Storiebook Charm (A Spellbound Novel 1) Page 14

  Scarlett tugged on the hem of her shirt. “What’s wrong?”

  She forced a smile and ruffled Scarlett’s hair. “Not a thing, sugar.” She led Piper and Scarlett around, letting them examine every nook and cranny of the café. Reid brought up the rear, hovering as though he wanted to say something, but he held his tongue.

  Good. She didn’t want to blow up at him in front of the girls and she didn’t think she’d be able to stop herself if he pushed her.

  They went through the kitchen, the tearoom, and the indoor garden room, avoiding the secret moonshine room. They didn’t need to know about that yet. The girls oohed and ahhed the entire time, noting every loving detail she and Harper had put into the place. They noticed the fleur de lis pattern stenciled on the walls—a magical touch. The heavy glass jar of Red Vines and the bright flowerpots sitting on an antique sideboard she’d found at a garage sale. The arrangements of dried astrids scattered everywhere, scenting the air with apples and cinnamon. The tray of white chocolate and cranberry scones that their mom had made, and that Storie had pulled from the freezer to try.

  They even recognized the beat-up white drafting table that Harper had brought with her from her marriage and that was now in the tiny office off the kitchen. They stopped to gape at the fancy hats and boas hanging from hooks on the dress-up wall, trying each one on, throwing the lengths of feathers around their necks and twirling in front of the oval mirror.

  Reid stood next to her. They watched in silence, but she absorbed his freshly-cut-grass scent, his Ropers, the plaid button-down shirt, and the cowboy hat. He’d been as cowboy as they came back when she’d first been in Whiskey Creek, and he still was.

  The girls scampered into the garden room. She started to go after them, but he spoke, the sound of his voice anchoring her where she stood. “We need to talk.”

  She looked straight ahead, sucking in her cheeks, her jaw tight. Her fists clenched and she fought the energy pooling in her core, spreading to her limbs. No magic. Not right now. “We have nothing to talk about.”

  He drew in a deep breath as if he were summoning strength. “Oh yeah, we sure as hell do.”

  “No. We don’t. You like your fun, but if you think you can waltz in here with your country-boy charm—”

  “That’s not what I’m doing. Yes, I was poking around upstairs while you were in the bath—”

  “No, you came upstairs with wine. You knew what you were doing. You used me.”

  “That’s how it started, Storie,” he ground out, “but wanting you, and wanting to help my dad, are two different things.”

  That did it. She threw her hands up in the air. She wanted to strangle him, that was all there was to it. “Are they really? You didn’t think you could soften me up to make your search a little easier? And there I was and you just thought, hey, since she’s there and naked—”

  “No, that’s not what I thought, but Jesus Christ.” He barely controlled the anger she could see brewing under the surface. “You’ve been in my head for a long time, darlin’ and, yeah, I want you, and if I didn’t have that country charm, I wouldn’t have stopped and I sure as hell wouldn’t be here right now trying to make things right.”

  A tangle of nerves coiled in her gut, and heat rose to her cheeks. What was she supposed to say to that? He’d touched her like no man ever had, and she’d felt things she’d never experienced before. But the blow of knowing he’d just used her, seizing the opportunity for a little fun when what he really wanted was something else entirely—well, that just proved she was a fool.

  “Fun, isn’t that what you said? No regrets?” Her anger with him morphed into more disappointment with herself. He’d been crystal clear about what he wanted from her. Fun and merriment. Nothing more, so why should she feel betrayed or used?

  It was her own fault. He’d convinced her to try on that see-through dress without a slip and when he’d given her a good once-over, looking like he was ready to eat her alive, she’d fallen for it.

  She steeled her nerve. “You were looking for something. I get it. You used me, and I let you. But we won’t have to worry about that anymore after tonight.”

  His jaw tensed, his blue eyes clouding with iron gray. “And why is that?”

