The Sweethearts’ Knitting Club (23 page)

“Anybody want to fight it out with Missy?” Moe asked. “No? Okay. Missy, you just scratched and clawed your way to lunch and a motorcycle ride. Next!”

Determined not to look in Jesse’s direction again—if he wanted to have lunch with Missy Ivey, so be it—Flynn lifted her chin and smiled at Beau as he came up with her basket draped over his arm.

“Hey,” he said, suddenly looking as bashful as a schoolboy on the playground.

“Hey.”

He reached down to take her hand. What was she going to do? Not take it? He’d paid a hundred
bucks for a chicken dinner that would have cost him ten-fifty if he’d gone straight to Froggy’s for lunch.

Don’t look over at Jesse to see if he’s watching you take Beau’s hand. Don’t do it, don’t do it.

She looked.

Jesse was staring at her.

Zap!

An electrical current that would have jolted the socks off a kite-flying, thunderstorm-loving Benjamin Franklin zipped through her. Holy shit. This attraction should be powering down, not up. It didn’t appease her to see that, for a split second, Jesse looked as unnerved as she.

Missy Ivey was hanging all over Jesse. She had his helmet strapped to her head as a waiter from Pasta Pappa’s fluffed out a red linen tablecloth over a picnic table with a flourish and a bow.

Jesse cocked an arrogant grin, raised a suggestive eyebrow.

Showoff.

Quickly, before Beau caught her ogling, Flynn jerked her gaze away. Oh, this was so fifth grade.

Beau’s hand was at her elbow in that possessive way of his. Why was he always taking hold of her? Did he think she was too feeble to make her own way across the lawn to the picnic tables? She would have yanked it away except they were passing close by Jesse’s table, now laden with a platter of chicken Marsala, a tray of lasagna, bruschetta, and a Greek salad.

Flynn’s nose twitched at the delicious aromas.

“How’s this?” Beau asked, picking the table
closest to the water so they could watch the ducks and the tourists in paddleboats.

“Great, fine.” She could feel heat on the back of her neck. Was it the noonday sun pouring through the branches of the old pecan tree or was it Jesse staring at her?

She untied the ribbon from the basket, opened it up, took out the red and white gingham tablecloth. Behind her, Missy Ivey giggled. Flynn’s stomach clenched.

Beau helped her set up the picnic spread and then sat down with his back to Jesse and Missy. He patted the seat beside him, but Flynn went around the table, pretending not to notice as she smoothed down the edge of the tablecloth and sat across from him. From this vantage point, she could see Jesse and Jesse could see her.

“You look pretty today.” Beau doffed his Stetson and settled it on the table away from the food.

Stupidly, she’d worn a pink blouse, thinking, hoping…what the hell had she been hoping? That Jesse would bid on her basket? He’d made it clear things were over between them. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

Beau reached across the table and took her hand in his. “I miss you, Flynnie.”

“You see me in town almost every day, Beau.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“I know what you’re talking about.” She eased her hand from his and started doling out the food on paper plates.

“I’d like you to give us another chance.”

“Beau,” she said softly.

“Are you still seeing him?” He said the last word harshly.

“If I was seeing him, I’d be sitting with him.”

“You’re sitting with me and you’re not seeing me.”

Touché
. “We’re not seeing each other.”

Hope sparked in his eyes. “What can I do to earn your forgiveness?”

“Beau…” She poked at her potato salad with a red plastic fork. “I think maybe it’s time for me to be without a man in my life. I’ve depended on you too long, and let’s be honest, neither one of us has ever had a long-term relationship with anyone else.”

“I don’t want a relationship with anyone but you.”

“How do you know? If you’ve never experienced it.”

“I know,” he said, hardening his chin.

She sighed. “We can’t be together out of habit or fear of the unknown. That’s not good.”

“That’s not why I want to be with you.”

She raised her palms. “I need breathing room.”

“I can give you that.”

“Buying my picnic basket in a preemptive strike does not qualify as giving me breathing room.”

“Flynnie, I’m just afraid if I give you too much breathing room you’ll decide to fly away.”

“You can’t just force me to feel the way you want me to feel,” she said.

“I’m handling this badly.” Beau took a breath so deep his chest shuddered with the effort.

