Mistletoe Hero. Tanya Michaels
he stood.
“You’re leaving?” She shot an incredulous glance toward his plate, which still held most of his onion rings, the last quarter of his sandwich and a pickle spear.
“Lost my appetite.”
“In that case.” She reached unabashedly for an onion ring, closing her eyes and making a near-purring sound in her throat. Once she’d swallowed, she beamed at him in approval. “Wow, those are good.”
“I know.”
“Why don’t I eat here more?” she wondered aloud, popping another hand-battered onion ring into her mouth. With a final resigned glance at the food, she stood, too.
Gabe had the terrible suspicion that she’d fall in step with him and trail him wherever he went. That if he went to the parking lot and drove away, she might actually follow; if he tried to evade her by going into the men’s room, she’d simply wait him out. He doubted he could squeeze through the window.
“I should have been clearer earlier,” she said, her voice suddenly brisk and businesslike. “When I said I came to ask a favor, that was true, but it’s not just how you can help me, it’s how we can help each other.”
The old cynicism burned in his gut. If she suggested in husky tones that she could scratch his back if he scratched hers, he would lose all respect for her. And it startled Gabe to realize that even though he barely knew her and had spent the majority of this encounter wishing she’d disappear in a puff of smoke, he did respect her. She had an…implacability that was commendable.
That slight admiration kept him from telling her point-blank to get lost. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I have a busy afternoon ahead of me—we don’t all work for our daddies. You have thirty seconds.”
“You remember Quinn Keller, the teacher who hired you to repair her roof last June?”
He nodded. Quinn was a decent sort. She’d tipped him for the work he’d done without winking over the check as though he was supposed to add some extra service—something more than one town matron had hinted in his younger years. Quinn would bring out freshly squeezed lemonade on hot days but seemed unnerved enough by him that she kept their conversations brief.
Unlike certain blondes who seemed determined to chat him up from now until the Second Coming.
The moment he’d inclined his head, Arianne hurriedly continued as if mentally counting down the time he’d allotted her. “Quinn’s cochairing the committee for Whiteberry’s fall festival and needs help with some of the labor—assembling booths, hooking up electrical equipment—but she doesn’t have much of a budget. After all, the whole point is to raise money for the school. So we wanted to ask you to do it for free.”
He snorted. The lady had a bottomless supply of gall. “And I’d be doing this out of the nonexistent goodness of my heart? You have a nice day, Miss Waide.”
He headed for the door with a deliberately long stride, but what she lacked in long legs she made up for in unholy tenacity. No sooner had he stepped into the cool afternoon air than that voice once again sounded at his ear—or rather, six inches below it. With her nonstop chirping, he would have expected her to have a shrill tone or maybe something nasal, with a hint of whine. She actually had a low, melodic pitch. It wasn’t hard to imagine that she’d used that voice to convince plenty of people to do her bidding.
“Gabe,” she chided, “don’t you think it’s silly to run away? It’s not like you can hide from me in a town this size.”
She had a point. After all, he periodically crossed paths with Shay’s parents and heaven knew they weren’t actively seeking him out the way Arianne was threatening. “No reason to hide when I can outdistance you, short stuff.”
“You can try. I’ll get a scooter and keep up. Ask my brothers if you don’t believe me.”
Oh, he did. He just wasn’t sure how he’d become the object of her persistence. For months she’d simply been the checkout girl at the most reliable place in town to get hardware supplies. Then she’d dropped that bombshell of a dinner date on him, and suddenly he had a smiling thorn in his side who smelled like raspberries.
“Miss Waide, just so we’re clear, you know I was serious when I said you weren’t my type? I’m not playing hard to get or something.”
For a moment, her blue eyes glinted, darkening with some unnamed emotion. Had he angered her? Hurt her?
He refused to feel bad, not if the end result was her staying away from him. In the long run, he’d be doing her a favor.
Her tone cooled. “My proposition today wasn’t of a romantic nature, trust me. Let’s just forget about the other night. It was an isolated incident, prompted solely by—by…” Here she stumbled.
Without meaning to, he took a step closer to her. “Yes? Why did you ask me out?”
“Well.” She squared her shoulders, trying to look as composed as she had been inside the barbecue house. Yet the pulse in the hollow of her throat beat more rapidly. She reflexively licked her lips, a movement that might have seemed calculated in another woman, but seemed like genuine nervousness in Arianne’s case. “You’re an attractive man, and I’m an attractive woman. Dinner together didn’t seem that crazy when I suggested it.”
An attractive man. For years, women—those his own age to those slightly younger on up to those far older who should know better—had looked at him as if, on the outside, he was near flawless. Inside he was a mess, but too few seemed to care about that.
“You think you’re attractive?” He gave Arianne a deliberate once-over, letting his gaze slowly drop down her body.
She swallowed, standing stock-still as the wind whipped her hair around her face. “You’re trying to intimidate me.”
“It’s working. And it’s probably a lesson you need. Bite-size morsels like you shouldn’t chase after the big bad wolf.”
She surprised him by taking a sudden step forward, nearly erasing the remaining gap between them. “I grew up with two older brothers who taught me not to back down in the face of bullies, so save your bluster for someone else. I don’t think you’re that big or that bad.”
You’re wrong. But her clear gaze was so piercing that for a second he almost couldn’t find his voice. “Arianne, you’re a Mistletoe native. I know you’ve…Whatever you’ve heard about me, it’s probably true.”
It was a minor victory that she looked away first.
But she regrouped, meeting his eyes as she asked softly, “Why do you stay?”
He stiffened. “None of your damn business.”
“Because if you feel like you, I don’t know, maybe owe something to—”
“Drop it.” The words came out in a low growl.
Her eyes widened and, for a change, she listened. She kept her mouth shut as he crossed the few feet of asphalt from where he’d stood to his truck.
He should’ve known it was too good to last.
“Will you at least think about helping with the festival? For the good of the town?” she implored.
“No.” He unlocked his door.
“How about this?” She played her ace. “You help Quinn slap together a couple of booths, and I promise never to disturb you again.”
When you put it like that…Feeling unfairly beleaguered and somehow years older than when he’d arrived for lunch half an hour ago, he slapped his hand on the side of the truck and looked back at her.
Arianne offered him a beatific smile.
Against his better judgment, he heard himself say, “I’ll think about it.”
SUNDAYS WERE THE ONLY