Lip Lock: Country Fever, Book 2 (4 page)

But Brant Foxfire seemed to have it together. Besides a successful practice and an upstanding position in the community, he was thigh-clenchingly hot. When their gazes connected, she’d felt his reach right down to her needy pussy.

She tore her thoughts from that rocky road. “I’ll just change, and we’ll be off to ball practice, ’kay?”

“Sure, Mom.”

She kicked off her low heels and headed to her bedroom. The worn spots on the carpet irked her, as usual. Why was the apartment manager so concerned over getting his rent on time when he failed to replace things like fifteen-year-old carpeting or broken faucets in a timely manner?

Of course, maybe he was waiting to evict her before replacing these items for the next tenant.

She reached for the zipper on the back of her skirt and forced it down as she entered her bedroom. Again, the thoughts of being stuffed into her summer wardrobe like a sausage in a casing passed through her mind.

Well, the orthodontist hadn’t seemed to mind, if his lingering looks were any indication. Damn, when was the last time she’d known such excitement? Working in the backroom of Anecdote day in and out rarely afforded her glimpses of delicious men. While Reedy boasted a lot of fine cowboys, she had no interest.

That’s what pulled her toward Dr. Foxfire—he was as straightlaced as they came. The opposite of Kent, who had been one of those fine specimens of the countryside, working his tight Wranglers and roped biceps until she fell right into his bed. Sure, he’d married her, but for all the wrong reasons. As soon as her baby weight came on, he’d lost interest and started sniffing around women without the extra padding.

And now she had even more of the weight she hated to contend with.

Without looking in the full-length antique mirror leaning against her wall, she peeled her skirt down her hips. Stepping out of it, she kicked it aside with an extra ounce of fervor.

The fact was she was lonely. She hadn’t dated or been intimate with a man in three years and being around Brant Foxfire had only fanned those flames of want.

But she couldn’t possibly date. Who would want her with this extra poundage
and
a fifteen-year-old son?

“Ugh.” She plucked at her straining shirt buttons and fought her way out of the snug cotton.

She rummaged through a laundry basket and stepped into some comfortable yoga pants and a tunic. Spinning toward the mirror, she saw the long midnight blue shirt was tight across the hips, so she added a hoodie to hide her problems.

A Reedy Tigers ball cap completed the outfit. What did she care? She’d sit in the stands for hours during her son’s baseball practice, chatting with the other moms. She didn’t need to impress anyone.

In the bathroom, she swished aside the shower curtain and turned on the bathtub faucet. The sink faucet hadn’t worked in weeks, but the only answer she got from the apartment manager was that he’d fix it soon…which meant as soon as she wasn’t in arrears with her rent.

If only that asshole ex-husband of hers would pay up on his back child support. She’d been lenient with Kent in the early years after Drake was born, believing Kent’s stories that he was struggling with money on his family’s ranch. But when she’d seen him pull up in a brand new pickup with an expensive-looking woman in the passenger’s seat, Hayley had located her righteous anger in a hurry.

Everyone had problems like hers, she reminded herself. She’d moved with Drake from town to town during his young life, hoping to find the American dream. Instead, she’d discovered that financial security for women was only possible with an education. Her high school diploma did nothing to endear her to a boss who would hire her for enough to make her rent on time—or to pay for Drake’s braces.

And the kid deserved them. Needed them. His smile wore on his self-esteem as much as her tight skirts did on hers. Ignoring her chipped toenail polish, Hayley slipped on a pair of flip-flops and headed downstairs.

Drake was in the kitchen, scarfing down a trio of hot dogs as if they had waged an attack. When he spotted her ball cap, he groaned around a mouthful of relish. “You’re not gonna wear that hat, are you?”

“Yes.”

“None of the other moms wear them.”

“Maybe those mothers aren’t as proud of their sons as I am. They don’t have a reason to be, I guess, as their sons aren’t constantly being scouted by colleges.”

Scouting led her to thoughts of Dr. Brant Foxfire again. The man was walking sex on a stick. Broad shoulders, strong chest, arms with way more muscle than a man of his occupation needed.

She still saw the lingering image of his shirt pulling over his forearm as he’d shaken her hand.

A shudder worked its way up her spine and lifted the hairs on her nape. What would it be like to be under that big chest, to have those strong arms braced around her?

Dark need speared her. A man like Brant offered everything her own fingers didn’t. Even his scent had captured her—he wore a musky cologne she’d longed to get closer to.

She might have had a chance too, if she hadn’t acted like a soap-opera character and allowed those stupid tears into her eyes.

At the moment when he’d said he hated to see tears, she’d felt herself spiraling into her own lonely tornado of despair. How many times had she cried this week alone? At least five. Money strain and possible hormones had been her undoing, yes. But she couldn’t allow herself to crack. Drake needed her. Who else did he have?

Her son was still staring at her ball cap with disgust in his dark eyes. His coloring came from his father—bronze skin, dark brown hair and espresso eyes. Complete opposite of her, with her pale skin and blonde hair. That had been something Kent had been enraptured by—her paleness against his darkness.

Shit, why was she thinking of Kent so much today?

Probably because of the feelings stirred within her when she’d met Brant. The man oozed intrigue. It was impossible not to notice the way he stared at her or the fact that he didn’t wear a wedding band.

What exactly had passed between them? She hadn’t known such chemistry since the night she met Kent outside the gates of a rodeo. He’d strutted by with a grin just for her, then had hopped on a bronco and ridden it to perfection. Then jumped off the horse and grabbed Hayley out of the stands.

She’d never looked back, but she should have.

Did that mean she should be wary of Dr. Foxfire too?

