The Sweethearts’ Knitting Club (13 page)

He snorted. “Where did you hear that?”

“I overheard customers talking at Froggy’s. So there’s no truth to it?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Big enough to get you released two years early.”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Are you embarrassed about being a hero?” she prodded.

Just satisfy her curiosity, get it over with
. “Look, there was an eighteen-year-old kid who came into lockup. He was terrified, made a bad deal with the wrong guys, found himself caught in between a turf war. He had no idea what he was getting himself into.” Jesse gritted his teeth.

“I can tell this bothers you. You don’t have to go into detail.” She was acting all demure. Lowering her eyes, keeping those knees pressed tightly together. But he could tell the danger intrigued her. He saw the way her breath quickened, how the pulse at the hollow of her throat leaped with each pump of her heart.

“I was lucky in prison. I stayed of people’s way, flew under the radar, and for the most part I got by unscathed; I’d already seen the worst the world has to offer. Prison was really no different than living
on the streets or in some of the foster homes I’d been in. The worst part was the confinement. But this kid…” He paused. “He didn’t know how to keep his nose clean. They were gonna kill him if someone didn’t step in, and in all likelihood it would have erupted in a prison riot between two warring factions.”

“You stepped in,” she whispered.

“Lone Ranger to the rescue,” he said, poking fun at himself.

“Did you get hurt?”

He fisted his right hand, held it out so she could see the flayed cut wounds across his knuckles. “Pretty minor, considering.”

Flynn’s face paled, and she made a low noise of sympathy and gently ran her fingertips over the jagged scars. “I’m so sorry for everything you had to go through.”

“Hey, it wasn’t your fault.” He was reluctant to admit it, but her touch was unraveling his control, loosening the spigot on his emotions. “So tit for tat. What’s happened with you while I was away? Other than getting engaged to Trainer?”

“My mom finally died last year,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, Aunt Patsy wrote and told me when it happened. She was pretty torn up about it.”

“Why didn’t you write me, Jesse?” she asked in a rush. “Why did you send back the letters I wrote you?”

Old feelings roused in him—sorrow, sadness, disappointment. “I couldn’t handle reading your letters.” He shook his head. “And I knew if I wrote you back you’d keep hanging on to that childhood crap, and there was no reason for that. You had
your life, and I was in a place you could never be.”

“I would have come to see you.”

“I didn’t want you there,” he said harshly. “Don’t you get that? I didn’t want you to see me on the ground, broken and damaged.”

She drew in her breath. “I just wanted to help.”

“You can’t take care of everyone, Flynn.”

Silence fell. They looked down at their half-eaten breakfast sandwiches, at their cooling coffee.

“I came to tell you I’d like to rent your upstairs room for the Yarn Barn,” she said.

Jesse’s pursed his lips. “Trainer know about this?”

“Yes.”

“And he signed off on it?” Something smelled fishy in Denmark. He couldn’t believe things were falling into place so easily. Jesse had learned a long time ago not to trust anything that came easily.

“Beau doesn’t own me.”

“I think he would disagree with that. Trainer’s the possessive type.”
Possessive enough to frame a man and send him to prison to eliminate him as a romantic rival
. But Jesse didn’t tell her that. He knew she wouldn’t believe him. No one but Patsy and Hondo believed him about Trainer.

“You’re wrong about Beau. He’s a really good guy,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah. A real prince. What did you have to agree to in return?”

She bristled, got up, moved off the stairs. “That’s none of your business.”

“Let me guess. He pressed you to set a wedding date for sooner rather than later.”

The look on her face told him he’d hit the bull’s-eye.

“Are you going to rent me the space or not?”

He raised his palms, stood up. “Sure, sure. When do you want to start renovations?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow it is,” he said, and stuck out his hand to seal the deal. “Welcome aboard.”

Okay, so the sizzle between them still burned hot as ever, but it didn’t have to mean anything. She would not act on it. She was no longer a teenager. She’d moved on, put the past behind her. She was engaged now.