  Her insides felt like they were being ripped apart. She blinked back the burning behind her eyes. “Because I’ll get someone else to finish renovating upstairs and you can go back to your bar, or get the hell out of Whiskey Creek, or make moonshine, or do whatever it is you plan to do with your life.”

  Without another word, she left him in the tearoom as she chased down Piper and Scarlett, wanting to spend as much time with them as possible before tonight.

  Reid watched Storie go. What else could he do? He had no choice but to wash his hands of the whole thing. He stayed put for a minute and watched her spin around the room with Scarlett, acting like he didn’t even exist. Not that he could blame her. From where she sat, he had to admit that it looked bad.

  He could have told her why he’d taken over the renovations for Buddy. He could have just been honest, but his experience with the truth, and women taking him at face value, never boded well for him.

  Beginning and ending with his mother. He’d been nine when she’d decided to leave Whiskey Creek and Jiggs, had packed up her things, and had pulled him out of bed to go with her. “You’ll live a small-town life if you stay with your father,” she’d told him when he cried.

  He’d wiped away his tears and asked, “What’s a small-town life?”

  “Living here,” she’d said, “in a square town, never doing anything with your life.”

  He’d told her the truth—that he liked their town, and he didn’t want to leave his dad, and he’d make plenty of his life. He thought it would be enough to make her stay, but she’d just dabbed at her own eyes and shook her head. “It’s not what I signed up for,” she said, and then she’d up and left, never looking back.

  If she could see him now, she’d know that he’d done plenty. He was worth millions, even if he didn’t flaunt it. Buying up property in Whiskey Creek meant he owned the gas and mineral rights to more Barnett Shale than anyone in the county, and the blessed units were far and wide. He’d done okay for a small-town boy living in a square town.

  Okay, but he was still alone, and kept thinking, as his mother had, that maybe the answers were somewhere outside of Whiskey Creek.

  The bottom line was that his boneheadedness meant that Jiggs was out of luck with the moonshine deal with Gemstone Spirits. There was no magic elixir to add to the moonshine recipe. He’d blown it with Storie and had failed his dad.

  What a banner day.

  Chapter 15

  The Lonestar Boys were the best honky-tonk band in all of Somervell County. They showed up right on time and set up out in the garden room, the music filtering in through the tearoom and into the front of the shop. Wine bottles from a local winery were lined up next to sodas and water bottles, tables of appetizers scattered in every room. Harper had spent all afternoon finalizing the offerings. The aromas could be smelled three counties away, and now everything was set up and ready to go. Harper had hired a sitter for Piper and Scarlett, and Storie’s heart broke when they said good night. Because she knew she was saying good-bye.

  They still didn’t know if folks would show up, but they’d done everything they could, and now it was out of her hands.

  Reid had left by mid afternoon, sending a friend to finish everything up. Now it was time. Her heart pounded, nearly bursting out of her chest. She couldn’t be sure if her anxiety stemmed from worrying if folks would show up, or over the ticking clock counting down the minutes to the end of her life as she knew it.

  Both felt equally bad at the moment.

  She took a last look around her loft. Everything was in place. What she wasn’t taking with her, she’d boxed and had stacked against the back wall. Her mother had been right. Her magic was fading, but she mustered up enough to repair the counters in the kitchenette a
nd to spruce up the floors. Harper would be able to rent the room out if she needed extra money. Everything was all set.

  She ran her hands down her sides, ready to face the guests. To launch The Storiebook Café with Harper. And to say good riddance to Reid.

  Reid tipped a bottle of beer back and took a long drink. He’d finished half the bottle waiting for Storie to walk into the front room. He almost didn’t come, but he thought that seeing her one more time might get her out of his head once and for all.

  His friend Jason Santiago stood next to him, a bottle of Cab in one hand, a stemless wine tumbler in the other. “Slumming it with beer tonight, eh?”

  Reid took another swig, grimacing. “I’m not in the mood for complexity.” Things with Storie had gotten real complex, real fast. He wanted to go back to his simple life. The bar. No encumbrances. No worries besides Jiggs.

