Chapter Seven
Dear Miss Gram,
We appreciate your interest in Walden’s Web Designs. However, we’ve filled the position …
Charlotte stopped reading the rejection email from one of the five companies she’d applied to before leaving the city. She shoved her phone back in her pocket and resumed her canning duties.
It had been a week.
Seven full days of peeling, cutting, and canning pears. Plus all the other chores. But at least all the canning kept Charlotte mostly indoors and away from running into Tripp. After the afternoon under the pear tree last week, she was having trouble focusing on anything other than him.
Which was why chores were welcome.
Otherwise she’d be thinking about how she wasn’t getting a full-time job that she desperately wanted—and needed—in the city. The companies she’d applied to were all massive, and if she got in at any of them, her career would be set.
And she could get back to the city where she belonged.
There was only one company left that she hadn’t heard from: her dream company. Which meant landing a job there wasn’t likely. And despite her advertisements and attempts at marketing herself, she still had no major client that would keep her freelance job afloat. How could she work for herself with no major client to bring to the table for stable income?
She shook her head and tried to focus on getting through her time in Wyoming and getting Grammy on her feet.
Grammy was moving around better. Getting into a walking cast had been a good thing for her. She could get around the house and make her own meals. Still obviously couldn’t run a farm, but she was happier out of bed.
“These look great, Charlie,” she said, coming up to give her a side hug. The cans were adding up, and after each set was sealed, she put a piece of twine with her Grammy’s tags on them.
“I’m so glad I can help. I’ve learned a ton.”
Grammy patted her hand. “Well, you’re doing a good job. You should come stay with me full time. We’ll make a country girl out of you yet.”
Charlotte scoffed at the idea. Despite Grammy being the most important person in her world, Charlotte didn’t belong in Cheyenne. Yet something about the offer made her chest ping. She glanced around. Grammy’s house felt like home. Warm. Grammy was the only real family she had, and there was something nice about being wanted. But everything Charlotte had built and worked for revolved around making herself more independent. Counting only on herself. There was safety in that.
“Tempting, but I have a job and life back in the city.”
Grammy studied her face, then smiled her kind smile. “Of course you do. Such a strong woman you’ve become. I’m proud of you, Charlie.”
That hit her hard. Plus, Grammy thought she was strong? Why did she feel the opposite half the time then? She opened her mouth to tell her Grammy how much she loved her, but the older woman rubbed her back and finished with, “Just know you always have a home with me.” Then scooted past her toward the living room, saying over her shoulder, “We have two more days to get these jars loaded and ready to sell. There are more boxes in the barn if you need them. You haven’t lived until you’ve experienced a Cheyenne nut fry!”
More boxes? The car was going to be more than loaded down with the boxes she already had. She shook her head and got back to her task. Grammy had mentioned the nut fry a few times now, and from what Charlotte had been able to gather, it was some sort of town party that some of the local ranchers hosted. People set up booths and sold their wares. Basically, it was a farmers’ market on steroids with a live band and booze, held on the lot of land that the Bronco Saloon sat on at the edge of town. Everyone in Cheyenne came, apparently.
Charlotte made a mental note to pick up some peanuts to fry with the others. She may not be around past summer, but she wanted to make a good impression. For Grammy’s sake, if nothing else. And she wasn’t about to admit that maybe making a friend wouldn’t be so bad—if that friend was Tripp.
Two days. In two days, she’d see him and have a chance to set her grandmother up for the year. Grammy normally sold two hundred jars at this one event alone. Maybe Charlotte could sell more than that. Start her season off with a bang.
Maybe she’d get to end the night with a bang, too.
Fingers crossed.
…
Tripp breathed in the smell of smoky barbecue and laughter. The nut fry was his favorite event of the summer. Sure, there were always the rodeo and the carnival to look forward to, but the nut fry was always a highlight. Seeing the whole town in one place meant everything to him.
The country band was playing hard and fast on the outdoor stage, and a massive concrete slab had been set up for dancing, lights strung along the tops of the poles that lined it. The fiddle player nailed his solo during the chorus, and everyone cheered.