Empathy pumped through her until she peered over his shoulder and saw Jesse watching her.

Instantly goose bumps dotted her forearms, and
she stopped listening to a word Beau was saying. Her hands quivered and she clasped them in her lap to keep Beau from noticing. Jesse sat eight feet away, but she could feel the caress of his gaze as surely as if he was sitting beside her. Her breath came in short little gasps as if her lungs couldn’t properly inflate.

Jesse brought a piece of bruschetta up and then slowly wrapped his mouth around it, all the while staring her down.

Thrown off balance, Flynn dropped her gaze and reached for a piece of chicken, nibbled on a thigh. But try as she might, she couldn’t stop herself from peering over at Jesse again.

He looked like the baddest of bad boys. That insouciant slouch. That slow, mischievous grin. That insolent cock to his brow. The expression in his highwayman eyes that said,
Come on, I know you want me to do wicked things to you
. He was the sexy amalgamation of every rogue who’d ever graced the silver screen—James Dean, Marlon Brando, George Clooney, Russell Crowe, Colin Farrell.

His gaze slammed into hers, and she felt the impact hit the very center of her body. Click, snap, lock. He claimed her, chained her with his eyes.

“Flynn.” Beau breathed.

“Hmm?” She wrenched her gaze from Jesse’s.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, yes, sure.” She forced herself to focus on Beau.

“I’m not giving up on us. We’ve been through rough patches before. I know you have this fascination with Calloway. I get the whole bad-boy
thing. I don’t like it, but I get it. Except you’re not a teenager anymore. You have responsibilities.”

“Excuse me,” Flynn snapped, “when have I not lived up to my responsibilities? I put my own life on hold because of my responsibilities. When
do
I get my own life, Beau?”

“I’m sorry.” His voice rippled over the ridges of his mistake. “You’re right. It’s just that I don’t want you to mistake falling in lust for the real thing. You can’t let your libido rule your head. I’m willing to forgive you for dating him and…” Beau cleared his throat, hurt simmering in his eyes. “Um…and anything else you did with him. We were on a break after all, but—”

“This will probably come as a total shock to you, Beau, but I don’t want or need your forgiveness.”

Simultaneously he clenched his jaw, clenched his fist. “He’s toying with you, Flynn. Listen to him over there laughing with Missy Ivey. You’re nothing more than a game, a notch on his belt. I’ll give you time, I’ll give you space, but I won’t lose you. Especially not to some low-life scumbag like Jesse Calloway.”

“This isn’t about me at all, is it, Beau? This is about the competition you’ve had with Jesse since high school when Coach Tinsley made him first-string quarterback and demoted you. You always have to be Twilight’s top dog and Jesse threatens that. Because of your family’s money and status, he’s the only one who’s ever threatened your place in the world, and you can’t stand it because Jesse doesn’t even care about being top dog. He usurped your position without even trying.”

Beau’s mouth flopped open, but then he slammed it closed. She’d pegged him and he knew it.

Flynn threw down the half-eaten chicken thigh, wadded a paper napkin in her palm, and got to her feet. “That’s why you want me. So Jesse can’t have me. I’m not a possession to be wrangled over.”

He clamped a hand on her shoulder to stop her from walking away. “I’m trying to keep you from making a huge mistake.”

“No, you’re trying to cling on to a relationship that wasn’t working. If you really love me as you say, Beau, you’ll let me go.”

Angst etched his familiar face. She’d kissed this man. Made love to him. He was the only one she’d ever gone all the way with, and yet all she felt was an empty sadness. She might never be with Jesse, but she could no longer pretend she could settle for Beau. They both deserved better.

“Flynnie, I…”

“Beau,” she said, “please take your hand off me now.”

“I’m not shutting the door on us.” His stubborn chin hardened. “Not after everything we’ve been through.”

They had been through a lot together. Supported and comforted each other during family sorrows and times of trouble. She felt compassion for Beau and she had respected him, but he was chipping away at all those good feelings. It was like finding hard, bitter slivers of pecan shell baked into your Thanksgiving pie.

“No?”

He wagged his head. “No.”

“Not even if I am?”

“You don’t mean that, you’re just hung up on Calloway. But that’s okay, because I’m going to prove to you what kind of man he really is.”

