Christmas at the Cove. Rachel Brimble

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      “Nope. Despite his reluctance to get involved, I’ve never seen Scott treat women with anything but kindness and respect.” He winked. “If it makes you feel better, I’m sure he’ll be more than pleased to see you. I haven’t seen him with a woman for a while. He must be getting kind of lonely.”

      The ill-disguised innuendo in his tone set Carrie’s teeth on edge. “Didn’t I just show you my wedding band?”

      “Sure, but who wouldn’t want you turning up the week before Christmas, looking pretty enough to decorate their tree?”

      Carrie glared. “I’m not here for some grandiose idea of an illicit affair. He’s...a work associate, that’s all.”

      He lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”

      She held his gaze. “Really.”

      He studied her for a moment longer before he shrugged. “If you say so.”

      Frustration and the need to stick the guy in the eye with a needle hummed through her, so Carrie took a deep breath and glanced around the bar. “So...do you know where I can find the town’s Casanova, by any chance?”

      “Where he always is. He’ll be working at the shop tomorrow. I suspect he’ll be there right up to Christmas Eve. He’s a hardworking guy.” His eyes glinted with amusement. “But if he’s a work associate, shouldn’t you already know that?”

      Carrie glowered. “Fine, I lied. So, what’s the shop?”

      “The garage on Stiller Street. It’s his. He owns it.” He moved along the bar to serve a businessman scowling at a bottle of Scotch behind the bar like it was a mirage in the middle of the desert. “Yes, sir. What can I get you?”

      Carrie studied the bartender through narrowed lids. Decorate his tree? Pleased to see me? Well, no doubt she’d soon obliterate Scott Walker’s love-’em-and-leave-’em lifestyle the minute she told him about Belle. It seemed her daughter’s biological father was about as ready to be a daddy as Santa Claus was to go on a diet.

      Picking up her glass, Carrie finished the martini in a single gulp and winced against the rush of liquor. The need to flee home pulsed through her but she tamped it down. She had to find Scott or else the perpetual cloak of guilt she wore for keeping Belle a secret from him would never be discarded. How could she face Belle’s inevitable questions about her father in the future without knowing she’d done her utmost to involve him in her life?

      At least the bartender’s words had lessened her fear of being as attracted to Scott today as she was when they met. Time and experience had changed Carrie in the last three years and there was little chance of her to succumbing again to a pair of deep blue eyes and a body like brick.

      She stood. She’d go to bed and pray for Scott’s disinterest in both her and Belle. That would be the best Christmas present she could ask for. Tomorrow, she’d track down his garage on Stiller Street and face Scott head on. Tell him about Belle and if his attitude was as vile as she suspected it would be, she wouldn’t even have to suggest they find a mutually satisfying way of taking their parenting forward. Belle was her priority and Carrie had no interest in exposing her to some Lothario who had zero interest in being a daddy.

      If he didn’t want anything to do with Belle, so be it. She hadn’t returned to Templeton on a witch-hunt.

      She placed some cash from her purse onto the bar and left, renewed determination echoing in every click of her high-heeled boots against marble.

      * * *

      THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Scott winced as the wrench he held slipped from his grasp and scraped roughly across the knuckles of his other hand, splitting his skin wide open. “Goddamn it.”

      The metal tool clattered to the darkened pit floor and he kicked it against the wall in frustration. It was barely lunchtime and his concentration was shot. Snatching a rag from the car’s engine, he wrapped it around the wound and glared at the underside of the car suspended above him. How the hell was he supposed to get any work done when nothing but a blond-haired woman with the sexiest figure known to man circled his damn mind?

      Just like the first time he’d seen Carrie years before, the same lightning struck him immobile. He had no idea what it was about her, or why, but Carrie’s allure was too strong to ignore. All he cared about was his family, yet this woman had the ability to make him think about the life he led before and after her. It was as though she was a pivotal part of his very existence...and he hated it.

      If it was her he saw last night, then what? He had plans. Plans that didn’t involve a woman who took his damn heart and then tossed it aside.

      Scowling, he braced his good hand on the top of the pit and heaved himself out onto the garage floor. She’d taken his heart, yet he couldn’t ignore the fact his reluctance to get involved meant he hadn’t made any attempt to find Carrie, either. He was equally as guilty of tossing her heart aside...if there was any chance she felt the same way he did.

      Yanking open the buttons on his overalls, he shrugged them down to his waist and stalked over to the sink. He removed the rag and washed his injured hand, memories rising in his conscience. He was all too aware of his reputation as a womanizer around town and he’d done little to correct the gossip, not caring what people thought...but now, with the potential that Carrie could be back, the rumors worried him.

      He turned off the faucet and replaced the rag with paper towels from the box on the wall. One by one the women he’d dated crept into his mind. None of them had hit the spot in his heart Carrie had, or even come close. So he walked away. Time and again. Did that make him a bad guy? Maybe, maybe not, but as far as Scott was concerned, he never intentionally hurt any of them.

      His gut tightened. No? So why date them? Why romance them and sleep with some of them only to bail out in the end? Just like your dad when it comes down to it, aren’t you? Scott squeezed his eyes shut as one particular ex’s face rose up behind his closed lids. He’d run quicker from Amanda Arnold than he had the others. He told himself it was entirely because of Amanda’s trying and demanding personality, but the fact she had a kid too ate at his conscience.

      God damn it. Who says I have to want to buy into that crap? He marched across the garage floor, his mind a mess. Was it such a damn crime if he didn’t want to add more family obligation to the mountain he already carried?

      Making a snap decision, he grabbed his cell phone. He needed reinforcements. Friends and allies out in the field looking for Carrie. One way or another, he had to know if the girl he’d seen in town last night was really her. If she was, he wanted to know why the hell she was back in Templeton.

      He punched in his best friend’s number.

      “Hey, man.” Nick Carson yawned loudly. “What’s up?”

      Scott pushed his fingers through his too-long hair and wandered around a three-foot circumference. “I need a favor.”

      “Uh-oh. You sound pissed.”

      “I am.”

      “Because...”

      “I think she might be back.”

      “Who?”

      “Her.”

      “Her? СКАЧАТЬ