“Great turnout,” Cash said, slapping Tripp on the back.
“Yeah. Wayne brought his barbecue sauce and samples of pulled pork to try it with.”
“I saw that. And ate it,” Cash said. “Then I bought five jars.”
“Well, that’ll last us a week.” Living with two guys on a cattle ranch meant they had red meat covered in some kind of sauce regularly. “I’m excited for the pears and whiskey.”
Tripp nodded, looking around. The tent Mrs. Gram usually occupied was set up and ready, but no Mrs. Gram and no Charlotte.
Not that he was looking for her.
Okay, he was. A little.
He hadn’t seen her in over a week, and he’d woken up hard every damn morning, thinking of her full, perfect mouth. Cold showers weren’t helping. He needed to see her. Talk to her. Touch her. He needed to find a way to have her in his world while keeping his boundaries firmly in place.
The former was starting to outweigh the latter.
Their time beneath the pear tree had been…different. More than the quick roll in the hay he’d expected. It was erotic and sexy as hell because he’d never had a woman be so into him—or his dick. Like she’d loved sucking him off, and he definitely wasn’t complaining. The sight of her lips wrapped around him would be burned into his brain forever. He’d been going crazy ever since and he needed to do something about it because the woman was taking up his entire mind. There had to be a way to have her without Gracie getting attached. Or getting himself attached.
Now if only she’d show up.
“Beep, beep. Succulent pears coming through,” Bo said, carrying several boxes on a dolly toward Mrs. Gram’s tent.
Right behind him was Charlotte.
God, she looked gorgeous. Her latest sundress had a flair of “city professional” to it, fitting her curves like a dream. Her strappy sandals laced up her smooth calves and made her look like a sexy Greek goddess.
She struggled to guide her load of pears around a rock, and he snapped out of his daze. He’d been so enthralled, he’d forgotten his manners.
“May I help?” he asked, trying to take control of the dolly.
“I’ve got it, thanks,” she said, and moved past him. Not avoiding, but not inviting.
His jaw clenched, and he knew right then and there he wanted her attention. And her mouth. And all of her. So damn bad he could taste it.
“How have you been?” he asked, walking beside her toward the tent.
“Great. Just canning a lot,” she said.
“Yeah, I figured.” God, he sounded like a moron. And Bo was helping her and not him, which made Tripp want to punch his best friend. Leave it to Bo to capitalize on showing up late and finding a damsel in distress. Tripp’s damsel at the moment, damn it.
Yeah, he was in bad shape if he was jealous of Bo’s helping Charlotte. He needed to get this woman out of his system. By enjoying her as long as he could with no attachment. Simple.
“Where’s Gracie?” Charlotte asked, looking around.
“She’s at a friend’s house today. Sleepover.”
Her shoulders sank, but she nodded.
“You look disappointed.”
“I am. She’s my only friend here and probably the coolest girl I’ve met in my life.”
Tripp smiled. He loved that Charlotte loved Gracie. It came off her naturally. But then he registered all of her words and frowned. “Hey, I’m your friend.”
She laughed. Honest to God laughed, and Tripp wasn’t sure he got the joke. Surely she thought of him in a similar regard…right?
“I’d call you a lot of things, but ‘friend’ never crossed my mind,” she said, making it to the tent.
“Then what would you call me?” Tripp asked, grabbing a case of pears and setting it on the table for her.
“Not sure you want to hear those names in public,” she said with a wink. Oh, so she was flirting. Good sign. He could play this game. His dick stirred, gearing up for another round of sparring with her.
“That right? Well if memory serves, you were calling me God last week.”
Her cheeks flushed just a little, and she bit back a smile. “I believe the line was, ‘oh God.’ How do you know I was calling you a god? I may have been praying.”
“Oh darlin’, I’ve been to my fair share of church, and if women prayed like that, I would have had my ass in a pew every Sunday.”
She smiled. So did he. Damn it, this felt good. Light. Easy. Fun. Several things he hadn’t felt in a long time. Charlotte brought out his lighter side, and he liked it. Wanted it for even the short while she was around. Yes, he could figure this out. Be with her without being with her.