Mentally girding herself for the onslaught of Jesse’s devastating grin, Flynn parked on the square and wandered around to the back entrance. She was surprised to see the progress he’d made on the place since the previous day. The bottom level had been completely gutted right down to the cement floor.

The man was a worker, she’d give him that.

“Hey, Dimples,” Jesse said, his voice echoing in the now cavernous room. He was ambling down
the stairs, his arms loaded with junk he was apparently cleaning out from the upper level.

“Wow, I’m amazed.” Flynn turned in a circle. “Did you stay up all night?”

“Not
all
night.”

“But most of it.”

“I’ve almost got the upper room cleaned out,” he said. “Do you have any idea what you want to do up there? Paint? Wallpaper?”

“Actually, my mother picked out the wallpaper years ago. She had me buy it in preparation for the right place. Mom was a big believer in visualization. See it, believe it. I don’t know why, it didn’t seem to work for her.”

“I think that’s where you’re wrong. Looks like her dreams are starting to come true.”

His words brought a lump of emotion to her throat. Flynn splayed a hand to her neck.

“I did some visualization of my own,” he went on. “Every night as I fell asleep in my cell, I’d imagine my own shop with a row of gleaming motorcycles that you could see through the display window.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“We could probably start the wallpapering, depending on how long you can stay,” Jesse said.

“I can stay as long as I want.”

“Sheriff got you on a long leash?”

Bite your tongue. Don’t rise to the bait
. “Uh-huh.” She smiled sweetly.

By eleven, they’d finished clearing out the rubble, sweeping up the floor, and wiping down the walls of the large room that had once served as Pete Grissom’s office. Flynn went home and dug
out the wallpaper she’d purchased years earlier and stored in her mother’s hope chest. It was adorable, knitting-themed paper decorated with colorful skeins, balls, and hanks. Amid the yarn, kittens frolicked—calicos, tabbies, Siamese.

“That looks like the cat that’s been hanging around out back,” Jesse said, nodding toward a gray tabby curled up in a pail of balled yarn. “I tried to chase it off two days running but she won’t leave.”

“Did you feed her?”

“Phttt.”
He pulled a macho face. “I’m starting up a business here, can’t have a cat underfoot when you’re running motorcycles in and out of the place.”

Flynn noticed the tops of his ears turned red. “You fed her.”

“Yeah, I’m an idiot.”

“You’re an old softie, that’s what you are.”

“Shh, don’t let it get out.”

“You ever have a pet?”

“No, and I don’t have one now.”

“That’s what you think. You fed her, she’s yours.”

He shook his head. “I don’t get attached. I know better. Getting attached…”

“What?”

“It’s for suckers and fools.”

Flynn could almost feel the pain in his voice. Jesse dropped his gaze, reached for the measuring tape. She let it go. What was there to say? Life had kicked him hard in the teeth. She couldn’t teach him something he had to learn on his own. That you have to give love in order to get it.

They worked together in silence, measuring the
wall, cutting the paper to fit, wetting the back, smoothing it into place with sponges. Surprisingly, in their work, the hush felt uncomplicated and easy. Then Flynn spoiled it all by noticing they were moving in tandem—their arms sweeping out, mimicking each other’s strokes, totally in sync. The tempo was spellbinding. Erotic. Almost like foreplay.

Unsettled, she stepped back and pretended to assess their work. She squeezed her sponge tightly, felt the gooey adhesive create a sticky web between her fingers. Jesse stopped working too and peered over at her, his bold stare caressing her intimately. The sharp crackling of sexual undercurrent rippling between them raised the hairs on Flynn’s arms.

“It looks good,” he murmured, but he was not studying the wall. He was looking straight at her and his voice was husky. “Real good.”

Closing her eyes, she willed herself not to shiver, but then quickly opened them again. She felt too vulnerable here alone with him as it was. Shutting her eyes was just asking for trouble. “Real good,” she echoed.

He reached out and took the sponge from her, his fingertips barely grazing her skin as he chunked both their sponges into the water pail.

“You thirsty?” Perspiration had plastered his cotton muscle shirt against his chest.

