Worth the Risk. Charlene SandsЧитать онлайн книгу.
dressed in dark slacks and a western shirt. He’d offered to drive her to the motor hotel to pack her belongings and then take her to the airport to catch her flight to Boston. He plopped his Stetson on his head, looking like a Worth through and through as he stood by the bed, arms folded, watching her slip on her brown leather boots.
“There,” she said, closing up the long zipper and straightening to full height, adjusting her feet in the boots. She met his eyes as she put on her blazer and gave her hair a toss. “I’m ready to go.”
He glanced at her boots and then lifted his gaze to follow the contour of her legs. He had the oddest expression on his face but quickly shook it off. He took her hand and led her out the door. “Let’s get outta here.”
They’d made a pact and the old cliché held true. What happens in Vegas …
Sharing a secret with Jackson Worth could be thrilling. If only it wasn’t so darn necessary.
Two
It was early fall back in Boston, just when the leaves were starting to turn and the entire city was awash with burnt-orange and gold foliage. It was by far Sammie’s favorite time of year, when cooler air replaced summer humidity and fresh breezes rustled the trees. But there was no rustling of trees in Arizona. Not today anyway. The air was still and the land desolate but for the vegetation and shrubbery that had been transplanted to the desert from more tropical climes.
She would miss her hometown, but her life was no longer there and as soon as she’d landed at Sky Harbor Airport yesterday and stepped foot on Arizona soil, new excitement, a thrill she hadn’t felt for a long time, surged through her system. This was it—her chance to make a fresh start. Her life would be here now and she had every intention of looking toward the future.
She stood in the middle of the large empty storefront, her eyes darting from the shiny hardwood flooring covering the expanse of the room, to the clean, unadorned walls. She took in the subtle scent of fresh paint. Lifting her head, she viewed thick beams of wood crisscrossing the ceiling, giving it a rustic charm. The place was perfect and in that perfection, she also saw Jackson Worth’s handiwork. He’d picked a great Scottsdale location for the boutique, right smack in the heart of prime shopping for the middle to upper class of Phoenix society.
The sound of her boots clicking against the floors echoed her movements as she walked toward the front door. It was a lonely sound, one that reminded her of all she’d lost, of the emptiness she’d fought for months, but Sammie wouldn’t allow her mind to go there today. She had too much to be thankful for and heaven knew, she’d cried enough for two lifetimes already.
Poking her head outside, she noted a trendy Southwestern restaurant a few steps down the street, a smoke shop, a fancy children’s boutique and a little café with tables set for two outside the entrance. Warmth filled her chest and she whispered, “This is home now.”
Yesterday, Tagg and Callie had insisted on picking her up from the airport and had driven her to her new apartment. Callie must have offered a dozen times for Sammie to stay with them at Worth Ranch, but Sammie would never impose on them. Callie was eight months pregnant and the expectant couple deserved to enjoy this very special time in their lives without a houseguest.
Upon Jackson’s recommendation, Sammie had used an online service to find a furnished rental in a Spanish-style building with adobe archways and a red stone tiled garden patio. She’d sold everything she’d owned in Boston in a symbolic act meant to add closure to her old life. Only a few special pieces were salvaged from her father’s meager estate. She’d placed in storage her father’s favorite lounge chair, an antique grandfather clock that cuckooed on the hour and a few other items she couldn’t bear to part with belonging to her parents.
“Welcome to Arizona, neighbor.” She jumped at the sound and turned to find a man wearing a chef’s apron approaching from the café. His broad smile creased the perfect planes of his olive-toned face. His voice held the slightest hint of a Spanish accent as each word was enunciated with emphasis when he spoke.
He came to stand before her and stretched out his hand in greeting. “I’m Sonny Estes. I own Sonny Side Up Café.”
“Hello. I’m Sammie Gold. Great name, by the way.” She slipped her hand in his grasp and he gave it one distinct shake, before releasing her. “Sonny Side Up, I mean. I noticed your storefront this morning.”
“Thanks. You’re putting a boot store in here, correct?”
Surprised, she inclined her head a little with curiosity. “That’s right. How’d you know?”
“Jack’s a friend of mine. And my landlord, but I forget that on occasion. Like when I crush him on the court.”
She blinked and tried to picture the GQ cowboy in white shorts. “Tennis?”
His eyes crinkled with amusement. “No, no. Basketball.”
“Oh.” That made more sense to her for some reason.
“He told me you’d be coming by to see the place.” He peered over her shoulder at the empty shop behind. “What do you think?”
“It’s great. I mean it will be once I get my merchandise in here. I’ve got a pretty good idea already how I want this place to look.”
“The location can’t be beat. We get our share of local shoppers, but we also do well with tourists. Scottsdale is the Beverly Hills of Arizona.
She smiled. She’d heard that before. “All the better then.”
“I’m glad Worth finally filled this spot. Not good for business, you know, to have empty shops on the boulevard.”
“That’s true.”
“Stop by the café sometime and I’ll buy you a meal.” He winked and started walking backward. “I must get back to the kitchen. We usually pack the house at lunchtime.”
Sammie waved goodbye to him and returned to the empty store, walking toward a back room that would serve as her office. She sat down on a neon green children’s chair that was left behind, she presumed, when the space was called Kyra’s Korner, a playland venue for small children. Jackson said the idea of an indoor babysitting activity center was sound, but it hadn’t been situated in the right location. He had more faith in Boot Barrage.
The thought made her smile. Jackson liked boots. On women. Oh, who was she kidding? Jackson simply liked women, period. And they liked him back.
She leaned forward in the teensy seat, trying to forget about her little rendezvous with him in Vegas. The more she thought about it, the more she was glad she couldn’t remember much of the night she spent in his bed. You can’t long for what you can’t remember. So, it was a good thing her memory of that night was virtually nonexistent.
The back door opened with a yawning sound and she spun her head to find Jackson stepping over the threshold. He bolted the door shut behind him and approached her with a laid-back smile. “Hey, Sammie.”
“Oh, hi.” She wished her breath wouldn’t catch every time she set eyes on him. He was beautiful, no matter what expression he had on his face or what clothes he wore on his body, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Today he had on jeans and a black jacket over a white cotton shirt. His hair, thick and rich as dark wheat, was covered with a tan felt hat. His eyes held a perpetual hint of mischief and were aimed at her calf-length boots.
He studied them, his eyes raking over the soft mocha leather straps and silver studs. She had her jeans tucked into them today, making her feel more like a Southwest woman than a Boston greenhorn.
He met her gaze. “Nice.”
Self-conscious and a little flustered, she rose from the table to face him. “Thanks. I’m a walking advertisement for my boots.”
“Who wouldn’t stop to admire … them,” he asked as his gaze flowed over her legs, moved higher to touch on her breasts and then finally