Something about the way he said it, the look in his eyes, raised the hairs on her arms. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, no matter what I have to do to protect you.” Then with that, Beau picked up his Stetson, settled it on his head, and walked away.

Leaving Flynn feeling as if she’d just been threatened.

The remainder of the summer passed in a miserable swelter of dry August heat. The tabby took up permanent residence in the Yarn Barn. Flynn’s life had always been too busy for a pet, and until Miss Tabitha she hadn’t realized how much she’d been missing. She loved watching the little cat bat balls of yarn about the shop, and the customers spoiled her outrageously, slipping her treats or bringing her squeaky mouse toys. When the Sweethearts assembled in their knitting circle, Tabitha would curl up in Flynn’s lap to have her ears scratched, giving Flynn the perfect excuse to drop her needlework. The cat was a lot of company. Who needed a man when she had Tabitha?

She managed to stay busy and, for the most
part, to avoid both Beau and Jesse. Because of the side entrance she could sometimes go a whole day or two without ever seeing Jesse, but if she listened closely enough, she could always hear him moving around or talking to customers in the shop below.

And as for Beau, he would tip his Stetson if he saw her in the street, but otherwise he kept his distance. For that, she was eternally grateful.

Unfortunately, Beau’s mother wasn’t so forgiving. She not only snubbed Flynn, but influenced her friends to snub Flynn as well. It bothered Flynn more than she wanted to admit. She was a people person, after all, but she couldn’t live her life to please Kathryn Trainer. If the woman’s friends wanted to be snippy, let ’em snip.

Her father attacked his renewed sobriety with dedicated vigor and insisted on taking over full management of Froggy’s. Carrie got her cast off and she was back to knitting Flynn’s projects. With extra time on her hands, Flynn spearheaded more projects to raise the rest of the money needed to rebuild the Twilight Bridge. The town council was in the process of taking bids from contractors. With any luck, they’d have a new bridge in time for the annual Twilight Christmas festival.

On the last Saturday in August, a group of home economics high school students threw a back-to-school knitting party at the Yarn Barn. They were having such fun gossiping about boys, knitting scarves, and playing with Tabitha, Flynn didn’t have the heart to throw them out at nine when the shop normally closed. It was after ten when the last girl had gone home and Flynn finished straightening up for the night.

The air smelled of rain. Harsh wind whipped through the oak trees lining the square. She hunched her shoulders, locked up, and wished she had on long sleeves. Then she remembered the pink leather Harley jacket Jesse had given her, hanging in the supply closet waiting for cooler weather. She went back inside and slipped into it. The leather was soft against her skin. She hurried back outside, turned a nervous eye toward the sky, and headed down the side entrance ramp to her pickup.

She climbed into her Ford Ranger, started the engine, turned on the radio, and punched buttons looking for a local weather report. The announcer’s voice spilled into the cab of her pickup, predicting heavy rains, high winds, and possible hail for all of North Central Texas.

Flynn sucked in her breath. She hated storms. Living on the river necessitated the worry of flooding. Plus Carrie and her father were gone for the weekend to pick up her twin brothers from basketball camp in Iowa. She’d be all alone in the house during a thunderstorm. Not an appealing prospect.

Just get home, go to bed, sleep through it.

The streets lay empty. Everyone else had already shut down, locked up tight. She drove past the park, headed for Highway 51, which would lead her home.

Lightning flashed. Thunder rumbled. Flynn squealed. She wasn’t a wimp, but storms unnerved her. Fat raindrops spattered the windshield. She gripped the steering wheel with both hands, arms taut as guy wires. Seconds later, she was caught in a deluge.

Water pounded the hood with angry fists. Her
windshield wipers swiped uselessly at the onslaught. The wind shoved against the Ranger. Her pulse quickened, her breathing grew shallow.

Without warning, the truck slowed, sputtered, lurched.

Flynn pushed down harder on the accelerator. But nothing happened. She stomped the foot pedal all the way to the floorboard. The truck coasted down a small incline.

Crap, crap, no!

Wrenching the steering wheel to the left, she pulled over onto the side of the road just as the pickup belched and stopped cold.

Okay, don’t panic
. She took a deep breath, twisted the key in the ignition. The truck coughed once, and then fell silent. No amount of additional coaxing could bring the damn thing back to life.

