Tough Luck Hero. Maisey Yates

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СКАЧАТЬ she left.”

      “It doesn’t? I feel like I would need to know why my fiancé ditched me at the altar. But to each his own.”

      “Well, when you get ditched at the altar you can make that decision for yourself.”

      She sputtered, and he ignored her indignant rage, moving over to the bed to zip the suitcase shut before picking it up, throwing it over his shoulder, then grabbing the duffel bag in what was definitely an over-the-top display of masculine strength.

      “Are you ready?”

      “I guess so.”

      “Do you know where I live?”

      It occurred to Lydia then that Natalie had never once invited her out to Colton’s. The two of them had lived together for the past eight months and yet she had never been to Colton’s house.

      “No,” she said, knowing she sounded slightly mystified. She felt slightly mystified.

      “What?”

      “Okay, I think it’s pretty safe to say that Natalie doesn’t do interpersonal relationships the way everyone else does.”

      “And what makes you say that?”

      Lydia lifted a shoulder. “She never invited me out to your house. She came over to mine. Well, until I announced my bid for mayor.”

      “I think that proves my point pretty well. But it’s nice to know that you were only willing to take it on board when the focus was moved to your relationship.”

      “Whatever. I’ll follow you to your house. Just load my stuff into the trunk of my car.”

      “Saying please wouldn’t kill you, Lydia.”

      She just sort of stared at him, feeling that band of tension stretch even tighter between them. It was impossible not to notice the way his forearm muscles shifted as he worked to keep his hold on all of her luggage. The way the muscles in his broad shoulders looked even more pronounced when bearing all that weight.

      Tightness crept down her spine, reminiscent of that feeling she’d had the first moment she’d met him. A kind of deep discomfort that overtook her entire body. Like something other than the normal rules of physics was suddenly in charge. And none of it made any sense. She couldn’t anticipate what she might feel next, or how she might respond if he moved just a little bit, just a fraction closer.

      Couldn’t decide if she was angry at him, or if she wanted to trace the firm line of his jaw to see if it was as sharp as it looked. To feel that light beard beneath her fingertips, to see if it was as rough as it looked.

      She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the insanity currently crawling through her. “Let’s go.”

      “Please,” he said, his blue eyes glinting.

      He was so hardheaded. Saying please was good manners. That was just the truth. But she did not like being told what to do. “I can carry my own things,” she said.

      He shrugged, setting her suitcase roughly on the ground, followed by the duffel bag. “Suit yourself.”

      “Really?” she asked.

      “It’s that difficult for you to say please?”

      “You’re being a jerk.”

      The corner of his mouth curved upward. “And you’re being petulant.”

      She growled, reaching out and grabbing hold of her suitcase, clinging to the handle as she hefted her duffel bag up and looped it over her shoulder. Then she began to walk toward the front door, her every step weighted by her things.

      She turned and looked behind her, saw Colton standing there, his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest, one dark brow raised. Then she turned away from him, continuing on toward the door.

      “Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered, walking toward her before taking her suitcase out of her grip. “I’m not going to make you carry that bag down to the car.”

      He went on ahead of her, throwing open the front door and taking the porch steps two at a time out to where her little red sedan was parked.

      She busied herself locking her door, and trying to ignore the weird sinking feeling in her stomach. Like she was leaving something behind. Like things were changing in a way she would never be able to change back. Maybe because the last time she had left her place, she hadn’t gone back.

      But that was dramatic. She was going ten minutes down the road.

      She turned and looked to the side, at her little slice of ocean view, taking in a deep breath.

      “In addition to not saying please, are you also going to leave me standing here with your bag for the next hour?”

      She shot him a deadly glare. “I’m saying goodbye to my house.”

      “As mentioned, you’re welcome to come back to your house at any time. You just can’t inhabit it. The neighbors would talk.”

      “And you don’t think they’re going to talk about you standing out here looking at me like I’m a particularly distasteful vegetable you just found on your plate?”

      “Yes,” he said, a smile curving his lips upward. “You, Lydia Carpenter, are my broccoli.”

      “I guess that makes you my peaches.”

      “Who doesn’t like peaches? That’s ridiculous.”

      “I don’t.” She headed down the stairs, digging in her purse for her keys. “It isn’t ridiculous to dislike something.”

      “I mean, you dislike something sweet, delicious, and almost universally enjoyed by the rest of the world. But sure.”

      She scowled, pushing the button that popped her trunk, breezing past him. She threw the duffel bag inside, then stood, looking at him expectantly. He put the suitcase in and closed it, a little too roughly for her liking.

      “I think maybe peaches are not as awesome as they think they are.”

      She sniffed, getting into her car and starting the engine. Then she waited for Colton to get into his truck and pull away from the curb.

      She did her best to subdue her panic by focusing on the details of town as they drove down Main Street. Rebecca Bear was outside the Trading Post, her knickknack store, closing shop for the day, taking down the American flag and bringing in the plants that were out on the doorstep.

      Cassie Caldwell had already closed The Grind for the day, the little Open sign dim in the large picture window. Most businesses on Main closed early. Copper Ridge wasn’t known for its exciting nightlife. But that was one of the things that Lydia loved about it. It was traditional. It was friendly. Well, for the most part.

      It was true that a lot of people moved to a small town because they wanted to be left alone. So far from being the Thomas Kinkade painting that a lot of people imagined, small-town life was full of challenging dynamics. But overall, СКАЧАТЬ