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“Now, Charlie, I’m sure you didn’t see what you thought you saw,” he said, in what he hoped was a soothing voice. “Just give the man back his horse, and we can straighten this all out in the morning. I’m sure Earl would let us come to his ranch and see in the sunlight that this horse has suffered no abuse—”
“Like hell,” Earl spat out, directing his rage at Graham.
Graham was glad that at least Earl was no longer looking like he wanted to throw Charlie across the parking lot. Instead, he looked like he wanted to throw Graham across the parking lot.
Graham focused on Charlie again and fought hard not to be affected by the silent pleading in her eyes. Had any woman ever looked at him like that? Obviously trusting him to do the right thing, to support her?
His hand caressed her cheek before he even realized that he had moved. Her skin was soft. Like a rose petal or something…something really soft. He lowered his voice to a whisper, “It’s his horse, Charlie. We have to give him back.”
Disappointment swam in the depths of her eyes. Graham hesitated. Her disappointment made him hesitate.
“I don’t have time for this,” Earl snarled. “You have five seconds to give me my horse.”
Charlie continued to stare at Graham. Then she bit her bottom lip, chewed on it actually, drawing his attention to how plump and sweet it looked. She looked. That was it. Graham silently cursed again then turned back to Earl.
“Look, Earl, Charlie’s upset and you’re upset. Why don’t we let her take the horse home tonight and, in the morning, I’ll personally deliver him to you. And I’ll throw in a case of beer. Deal?”
Earl’s eyes narrowed with rage. “You’ve spent your whole life trying to talk this town into doing one thing or another, but I’m not falling for it. You don’t control nothing out here, Graham Forbes. I don’t care if you’re on the city council, or if you’re the mayor himself, but I will clean this parking lot with your ass if you don’t get out the way.
“And then after I’ve beaten you into a bloody pulp, I’m going to teach your girlfriend here some manners. I don’t know where you found this one, but you should have taught her that we do things different here in Sibleyville. And little girls do not become involved in grown men’s business.”
Graham stared at Earl for a moment, as anger warred with rage, making him incapable of speech at that moment. He didn’t care that Earl had insulted him. Graham had heard better insults in three different languages. The rage came from the lascivious glare he had sent Charlie when he had talked about teaching her “manners.” If anyone was going to teach Charlie Sibley manners, it was going to be Graham, and he hoped she would love every minute of it.
“You’ve terrorized people in this town long enough.” Graham said, then tried not to laugh at his own canned speech. He had watched one too many Jet Li movies. He could have come up with something a little more clever, or, at least, funny. He didn’t want to get into the first fistfight of his adult life with that corny line hanging in the air.
Charlie’s grip on his arm tightened even more as she rose on her toes to whisper in his ear, “What are you doing? He’ll kill you.”
Graham stopped his glaring contest with Earl and glanced down at her. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I’ll give him the horse, Graham. I don’t want—”
“You said you would never give him the horse.”
“I know, but I can call the animal cruelty society tomorrow—”
“There is no animal cruelty society out here.”
“Have you conferred with your girlfriend long enough?” Earl demanded, rolling up his shirtsleeves.
Graham turned to Earl and silently cursed again. It was obvious that Earl knew exactly what to do in a fight in a dark parking lot. Graham felt a brief flash of nerves. He had been taking boxing lessons in Tokyo before he had to come to Sibleyville, but he had a feeling that Earl would not pull punches the way the trainer at the exclusive health club had.
In fact, as Earl’s fist slammed into Graham’s jaw, Graham realized that his trainer had been treating Graham like a two-year-old. Graham barely managed to stay on his feet as white-hot pain flashed in his jaw.
Charlie screamed then dropped the reins and ran towards the bar. Graham mentally thanked her for leaving him to this humiliation in private. He spat out a bit of blood swimming in his mouth and briefly wondered if his jaw was broken. That pain hadn’t felt natural. He managed to duck Earl’s next compact swing at his face and then get off a swing of his own.
