Page 38 of The Mistletoe Kisser
“See anything you like, dear?”
Sammy jumped and nearly lost her footing on the stairs. The thermal shirts and their clothes hangers flew over the railing down to the first floor.
Mrs. McCafferty was a short, round woman with no-nonsense gray hair, a wardrobe of flannel shirts in every color, and shrewd green eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles. She ate gossip for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
She peered down at Sammy from a few steps above.
“Morning, Mrs. McCafferty,” Sammy said, avoiding the woman’s question. She didn’t need it spread all over town that she’d been caught slobbering over a half-dressed stranger in the middle of the store. “Are you ready for the Solstice—” The small talk died on her lips with the whoosh of the curtain being drawn back.
“Well? How god-awful do I look?” Ryan stood in front of the dressing room in insulated work boots, fleece-lined jeans, and a thick thermal shirt under a heavy work jacket. His hair was disheveled from the rainbow vomit hat, and that rugged stubble that had sprouted on his jaw overnight made him look…good.
Better than good. Downright sexy.
She swallowed. “You look… warm,” she decided.
Mrs. McCafferty gave a pointed throat clearing. “Ahem!”
Sammy descended with the shop owner on her heels. “Ryan, this is Mrs. McCafferty. She owns the store. Mrs. McCafferty, this is Carson’s great-nephew,” Sammy said, making the introductions and trying not to stare too hard at Ryan’s chest or crotch or jawline.
“Your uncle is a pain in my ass,” Mrs. McCafferty announced.
“That sounds about right,” Ryan agreed.
“But I love him like a brother. Well, maybe like a distant third cousin.”
“He’s a lovable pain in the ass,” he said.
Sammy checked her watch. “Can you put these on my account?” she asked, holding up the thermals. “And could you ring up the clothes while Ryan wears them? We’ve got to be at Hershel’s by eight.”
“Not a problem,” Mrs. McCafferty said, ushering them to the pine counter. “I’ll get you out of here in just a jiffy.”
“How long exactly is a jiffy?” Ryan whispered in her ear.
Sammy jumped at the heat of his breath on her neck. Fortunately the helpful storekeeper chose that moment to drag him into position to get at the price tag on his coat.
While the woman was pulling Ryan this way and that to scan tags, Sammy grabbed a cap with fleece-lined ear flaps. It was only slightly lower on the ridiculous scale than his rainbow puffball hat, but it would perform the dual jobs of keeping his ears warm and distracting her from his overall yumminess.
“Do you happen to know where Rainbow Berkowicz is this morning?” Sammy asked the woman, plucking a pair of gloves from the display and producing her credit card.
Ryan elbowed her out of the way and dug through his old jeans for his wallet.
“It’s my treat,” she insisted, wedging herself between him and the counter.
“No.” He manhandled her like a sack of feed and moved her aside. That wasn’t supposed to be hot. But her libido didn’t seem to mind.
“I can write this off as a business expense,” she tried again, appealing to his practical side.
“Nice try. Still no. You already made me breakfast.”
Across the counter, Mrs. McCafferty’s eyes flicked to Sammy’s face.Shit.
The gossip radar had been activated. Ryan had no idea he’d just bashed open a hornet’s nest.
“I stopped by this morning to show him how to pasture the sheep and chickens,” she explained quickly. She felt beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead. The front door opened, and Ernest Washington walked in, rubbing his hands together to ward of the chill.
Great. Another witness.
The entire town was going to be gossiping about Sammy’s one-night stand with Old Man Carson’s nephew by lunchtime.