Whatever the hell that meant.
Maybe it just meant he didn’t want to be without her while she was within arm’s reach?
“I’ve thought of you,” he said, helping her rearrange the cans and set up a pleasing display while putting the reserves behind the table.
“Oh? What have you thought of?” she asked.
“Several things. Your eyes, for starters.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and whispered, “The way they get stormy right before you come.”
She shivered and he saw it.
“Well, I’ve thought of you, too,” she said.
“And?” he asked.
“I prefer your Stetson over your baseball cap,” she said casually, knowing she was getting to him. And it was working. He wanted to hear her admit she wanted him. Just as bad as he wanted her.
But before he could pursue, a familiar voice said, “Tripp Montgomery, I’ve been meaning to thank you.”
Mrs. Gram moved slowly toward him, using a walker to help steady her and the massive cast on her foot. He guided her to the seat by the table of pears.
“Oh, you stop fussing, I’m fine. I’ve got my dancing cast on,” she said. “Now then, I heard what a big help you were to Charlie with these pears, and I appreciate it.”
“It was my pleasure, ma’am,” he said. And it literally was.
“You got the table all right, honey?” Mrs. Gram called to Charlotte.
“Yep. You go have fun.”
Mrs. Gram waved, blew a kiss, and scooted her way toward a group of friends she said were in her quilting circle.
“It’s the first time she’s been out of the house since the surgery,” Charlotte said to Tripp as she took a seat behind the table. “She refused a pain pill, but downed a shot of whiskey before I could take it away. Figured she deserved some fun.”
He chuckled. Sounded like Gram. “You’re doing a good thing for her.”
Charlotte just shrugged like it was nothing. “She’s my grandmother.”
For a woman bent on leaving as soon as she could, she sure did have a sense of kindness and responsibility. Love for her family. He wanted to pull up a chair and chat with her more, but several voices rang out, all of which were calling his name. He glanced over his shoulder to see Bo and Cash talking with several ladies. Including Tammy and Lucy. Jesus help him.
Bo waved him over.
“I’ve got to go check on the nuts and a few other things, but I’ll be back for you,” he said, and he meant it.
“Oh! That reminds me,” Charlotte said, and pulled a big bag of peanuts out of her purse. “Here, these are for you.”
“Ah…thanks. May I ask the sentiment?”
She frowned. “It’s a nut fry. I wanted to contribute.”
Tripp laughed. Hard. “Oh, darlin’, we’ll get that city out of you in no time.”
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“This here is a nut fry…thrown by cattle ranchers.”
“Yeah?”
“Ever hear of Rocky Mountain oysters?” he tried again.
Her eyes went wide. “Aren’t those…?”
“Deep-fried bull testicles. Literally, their nuts.”
“Oh. My. God.” She looked around, and Tripp knew what she was seeing. People happily munching on plates of Rocky Mountain oysters.
“I’m such an idiot,” she mumbled.
“You are no such thing,” he said, and tapped her under the chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. “You’re incredibly smart and beautiful. And don’t take this as crass, but I’ll be back with a bag of nuts for you.”
“Ha ha,” she said, but Tripp heard her giggle as he walked away. Which he hated doing, but had no choice since he was a host of sorts. He met up with Bo and Cash. Tammy was eyeing him, and so was Lucy.
“This is so wonderful, Tripp. Every year putting this on…” She glanced around him, scanning the crowd. “You get to cut loose tonight? I don’t see Gracie running around anywhere.”
“She’s at a friend’s tonight.”
“Too bad,” Lucy said with nothing genuine in her voice.
But he wasn’t interested in talking about his daughter with these women. Not because he wasn’t proud—he was proud as hell of her—but because she was special. Far more special than any woman using her absence as an excuse to hook up.
“Glad you ladies could make it. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta check with the cook.”
“Save me a dance later,” Lucy called after him. Tripp glanced at Charlotte as he walked past her to the fryer and realized that he was only interested in getting on her dance card.