There was a satisfying crunch as Graham’s fist connected with Earl’s chin. Earl mildly shook his head, but to Graham’s utter disbelief and horror, seemed relatively unfazed. And then Graham felt the pain in his own hand from the punch. He barely managed to hold back his own scream. That didn’t happen on television when the good guy hit the bad guy.
Graham heard several female screams. Charlie was running out of the bar followed by her two sisters and every other patron. Graham’s distraction ended as Earl plowed a fist into his stomach followed by another one. Charlie screamed his name and Graham felt a burst of energy as he gave up trading punches and talked Earl to the ground.
Earl and Graham rolled around as the men from The Bar began hollering and whistling, forming a circle around them, just like kids in an elementary schoolyard. Graham deflected Earl’s powerful blows and landed a few of his own that at least slowed Earl down a little bit. The two men scrambled to their feet and Earl managed to land a few more punches. The crowd cheered in approval as one of Graham’s fists plowed into Earl’s nose and blood spewed in one direction. Earl stumbled several steps backwards, prompting a round of applause. For the first time since the fight began, Earl hesitated.
The sound of sirens suddenly rang in the air, and Graham caught a glimpse of the town’s two police cars speeding towards The Bar. Like cockroaches, people began to scatter. Graham held up his fists, prepared to continue, as Earl looked from the approaching police to Graham. Wyatt suddenly ran to Graham’s side, and Graham refused to acknowledge the relief he felt that he wouldn’t have to face the giant by himself again.
“Graham, what the hell is going on? I go to the bathroom and come out to find the bar empty…” Wyatt’s voice trailed off, as he followed Graham’s glare in the direction of Earl and cursed. “Your first fight in twenty years and you pick Earl McPhee?”
Earl abruptly ran towards a parked truck filled with a group of men who looked at each other with horror at the thought of giving Earl a ride. Graham didn’t lower his fists until Earl ordered the driver to drive and the truck sped down the road, away from the police cars. Graham released the breath he hadn’t known he was holding, then collapsed to his knees, drawing in the air that he had been deprived of during the last several seconds.
“Graham, my God, are you all right?” Quinn screeched, running to his side.
“He’ll live. It’s just a few scrapes,” Wyatt muttered, sounding suspiciously annoyed as he watched Quinn check Graham’s injuries.
“Scrapes, my ass. That man could have killed him,” Kendra chimed in, running to his other side.
Graham never thought it would have been possible, but he barely noticed the two women as he stared up at Charlie, who stood next to Wyatt. She sent him a small smile then walked towards the horse. And dammit if that wasn’t all Graham needed to see to make the whole thing worth it.
Chapter 7
“I don’t know about you all, but last night at The Bar confirmed two things for me,” Quinn announced the next morning, as she massaged sun block onto her shoulders then settled onto the lawn chair for optimal sun coverage of her bikini-clad body.
Charlie looked down from her perch on the ladder where she was attempting to repair the roof trim that had come loose. Charlie had become handy with a hammer from the constant small repairs that needed to be done around the African-American Art Center, despite the fact that the budget didn’t allow constant small repairs. But even Charlie had to admit that the repairs needed on this house went beyond her mediocre skills.
She had spent most of the morning scrubbing and disinfecting every inch of the house. She had gone through one whole bottle of disinfectant on her bathroom alone, but at least now she didn’t feel as though she had to put a toilet liner on the seat before sitting down or needed to take a shower with her bathing suit and flipflops on.
She grimaced as she almost hammered her thumb instead of the nailhead. After she dealt with the hammer, she still had ten cans of paint waiting on the porch for her. She was going to kill herself before this was all over.
“What was confirmed for you last night, Quinn? That you’re a bad dancer and that I’m a better dancer?” Kendra grunted from the front porch in midpush-up. Sweat gleamed off every taut and toned inch of her dark skin.
While Charlie had been cleaning, Kendra had been stretching, pulling, exercising and generally driving both Charlie and Quinn insane.
“You are not a better dancer than me, Kendra,” Quinn said, obviously insulted.
“If we’re having a contest over who can dance like a stripper, then you’re right, Quinn, you’d win hands-down. But, if we’re talking about real dancing, then you know I’d win hands-down,” Kendra shot back as she flipped onto her back to begin a dizzying assortment of sit-ups.
