Tamara Sneed - At First Sight

Charlie wanted to kick the tire again because she realized that despite her supposed cynicism and analytical mind, she had just fallen in love at first sight. And judging from the sudden come-hither smiles that were fixed on Quinn’s and Kendra’s faces, she didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” the man spoke again in a deep, rumbling voice that slid down Charlie’s body to lodge like a ball of lead in her stomach.

When she didn’t respond, he took a step toward her, as if to help her stand. Charlie quickly stood to her feet, ignoring his outstretched large hand. The embarrassment flooded her face so quickly that she thought her body would incinerate. That would have been preferable to being subjected to the man’s direct, unflinching stare.

She averted her gaze to his right shoulder and noticed the black pickup truck parked at the mouth of the driveway. He must have driven up while she had been screeching at her sisters. Charlie was a twenty-nine-year-old grown woman who had a master’s degree in Art History, and who regularly gave lectures and presentations on varied subjects as a curator for the privately owned African-American Art Center in Los Angeles. In other words, she was an intelligent, successful, professional woman who shouldn’t have cared that a cowboy had seen her meltdown, but her heart slamming against her chest ignored her reasoned lecture and continued pounding.

“Charlie, you’re a mess. Let me help you,” Quinn said soothingly, as she quickly ran to her side.

Charlie watched in numb surprise as Quinn brushed the dirt off Charlie’s gray slacks. When Charlie saw the look Quinn sent the cowboy, Charlie wanted to strangle her.

“My poor sister is just frazzled after our long drive here,” Quinn said, with a flirtatious smile at the man, who Charlie noted with annoyance, sent a flirtatious smile back at her.

Not to be outdone by Quinn, Kendra stepped towards the man, her hand outstretched.

Kendra actually smiled as she purred, “Please tell me that you’re a resident of Sibleyville and not just a visitor.”

The man directed his thousand-watt smile at Kendra as he shook her hand. Charlie’s mood darkened when she noted that they held on to each other’s hands far longer than was appropriate.

“I’m a resident…for the moment. I live down the road,” he said, with the trace of a sardonic smile that made Charlie’s heart clog in her throat. He looked from Quinn to Kendra, skipping over Charlie. “I’m Graham Forbes, and you lovely ladies must be the Sibley sisters.”

“At your service,” Quinn murmured, as her gaze greedily drank him in from head to toe.

Charlie would have been embarrassed by Quinn’s boldness if she hadn’t been wishing she had the nerve to do and say the same thing.

“We heard you ladies were coming. Your grandpa’s lawyer asked us to turn on the power and lights, and we cleaned up the place as best we could…” His voice trailed off. Then he asked with a perplexed expression, “How long are you here for?”

Kendra took a few steps closer to the man. She planted her shapely legs in a wide stance and cocked her hip to one side like the pose of a glamorous model at the end of a catwalk. It would have been comical if she hadn’t looked so damn sexy.

“We’re here for two weeks. By the way, I’m Kendra Sibley, the oldest.”

Quinn quickly stepped next to Kendra and slightly bent forward, exposing the tops of her exquisite vanilla-tinted breasts. “And I’m Quinn, the youngest.”

Charlie knew it was her turn to step forward, but her legs felt too unsteady to consider operating them right now.

Besides, as with most men who stood within radius of the three sisters, Graham Forbes had forgotten that Charlie Sibley—the middle one, as she was more often known—existed.

“I didn’t expect you ladies to actually stay here, not with the state of this place. For a long time, we all thought that your grandpa had forgotten it,” he said, while nodding towards the house.

“Apparently, he did,” Kendra said, darkly, then flashed a smile at Graham. “But, we’re staying here. If it’s good enough for our grandfather, then it’s good enough for us. After his death, we figured what better way to feel closer to him and to understand him than to come to his childhood home. If it was just me, I could handle the dirt and rodents—I’ve dealt with worse vermin on Wall Street, but I don’t think my sisters can handle it. They’re not as accommodating as I can be.”

Charlie didn’t miss Kendra’s emphasis on the word accommodating. Judging from the amused and interested glint that entered Graham’s eyes he hadn’t either. Charlie wanted to smack them both.

“Kendra’s right. I’m not as hardy and masculine as her,” Quinn said, loudly, drawing Graham’s attention. Her voice softened to a bedroom whisper, as she said, “I’m more soft and open.”

Charlie couldn’t withhold her snort of disbelief. Apparently, it had also been a loud snort because all three turned to her. Charlie’s face burned with embarrassment once more as she tried to withstand the laser-sharp gaze of Graham Forbes. Against her will, her gaze dropped to his full lips. His lower lip was slightly more plump than the upper one.

She actually had to fight the urge to cross the dirt lot and take his lip between her teeth.

“So, you must be the middle sister,” Graham said, his tone polite and neighborly. One corner of his mouth lifted as he added, “Judging from the beating you gave that tire, you’re the one I should watch out for in a bar fight, right?”

Quinn and Kendra laughed, while Charlie just stared at him. His voice was so deep and warm. It reminded her of molasses, or grits or something hot and Southern. The baritone sound poured into her body and curled into something warm and welcoming.

Then she realized that she had been rendered mute by a cowboy. It was humiliating. When she still couldn’t force her mouth to open, she averted her gaze again and instantly spied her chocolate-laden bag in the trunk.

She grabbed it, murmured a choked “Excuse me,” and limped towards the house as fast as she could with her foot throbbing with pain and her dignity in shreds.

“As members of the city council, it’s your job to look out for this town’s best interests. And the best interests of this town…”

Graham Forbes blocked out the rest of the speech being given by Mayor Boyd Robbins. He had heard it all before during the six months he had spent on the Sibleyville City Council, a position he was still trying to figure out how he had gotten. The issue might change, but Robbins always found something supposedly in the town’s best interests that usually involved either he or his two sons profiting in one form or another.

Graham felt an ache growing at his temples and rubbed his forehead to soothe the pressure. He glanced around the small cramped meeting room in city hall. As usual, all the windows were shut tight, even though it was the middle of summer and the old building had never been upgraded to air conditioning. As usual, Robbins’ long-suffering wife, Alma, sat in a chair in the corner of the room, taking notes of everything Robbins said, although she usually stopped writing whenever anyone else spoke. And, as usual, the four other city council members managed to look intrigued, as if they had never heard this exact same speech before. And since the other four had gotten elected to the city council around the same time the telephone had been invented—and Robbins had been making the same speech about that long—Graham knew they must have.

Graham was the youngest person in the room by about three decades, and considering he was thirty-two years old, he wasn’t exactly young, and he was feeling older by the second. He wondered how his father had done this, year after year. Not only this, but everything else that came with living and operating a ranch in Sibleyville. Yet now Lance Forbes was finding it difficult even to endure the physical therapy that would get him back on track after a heart attack six months ago.