She was chatting with a few people about the pears, and he smiled. She was doing a good job. He ran into Gram on the way to the fryer.
“Tripp, I was just talking about you,” Mrs. Gram said, gesturing to her friends. She grabbed his arm and wrangled him in. “He is so sweet to help my granddaughter while I recover.”
“She’s doing a good job. Learning the ropes quickly. You may have a farm girl in her yet.”
“I told her the same thing just the other day!” Mrs. Gram said. “She’s got a place with me anytime she wants it. And between you and me, I think she likes it here more than she lets on. Girl needs support around her. Not like she has a lot waiting for her in the city. ’Course, I’m biased.”
Tripp nodded and took in that tidbit of information. Yes, Gram was biased, but the thought of what it’d mean if Charlotte stayed in Wyoming entered his brain all the same. Surprisingly, the idea didn’t give him instant heatstroke. Would Charlotte’s sticking around be so bad? She had spiced up his life in the past few weeks, and getting a regular dose of that spice sounded…hot.
He shook that thought right out of his mind. Yes, he was attracted to Charlotte, but he wouldn’t—couldn’t—get attached.
“Well, you have my undying devotion, ma’am,” he said to Mrs. Gram, and tipped his hat before excusing himself to leave.
He was only a few paces away from the fryer when he was stopped by more people. Then more. Being social wasn’t so bad. He knew almost everyone in town and worked with them or their families in some way. Nicest thing about a small town was the sense of community and home.
Hours passed, but he didn’t realize it until the sun started to set and the crowd changed from happy to a little buzzed. People were drinking, having a good time.
He looked at Charlotte. Still in her tent. Her dark tent. And from the looks of it, she hadn’t sold many pears.
He watched her for a moment. She was standing, then sitting. Then walked in front of the tent and looked out at all the people that passed her by and ignored her. There was some kind of makeshift sign taped to the table as well as two beer bottles filled with wildflowers. Was she trying to draw more attention to her table? It didn’t appear to be working.
She smiled.
People passed.
She gave a little wave.
People still passed.
Bad thing about a small town? Everyone knew who the outsider was.
Charlotte glanced around her table, and sadness washed over her face. He recognized it instantly. It was the same look Gracie got when she didn’t get a single Valentine card because her name had accidently been left off the class roster.
He whistled at Bo, and he came over. “I need you to do something for me,” Tripp said to his friend, and after a few brief instructions of what he needed, his buddy nodded.
“Roger that,” Bo said.
The band picked up pace and so did Tripp, straight toward the pear tent and the city woman running it.
…
Charlotte glanced around the summer night that was grayish blue and getting darker. The twinkly lights strung around the dance floor—rather, the dance slab of cement—sparkled, and all the lanterns that lit up the tables surrounding it were glowing and lovely.
But she felt like a ghost.
Seen, but looked through.
She had only sold a few cases of pears, nowhere near as many as Grammy had sold in the past. Her failure haunted her. Grammy had offered her a place to stay, but Charlotte was too city to be a country girl, yet too alone to feel welcome in a crowd.
Cheyenne was a community, and Charlotte wasn’t a part of it.
But she couldn’t let Grammy down. Couldn’t let her presence wreck everything. Everyone knew Grammy, but the people who came to the tent and asked about her all said they’d come back and buy pears later. They never came back.
Charlotte was the problem, and she knew it.
The outsider.
And it was starting to feel like the longer she stayed, the worse it’d feel.
Would it really be better back in the city? She hadn’t received a single job offer despite her mad Web design skills. Next month’s bills were looming like a thick black cloud, sheets of rain waiting just beyond the horizon. She needed to find a job—at this point, even a small freelance project that’d at least pay her rent—but she’d been so busy with the farm she hadn’t had time to find anything. Good news, she’d gotten her one website done for her client. Bad news, she now had zero clients needing websites built.
Not that anyone wanted to hire her. Or buy her pears, apparently. She was rolling all zeros lately, and it was starting to feel pretty shitty.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
Tripp stood in front of her table, his eyes full of the turmoil she’d seen before.