“What did you learn last night?” Charlie asked, interrupting Quinn’s retort to keep the fragile peace.
Quinn glared at Kendra one moment longer then looked at Charlie and said excitedly, “Graham Forbes is the most gorgeous man in this town, and I think we’ve seen them all, between the group that followed us when we went into town yesterday and the group at The Bar. I chose well, and I’m going to be very, very happy when I win our little contest. Did you see those muscles? There’s nothing like a man after a fight. All that testosterone and wounded male ego. Sephora and Niles, her third husband, had one of their best love scenes after his fight with his bitter rival, Milan.”
Charlie steadied herself on the ladder as her mouth became dry and her heart began to pound at the mention of Graham’s name. She had noticed Graham’s muscles. She had noticed everything about him. Just when she had written him off as another pretty face, as someone she would never deign to talk to even if he actually paid attention to her, he had stood up for her. No man, besides her grandfather, had ever defended her, and even then Grandpa Max had done it reluctantly.
Of course, afterwards, Graham had eagerly turned to Quinn’s and Kendra’s arms for their ministrations after the fight. Maybe Graham wasn’t the jerk she had thought he was, but he was still a normal red-blooded man. Unfortunately, that knowledge hadn’t stopped Charlie from dreaming about Graham for another night in a row. Vivid, erotic dreams that she usually only had after watching a Henry Simmons NYPD Blue episode.
Kendra paused mid sit-up to mutter, “I have to agree with you, Quinn.”
“That she’s going to win the bet?” Charlie asked, surprised, snapping from her daydreams.
“Of course not,” Kendra said, with a snort of disbelief. “I agree with her that Graham is the best product this town has. I’m going to have so much fun with him. All of that cowboy manliness and aggression…” Kendra visibly shivered in delight, then murmured with a grin, “I may even have to take him with me back to NewYork.”
Charlie pounded the next nail a little too hard and the sound echoed through the yard. Both of her sisters glanced at her.
“Are you all right, Charlie?” Quinn asked, concerned. “That ladder looks a little unsteady.”
“I’m fine,” she muttered.
“Charlie, you were outside when the fight between Graham and Andre the Giant started. What caused it?” Kendra asked curiously.
Charlie pretended to focus on the trim as she murmured, “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know—” Kendra’s question was cut off by the sound of a truck roaring down the driveway towards their house.
Charlie twisted on the ladder to see who the unexpected visitor was. Her palms became damp with sweat and her chest felt tight as she recognized Graham’s profile behind the steering wheel of the truck.
Quinn immediately positioned her body to the best advantage, while Kendra quickly dotted the sweat off her face with a towel. Even Charlie tried to smooth sweat-dampened clumps of hair back towards her ponytail. But, considering she had been working and sweating all day, there wasn’t much she could do in five seconds to make herself look presentable.
Graham parked the truck and stepped out. Charlie couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her lips. He wore his ubiquitous cowboy hat, jeans and another T-shirt. And his sexy smile. He was dangerous.
Quinn jumped to her feet as Kendra walked down the stairs. They reached him at the same time.
“Graham, your face,” Quinn gasped, as Kendra asked, “Does it hurt?”
Charlie swallowed the lump in her throat. He had a reddish-purple bruise on his right cheekbone and along his jaw, but otherwise he was no worse for the wear. In fact, his bruises hardened his almost too-perfect features, coincidentally enough, making him look more perfect. More manly.
“It only hurts when I breathe,” he replied, grinning at Kendra and Quinn. Or, more appropriately, grinning at their breasts, which were pushed forward for his display. Charlie narrowed her eyes as each woman pressed a kiss against his cheek and Graham didn’t seem to mind.
“You were very brave to take on that awful man,” Quinn cooed. “He could have killed you.”
Before Graham could respond, Kendra asked, “What in the world possessed you to take on that freak of nature? If you want to wrestle with someone, all you have to do is say the word. I’ll even let you win.”
Graham laughed, while Quinn glowered and Charlie gripped the hammer a little tighter. Graham stared across the yard at Charlie for the first time. His smile instantly disappeared.