She was sweating too, but not just from the sultry summer day. She could smell the onion, garlic, and Italian sausage drifting up from Pasta Pappa’s across the street. Heard the sounds of tourists walking along the cobblestone walkway outside
the window, talking to one another above the more usual town square noises—the dinner bell ringing for the next seating at the Funny Farm restaurant on the corner, the rumble of a diesel pickup truck motoring by, the strumming guitar of a street musician entertaining for pocket change.

“Uh-huh,” she whispered.

“Be right back.” He hustled downstairs and returned a minute later with two bottles of water. He handed one to her.

It was cold and damp against her palm.

Without ever taking his eyes off her, Jesse tilted his head and took a long swallow from his bottle.

Her gaze tracked from his lips to throat. She watched his Adam’s apple work, and she fought the shiver slipping down her spine. Fretfully she shifted her attention away from him, looking for something else to focus on. She surveyed the room.

It was fresh and homelike and inviting. Any knitter would feel at home here with the walls decorated with this pattern. But looking at it, Flynn felt…

Bogus.

Her big fat lie was splayed all over the wall right in front of her.
You’re a fraud, a charlatan, an impostor
.

“What’s wrong,” Jesse asked, coming up behind her. He stood so close she could feel his body heat.

“I don’t know if I can do this.” She crossed her arms over her chest, held her body tight.

“Do what?”

“Open this knitting store. Run this business. Keep pretending I’m something I’m not.”

“Flynn, you can do anything you set your mind to. I’ve seen you in action.”

His words warmed, but more than that, the look in his eyes set her knees to rocking.

“Hang on,” he said. “I’ve got something I want to give you. I was going to give it to you later, after we finished getting the room ready, but I think you need it now.”

“You got me a gift?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Ten years ago.”

“Ten years ago and you still have it?”

“I’d stored it in the Harley’s saddlebags and I’d forgotten all about it until I took the bike out of storage. Just stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Puzzled, Flynn watched him leave. She heard the back door creak open and then slam closed. Where had he gone? She sat down to wait, to finish her water, and that’s when she met the cat.

The shy little girl peeked around the top of the stairs, eyeing Flynn with big gray eyes almost the same color as her fur.

“Well hello, Miss Tabitha.” Flynn waited, letting the young feline come to her.

The tabby eased across the floor, sniffing delicately at the air.

“Wallpaper glue,” Flynn explained. “Nothing tasty.”

The cat inched closer. Flynn scratched her behind the ears. Miss Tabitha purred. Flynn was in love.

At the sound of Jesse’s feet on the stairs, the cat jumped up and darted into the closet. “Hey,” he said.

“You scared Miss Tabitha.”

“Who?”

“The cat.”

“You named her,” he said. “We’re toast.”

“Can we keep her in the shop?”

“Looks like she’s here to stay.”

“Goody. I’ll buy her a litter box and pick up some cat food.”

Jesse stood there clutching a big pink box wrapped with a red ribbon. At the sight of it, her heart gave a funny little chug. His shoulders filled out the dimensions of his black muscle shirt with the Harley emblem emblazoned on it, and Flynn found her gaze sliding helplessly down the front of his shirt to the waistband of his jeans.

His belt was new, the silver buckle modest by Texas standards. His muscled masculinity made the pink box look incongruous, and the sight of it touched her more deeply than she’d expected. He’d bought her a present ten years ago, before he’d gone to prison, and he’d kept it all this time. Even when she hadn’t believed in him, he’d still believed in her.

He handed her the box. “Open it.”

Flynn untied the ribbon, lifted the lid. Inside, swaddled in red tissue paper, was a pink leather Harley jacket. She laughed. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“Do you like it?”

“I can’t believe you actually got this for me.”

“I’d bought it for you a couple of days before graduation. I was going to give it to you…” He hesitated. “You know, after that night on the bridge. But I never got a chance.”

“Jesse, I don’t know what to say.” She felt as if she’d been turned inside out.

“I’m giving it to you now so that you can see
you’ve got a way out. You don’t have to be an impostor if you don’t want to be. You’ve got the jacket, I’ve got the motorcycle. There’s an open road stretching across America.” When she looked in his eyes, she could almost believe that anything was possible.

