Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Hollie
My best friend looks up at the sky and frowns. “I was gonna take you for hot chocolate and muffins at the diner,” she tells me, “but this looks like it could be heavy snow and Dina’s not a fan of that.”
“Dina?” I say.
“My truck.”.
I glance down the street to where the rust bucket is parked. “Is Dina going to make it back to the ranch, Annie? We’re not going to get stuck in a snowdrift, are we?”
Annie snorts. “This is not some kind of Christmas movie, Hollie. And anyway, the snow’s light now, it’s just a precaution.”
Except Dina obviously disagrees, because when Annie turns the ignition several minutes later, the engine does nothing.
Not a rumble, not a cough, not a splutter.
It’s deadly silent. Annie’s not perturbed.
After all, it took three attempts to start the truck last time.
She turns the key a second time. A second time, nothing happens.
The third time is exactly the same, and the fourth, and the fifth, and the sixth.
By the tenth time, Annie finally admits defeat.
“Darn it,” she says. “You can’t die on me right before Christmas, Dina.”
As soon as she says the words, she realizes what she’s said, glancing my way in horror. “I’m so sorry, Hollie.”
“Don’t worry about it, Annie. You don’t have to refrain from mentioning death in front of me for evermore. It won’t actually kill me.”
“I know,” she says. “I just don’t want to make you sad.”
“Make me sad? I’ve just had the most amazing morning and I’m going to spend my afternoon crocheting mini dicks.” I grin at her. “That’s if we can make it back to the house.”
“Yeah,” Annie tugs out her cell phone and hits dial, “I’ll call Dad,” she says, bringing the cell up to her ear. Annie explains to her dad what’s happened. Then she hangs up and turns to me. “Looks like it’s hot chocolate and muffins in the diner after all.”
We jump back down from the truck and trudge our way through the snow to the diner.
It’s toasty warm inside, and I’m more than happy to while away more time drinking coffee, eating muffins, and having Annie point out the other regulars in the diner, who they are, and little stories about each one of them.
“I can’t believe you know everyone in this town,” I say in disbelief.
“Well, there’s only 3,000 of us,” Annie says. “There’s not that many to know.”
“Doesn’t it get … you know, claustrophobic at times? Everyone knowing your business and all that stuff.”
“Nope,” Annie says, “because it’s kind of nice.
And people always help each other out in this town.
Like when Dad’s knee finally gave up the ghost – there was a week while Mom was sick with the flu in bed – and the neighbors delivered them home-cooked food every night, and after Clay’s accident and he needed specialist back surgery in New York, the community rallied round to raise the funds for him to go. ”
“What?” I say, halting mid-muffin-bite. “What accident?”
My friend glares at me like she can’t believe I don’t know what she’s talking about. But I don’t. I have no idea.
“The accident he had when he was eighteen. You know, the one that ended his big rodeo dreams.”
I shake my head. “You never told me about that.”
Annie grimaces. “I didn’t? I guess it’s something none of us likes to talk about. Bad memories,” she visibly shudders. “I saw it happen. For a moment, I thought … well, I thought he was dead.”
“Shit! What did happen?”
“He got thrown from a horse in a rodeo competition. Which was nothing new for Clay. He knows how to fall from a horse and not get hurt.” I shudder – I can’t imagine ever falling from a horse and not being hurt by it.
“But that one time he landed in this crazy-ass position and it broke his back. He’s lucky he’s still walking. ”
“I had no idea.”
“Like I said, it’s not something we talk about.” She scoops cream from the top of her hot chocolate and licks it off the spoon. “Anyway, the only downside of living in a small town like Silver Creek,” Annie says, “and the reason I moved away in the first place, is the serious lack of men.”
I wonder if that’s strictly true – after all, there’s three eligible, available Alphas back at Big Sky Ranch, and Annie herself seems to have found herself one hot barman.
“So what’s going to happen when the Christmas break ends?
