Do Me Right. Cindi MyersЧитать онлайн книгу.
show you where to put your things and we’ll go over the operation of the autoclave.”
Cherry deposited the cat on the floor and followed Theresa to the storage closet that served as headquarters for the sterilization equipment. “It’s the same kind my mom and dad have,” she said when Theresa opened the door.
“So I guess you really did grow up in the business,” Theresa said, impressed but not wanting to show it too much.
“I started apprenticing when I was a teenager and I’d work summers and holidays for extra money. It’s interesting work, but music’s really where I want to make my career.” Her expression turned sheepish. “I hope it’s okay for me to say that. I like to be up-front with people.”
“I appreciate that.” It was a little scary how together this chick was. Theresa knew there was no way she’d been this calm and confident at Cherry’s age. “Why don’t we go back up front?”
Scott was still sulking behind the counter. “Why don’t you show Cherry how to get into the computer,” Theresa said. She turned to Cherry. “We’re trying to get all the scheduling and ordering and things like that computerized, but we’re not there yet.”
She nodded. “My parents are technophobes, too. I keep telling them to join the twenty-first century, but they don’t get it.”
Now Theresa felt like an Amazon crone. She was only seven years older than Elf Girl, but it might as well have been twenty. “Scott’s doing a good job of getting us on track,” she said. “He can explain the system to you.”
“Yeah, sure.” He moved over to make room for Cherry in front of the computer.
Ten minutes later, as she was prepping her two o’clock customer—a truck driver named Alan—Theresa congratulated herself on her smooth handling of the potential conflict between Scott and Cherry. The two were both bent over the computer, engrossed in talk of databases, spreadsheets and operating systems.
She’d just started outlining a wolf’s head on Alan’s ankle when the door bells sounded again and a woman in a pink smock took a hesitant step inside. “Uh, I’m looking for a Miss Theresa Jacobs,” she said.
Theresa shut off the tattoo machine. “That’s me.”
“Oh! Then I do have the right place.” Eyes wide, the woman stared around the room.
“Can I help you?” Theresa prompted.
“Oh! Yes. Just a minute. I’ll be right back.” She exited again, the temple bells jangling in her wake.
“Something tells me she didn’t stop by for a tat,” the man in the chair said.
“Sorry about the interruption,” Theresa apologized.
He shrugged. “I’m not in any hurry.”
The woman reappeared in the doorway, her face almost hidden by a large arrangement of yellow roses in a glass vase. “Where should I put these?” she asked.
Theresa’s mouth dropped open. After a stunned silence, she managed to speak. “Why are you bringing those in here?”
“You said you were Theresa Jacobs, right?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“These flowers are for you.” She set the arrangement on the front counter and pointed to the tiny emblem on the left breast pocket of her smock. “From Pecan Street Florists.”
“Why is a florist’s shop sending me flowers?”
The woman laughed. “Oh, they’re not from us. We’re just delivering them. There’s a card on the arrangement.” Her gaze shifted to the man in the chair, and her eyes widened again as she zeroed in on the beginnings of the tattoo there. “I’ve always wondered—doesn’t that hurt?”
“Not much.” He grinned. “You ought to try it sometime.”
The delivery woman blushed. “I don’t think… At least, I never…” She shook her head. “I have to go now. Enjoy your flowers.”
When she was gone, they all stared at the roses. There had to be at least a dozen of them, a soft yellow with a blush of pink at the tips of the petals, baby’s breath and greenery arranged around them. “They’re gorgeous,” Cherry said.
“Aren’t you going to check the card?” Scott said.
“Maybe later.” She switched on the tattoo machine again. In all her twenty-eight years, no one had ever sent her flowers. She wasn’t sure how to act.
“Oh, go on, check the card,” her customer said. “I’m curious now, too.”
Reluctantly she shut off the machine and stripped off her gloves, then walked up to the counter.
Up close, the arrangement was even prettier. She wanted to bury her nose amid the buds and see if they smelled like anything. She wanted to feel the petals and see if they were as velvety soft as they looked. But she didn’t want to look like a fool in front of everyone, so all she did was reach up and snatch the card from its holder.
The envelope was unsealed, and the card inside was a simple white one. “I’m looking forward to tonight. Kyle.”
“Ooooh, you’re blushing!” Cherry squealed. She elbowed Scott in the ribs. “It must be good.”
“I’ll bet it’s from that cowboy.” Scott leaned over the counter and looked at her around the flowers. “Isn’t it?”
“What cowboy?” Cherry asked.
Theresa hated that she was blushing. She wasn’t the kind of woman who blushed. But then, she wasn’t the kind of woman men sent flowers to, either. She tucked the card inside her top, away from prying eyes. “I suggest we all get back to work,” she said and walked briskly back to her customer.
“It is your birthday or something?” he asked.
She shook her head and put on a new pair of gloves. “No, it isn’t.”
He grinned. “Well, whoever sent you those, I’d say they have good taste.”
Because the flowers he’d chosen were so pretty, or because he’d sent them to her? She didn’t ask. “Why don’t you just relax and we’ll get started again.” She told herself to focus on her work, to stop thinking about the flowers or Kyle Cameron. It was bad enough he’d thrown her for a loop with his kisses. What the hell did he think he was doing turning all romantic and sending her flowers?
4
THERESA WAS ALONE IN THE shop when Kyle showed up, just after eleven. He stood on the sidewalk for a minute, watching her through the window as she tidied up around the front counter. She moved with swift efficiency, leaving order in her wake with that knack some women have for setting things to rights with seemingly little effort.
He spotted the roses by the cash register and grinned. She probably hadn’t expected those, not after the businesslike way she’d agreed to their “arrangement.” But just because they were being practical didn’t mean he couldn’t throw in a few surprises to keep things interesting.
He made one last check of his reflection in the glass and straightened the bandanna knotted at his neck. Polished boots, creased jeans, starched white shirt and leather vest completed the look, topped by his best Stetson 10X Rancher.
She jumped when the door opened and whirled to face him, a feather duster in one hand. The sight of her in her leather miniskirt and vest with that duster struck him as incongruous. And sexy as hell. Like one of those French maid costumes with a kinky twist. He grinned. “I never was much for housework, but I might be persuaded to help if you promise to tickle me with your feathers there.”
She threw the duster at him, hitting him squarely in the chest, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Hands on her hips, she looked him up and down,