“Besides, you’re the most authentic person I know, Flynn MacGregor. Even if you can’t knit.”

Flynn met Jesse’s gaze. He knew her so well. How could he know her this well? He knew her better than anyone ever had, even her own mother. It was eerie the way he could see straight into her. See her, understand her, accept her.

His eyes glistened with the same out-of-control impulses that were simmering through her blood. He moved toward her. She did not step back. “You’re an amazing person, Flynn MacGregor.”

His comment brought a flush of self-consciousness to her cheeks. She ducked her head, put the lid back on the box.

Jesse took another step toward her and then another.

Her pulse spiked.

He didn’t stop until the tips of his boots touched the tips of her sneakers. He reached up his hand.

Flynn’s lungs deflated.

His fingers landed in her hair. Unnerved, she flinched beneath his touch. “Wallpaper.”

“Huh?”

“Wallpaper, stuck in your hair.” He gently tugged it from her hair, showed her the scrap of wallpaper.

“Oh.”

“You know,” he said, “some guys might take ad
vantage of a moment like this and try to kiss you.”

“But you’re not going to do that?” She meant to say it firmly, like a statement, but it came out hopeful, like a question.

His gaze nailed her to the wall, and he leaned in so close that their noses were almost touching. “No.”

“That’s good because I’m engaged to the sheriff.”

“I know. I was at the party, remember. Me and Garth Brooks.” He hummed a couple of bars from “Friends in Low Places.”

“That was an awkward moment.”

“Kind of like this one, huh?” His lips were almost on hers. “Flynn.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not going to kiss you.”

“So you said.”

Neither of them moved, but he was kissing her with his eyes. Thoroughly, completely. A blast of sexual heat rolled down her spine. His warm breath tickled her skin. He smelled so good. Flynn knotted her hands to keep from grabbing him around his neck and forcing him to kiss her for real.

“Please…” she whispered, meaning to add,
Let me go
, but her throat muscles constricted so tightly she couldn’t say anything more, and his gray-blue eyes were so intense he’d snared her in a magical coil of sexual longing.

She felt it all at once. An earthquake rumbling through her. Desire and lust, hunger and longing. Guilt, sadness, loneliness. Craving and confusion. So much confusion. It fell in on her, heavy and stiff and too, too much.

His eyes were handcuffs; locking her to him. He tilted his head, inhaled audibly.

She tensed. Aching for him to kiss her, but terrified of where it might lead and what it might mean.

He took a step back.

Don’t go
, something whimpered inside her.

Bound by desire that knew no reason or restraint, Flynn put out her hand and touched his forearm. She had to kiss him or die on the spot. The recklessness bothered her, but it was something she’d been burying for a long time, and the urge would not be denied.

Heedlessly, Flynn wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight.

Jesse shook his head.

She swallowed, moistened her lips, whispered, “Yes.”

His eyes glimmered, and a grin tipped up his lips. It was like watching a red light turn green. She felt the rush of his emotions because they welled up inside her as well. Dark and dangerous and forbidden. She didn’t think, just acted. “Kiss me.”

“Dimples,” he murmured. “I want to kiss you more than I want to breathe. But I can’t, I won’t. Not as long as you have Trainer’s ring on your finger.”

Jesse couldn’t sleep.

He tossed and turned on the mattress in his Aunt Patsy’s guest room. When she’d found out he’d been crashing on Hondo’s couch, she’d insisted he move in with her. He’d been hesitant. Mainly because if Aunt Patsy figured out what he was up to,
she would light into him with the rough side of her tongue. But she’d seemed so hurt that he’d stayed with Hondo and hadn’t called her the minute he got out of prison, that when she came for him, he’d just gathered up his stuff and followed her.

His relationship with his aunt was complicated. He appreciated the fact she’d come to Arizona and rescued him from the foster home where he’d been living, but part of him—the part of him that had been eight years old and left completely alone when his mother died—resented her for not coming sooner. He knew it wasn’t Patsy’s fault. His mother had never told him about her, or her about him, but there it was. He felt what he felt.