  “Just want to get drunk. Got it.” Jason absently swirled his glass, releasing the aroma of the deep red liquid. He brought the glass to his nose and breathed in, then took a drink. “Best crop so far,” he said proudly.

  Reid frowned, remembering what the wine had done to him and Storie. “The Shiraz is pretty good, too.”

  “A good wine can act like a love potion,” Jason said. “Or so I’ve been told.” He winked, grinning.

  A week ago, Reid would have laughed and told him to give him a case of his best, but not now. Not unless it was Storie drinking the potion and falling, enamored, into his arms.

  And that wasn’t likely to happen.

  So far, the grand opening had garnered a decent turnout. Clusters of men and women came in, looking at books and magazines, drinking and laughing. He looked around, satisfied. People were curious, and he was pretty sure they’d have come on their own, but he’d pulled in some favors and rallied his friends. The Storiebook Café was going to be a hit.

  Next to the beverage table, Harper had arranged appetizers and sweet treats, colorful summer napkins and paper plates. A local college student perched on a stool behind the cash register, ringing up gift and book purchases as people shopped and checked out.

  That little mangy terrier Storie’d taken in sat outside the front door, head tilted, looking forlorn. How a dog could be so expressive, Reid didn’t have a clue, but that pup sure was. She scratched at the door, and Harper hurried over, cracked it open to let the dog in, then shooed her through to the tearoom and up the stairs.

  “She’s a beauty,” Jason said, holding his glass up and pointing to a tawny-haired woman walking into the front room, snatching a bite-sized appetizer off the sidebar as she passed.

  She wore her hair in a shaggy, layered cut that worked with the flouncy floral blouse and jean miniskirt she had on. He looked at her, long and hard. He couldn’t pinpoint why, but she looked out of place. And familiar. Maybe she’d been in The Speakeasy, but, really, what did it matter? Yes, she was gorgeous, but no one compared to Storie.

  The party had spilled out front with people swaying to the honky tonk under the porte cochere, the new sign, done up in fairy-tale writing declaring The Storiebook Café to be a Novel Experience, swinging in the breeze. The rain had come and gone over the last two days, the weather reports completely unable to predict when and if there would be showers at all.

  Puzzling, but at least it was clear now.

  Harper made the rounds, mingling, straightening products, restocking the food table, reshelving books and magazines that had been haphazardly laid down on the window seat or one of the tables.

  And still no Storie.

  One more beer, and then he was leaving.

  Harper rushed into the kitchen carrying an empty tray. She returned a minute later, the tray loaded with some sort of steak-wrapped mushrooms, the smell of ginger and garlic swirling through the room in ribbons he could almost see. The air changed and he suddenly knew Storie was coming. He took another drink of his beer as he looked back toward the tearoom and the stairs…

  And nearly choked.

  The dress.

  Christ almighty. She was wearing the goddamned dress…and the boots.

  She didn’t meet his eye, but he knew in his bones that she’d worn it just to torment him.

  “So I take it that’s her, then,” Jason said, leaning against one of the bookshelves.

  “What?”

  Jason held his wineglass up, pointing toward her. “From the way you’re staring, I’m guessing that’s the woman who’s got your balls in a vise.”

  He tried to drag his gaze away from Storie, but his head swam and he couldn’t think straight. He grunted.

  “Poor son of a bitch. You should never let a woman get under your skin like that.” Jason said something else, but all Reid’s attention was on Storie.

  She was an enticing combination of tasteful and utter sex appeal. The dress stopped a few inches above her knees, and she’d put on a black slip to make it more demure, but it didn’t matter. She’d never looked sexier.

  She’d gathered her hair up in a loose mass at the back of her head, ginger curls spiraling down and framing her face, a few strands trailing over her shoulders. Truth be told, it looked as though she’d just tumbled out of bed after having had the greatest pleasure of her life and had hurriedly thrown herself together.

