Page 70 of The Fixer

Both men were sweating their asses off, but her attention was wholly on Charlie. And speaking of asses, she was enjoying the way his glutes filled out his jeans with perfectly proportioned blocks of muscle. It was easy to picture him sans pants from the back, pale cheeks contrasting nicely with his tan skin. Not that she was imagining anything like that … or reliving that rock-her-world fake kiss. Nope.

She’d been so ready to throttle him when she’d walked in on him the day before, casually parked on the floor reading her private notes. Funnything was, though, his brows had been furrowed, his expression one of concentration rather than mocking. No, the mocking had come right after she’d busted his squeezable ass.

When she’d recovered from the shock, the discovery hadn’t bothered her as much as it should have. So he knew about Lacey Dewinter. So what? She knew about Oily Boy, the cover model. And once she left Fall River, those secrets would fade away, like everything else associated with Charlie Hunnicutt’s town.

Today he wore the usual, but he’d added a light tool belt and work gloves. His blue T-shirt was darkened at the neck with aVof perspiration, as were the armpits. A few wet spots dotted his stomach and back, and his bare forearms glistened with the stuff—like his buff torso on that book cover, though not quite as greasy-looking.

Joy was not into sweaty men, but there was an undeniable primal attraction to a man’s muscles in play and all that raw power that was making her panties inconveniently damp.

Watching from a distance was safe. There would be no touching, no blatant ogling in his presence, and definitely no kissing. She was doing research for her books, so she could describe the perfect man body in the sort of detail her readers would appreciate. And kisses filled with passion and tongue. Yeah, that was it.

Besides the lecture about her nails, she was going to have to keep herself in check when it came to her contractor partner. Once their trip to Doro was out of the way two days from now, that task would become much easier.

Saturday morning arrived, andJoy was desperate. She still didn’t have any clothes for tonight and no time for the round trip to Montrose. So she tucked her ponytail under a ball cap that read “Tractor Supply” she’d found in her mother’s closet and pulled the bill low over her eyes as she exited Crystal Harmony Haven. She paced the block quickly, dodging the usualclog of tourists on the sidewalk. People talking, laughing, eating ice cream, and not watching where the hell they were going.

When she reached her destination, she quietly opened the door, let herself in, and searched out the nearest rack of clothing where she could hide. But the damn bell above the damn door jingled loudly, pulling the clerk’s attention.

“Come on in, hon! Are you looking for anything special?” a plump woman boomed from behind a glass display case. Lord, did Dixie have a sister?

“No, just looking, thanks.” Joy pulled the bill a little lower. She couldn’t see, and she bumped into a customer. “Sorry.” When she looked up, she realized she’d collided with a mannequin.

Way to be inconspicuous.

She glanced around at the secondhand shop’s surprisingly packed interior, hoping none of the patrons recognized her. Fortunately, they looked just like the ice-cream-eating, sidewalk-crowding visitors from the street. And besides, who knew her in this town besides a handful of people who were being productive right now instead of scrounging for a new outfit at the Vogue Vault?

She busied herself swiping through hangers and nearly shot from her stinky shoes when the greeter was beside her. “We just got in a mess of new things that I haven’t had a chance to put out yet but that you might like.” The woman stepped back and gave Joy an appraising sweep. “Hmm. You’re about a size four, maybe six, and I think most of the new stuff is ten and up. I’ll go take a look. Meanwhile, that rack there’s the best chance for someone your size to find something.” She pointed toward a round right smack in the middle of the window that faced the street.

Joy took a few stealthy steps toward the clothing in question, keeping her back to the window. Her hands flew through the choices, scrutinizing labels she didn’t recognize, hefting fabric in her hands that mimicked silk, flinching at the feel of polyester. Good Lord, was this it? Just as she was deciding wearing her too-tight pants—button and zipper undone—was a better option, a familiar dark-haired woman smiled at her over one of the rounds.

“Hey, Joy,” Amy greeted. “Are you here to check out the new stuff Winona just got in too?”

“Um, not exactly. I was looking for something casual for … for …”

Amy grinned. “For your date with Charlie tonight?” Heads rotated their way at the sound of Charlie’s name.Great!

“It’s not a date.”

“Right,” Amy said gravely. “Well, whateveritis that’s got you shopping for new clothes, the good stuff is over here.” She took Joy by the arm and guided her to a rack in a far corner that held a tented handwritten sign announcing they were on final clearance. “What size are you?”

Joy reddened. “I was a six when I first got here, but things have gotten a little tight.”

Amy pulled out a silky black-and-white top. “Eating Miners burgers will do that to a girl. They taste great, but they’re tough on the figure. Not that yours needs any improvement. This would go really well with your coloring.” She thrust the hangered garment at Joy.

Accepting the blouse, Joy didn’t bother adding that Amy’s pastriesmightalso be wreaking havoc of their own. Might, because Joy was still trying to convince herself the thin mountain air and the mineral-laden water were causing her clothes to shrink on their own while she slept at night.

Amy ferreted out more pieces. “I’ll put these in a dressing room for you.”

Joy blinked at her. “Do you workheretoo?”

“No, but there’s only one dressing room. I’m looking out for you.” With a wink, she pivoted and headed toward a curtained-off area.

Oh, that’s so … sweet.Why was everyone in this town so nice?

Joy grabbed a few T-shirts and some jeans and followed Amy. In the makeshift dressing room, she fought off the curtain that wanted to either wrap around her or part and reveal her goods to the entire store. Amy stood by, insisting on seeing everything Joy tried on, and gave her a thumbs-up or thumbs-down. Joy hadn’t asked for her opinion, but she found herself appreciating it because Amy usually had an explanation for why a garment did or didn’t work.

“One of the servers at Dell’s wears that same blouse all. The. Time. You don’t want to be confused with her.” Or, “That’s from Walmart, and that brand has a tendency to rip at the armpit when you least expect it—like when you’re dancing and throwing your arms around.”

Joy didn’t plan on dancingorthrowing her arms around. When she told Amy this, the coffee shop owner merely rolled her eyes. “If you’re at theSilver Lode and you’re with Charlie Hunnicutt, you’ll be dancing, guaranteed. Probably on stage.”

---