no one had ever given him a gift. Although, he had to admit, this one did make him a bit uneasy. He certainly didn’t believe in her hocus-pocus, but there was something about the way she continued to give him her fixed stare that made him want to fidget like a naughty schoolboy.
It’s just a coincidence. She doesn’t really know what happened.
“I don’t need the money, Jared. My late husband was filthy rich in addition to being a stud. I’m loaded.” She gave him a sly wink.
Jared chuckled, more amused than he wanted to admit. “You’re still a businesswoman,” he reminded her.
“And a very good one . . . most of the time. I only give gifts in special cases. You and Mara are both special.” Beatrice went back to arranging her jewelry casually.
“You’re trying to help Mara, too?” Jared asked curiously.
Beatrice nodded. “Of course. Both of you. You were meant for each other.”
Jared shook his head adamantly. Beatrice was matchmaking, and it was terrifying the hell out of him. “I’m not meant for anybody,” he told her flatly.
“Oh yes, you are. You two were incredibly easy to predict. My spirit guide channeled the information to me quite loudly and clearly. Maybe you aren’t ready to believe it yet, but you will,” she told him mysteriously.
“Um . . . okay,” he said awkwardly, putting the key chain in his pocket. He’d let Beatrice have her delusions. She’d be disappointed when she found out she was wrong, but he wasn’t about to argue with her. Frankly, she was too damn frightening sometimes. Fact was, he actually did want to fuck Mara. But out of all the women in this town, how did Beatrice know exactly who he was obsessed with having in his bed?
Coincidence.
Yeah, it was definitely a lucky guess.
“She’s in one of the booths behind me,” Beatrice informed him casually, waving her thumb to the back of her.
“Thanks,” Jared mumbled, more than a little disconcerted. “I hope you have a prosperous day.”
“The same to you,” Beatrice answered, looking up at him with a knowing smile.
He hurried away from the elderly woman to go find Mara, sticking his hand in his pocket to rub the smooth stone unconsciously.
It’s just a damn rock. And Beatrice probably saw me talking with Mara at her store. She absolutely is not a psychic.
Nevertheless, he clutched the stone in his fingers as he searched out Mara, wishing the rock could actually solve some of his problems as Beatrice had promised.
“I’d be willing to pay almost any asking price for that.”
Mara startled, almost spilling the coffee onto her fingers as she filled a paper cup from her thermos. Glancing over her shoulder from her bent position, the first thing she noticed was that Jared Sinclair wasn’t staring at the coffee. His eyes were trained on her ample butt, which was sticking up in the air as she filled her cup.
“Coffee is free,” she told him as she straightened hastily, turning and holding out the cup. “It has creamer. I only bring it for myself, but I have plenty.”
What the hell is he doing here?
Jared Sinclair looked about as at home here in the middle of the wet, open field for the farmers’ market as he would doing any other everyday activity that the inhabitants of Amesport did on a regular basis.
He belonged in the corporate world, in an immaculate suit that he wouldn’t get dirty, sitting in a high-rise office discussing business deals. The only casual things about him were the rolled-up sleeves of his button-down shirt, which exposed strong, muscular forearms lightly covered with reddish-brown hair, and the open buttons at the neckline collar, which gave her just a tantalizing glimpse of one very masculine chest.
Jared finally accepted the cup from her hand as he met her eyes with an intensity that made her shudder. Not letting go of her gaze, he took a large sip of the hot coffee, watching her over the rim of the cup before replying in his sexy baritone, “I think you know I wasn’t talking about coffee, although if I can’t have what I want right now, I’ll take the caffeine. Thanks.”
Mara looked away from him, embarrassed. Ignoring his innuendo, she told him curiously, “This doesn’t exactly seem like your scene, and I’m surprised you don’t already have a cup of coffee in your hand. I rarely see you without one.”
“Brew Magic isn’t even open yet. Why do they start this thing so damn early?” he grumbled unhappily.