” I ask her, thinking of said hot barman.
“You’re going back to Lamford and you’re leaving Travis behind? ”
“I’m not sure,” she says. “At first I thought it was just a festive fling, but I really like him.” She turns her cell phone on the table, hits a button, and her screen fills with messages, all from Travis, the barman.
“He’s really keen,” I say.
“I’m really keen. I think we might try the long-distance thing. Or maybe…”
“Maybe?” I say.
“I was thinking of moving back,” she tells me.
“Really?”
I’ve always known that Annie loved her home, but I also thought she had bigger ideas and bigger ambitions. Once she moved away, I thought that would be it for her. Seems I was wrong.
“Yeah,” she continues, “and not just because of Travis. I miss this place, I miss this town, I miss the fresh air, the countryside, I miss the horses, I miss my mom and dad. Sometimes,” she says, “I even miss Clay,” she rolls her eyes, “although those times are few and far between.”
“You really do hate your big brother, don’t you?” I tease.
“No,” she says. “I don’t hate him.”
I raise an eyebrow at her.
“Seriously, Hollie. He annoys the heck out of me. But that’s all big brothers, isn’t it? He’s a good guy, really. He’d make a really good partner for an Omega one day,” she says, giving me a look.
“You’re not insinuating …”
“I saw the way you looked at him when he was cutting down that tree yesterday.”
“Any woman would have looked at him that way.”
“You’re a pervert, Hollie Bright,” she tells me.
“You’re the one requesting I crochet you mini dicks,” I remind her.
“True.” She tips back her mug and finishes the last of her hot chocolate, a big dollop of cream ending up on the end of her nose. I decide I’m not going to tell her about it.
She spins her cell phone back toward herself and peers at the time. “Do you want another one?” she says, pointing at our mugs. “Dad should be here any minute, but we could probably convince him to join us.”
I peer out at the window where it’s now snowing heavily, lovely big clumps of white dust falling from the gray clouds that hang in the sky above the town.
A few trucks and vehicles rumble along the main street, their headlights shining, their wipers swishing.
I’m on the lookout for Mr. J. Instead, I spy Clay Jackson in his truck.
I expect him to drive right by us. Instead, he swings his truck into a space and then he’s hopping out, knocking his hat onto his head as he does.
“Talking of the devil,” I say, pointing her brother out to Annie.
“Oh,” Annie moans. “I bet Mom’s sent him to get us instead of Dad.”
“You just said–”
“I know, I know. But I’m going to get a lecture,” she tells me.
Clay spots us through the window, waves, and his little sister beckons him inside.
He hesitates for a moment, his gaze finding mine, and then he’s pushing on the diner door and striding inside.
There’s something about the man – his large frame, his good looks, his confident swagger – that has everybody in the diner turning to glance his way.
“Howdy,” he mutters, tipping his hat at everyone, and then joining us at the table. “You ready to go, ladies?” he asks.
“Actually,” Annie says, “we were going to have another of these.” She motions at the hot chocolate. “Maybe you’d like to join us?” He looks a little surprised at that suggestion. “It’s Christmas, after all,” Annie reminds him.
“Okay,” he grunts.
“Great,” Annie says. “You can grab them for us.”
He glares at her. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“Yep,” Annie says.
And I giggle at the two of them. I always wished I’d had a sibling, and as much as Annie does moan about her brother and as much as he rolls his eyes at his little sister, I can see how much they care about each other.
Mom’s illness and everything that happened afterwards would have been a whole lot easier to handle if there’d have been someone to share that burden with.
“How do you take your hot chocolate, Hollie?” he asks me.
“Cream, a chocolate flake, marshmallows – the works,” I tell him.
He snorts. “I suppose you take your coffee the same way.”
“Nope. I like my coffee blacker than the depths of hell.”
He raises an eyebrow at that.
“That’s also how Clay likes his coffee,” Annie says, “because it suits his mood and his soul.”