The sky opened up like a chute, funneling an avalanche of water. Flynn could see nothing beyond the windshield except rainy darkness. Dejected, she pulled her cell phone from her purse, held it in her hand, stared at it. Whom could she call?

Instinctively her fingers started to punch in Beau’s number, but she stopped herself before hitting send. No, she didn’t want to get into that. She pushed the end button. Then she thought of Jesse, but realized she couldn’t remember his phone number, and she felt odd about calling him anyway.

“You don’t need a man to rescue you,” she grumbled. “Just call the wrecker service.”

She moved her thumb across the keypad to call directory assistance, when the low-battery warning flashed onto the display screen, mere seconds before the phone snuffed itself out.

Supercrap!
She’d forgotten to recharge the battery. Great. Now what?

She sat listening as the rain slowed from drenching to steady drumming. She was going to have to wait until someone drove by. Lovely. No telling how long that would take. This late at night in a thunderstorm, she might end up sleeping in the truck.

Several minutes passed—five, ten, fifteen. The rain slowed to a drizzle, but in the distance, she could see more lightning rolling in for a fresh round. Terrific.

In her rearview mirror, she thought she saw the bobble of headlights. She swiveled her head, peered out the back window. Not headlights plural. Headlight singular. Someone had a headlight out.

Or maybe it was a motorcycle.

Her heart gave a funny little squeeze.
Don’t be ridiculous. Who would be out on a motorcycle on a night like this?

“Jesse,” she whispered.

In that moment, she knew it was he. Riding up like a dark knight in tarnished armor. The closer the headlight grew, the harder her pulse pounded in the hollow of her throat.

Compelled by an impulse she couldn’t control, Flynn flung open the door and stepped out onto the wet asphalt. She stood arms akimbo, hair frizzing in the mist, facing in the direction of the swiftly approaching light.

Goose bumps of exhilaration carpeted her bare forearms. The air tasted as sharp as aged cheese. The breeze muffled the sound of the Harley engine but she could still hear it, rumbling ever closer. Her
breath slipped rapidly from her lungs in hot little pants.

Closer, closer.

Suddenly the world flashed midnight blue in the stark heat of bolt-action lightning. In that split second of intense brightness, he looked like a fallen angel dressed all in black.

She heard a rushing in her ears, a thunderous swooping. Time evaporated, vanished into the ether. Nothing existed but this one moment in time, and she felt fully, completely alive. Her breath was wet; every beat of her heart was languid and loud—
boom…boom…boom
.

The Harley pulled to a stop inches from the toes of her sneakers. Jesse swung off the motorcycle, stripped off his helmet. He cocked a wicked grin as lightning bit the sky one more time.

Flynn gulped.

He held his arms wide, dropping the helmet to the asphalt.

And she ran straight into his embrace.

Their mouths locked hot and frantic.

Desperately, Jesse grabbed a fistful of hair at the nape of her neck and pulled her closer to him, spearing his tongue past her teeth.

Flynn softened her jaw and let him in with a quiet groan of pleasure.

An electrical surge, more powerful than the storm around them, ran through him. His cock hardened, scared the hell out of him it got so hard. He could chop wheat with a cock this hard.

She ran her hot little tongue around the inside of his mouth and Jesse felt himself unravel. He had
to stop this before they ended up making love right there in the middle of the rain-slick road.

He broke the kiss. She smiled a soft, knowing smile, but didn’t say a word. A silent understanding bound them together, tight as twine. He cupped her cheek, and she turned her face into his palm. That simple gesture of tenderness and trust made his legs quake.

Unnerved, Jesse bent, picked up his helmet, and then strapped it to Flynn’s head.

Jesse stared at her in the darkness, frequently punctuated with bright flashes of blistering light, trying to put every emotion that was in his mind into his eyes for her to see.
I want you. Do you want me as much as I want you? Let’s get the hell out of the rain and into a bed. Let’s finish what’s been ten years in the making
.

She looked back at him, never once blinked. Her gaze was steady and sure. Their eyes had been locked for only a second or two, but it felt like a lifetime. They drew in simultaneous breaths of air, exhaled on a sigh. The connection was solid, strong. A bridge angels could waltz across. In her eyes, he read the answers to his unspoken questions.

