set of lungs.” Slowly, she shook her head. “Of course, I never heard from him.”
He’d heard some lowdown things, but that took the cake. “Don’t think about it,” he said roughly. “I shouldn’t have asked so many nosy questions. It’s not like me.”
She cocked her head at him. “I believe you’re the caring type. But you play a good game of emotional hide-and-seek. I probably recognize it because I do the same thing.”
“What?” He didn’t like her thinking she could see inside his head.
“I’m very careful of my feelings, too.” She smiled at him, sweet and knowing as if they shared a secret. “I learned that from Tom.”
“To hide your feelings?”
“No. He sprayed feelings everywhere like they were pennies easily spent, and then when it came to something meaningful, he had empty pockets.” She winked at him. “I think you’re just the opposite. Deep, hidden pockets.”
He didn’t like this little lady looking at him so directly. Her big eyes were taking him in as though she knew him, as if he were some kind of bighearted man, and her gaze was making a part of his body swell to the point where he was going to need deep pockets to hide what was going on. “Go tobed,” he said sternly. “You’re getting on my nerves.”
“Call me when Emmie wakes.”
“I’m sure you’ll hear her. She’s showing early signs of growing into her mother’s big mouth.” He closed his eyes to indicate that he wanted to be left alone.
He heard feet on the stairs and breathed a sigh of relief.
Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. These Lonely Hearts ladies were more trouble than he needed.
Lonely Hearts ladies and Never Lonely girls having catfights in the center of a small-town street. What nonsense.
And yet, Delilah had struck him as a no-nonsense woman. What kind of woman tried to run her own sister out of business? And encouraged her employees to steal customers—and fiancés? Surely Annabelle had been yanking his chain. Family didn’t act that way.
Or at least they shouldn’t. It had been mighty restless around Union Junction for a while—these ladies with their sad stories just might be the fuse on top of the powder keg the Jefferson brothers had become.
But they would still love each other. They’d never act like Delilah’s sister supposedly had. Family stuck together through thick and thin.
He’d brain all his younger brothers if they ever tried any tricks like Marvella’s.
And then he chuckled to himself. Delilah. Marvella.
Annabelle had just blown so much smoke into his eyes with a sob-story fairy tale. And like a big dumb slob, he’d fallen for every word. She’d sized him up as a caring guy, and gone for his heart with her baby and her jerk ex-fiancé story. After all, hadn’t she gone straight to make herself at home in his bed?
Maybe she knew more about what the Never Lonely girls were peddling than she was letting on.
And he’d just about bitten the bait, hook and all. She’d left the hundred-dollar bill on the table at his feet. It was a lot of money for a woman who supposedly had very little; he didn’t know many single mothers who carried around unbroken Ben Franklins. Shoot, he rarely had an unbroken Ben in his own wallet because they were difficult for small stores to change.
The money wasn’t necessarily a giveaway, but he wouldn’t be the first man in history to fall for a pretty face and good storytelling ability; kings and mortal men alike were known to have feet of clay when it came to such a fatal combination.
He’d been seventeen when Maverick had abandoned the ranch, leaving Mason to care for all of them. As a boy, he’d dreamed of his family being whole.
He was thirty-six now, too old for fairy tales. And too damn old to be deceived by a fiction-spinning female. He shifted the area between his jeans pockets uncomfortably.
Annabelle had nearly gotten to him.
“Close only counts in horse shoes and hand grenades,” he whispered to Emmie.
He’d heard some lowdown things, but that took the cake. “Don’t think about it,” he said roughly. “I shouldn’t have asked so many nosy questions. It’s not like me.”
She cocked her head at him. “I believe you’re the caring type. But you play a good game of emotional hide-and-seek. I probably recognize it because I do the same thing.”
“What?” He didn’t like her thinking she could see inside his head.
“I’m very careful of my feelings, too.” She smiled at him, sweet and knowing as if they shared a secret. “I learned that from Tom.”
“To hide your feelings?”
“No. He sprayed feelings everywhere like they were pennies easily spent, and then when it came to something meaningful, he had empty pockets.” She winked at him. “I think you’re just the opposite. Deep, hidden pockets.”
He didn’t like this little lady looking at him so directly. Her big eyes were taking him in as though she knew him, as if he were some kind of bighearted man, and her gaze was making a part of his body swell to the point where he was going to need deep pockets to hide what was going on. “Go tobed,” he said sternly. “You’re getting on my nerves.”
“Call me when Emmie wakes.”
“I’m sure you’ll hear her. She’s showing early signs of growing into her mother’s big mouth.” He closed his eyes to indicate that he wanted to be left alone.
He heard feet on the stairs and breathed a sigh of relief.
Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. These Lonely Hearts ladies were more trouble than he needed.
Lonely Hearts ladies and Never Lonely girls having catfights in the center of a small-town street. What nonsense.
And yet, Delilah had struck him as a no-nonsense woman. What kind of woman tried to run her own sister out of business? And encouraged her employees to steal customers—and fiancés? Surely Annabelle had been yanking his chain. Family didn’t act that way.
Or at least they shouldn’t. It had been mighty restless around Union Junction for a while—these ladies with their sad stories just might be the fuse on top of the powder keg the Jefferson brothers had become.
But they would still love each other. They’d never act like Delilah’s sister supposedly had. Family stuck together through thick and thin.
He’d brain all his younger brothers if they ever tried any tricks like Marvella’s.
And then he chuckled to himself. Delilah. Marvella.
Annabelle had just blown so much smoke into his eyes with a sob-story fairy tale. And like a big dumb slob, he’d fallen for every word. She’d sized him up as a caring guy, and gone for his heart with her baby and her jerk ex-fiancé story. After all, hadn’t she gone straight to make herself at home in his bed?
Maybe she knew more about what the Never Lonely girls were peddling than she was letting on.
And he’d just about bitten the bait, hook and all. She’d left the hundred-dollar bill on the table at his feet. It was a lot of money for a woman who supposedly had very little; he didn’t know many single mothers who carried around unbroken Ben Franklins. Shoot, he rarely had an unbroken Ben in his own wallet because they were difficult for small stores to change.
The money wasn’t necessarily a giveaway, but he wouldn’t be the first man in history to fall for a pretty face and good storytelling ability; kings and mortal men alike were known to have feet of clay when it came to such a fatal combination.
He’d been seventeen when Maverick had abandoned the ranch, leaving Mason to care for all of them. As a boy, he’d dreamed of his family being whole.
He was thirty-six now, too old for fairy tales. And too damn old to be deceived by a fiction-spinning female. He shifted the area between his jeans pockets uncomfortably.
Annabelle had nearly gotten to him.
“Close only counts in horse shoes and hand grenades,” he whispered to Emmie.
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