  She looked sexier than any woman he’d ever seen. Seeing her again did not rid his mind and senses of her. Shit no. Seeing her again branded her into them, her image, her scent, everything about her burned into his skull. He’d never escape.

  He wasn’t the only one who’d noticed her. Beside him, Jason was riveted, and every man in the room had his eyes on her. She was a goddess, but he’d be damned if he was going to let her see just how deeply she’d affected him. Their eyes met for a split second, and she flashed him a defiant smile, but she turned and quickly went back the way she’d come. Maybe back upstairs to hide, because she had to be as affected as he was.

  From the back garden room, The Lonestar Boys launched into Luke Bryan’s “Country Girl”, and a high-pitched squeal made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He knew from experience at The Speakeasy that it was the most requested country line-dancing song. As he peered through the window of the front room and through the panoramic windows of the back room, he could see that the cleared dance floor was empty.

  Nobody jumped in to start the whole thing. Too bad. Dancing was always a good icebreaker at a party.

  “You done fixing up this place?” Jason asked.

  “Guess so.” But if there was a chance in hell that he could get Storie back, he’d take it. Jiggs would be pissed, but Reid didn’t have a choice. Storie was more important.

  “Uh-huh.”

  He ignored Jason’s skeptical tone. After tonight, Storie had said, it wouldn’t matter. That one sentence had been bugging him. Was she going to ban him from coming into the café? He couldn’t let that happen. He didn’t think he could stand not seeing her.

  They stood, people-watching for a minute, then Jason knocked him on the back of his arm. “Where’d that woman get off to?”

  “The gypsy one?” Reid searched the crowd. No sign of her. He shrugged. “Sorry, dude. Lost her.” He finished off his beer, tossing the bottle in the trash. “Later,” he said, glancing out the window toward the garden room again before heading to the front door.

  He stopped cold. Harper and Storie were in the middle of the room, leaning forward and shimmying, then rocking back, doing a right kick, and crossing their left legs over their right.

  They were leading the line dance, and like a damn hypnotized boy, he walked through the tearoom, through to the back, and stopped. He watched, riveted, as she met his gaze, that defiant smile on her lips. The taunting look seemed to be her telling him that two could play this game, and her move was to make him suffer.

  She was succeeding.

  Everyone in the room disappeared and it felt as if she were dancing just for him. She ran her hands up the sides of her body, across her breasts, and above her head, swaying her hips,
bending her legs, and turning her back to him. But she looked over her shoulder, flashing him a half-smile that said she knew exactly what she was doing, and how much it tortured him.

  “That woman knows how to dance,” someone said from behind him.

  “Shit yeah,” another guy said with a grunt, and Reid knew just what they were thinking. He fisted his hands, fighting the urge to pummel them both right here and now. He had no claim on Storie, and even if he wanted one, he’d blown it by sneaking around the café behind her back, but he sure as hell didn’t want anyone else looking at her. Fantasizing about her.

  He wanted this dance, this private show, just for him.

  “Don’t give her up, man.”

  He broke the invisible thread connecting him to Storie and looked at Jason. That mangy dog stood next to him, looking up at them with a pouty look on her face. “What?”

  Jason smirked. “Come on, dude. I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but look at her.” He pointed to Storie and the energy emanating from her with every move she made. Magic. “That’s all for you, man.”

  He swallowed. Hard. Burying the desire coursing through him and shaking away the image of waking up next to her, day after day. Of seeing her smile, of hearing her laughter.

  The song ended and she turned to Harper, shutting him down cold.

  The singer stepped to the mic. “The next one’s for all the star-crossed lovers out there.” The guitar strummed and he broke into the tortured song “Tomorrow” by Chris Young. The lyrics struck Reid like an arrow to the heart. There was no way he’d ever get Storie out of his head until he’d tasted her, caressed her, touched her, and made her his, completely. There was no tomorrow.

  “Go on,” Jason said, giving him a shove.

  No other prompting was needed. He moved across the room, his gaze burning into her back.