Yes, yes, yes
.

He took her hand, led her to the Harley. He straddled it. She slipped on behind him, her arms hugging him around the waist. He started the engine, and they took off.

The rain rolled over them, falling from the sky, splashing up from the road, bathing them in nature, washing them clean. Flynn’s arms tightened around him, and she laid her head against his back, her face turned away from the wind.

He’d never felt more alive. He wanted for nothing. He had his freedom, he had Flynn. Nothing else mattered. He yearned for her, burned for her, and now he was going to make her his, forever and always.

They zoomed through the darkness, a sexual bullet headed straight for its target—the river, her home, her bed. She was wearing the pink leather jacket he’d given her. A symbol of wildness and freedom. The wind rushed over their skin. The road sped away beneath his tires. Everything was slick and dark and dangerous.

When they reached Flynn’s neighborhood, all the streetlamps were out. The community had lost power, drowned in blackness. Lightning flashes paved the way to her house. He pulled into the empty driveway. She nudged his back. He turned his head and saw her pointing to the covered carport. “Park underneath there.”

He did as she suggested, parking the bike, killing the engine. Flynn was already off the seat, sprinting the short distance to the back door. Jesse ran after her.

Inside the mudroom he found her, heard her more than saw her, stripping off her clothes.

“Electricity’s out,” she said. “There’s candles and matches in the drawer to your right.”

He fumbled for the drawer, smelled fabric softener and laundry detergent. Blindly he got the drawer open, searched inside, found a votive candle in a small glass holder and a book of matches. He struck the match, lit the candle. Smelled sulfur, then vanilla. He set the candle on the laundry shelf, turned to look at Flynn.

At the sight of her bare skin, his libido lunged, strangling him like a choke collar.

Down, boy
.

He told himself to look away, but he did not, could not. She reached her hands around to her back, unclasped her bra, and within seconds it joined her shirt in the dirty laundry basket.

His throat convulsed and his pupils widened, taking her in. Her fingers went to the snap of her jeans, and then she worked the zipper. The next thing he knew she was skimming the wet denim, along with her panties, over her hips.

Jesse couldn’t move, couldn’t think. All he could do was watch.

Flynn stood before him, totally nude. Her dark, damp curls hung to her shoulders, accentuating the creaminess of her pale skin and making her brown-green eyes look wide and innocent. Her beauty ripped the breath right out of his lungs. Hot lust licked him. The hairs on the back of his neck fanned. Inside his head an old Johnny Cash song strummed. “Ring of Fire.”

“Jesse?” Flynn breathed, her gaze fixed on his.

Tender feelings rushed over him. He was there with her and she was stripped naked, exposing herself to him fully. He had fantasized about this moment for more than a decade.

Finally.

Finally.

And yet he couldn’t make himself fully believe it was true. Jesse stared at her, unable to speak, terrified that if he said a word she’d disappear and he’d discover he was back in his cell in Huntsville and this was all an impossible dream.

“Is something wrong?” Flynn whispered. Her eyes filled with anxiety and she crossed her arms over her bare breasts. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

With a start, he realized that his hesitation had made her self-conscious. God, he was such a dumbass. “Yes, yes, it is. Everything’s perfect.
You’re
perfect.”

The anxiety vanished from her eyes. “You’re soaked to the skin,” she said, and reached for the hem of his T-shirt. He helped her wrench it over his head. “Mmm,” she purred, and her eyes narrowed as she took in his chest. “Yummy.”

“Flynn.”

“Jesse.”

His fingers itched to stroke her flesh, but he was afraid to make a move, afraid of ruining things.

“We’ve waited so long. I’ve dreamed about this so many times. I’m just scared that…” She paused, and he realized she was trembling.

Hell, he was trembling too. “We’re setting ourselves up for disappointment?”

She nodded.

“You could never disappoint me, Dimples,” he murmured, and closed the gap between them, folded her into his arms, and gently kissed her forehead.

God, she smelled so good. Like rain and summer heat. He pulled back, looked into her face, gauging her reaction. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her expression sultry. He kissed her again, forcing himself to go slowly, to be tender with her. This moment was special, magical. He wanted to remember it for the rest of his life.