“Ah…yes?” she asked, not knowing what kind of game he was playing.
Shadows played over his face. Those bright eyes locked on her, he offered his hand. “Would you care to dance with me?”
She looked at his hand. An offering. The gesture alone was enough to chase away that cold, hollow spot in her chest. “You know I don’t know how to dance.”
“And you know I do.”
“I won’t embarrass you?” she asked. The ache in her throat came out in a way she wasn’t expecting because she’d meant embarrass him dancing, but when she looked around and saw several pairs of eyes on them, particularly two women with a scowl, she realized that question was more loaded than even she anticipated.
“There’s not a thing about you that would embarrass me.”
That warmth that only Tripp had been able to plant in her chest bloomed. Like the heater kicking on in a cold house, warming it just a little more than the time it’d kicked on before.
“Okay,” she said, and took his hand.
He led her around the table and out toward the middle of the dance floor. The band was amazing, playing at a faster tempo than she realized. Several other couples were moving and spinning, and Charlotte instantly realized this was a bad idea.
“I…I can’t do any of this,” she said, glancing around. All the other dancers were intimidating with their moves. What was more intimidating was that she couldn’t be lost in the crowd, either. She and Tripp were front and center, and anyone paying attention could easily see them. Scrutinize. Judge.
She could feel eyes on her.
On them.
She took a step back, then another…
But Tripp wouldn’t let her retreat. He held her hand and tugged her back toward him. She yipped a little, half laugh, half in shock, from the sudden movement and ran into his rock-hard chest. But he didn’t waver. His right arm snaked around her waist and gripped her tight while his strong left hand cradled hers and held her in a dance position.
She put her other arm on his shoulder, and felt all his hard muscles and warm skin beneath his shirt.
“Now, I know this isn’t in your nature, but you’re going to have to follow my lead,” he said with a flirty smile. “We’re going to start slow. One-two step, back one. Fast, fast, back.” He said, showing her with his feet. She watched his boots and followed what he did.
Fast, fast, back.
After a few moments, it became easy. Simple. She hadn’t stepped on his feet once this time. Even found herself swinging her hips a little to the music. Better yet, Tripp was leading her around the dance floor like they’d been doing it for years.
“Doing great, darlin’. See, not so hard, right?”
She smiled. “This is fun,” she admitted.
“Good, now look right here.” He tapped her chin while still holding her hand. She looked up to meet his eyes. “Because it’s about to get Western.”
Before she could ask what that meant, the band hit the chorus, the fiddle player striking fast and the tempo quickening.
Tripp spun her out and brought her back, then twirled her twice, and she laughed. Her hair whipped in the fast spin movement, her dress catching some air and floating around her thighs.
He twirled her again, then around the other way, pulling her back for a moment to do a few of the steps he taught her. Just enough for her to catch her breath before he spun her out once more.
She laughed, and when he brought her back in and kept to the simple steps while the band hit the next low in the song, she was breathing hard and her face hurt from smiling so wide.
“My God, you’re beautiful,” he said loudly over the music, yet so calmly that his words melted her heart.
He swayed her to the music, and she’d never been so attracted to a man in her life. Tripp was controlled in all things, it would seem. From the way he ranched, to the way he danced, to the way he made love.
The latter had her thinking of their encounters over the last few weeks. With that control came rules. Still, he was trying. Seeking her out on purpose. Not embarrassed, as he stated. And that was something she found herself believing in. At least in that moment.
He spun her once, then brought her back again.
And again she smiled.
“You look so happy. I’ve never danced with a woman who looked so genuinely happy before.”
“It’s because I feel genuinely happy,” she admitted. She’d been feeling so low, but with a smile and twirl, Tripp had her heart and soul bursting with joy.
When the song kicked up, only to end, Tripp twirled her, then launched her into a dip that made her squeal. He held all her weight, and before he lifted her up, his mouth met hers.
There, in the middle of the nut fry dance floor in front of the whole town, he kissed her.
Her breath was lost. From the kiss, then from the rush of air as he pulled her upright to her feet.
