Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Alex pulled into a downtown parking spot in Prophecy, so effing thankful Greer Maddox had only watched over his shoulder for a few minutes before taking off.
Because while she’d been standing there on the roadside with him, she’d been getting an eyeful of his shitty car—one of the few things he owned.
The discomfort of that and her nearness made sweat wind its way down his side.
It had taken everything he had not to rip off his shirt and scratch his damn ribcage. But he’d restrained himself because any woman who looked like a sexy girl next door and was nice enough to help a complete stranger didn’t want an eyeful of Alex’s torso.
He killed the car, and it sputtered and farted before finally giving up.
A hard thump on the steering wheel didn’t do a damn thing for his frustration.
He needed this car to limp along for a while longer.
Getting another set of wheels would cost him five grand minimum, and even that wouldn’t buy him any more reliability than he had now.
Besides, a car wasn’t the way he planned to spend the cash he’d so carefully stashed away over the years. At first, it had been twenty bucks here. Ten bucks there. Because his first priority had always been mailing a check to his mamá.
Now, he was so fucking close to being able to set up shop for himself in Georgia. His mamá and brother had been safe there since he’d gotten them out of San Antonio, so Alex had every reason to believe his presence wouldn’t threaten that safety the way it would’ve right after…
Right after he’d made a mess of his family.
Don’t forget for a minute the reason you’re in this town is to clean up the mess you made.
His black plastic portfolio in hand, he pushed out of the car, the door protesting with a metal-on-metal scrape.
He’d purposefully parked a few doors down from Prophecy Boot Company, enough space for a couple of deep breaths and a quick look around.
The sidewalks were clear of trash and fancied up with perfectly shaped trees and what looked like hand-carved benches.
If flakes of white had been falling from the sky, Alex might’ve believed he’d stepped into a snow globe.
Places like this had never existed for him. And never would.
Don’t look too close or like it too much, because you sure as hell ain’t staying here.
In front of him was a big window display for Bostick’s General Store.
Alex scoped out the scene and couldn’t hold back a laugh.
Someone had set up a headless mannequin holding a garden hoe.
All around the Ichabod Crane guy were tightly curled water hoses—one tan, one green, and one black, red, and yellow—with their nozzles poking up.
The dude was up to his ass in fake snakes. Yeah, Alex knew exactly how that felt, but the snakes in his life had never been fake. They were flesh and blood and went by the name Tejanos Pintados.
He shook out the tension in his arms and strode toward the boot shop. The sign hanging outside was simple, a wooden oval swinging from black chain, but something about it spoke of stability, reliability. And that was what Alex needed right now. A stable and reliable way to make more money.
He pushed open the door, and the showroom—a space with a couple of display cases holding belts and what looked like boot-shaped Christmas ornaments, a fitting chair, and a wall full of framed maps—was empty.
But he could see through a plate-glass window into the back workroom.
Two women, one blond and the other a wild-haired brunette who’d already thrown him off his stride, turned to scope him out.
The light-haired woman hurried out of the back room, beelined between the two waist-high display cases, and stuck out her hand. “You must be Alex. I’m Delaney Shields, the bootmaker here. Greer tells me you had a little car trouble?”
He slipped on the limited charm he reserved for occasions like this and shook. “I made it all the way from Montana before she threw a fit.”
“Long way to drive for a meeting.”
What she meant was a meeting that might or might not turn out the way he wanted, but he gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Not a big fan of planes.”
“Well, c’mon into the workshop. I don’t have any appointments to take measurements, but if someone steps in, I’ll just slip out and let you and Greer go on without me.”
Delaney led him to the back, and Alex forced himself to smile at his fan belt fairy instead of checking her out like he’d done as she walked back to her car on the side of the highway.
Dressed in square-toe cowboy boots, jeans, and a white-and-blue embroidered shirt with a tassel tie at the neckline, she had the kind of body that just did it for him.
Full breasts, curvy hips, stuff a man could hold on to.
But the only body part it was socially acceptable for him to touch on this woman was her hand.
He reached out to shake since his own hands were clean now. “I didn’t get a chance to say thank you earlier.”