Clay scowls at his little sister. “Be careful, or I’ll be coming back with just a water for you.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
He smirks and marches toward the counter.
“He better not come back with water,” she mutters.
But he doesn’t. He returns a moment later with our two hot chocolates – cream, marshmallows, flakes and all – and for him, just that black coffee. He also has a plate of something balanced in his hands. He deposits it all on the table and takes the seat opposite me and Annie.
“What’s that?” I ask him, pointing to the rich-looking tart in front of him.
“This, Hollie Bright, is wild berry tart. Ever tried it before?”
I shake my head.
“Then you need to try it now. You can’t come visit the Rockies, you can’t come visit Silver creek, and not try some.
” He slides the plate over to me and passes me the fork, our fingertips brushing together ever so briefly, but it’s enough to send electricity scooting up my arm.
“It’s cooked with berries picked from the county, and Eileen makes the best pie this side of Denver. ”
I nod with approval and sink the prongs of my fork into the gooey-looking tart. I scoop it up along with a bit of cream and place it inside my mouth. The taste is immediately sweet and surprisingly tangy, and I groan with satisfaction.
“Oh my goodness, that’s good,” I say, passing the fork back to him.
He shakes his head. “I got it for you.”
“Clay doesn’t eat sweet things,” Annie says.
And I swear the Alpha’s eyes flash at those words, something his sister doesn’t spot, but I definitely do.
“I can’t eat all this,” I say. “I already ate pancakes for breakfast, and we had a chocolate chip muffin before you arrived. You have to share it with me.”
“Told you,” Annie says. “Clay doesn’t eat sweet things.”
I ignore my best friend, scoop up another piece of pie, and offer it up to the Alpha sitting across from me.
He meets my gaze for a moment and then he’s leaning forward, opening his mouth, and I swear my arm starts shaking as I feed him the piece of pie between his lips.
He captures the prongs of the fork between his lips for just a second, holding my gaze in his, and then he slides them along the prong, releasing them, chewing, swallowing, and licking his lips.
“Surprised he didn’t spit it out,” Annie mutters.
And I jolt. For a moment I’d forgotten she was there.
“Can I have some?” Annie asks.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” I say.
Annie snatches the fork from my hand and slides the plate toward her.
“It’s really good,” I say. “I’m going to have to get the recipe.”
Clay says nothing. He’s still staring at me. And because that’s really intense, I start blabbing in the way I always do when a handsome man captures me in his gaze. Not that that’s ever happened before.
“My mom used to make apple pie. She got the recipe from her mom, who got it from her mom, who got it from her mom. And she taught me how to make it. It’s possibly the best apple pie ever,” I say.
“I’d like to try that,” Clay says.
Annie almost chokes on her mouthful. “What’s happened to you, Clay Jackson?” she says.
“Nothing.” He picks up his mug and takes a long swig of coffee as he sits back in his chair. “I’ve always liked apple pie.”
Annie offers me up the last remaining piece of the wild berry pie, and I gobble it up, finishing my hot chocolate, trying not to notice the way the Alpha is still staring at me. When I’m finished, I have to admit I feel just a little bit queasy.
“I need to eat a ton of carrots now,” I say, “and lettuce. I actually feel quite sick.”
“You’re not going to vomit on me again, are you?” Clay asks – although he says it with just a hint of a smile that makes me think … is he flirting with me?
“You better sit in the front seat, then,” Annie says, wiping her mouth on the napkin. “Otherwise, Clay’s driving is likely to make you vomit.”
“I drive a hell of a lot better than you do, Annie. And I’ve never run my truck into the ground.”
“Your truck is like a year old,” Annie says. “Mine is over 20.”
“Yeah, and not moving anywhere today, is it?” he says, thumbing in the direction of the two trucks parked out front. “Anyway, better get going.” He peers over his shoulder. “Snow’s getting heavier.”