“Having withdrawals? I’m sure you have a coffeemaker at your house.” Already having set up her jars and containers for sale, she reached down for her thermos on the ground and straightened back up again, deciding to fill her own cup standing up this time. Honestly, she was having caffeine withdrawal, so she understood needing a cup of coffee. She’d been running late this morning and had skipped breakfast and coffee.
“The damn thing hates me,” he rumbled, as though his coffeemaker had a personal vendetta against him. “My old one took a crap, and I bought one that’s supposed to be top-of-the-line. I end up with half a cup of coffee grounds in my cup.”
“Did you read the instructions?”
Jared shrugged. “Why? How hard can it be to make coffee? It must be defective.”
Just like a man, he obviously didn’t believe he needed directions. “It might help,” she suggested lightly. She very much doubted the coffeemaker personally disliked Jared. It was more likely that Jared was impatient with the coffeemaker. “It’s better than having withdrawals.”
She knew it didn’t escape Jared’s notice that she was pouring her coffee in an upright position, and he smirked evilly as he watched her. “Now I’m definitely having withdrawals,” he rasped. “Putting that gorgeous ass in the air can definitely give a man a lot of fantasies.”
“I didn’t know you were there,” Mara answered defensively. Her ass was hardly her best feature, and she wouldn’t have put it on display had she known anybody was behind her.
Jared crossed his arms in front of him, his coffee balanced in his right hand. “I know you were unaware that I was behind you. That just made the possibilities that much more tempting.”
No doubt it made a large target for just about anything. My butt is too big, and I’m pretty doubtful that my old Patriots T-shirt and cut-off blue jean shorts are a major turn-on.
It had been so early when she was loading her battered pickup truck that she hadn’t bothered with any makeup, and her hair was barely tamed in a clip behind her head.
Oh yeah, I’m definitely a real seductress. No wonder he wants me.
She rolled her eyes at him, letting him know she wasn’t going to engage in his flirtation. “Do those sorts of compliments usually work for you?”
He raised a quizzical brow. “For what?”
Mara shrugged and averted her eyes, concentrating on arranging her jars and cutting up homemade bread and placing it into airtight containers. “Pickup lines.”
“I wouldn’t know,” he informed her harshly. “I don’t usually bother. The only thing women want from me is money.”
Startled, she turned her head and openly gaped at him. “You don’t really believe that.”
Amazingly, Mara could tell from the look in Jared’s momentarily expressive eyes that he not only believed it but was completely convinced that women were only after his money.
“What else would they want?” He shrugged as though he was resigned to the fact that he was pursued for monetary reasons only.
Okay, the man is either blind, or he doesn’t look into the mirror every morning. This nearly flawless specimen of masculine perfection is actually insecure? “There are other things,” she muttered quietly. Somebody had hurt him, rejected him. It was the only reason Mara could think of that he wasn’t conceited about his appearance.
“What?” he questioned in a low, velvety baritone.
Seriously? Jared Sinclair didn’t know he was hot enough to melt a woman’s panties with a glance? Since yesterday, when those amazing green eyes had begun to actually show some of his emotions, he’d become nearly irresistible to her. “Everything,” she admitted in a husky whisper, unable to keep her eyes from moving over him hungrily. “You’re every woman’s fantasy. Not only are you drop-dead gorgeous, but you’re kind and funny when you want to be. What more could a woman want?” Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
“Money,” he added gravely. “Lots of it.”
Mara’s heart melted. He really did think every woman was after him primarily for his money. “Believe me, there’s plenty more of you to appreciate than your bank account.” She hated that Jared actually believed what he was saying.
“I’ve discovered that a big bank account is their first priority. Other large assets come in last place,” he replied, a hint of humor in his voice now.
His emphasis on the words “large” and “come” made beads of sweat break out on her forehead, even though the summer day wasn’t particularly warm yet. She wasn’t touching his comment. Having this conversation was uncomfortable enough. “Would you like a sample?” she asked desperately, determined to steer the topic of conversation in a different direction.
“I’d like more than a sample,” Jared answered huskily. “I think when it comes to you, I’ll want everything.”