Something to Talk About

Em hesitated. Touching his hand, that rough, wide, callused hand, the one she’d wondered what it would be like to have touch every inch of her, was probably a bad idea. It would leave an imprint on her skin—one she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about.

But her upbringing and good manners insisted she take it. Em dropped her hand into his, squeezing hard to assert herself in yet another way to prove to the world she was capable—independent. Because stern teacher’s voices and extrafirm handshakes are sure signs of empowerment, Emmaline.

“Anyway,” he said, dragging her back to reality by dropping her hand. “My apologies for reacting without investigating first. Have a nice Saturday, ladies.”

Just as he was about to turn his broad back to walk away, the pink barrette slipped from his hair, dropping to the ground at Em’s feet with a tinny clink.

She lifted her glasses to set them atop her head as she knelt and scooped it up at the exact moment he knelt to retrieve it, their heads almost touching.

And their eyes met, too—again—in another one of those stares. Long, short, intense, soft. Em couldn’t decide which adjective to lend it. She cleared her tight throat, holding up the barrette. “You dropped this.”

If Jax recognized her without her glasses, he didn’t show it.

He grinned again. “My daughter’s.”

She melted again.

“She likes pink?”

“She said it’s my color. For dress up, I mean,” he corrected, grumbly and deep.

Em smiled at him. “I agree.”

“Then it’s settled. Pink forever.”

“Pink rules.”

“Just like my daughter.”

More melting. “Tell her Miss Em said hello, won’t you?”

“I will.” He took the barrette from her fingers, their skin touching then not, doing hot, delicious things to places on her body that shouldn’t be hotly delicious from just touching fingers. He dropped it in the pocket of his flannel jacket.

“Have a nice afternoon, Mr. Hawthorne.” Em swung upward, thankful for Dixie, who grabbed her by the arm to steady her, murmuring a goodbye to Jax and ushering her out of the hardware store.

Outside, the cold air struck her cheeks, cooling their heat, but assaulting her headache with prickly pinches.

Dixie fanned herself, tugging at the collar of her sweater and lifting her chin to let the air hit it.

So it wasn’t just her. Em fanned herself, too. “It was like Hades in there. Someone needs to tell Lucky to turn down the heat in that store. It felt like August.”

“No, someone needs to tell the two of you to turn down the heat. You and Jax Hawthorne, that is.” She smiled, tucking her purse under her arm with that look of confidence on her face.

Em peeked back over her shoulder at the hardware store and made a warning noise at Dixie. “You hush.”

“I surely will not. It’s the truth. Jax Hawthorne is hot. As your person, it’s my duty to tell you, he’s hot for you.”

Jax Hawthorne. A flutter of nerves made Em shiver. Just the notion he might find her equally attractive after all that fantasizing about him wasn’t acceptable. She’d only end up disappointed when the fantasy ended. “He’s hot for my backside on a silver platter because of his little girl callin’ up a sex line. Nothing more.”

Dixie shook her head no with an impish grin. “Tell me that the next time the two of you spontaneously combust with one little glance.”

Em shuffled her feet, giving in to Dixie’s theory just a little. Jax’s face at the mention of his daughter left her heart fluttering like it had hummingbird wings. “Did you hear him talk about his little girl? He wears barrettes in his hair for his daughter when they play dress up.” How endearing and in tune to his daughter’s needs for a man so big and rough. More melting ensued.

Dixie giggled, lilting and girlish. “I saw. I heard. I conclude. Hot man, hot for you, who loves his little girl so much he’ll let her dress him up, grows hotter.”

Em let just one schoolgirl sigh escape her lips—allowed herself just a second or two to believe a man like Jax Hawthorne could find her attractive. But then the cold wind, growing colder by the minute, blasted her in the face and she winced. “It doesn’t matter. He said he left his little girl at home. He surely didn’t leave her alone. That must mean there’s a Mrs. Hawthorne.” Less melting, more gut-gnawing disappointment.

Dixie wiggled her finger in Em’s direction. “Would his daughter be lookin’ for a girlfriend for her father if there was a Mrs. Hawthorne? And if there is, he owes her an apology, ’cuz he’s been cheatin’ on her with his eyes. Now, come with me. I’ll have Sanjeev fix you up some hair of the dog and we’ll take care of that hangover. Then we’ll talk more about the cues a man gives a woman when he’s hot for her and almost certainly unmarried.”

Em began a slow stroll alongside her when doubt set in. “He didn’t even remember me.” Jax Hawthorne, that is.

“That’s because you had your sunglasses on. He couldn’t see those eyes he all but made the business with in the square that night.”

“I took them off, and anyway, shouldn’t he have known me just by my scent...or something?”

“Only if he’s a vampire, or is that werewolf?”

“Let’s not talk about him anymore. I need hangover relief STAT.” Em popped open the doors of her Jeep.

“Him’s name is Jax Hawthorne. I know you’re turning his name over and over in your mind. And we can avoid the subject of him all you like because that’s what you do when you’re flustered. But we’ll have to address this eventually, because I heard a little something while you were giving him hell. So, guess who’s movin’ to Plum Orchard permanently?” Dixie hopped in the car with a grin and shut the door.

Em’s stomach nose-dived while her heart fought for a way out of the captivity of her chest. Permanently? How, in the name of the good man above, would she survive his sexual napalm living in a community as small as Plum Orchard?

* * *

Jax shoulder bumped Caine Donovan, his longtime friend and old college roommate, before dropping down on a stool at the breakfast bar. “This—” he craned his neck to indicate the enormity of what Caine called the Big House “—is some shit. That guy that used to come visit you all the time in college left you all of this? Your best friend, right?”

Caine smiled, his grin easy as he leaned forward on the breakfast bar and sipped his beer. “Yep. Landon Wells, and yes, again. Technically, he left it to my fiancée, Dixie, but I scored big because I’m smart enough to marry her. He also left us something else. Something that’s gonna blow your head off. It’s one of the reasons I called you when I heard you were moving into your aunt’s place. You need something to do with your time since you sold the business. Your brothers told me you’re a total shithead lately.”

Jax was still reeling after meeting one Emmaline Amos up close and in person. The woman he’d seen across the town square when he’d been here two months ago, signing the papers to take possession of his aunt’s house.

When she’d run from the square that night and straight into him after seeing a picture of what he’d heard through Plum Orchard’s gossipy grapevine was her husband dressed in drag, her vulnerability, her raw humiliation, had touched a nerve.

Soft and sweet, her dark hair falling over her shoulders like silk, she’d caught his attention then and stuck like glue to his mind’s eye since.

Today, when she’d used that tone with him, under the guise of some good old-fashioned Southern decorum, it did something funny to his chest. It was like telling him to go straight to hell while she smiled that cute smile.

She was hot and sweet, and she’d tried pretty hard to maintain her composure, leading Jax to believe she remembered him from that night, too.

“Jax?” Caine nudged him across the marble countertop.

“Sorry. Got a lot on my mind. So what’s gonna blow my head off? Like this palace isn’t enough? You have a camel, man. There’s a camel in the backyard.” He still couldn’t believe it.

Caine chuckled. “That’s Toe, by the way. You’ll need to know that when you come work for us. He actually likes people—especially people who need a swift kick in the ass.”

He didn’t want to do anything but renovate his aunt’s house and hang out with his daughter, Maizy. Jax stiffened, cracking his scratched knuckles. “I don’t need a job, Caine. Since I sold the company, I’ve just been catching my breath.”

“And driving Gage and Tag crazy,” Caine said, but this time, he wasn’t grinning or coaxing or doing any of the things everyone did to try to get him motivated to get off his ass.