She tugged on the bill of the blue ball cap. “I’m wearing it, Drake. I only have one male in the world who means anything to me, and you’d better believe I’m rooting him on.”

Chapter Four

For the tenth time in two days, Brant strolled past Anecdote. The small shop lived up to its name, as there seemed to be a story in everything from the mismatched bricks on the storefront to the suit of armor greeting customers with a chalkboard sign clenched in its jointed metal fingers.

The glass window boasted charms for everyone—antique toys piled in doll cribs, old and polished bowling pins and badminton rackets, Indian pottery, and of course, the furniture Hayley worked with.

From what Brant could see, she was a master of restoration. Some of the pieces appeared to have the original finish, indicating she might be able to match stains and paints from centuries ago.

Problem was—the store was closed. Closed on weekends until the tourist season hit full force, and during the only free time he had. The rest of the week, he was trapped in the office with kids and mouths full of wires. Until a few days ago, this didn’t bother him. He lived for the end results of all that work—the amazing smiles.

But since setting eyes on Hayley Graff, he ached for something more.

After she’d left the office, he’d attacked the schedule book, leafing through pages until he found her son’s name and an appointment date. As recommended, she’d made an appointment for Drake to be seen the following week. Five days too far away, in Brant’s opinion.

“Howdy, Foxfire. You window-shopping for some antiques this fine Sunday morning?”

Pivoting on the sidewalk, he faced a woman who’d once worked as his bookkeeper in the early days of the practice. Smiling, he greeted her with a hug. “So good to see you, Elaine. And yes, I was thinking of redoing my home office. I thought Anecdote might be the perfect place to find a cherry desk.”

Or cherry-red lips…nipples…

“Yes, this is a fine place to find furnishings. I hear their refinisher is a gem. My daughter-in-law had her grandmother’s antique kitchen table refinished by the woman. Last name’s Graff, I believe. My grandson is on the ball team with her son. A great talent.”

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll check out a game sometime,” he hedged. If Elaine gave him a time and place, he’d be there, even if it meant looking a little bit like a desperate bachelor.

He raked his fingers through his hair. Damn, he was bordering on obsessed. First the daily jaunts to Brenniman’s Grocery, then the driving. Now he was considering showing up at her son’s baseball game. This woman couldn’t possibly be worth getting arrested for stalking, could she?

Then he recalled the deep flutter in his core when his gaze locked with Hayley’s. It just wasn’t normal to experience such a thing.

“Now’s the time, Foxfire. The season started last week. Our boys are already one and O. They’re playing against Darbeyville this afternoon.”

His heart flipped and sped out of control. “Where’s that game?” He tried to control his voice, to keep the utter excitement crawling through his limbs out of his tone.

Elaine grinned up at him from her diminutive height and patted her coifed hair. “It’s a home game. If you come, you’d better buy me a hot dog.”

He chuckled. Though she was ten years his senior, she’d always tried her best to get him to flirt, being a widow at a young age and never remarried. “I’ll do that.”

They said their goodbyes, and Brant forced himself to stroll on down the sidewalk away from Anecdote and not take off in a sprint for his car, which was parked at the other end of town. He’d parked there with the idea that he might find Hayley, ask her for coffee at the shop outside of Reedy, and have a long walk to get to his vehicle, giving them more time to get to know each other.

When had he ever premeditated his moves? He was a go-with-the-flow kind of man. No clean socks? Go buy another pack. Dinner dates of the past had involved little planning on his part. He’d pick the lady up and take her to the best steakhouse outside of town, where no reservations were necessary.

But with Hayley… Oh, yes, things were different.

Pressing the unlock button on his key remote as he approached his Mustang, he tried to imagine so much about her life. He knew little. After looking at her son’s appointment written in the schedule book three times, he’d eventually looked Hayley up in the phone book. Unfortunately, she had an unlisted number.

Which led to a whole new set of questions.

Focus
.

He climbed into the slick, leather driver’s seat and rested his head against the back for a moment. He burned to race to the ball field even if the game was hours from now. But hanging out there for the day probably had the word “creepy” written all over it. He’d end up a headline in the
Reedy News
. Better to show up after the game started.

He pictured his arrival half a dozen different ways, including climbing the bleachers and “accidentally” sitting beside Hayley. Lurid images flitted through his head of sliding off her high heel and tonguing a path over the chain on her ankle to the back of one curvaceous knee, to her plump little thighs, and higher, until he reached the heat he knew pulsed between her legs.

With a groan, he started the car and set it into motion. Driving along the familiar main street of a town he’d lived in since the year he graduated from dental school and set up practice, he saw it in a different light. Even days ago, he’d driven this strip and thought about seeing her again. Now he ached to find out her story.

Where had Hayley been? Did she visit the library and curl up with a new thriller every week? Or had she ever been to open mic night at the coffee bar? Brant had never seen her there.

One thing was certain, though. She wasn’t a regular at the Nail House. Manicures and her profession didn’t mix.

Passing each building brought about new sparks of his imagination. Hell, he owned some of the buildings. As a single professional with a large amount of extra money, he often invested in real estate in Reedy and the surrounding area.

Besides the building the Italian restaurant leased and a smattering of single-family homes he rented out, he also owned two small, four-unit apartment complexes.

He lived in a modest log home on the outskirts of town, but his prized piece of property wasn’t even in this county. In the nearby mountains, his dream lived—a small ranch with an old four-bedroom house, where he could raise animals and kids in abundance.

Except he had no idea what to do with a herd of livestock, and kids were far from his thoughts, simply because he had no important lady in his life.

But there could be.

He purposely avoided driving to the ball field and instead navigated the twisting road out of town toward one of the latest properties he was considering. He’d only been in the real estate business for a few years, but once he’d known that thrill of ownership, he’d wanted more.