“Oh, you had plenty of opportunity.” Her tone was teasing, and she placed her smaller hand in his. “You were just in a snit.”
Unlike Delaney’s handshake, Greer’s skin against his shot a smooth burn up his arm and into his chest, as if he’d just gulped a shot of Casa Dragones. And just like the sipping tequila made a man want another drink immediately, he wanted to touch her again. “Men don’t have…ah…”
Jesus, she’d short-circuited his brain.
“I think the word you’re looking for is snits.”
“Well,” Delaney said with bright cheer, “I’m glad you two are already such good friends.”
Alex realized he was still holding Greer’s hand, and he dropped contact as if her fingers had suddenly become fangs.
“Let’s get started,” Delaney said. They all settled around a rectangular worktable, with Delaney and Greer on one side and him on the other.
“So, from our phone conversation, you already know Prophecy Boot Company is a family business. But I thought you might be interested in a little of the shop’s history. ”
“Sure.” Anything to keep his focus on business instead of feeling personal—intensely personal—impulses he shouldn’t toward Greer Maddox.
Delaney turned to Greer, passing the conversational baton. “Prophecy was originally settled by my family some six generations ago. The first bootmaker had been taught to make military boots during the Civil War, a time when the craft wasn’t particularly sophisticated.”
His mouth twitched up. “Yeah, wearing the same shaped boot on both feet doesn’t sound like the ultimate in comfort.”
She beamed at him as if he was a student who’d just aced his first spelling test. Why that should make a ball of pride pulse in his chest, he had no idea.
“Well, he was lucky enough to marry a woman with good fashion sense, and she talked him into not only creating boots that were made to go on each foot but to also make them pretty. She drew the designs—birds, flowers, whatever caught her fancy—and he made them.”
Which was pretty damn cool. The Maddox family could claim they invented the modern cowboy boot.
“Whenever he could find pretty leather, he began making christening gifts for some of the local children. And as those kids grew up, something interesting happened. They lived good lives, happier and healthier than most people did back in that day. They made good marriages and their spouses seemed to live longer as well.”
Hell. When he’d spoken with Delaney over the phone, she’d mentioned the prophecy boot concept to him, and of course, he’d heard rumors over the years about Whit Maddox and his loco claim that he made fortune-telling boots.
Alex believed that about as much as he believed his abuela could tell the future by floating an egg in tap water.
People would fall for any kind of bullshit.
Whatever. He didn’t have to believe what they were slinging in order to work on their leather. “So this has always been a family business, but isn’t Delaney’s last name Shields?”
“Name has nothing to do with it. There’s only one prophecy bootmaker in each generation. And Delaney is it.”
“Why not your brother or you?”
“Because neither of us have the special ability it takes, and Delaney does,” she said simply, but her expression tightened, so slightly he almost missed it.
But he missed very little. In his old world, his old familia, missing a detail could get a vato killed.
“I’m actually a glassblower with my own studio here in town, but my brother and I are still part owners of PBC.
And if Delaney and I like what we see and hear today, you’ll also meet my brother, Cal.
Now that you know a little about our family, we’d love to hear a little about you and yours. ”
Oh, no way in hell. They were not up for discussion. So he avoided her open, friendly blue-eyed gaze and slid his focus to Delaney. “I brought my portfolio. You said you were looking for an excellent leather tooler and that’s what I came to talk about today.”
“Let’s take a look at what you’ve got,” Delaney said, saving him from going down a path that had nothing to do with his ability to work leather.
He zipped open the case. “I brought a few samples, pictures of past projects, and some additional sketches. As you can imagine, I don’t get to keep most of the pieces I carve.”
“Hmm.” Delaney was already sifting through his drawings.
Greer, on the other hand, immediately leaned across the table and snatched up a piece of leather dyed a burnt sienna and tooled with an intricate oak leaf pattern.
She held it to her nose, inhaled deeply, which lifted her breasts until Alex could see the rounded tops over the braided tie neckline of her shirt.
Alex wanted to squeeze his eyes closed, but he averted his gaze to the tabletop. So help him God, if he got out of here with a contract, he would stick a branding iron in his eyes if that was what it took to keep from eyeballing this woman.