Page 3 of Sweet Deal
When the women glanced in her direction, Rachel gave a quick wave. Aunt Vicki returned it with a flourish that nearly knocked over a display board. Rachel chuckled. She really did love her aunts, maybe as much as her own mother, but the Corn Hole Queens and Alice Sweet were very different.
“I should go. I’ve got to grab a parking spot and get through my shopping list.”
“How long is the list?” Jillian asked.
“Long enough. Besides what I need, Mom is in deep clean mode. She started clearing out one of the line shacks.”
“Uh-oh.” Jillian’s voice took on a serious tone. “That means she’s worrying.”
“My guess is Preston must have mentioned the upcoming payments due.”
“Sounds about right. One thing’s for sure, when she’s done that shack will gleam.”
“It will once I pick up some cleaning supplies. We ran low when she decided to reorganize the pantry after Carson mentioned the irrigation system wasn’t working as needed.”
“Don’t remind me.” Jillian heaved a sigh. “She was dusting like the Tasmanian devil until the boys reported back that it wasn’t as bad as expected.”
All of this was one more reason for her to hurry up and find a man. And like it or not, it was time she faced the fact that pretty much any man that was breathing would have to do. How she hated that thought. “All right. I have to run.”
“If you’re bored, pop in. I’m tinkering with a new scent. Something special for next month’s art festival.”
“No idea why you bother, your honeysuckle scents are always the bestsellers. But will do if there’s time.” A few quick see you laters and reminders not to buy out the store and Rachel hit the disconnect button on her truck’s steering wheel then glanced toward the town park as she passed. A genuine smile touched her lips. Mason was there, racing around the green space, a gaggle of local kids running with him. Her nephew looked so completely at home, his laughter carrying over the truck’s engine. One more reason why she was going to make this happen. The Sweet Legacy could not die, it had to stay strong for the next generation, for Mason.
Pulling into a parking space, she slid out of the front seat and slammed the door. Miller’s Dry Goods was one of those wonderful small-town institutions that seemed to have a little bit of everything. She quickly found the industrial-strength degreaser her mother swore by, a tub of specialty saddle soap that smelled richly of leather and beeswax, a pack of oversized sponges sturdy enough to scrub down a horse trailer, and, unable to resist, grabbed a bag of the locally roasted coffee beans Agnes used at the café. It all went into one large, slightly cumbersome brown paper grocery bag.
“Need another bag, honey?” Mrs. Miller asked from behind the counter, her spectacles perched on the end of her nose.
“No thanks, I can manage.” Rachel handed over her credit card.
Bag balanced against her hip with one arm, she pushed open the heavy glass door, the bell above it jingling merrily. Outside on the sidewalk, the afternoon sun felt warm. She fumbled in her front jeans pocket with her free hand, trying to fish out her truck keys. They were, naturally, caught on her lip balm and a stray tissue. Concentrating, trying not to drop the increasingly awkward bag, she took a step away from the storefront, wrestling the keys free.
“Here, let me get that.”
The voice was deep, warm, smooth as worn leather, and so startlingly familiar it sent a jolt straight through her. She looked up, keys halfway out of her pocket, and froze. Standing right beside her, reaching instinctively for the grocery bag, was a man she hadn’t seen in years, a man whose easy grin hadn’t changed.
Her breath caught. The keys slipped from her numb fingers, clattering onto the sidewalk. The grocery bag followed, tilting precariously. Sponges tumbled out, the bag of coffee beans landed with a soft thud, and the degreaser started a slow roll towards the curb. None of it registered. All she saw was the face she thought she’d only see in old yearbooks.
“Jimmy?” The name slipped from her lips, not quite a question, more of a reverent proclamation. Then it hit her, Jimmy Henderson—in the flesh—was standing in front of her. A joyful laugh burst from her chest. Forgetting the spilled groceries, forgetting the ranch’s troubles, forgetting everything, she launched herself forward.
Pure instinct had James wrapping his arms around the woman now plastered against him. One moment he was taking in the familiar, almost achingly quaint facade of Miller’s Dry Goods, feeling the Texas sun warm his face after years under a different sky, and the next, a whirlwind of denim, flying blonde hair, and surprised green eyes hurtled towards him.
He barely had time to register what had happened and who he was now spinning around in a wide circle, taking up the entire sidewalk, when he found himself laughing, a real, deep belly laugh that felt like shaking dust off something long unused. He hadn’t laughed like this, hadn’t felt this jolt of pure, uncomplicated surprise and connection, in… well, longer than he cared to admit.
Her laugh was just as bright and breathless as he remembered, a sound that cut straight through the carefully constructed layers of his California success.
He slowed the spin, setting her back on her feet, though his hands lingered at her waist for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. They stood there, breathless, grinning at each other amidst a small, comical scattering of sponges and coffee beans. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide with disbelief, mirroring his own.
“Rachel Sweet,” he finally managed, his voice maybe a little rougher than usual.
“Jimmy Henderson.” She grinned up at him.
“I go by…” he was about to say James when it struck him that he didn’t want to be James anymore. He’d left James behind on the California coast. “Jim now.”
“Jim,” she said softly, slowly, as if deciding if she liked the way it rolled off her tongue. Her smile brightened. “It suits you. You’re not a scrawny little kid anymore.”
He didn’t dare say neither was she. From the few moments he held her in his arms, there was little doubt that she’d grown up—and filled out—well.
Rachel took a half-step back, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze dropping briefly to the spilled purchase, she bent over and began gathering the scattered items.
