doubtful. “You don’t want to do that.”
Angelica set her coffee onto the counter and straightened her spine. “It’s not a question of what I want to do,” she said quietly. “I’m in a bit of a predicament, as I’m guessing you’ve heard.”
Mac nodded. “Sure, but it can’t be that bad—”
“It’s that bad.”
Mac tilted her head as if considering the veracity of the statement.
Memories of two cold nights in her car welled up. The darkness seemed to go on for hours and hours and hours and Angelica had started at every tiny sound, thinking some mad hunter might emerge from the woods and murder her in the hardware store parking lot. She could have slept on Glory’s couch, but Angelica already knew the other woman was giving her more hours than she could afford.
Taking additional advantage was something she couldn’t stomach.
Said stomach growled now, its emptiness exacerbated by that small taste of sweet and creamy coffee. She hoped Mac, Shay and Poppy hadn’t heard.
“It’s hard physical work,” Mac said. “I only have three days a week to offer.”
Angelica felt the first stirrings of excitement. She could give Glory back one of the hardware shifts and still be working five days a week.
“Then there’s half mornings on Saturdays—”
“I’ll take it.”
Mac held up her hand. “Wait. I’m not sure I think—”
A roaring was in Angelica’s ears. Desperation sounded like that. So did a meager thirteen dollars in her wallet. Weak hot tea and a Slim Jim from the convenience store as her only meal the day before. A breeze blew at her back, but she didn’t let it divert her focus from the woman who had three-and-a-half days of work a week to offer.
“Please,” she said, her voice a little husky with emotion. Her knees were mushy and she reached out to grasp the counter to steady herself. “I’ve been sleeping in my car. I’ve—”
“You
what
?” a male voice bellowed.
Angelica froze. Humiliation washed through her. It was one thing to admit her troubles to these women and quite another to air the details in front of a man. In front of Brett Walker.
She closed her eyes. “I think I’ll just go now,” she whispered to no one in particular.
“Brett,” she heard Poppy warn. “You’d better grab hold of her. She looks as if she’s going down.”
Angelica’s eyes popped open. “I’m fine. I’ve got to be somewhere—” But hard hands grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. A furious face got too close to hers.
He was still holding her and heat seeped deliciously into her cold skin. The silk sweater had been a bad idea. The autumn chill went right through it. Her eyes drifted closed again.
Brett shook her a little. “Damn it, Angelica. You’re falling asleep on your feet.”
No. Her head was just a trifle muzzy. She’d been so nervous coming here and then it hadn’t gone the way she’d imagined. Especially not the part about Brett showing up. Then he had one hand behind her head and he tipped her so her forehead met his chest. “She needs coffee. Pop?”
The woman sounded very far away. “Right there on the counter, Brett. It has lots of cream and sugar.”
He pulled Angelica back by a hand in her hair and brought the cup to her lips. “Drink,” he ordered.
She tried pushing his hand away, and he pinned her with a ferocious stare.
“Drink.”
The only reason she sipped at the stuff was because she wanted to, she thought, perfectly aware she felt both peeved and petulant.
“Another.”
He smelled good, she decided, her mind oddly drifting again. If you had to be held by a man and bossed around by him, he might as well be pleasing in an olfactory sense. Brett smelled clean, like soap, and brisk, like an autumn wind. Four inches from her face was his pale blue plaid flannel shirt and it carried the faint scent of laundry detergent.
She wanted to rub her nose against it.
That was such a terrible idea that it woke her from her weird stupor. She
Angelica set her coffee onto the counter and straightened her spine. “It’s not a question of what I want to do,” she said quietly. “I’m in a bit of a predicament, as I’m guessing you’ve heard.”
Mac nodded. “Sure, but it can’t be that bad—”
“It’s that bad.”
Mac tilted her head as if considering the veracity of the statement.
Memories of two cold nights in her car welled up. The darkness seemed to go on for hours and hours and hours and Angelica had started at every tiny sound, thinking some mad hunter might emerge from the woods and murder her in the hardware store parking lot. She could have slept on Glory’s couch, but Angelica already knew the other woman was giving her more hours than she could afford.
Taking additional advantage was something she couldn’t stomach.
Said stomach growled now, its emptiness exacerbated by that small taste of sweet and creamy coffee. She hoped Mac, Shay and Poppy hadn’t heard.
“It’s hard physical work,” Mac said. “I only have three days a week to offer.”
Angelica felt the first stirrings of excitement. She could give Glory back one of the hardware shifts and still be working five days a week.
“Then there’s half mornings on Saturdays—”
“I’ll take it.”
Mac held up her hand. “Wait. I’m not sure I think—”
A roaring was in Angelica’s ears. Desperation sounded like that. So did a meager thirteen dollars in her wallet. Weak hot tea and a Slim Jim from the convenience store as her only meal the day before. A breeze blew at her back, but she didn’t let it divert her focus from the woman who had three-and-a-half days of work a week to offer.
“Please,” she said, her voice a little husky with emotion. Her knees were mushy and she reached out to grasp the counter to steady herself. “I’ve been sleeping in my car. I’ve—”
“You
what
?” a male voice bellowed.
Angelica froze. Humiliation washed through her. It was one thing to admit her troubles to these women and quite another to air the details in front of a man. In front of Brett Walker.
She closed her eyes. “I think I’ll just go now,” she whispered to no one in particular.
“Brett,” she heard Poppy warn. “You’d better grab hold of her. She looks as if she’s going down.”
Angelica’s eyes popped open. “I’m fine. I’ve got to be somewhere—” But hard hands grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. A furious face got too close to hers.
He was still holding her and heat seeped deliciously into her cold skin. The silk sweater had been a bad idea. The autumn chill went right through it. Her eyes drifted closed again.
Brett shook her a little. “Damn it, Angelica. You’re falling asleep on your feet.”
No. Her head was just a trifle muzzy. She’d been so nervous coming here and then it hadn’t gone the way she’d imagined. Especially not the part about Brett showing up. Then he had one hand behind her head and he tipped her so her forehead met his chest. “She needs coffee. Pop?”
The woman sounded very far away. “Right there on the counter, Brett. It has lots of cream and sugar.”
He pulled Angelica back by a hand in her hair and brought the cup to her lips. “Drink,” he ordered.
She tried pushing his hand away, and he pinned her with a ferocious stare.
“Drink.”
The only reason she sipped at the stuff was because she wanted to, she thought, perfectly aware she felt both peeved and petulant.
“Another.”
He smelled good, she decided, her mind oddly drifting again. If you had to be held by a man and bossed around by him, he might as well be pleasing in an olfactory sense. Brett smelled clean, like soap, and brisk, like an autumn wind. Four inches from her face was his pale blue plaid flannel shirt and it carried the faint scent of laundry detergent.
She wanted to rub her nose against it.
That was such a terrible idea that it woke her from her weird stupor. She
Similar Books