She was dazed and delighted and all things in between.
Everyone cheered for the band, and Tripp’s hand stayed on her lower back as he led them off the dance floor.
She noticed that those same eyes that she’d been worried about looking at her were in fact still looking, and there were definitely glares from several women, a few of them from the group he’d been talking to earlier. Some of the same ones who’d snubbed her and her pears.
Charlotte wasn’t exactly sure what had just happened, but she had a feeling it was a big deal and just changed everything.
“Looking great out there, honey!” Grammy said, coming up with her walker to her and Tripp just as they made it back to the tent. Only, all the cases of pears that were behind the table were gone.
“Where did the pears go?” Charlotte asked.
“They sold,” Grammy said with a secretive smile.
While they were dancing? Seriously?
“Do you mind if we head home, honey? My ankle is starting to ache.”
Charlotte nodded, checking the tent one last time, half expecting the cases to reappear now that she’d returned. “Of course, Grammy. Let me just—”
“I’ll get everything cleaned up,” Tripp said, as if reading her mind.
There were the table and a few decor items and one case of pears left.
“Are you sure?” she asked him.
“Yes, take your gram home,” he said, and kissed Grammy on the cheek. “Let me walk you ladies to the car.” He picked up the last box of pear jars and walked toward the parking lot with them.
Charlotte gaped after him. There wasn’t a single man in the city who ever showed such manners. Tripp was wearing her down with the “good ol’ boy” kindness.
Shaking herself out of her reverie, she helped her Grammy get in the front seat of the car, then turned to face Tripp.
“Thank you for tonight,” she said. “While I’m not sure I made much of an impression, this is a great event. I appreciate the tent and letting us sell here.”
“Never thank me for something I’m happy to do. Gram is a good woman.”
“Yes, she is,” Charlotte agreed. She was honest and hardworking and the kind of woman Charlotte wanted to be.
“Would you like to come over for dinner?” he asked.
She leaned away to look at him. “Ah…what? Like tonight?”
“No, I was thinking later this week sometime.”
Her frown deepened. “Do I sneak in the back door, or…?”
He laughed. “No, I mean a real dinner,” he clarified. Yet nothing seemed clear.
“But you said you don’t want Gracie getting attached.”
“Bo and Cash are taking her roller-skating. Uncles’ night out.”
So that’s why he was inviting her. No matter how good these last few days had felt or how being with her grandmother had warmed a place in her heart that had been cold for a while, she was still kept separate.
No, not separate. Casual.
That’s still more than it had been…
“All right,” she said. “What harm could a dinner do?”
He snorted. “You’d be surprised.”
There was more to Tripp than he let on. A deep sadness or anger or fear that was tough to pinpoint. Still, it was dinner. A close distance.
“Well, I suppose we’ll just keep in touch then.” She reached her arms out to take that last case of pears, and he frowned.
“Why are you trying to take my pears?” he asked.
“Because they didn’t sell.”
“Yes, they did. These here are mine,” he confirmed.
She looked at him for a long moment, then at his truck parked next to him and saw all the cases in the bed of it.
“You bought them all?”
He nodded. “Only the jars that were left. I love these. So do Gracie and Bo. We’re set for a bit.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.
“I wanted to.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, honestly wanting to know. To know why he bought the pears, why he danced with her, kissed her in front of everyone he knew, for goodness’ sake. Why did he want her but not want her at the same time?
“Honestly? Gram sells out so fast, we never get as many as we want.” He touched her chin and winked. “And because among the several things you want to call me, all of which I likely deserve, I want something good to be on the list.”
He kissed her so briefly and softly she would have missed it if not for the lingering scent of his minty breath and spicy cologne. Her shoulders tensed, and her chest fluttered like butterflies had taken flight inside her rib cage.
He turned and put the pears in his truck with the rest, then tipped his hat. “You have a pleasant evening, ma’am. And I’ll see you later this week for that meal.”
Tripp Montgomery and all his swagger left her hot, bothered, and confused.
And that stupid warmth in her chest rose another degree.