“Charlie, that ladder doesn’t look steady,” he said, gruffly. “Get down from there before you break your neck.”
Charlie gritted her teeth at the flash of anger. Kendra and Quinn got grins and kisses, while she got a dismissive order. She had been killing herself all morning, trying to make the house remotely habitable while her sisters had sat on their butts, and they got Graham’s smiles and she got an order? She suddenly wanted to slap his too-perfect face.
“I’ve been on this ladder all afternoon. It’s fine,” she responded stiffly then turned back to the house.
Except she turned too fast. Suddenly, the ladder was wobbling and Charlie was wobbling. Her stomach sank as she realized that she was about to fall and break something. She dropped the hammer to hang onto the ladder with both hands, but instead her shifting weight caused the ladder to tilt farther to one side. She screamed as the ladder balanced on one stem for a moment then began to fall. She was propelled into the air.
But instead of hitting the porch, Charlie slammed into a just-as-hard but distinctly fleshy surface. Graham. Before they hit the ground, Graham’s strong arms wrapped around her and he twisted so that he hit the porch first, taking the brunt of the fall. She slammed onto his body, as the ladder fell harmlessly to one side. Just when she thought the worst had passed, she felt the spread of thick, warm paint spreading across her back and neck and, unfortunately, onto Graham, who was beneath her.
Silence covered the porch after the screams and collapse. Charlie did not want to open her eyes, but she did and stared straight into Graham’s enraged expression. His face, neck and shirt were covered with white paint, which looked ridiculously funny.
Charlie knew it would only make matters worse, but a giggle slipped past her lips. Graham’s eyes narrowed at her bubbling laughter and that instantly terminated all of her amusement.
She tried to scramble off him, and, instead, accidentally dug her elbow into his stomach. He winced in pain.
“Charlie, you’re killing him,” Quinn cried, running up onto the porch.
“Sorry,” she said, frantically, as Quinn and Kendra practically pulled her away to get to Graham. Charlie felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach as Graham, with paint dripping off him, limped to the railing of the porch.
“Do you need water or something?” Kendra asked, wiping paint off his face, which only worked to smear it into a war-paint decoration á la Braveheart cowboy.
“I think she knocked the breath out of you when you two went down,” Quinn said, worriedly, then asked Kendra, “Should we call an ambulance?”
Graham ignored her sisters and kept his laser gaze on Charlie. She picked up one of her discarded rags on the porch and hesitantly approached him. She moved to wipe paint off his arm, but he abruptly snatched the rag from her hand. He was more angry than she had thought, and that made her angry. Accidents happened. They seemed to happen more often when he was around, but it was just an accident.
“You’re a menace, lady,” he abruptly declared. “An honest-to-God menace. You could have killed yourself.”
“It was an accident,” she shot back through clenched teeth. After all, she was covered in paint, too. It would take her an hour to wash the paint out of her hair.
“Was last night an accident?” he shot back. “At the rate you’re going, I’ll be dead in another week.”
“What happened last night?” Kendra asked, surprised.
Neither Charlie nor Graham spared her a glance. Charlie informed Graham, icily, “I didn’t ask for your help last night. And I didn’t ask for your help now.”
Graham’s mouth flapped open in disbelief and outrage, and Charlie inwardly cursed because, even covered in paint and acting like an ogre, the man made her knees weak.
“You were about to run screaming into the night before I showed up,” he growled through clenched teeth.
“I don’t run from anything, including men like Earl McPhee or men like you. I dealt with Max Sibley for twenty-eight years. Believe that dealing with you two is a piece of cake,” she retorted.
His nostrils flared in anger as he said in a low and dangerous tone, “Are you actually comparing me to Earl McPhee?”
“Of course not,” she said, annoyed. “But, I didn’t ask you to step in last night, and I didn’t ask you to step in just now.”
Graham snorted in disbelief then threw the rag on the porch. He cast a quick glance at her sisters and said tightly, “Kendra and Quinn, always a pleasure.”
He shot Charlie another venom-filled look then stormed off the porch. He climbed into his truck and slammed the door so hard that Charlie briefly wondered if the glass would break. The truck kicked up dirt as it fishtailed then righted before Graham sped from the yard.
Tears coated Charlie’s eyes, and she blamed it on her stinging elbow that she had bumped on the ladder on her way down. Graham’s obvious dislike for her had absolutely nothing to do with it.
Quinn and Kendra suddenly moved in front of her, with identical expressions of murder on their faces.
“If you’ve run off Graham, I will never forgive you,” Quinn announced, then gingerly stepped over the paint puddles to walk into the house.
“Do you have to do everything in your power to alienate the one decent-looking man in this town?” Kendra asked, angrily. “I’m not even going to ask what happened last night because I don’t want to know, but you better make this right, Charlie. If I have to spend the next two weeks with just you two for company, things are going to get real unpleasant around here.”
Kendra jogged off the porch and down the road. Charlie sighed then looked at the paint-splattered porch. She should have stayed in L.A. She didn’t belong here. That much was clear.
Graham sped down the highway towards Bentonville. After his detour to the Sibley house, and then the return trip to his house to shower and change, he was running an hour late to pick up Theo from the local airport in Bentonville. Graham had turned off his cell phone fifty miles back after Theo’s sixth call demanding to know where he was. Theo and his Armani suits would not be able to tolerate the Bentonville airport for long, although airport was too nice a term for the one-room building with three chairs and a counter for the guard, Old Man Harris, to sit at and read the paper.
Graham knew exactly who to blame for the complaining he would have to endure from Theo during the one-hour drive back to Sibleyville. Charlie Sibley. He had not been exaggerating. The woman was a menace. Practically every time he was around her, he ended up with a bruise somewhere.
Graham refused to feel the slightest bit of guilt as her hurt expression swam through his mind. Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have screamed at her, but his heart had leaped into his throat when he had seen her balancing on a wooden ladder as old as he was. Graham had stopped at their house to ask them to dinner that night, but he had gotten distracted by Charlie. First, he had noticed her very nice-looking legs in a pair of shorts, then he had noticed her obvious plan to break those gorgeous legs. He had envisioned her tumbling from the ladder and breaking her neck, and that thought had shaken him, which had made him more curt than usual. And then the little fool had fallen.
His hands tightened around the steering wheel. He refused to dwell on the sight of her falling off the ladder. It was too disturbing.
Graham cursed again because he remembered the feel of Charlie on top of him. He usually liked his women slim, sophisticated and lethal, like Kendra, but he had momentarily forgotten that when Charlie’s softness and curves had been pressed against him. His one thought at that moment had been to hold her as long as he could. And maybe that was why Graham had become so angry at her. Yes, she was a menace and didn’t know her right hand from her left, but…there was something there.
Charlie shook his head at his thoughts. He had always been honest with himself and the idea of plunging in between her thighs and getting his hands on those luscious breasts had been his one driving thought since he had dodged Earl’s first punch. All of his dreams, or, more appropriately, porn-star fantasies last night had been about her—that is when the aches and pains from the fight weren’t enough to keep him awake.
The one-room Bentonville Airport came into view around the next bend. It wasn’t really an airport. It was just a building that local pilots used to hang out in while refueling. Graham pulled into the parking lot and bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing.
Theo sat on the sidewalk curb, next to one large designer suitcase. Old Man Harris’s beagle sat next to Theo, or actually on top of Theo, his nose close to Theo’s crotch. Graham could not picture Theo willingly allowing a dog to come near his designer suit, but then again Graham could not picture Theo anywhere near Sibleyville.
Theo was fastidious about his appearance and his surroundings. Three-piece suits and wingtips were not just part of his professional appearance, but a way of life. Graham would bet that Theo did not own a pair of jeans or tennis shoes. Nike and Adidas did not exist in Theo’s world. Theo’s ruthlessly short black hair was neat to the point of obsession. His chocolate-brown skin always gleamed, and his teeth were sparkling white and even.
Theo stood when he saw Graham get out of the truck. He whipped off his designer sunglasses and crossed his arms over his chest.
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