Charlotte Carter - Big Sky Reunion

“Your door is.” Daniel’s boots tramped across the wood floor until his long, jean-clad legs materialized in front of the display case. “Hey, Goldilocks. Looks like you’re hard at work.”

“I am.” Melinda considered asking him if he’d enjoyed his date with April, but thought better of it. Instead, she squirted window cleaner on the next section of glass.

“Is Aunt Martha planning to reopen the shop?”

“We’re thinking about it.” She swirled the glass cleaner around, blurring her view of his legs.

“That a fact?” he drawled, an arrogant grin in his voice. “Want some help?”

She lifted her head too fast, whacking it on the inside of the display case. She rubbed the back of her skull.

“No! I’m fine.” She looked up at him. Foolish woman! She should’ve known he’d be grinning at her, a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made his dark eyes flash with amusement.

A multipublished author of more than fifty romances, cozy mysteries and inspirational titles, Charlotte Carter lives in Southern California with her husband of forty-nine years and their cat, Mittens. They have two married daughters and five grandchildren. When she’s not writing, Charlotte does a little stand-up comedy, “G-Rated Humor for Grownups,” and teaches workshops on the craft of writing.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Blessed are those whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered. Blessed is the one whose sin the Lord will never count against them.

—Romans 4:7, 8

Special thanks to Nancy Farrier for sharing her knowledge of the inspirational market, helping me with the plot and for simply being a really nice person.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Letter to Reader Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

“Hey, look who’s back in town. Goldilocks.”

Melinda Spencer whirled. Shock slammed into her like a runaway truck. Her eyes widened and she took a step back.

Gazing down at her was the original bad boy of Potter Creek, Montana. His dark eyes held the same teasing glint she remembered from ten years ago. His easy slouch and the cocky way his Stetson sat tipped back on his head suggested he hadn’t changed one whit since she last saw him.

Since the day she’d gotten on a bus to hightail her way out of Montana and back to her home in Pittsburgh. She’d lost her heart to this dark-eyed Romeo.

She narrowed her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. “Hello, Daniel. I thought you’d be long gone from here by now.” Probably in jail or killed in a bar fight.

One corner of his mouth kicked up a notch. “Nope. This is my hometown. I’m here to stay.”

“Good for you,” she said, deadpan. She turned her back on him to finish the task he’d interrupted, unlocking the door to Aunt Martha’s Knitting and Notions shop. The silly key didn’t want to work, which had nothing to do with her fingers that had suddenly turned clumsy.

“What brings you to town?” Daniel asked.

She went still for a moment, then looked over her shoulder. “Aunt Martha had a stroke. I brought her home from the rehab facility this morning. I’m here to take care of her.”

“So you’re not planning to stay long?”

“I’ll stay as long as she needs me.” In truth, she didn’t have much of anywhere else to go, but she wasn’t going to tell Daniel O’Brien that.

She resumed her efforts with the obstinate key.

“Here, let me help you.”

He reached around her, his hand closing over hers, his fingers long and deeply tanned. His forearm had a light covering of dark hair over corded muscles. He was too close, so close she caught the scent of the prairie on his shirt and the unique masculine aroma that was his alone.

Memories of being seventeen years old and foolish assailed her. Memories she’d never been able to completely bury even when she’d married another boy, the one who had taken her to the senior prom.

She yanked her hand away, her heart thudding like the hooves of a quarter horse galloping across the open landscape.

The lock released its grip on the door. Daniel shoved it open.

“There you go, Goldilocks. Welcome to Aunt Martha’s Knitting and Notions.” With a mock bow, he gestured for her to enter the small shop.

Instead she held out her hand. “The key.”

His eyes twinkling, his lips curved upward, he dropped it in her hand.

“Thank you.” She stepped inside, intending to close the door behind her, leaving him standing on the cracked sidewalk that ran the length of Main Street.

No such luck.

Like a predator on the prowl, he slipped past her and sauntered into the store.

Bins for yarn lined two walls from floor to ceiling, but many were empty. Other bins were a jumble, worsteds mixed with baby weight yarn, variegated and solid colors randomly mingled in the same bin. The display rack for knitting needles, crochet hooks, stitch markers and other notions canted at a precarious angle and the pattern books tucked into a pocket display looked as though they’d been published in the 1950s.

In a back corner of the room sat a table and six unmatched dining room chairs that had been used for knitting classes. Odds and ends of yarn were scattered about the table.

Daniel picked up a skein of merino yarn and tossed it gently in the air, catching it and tossing it again as a young boy might toss a baseball. In no way, however, did Daniel O’Brien resemble anything other than a full-grown cowboy with an attitude.

“It smells musty in here. Better leave the door open and air out the place.” He tossed the skein back in the bin where he’d found it.

Melinda wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think that Aunt Martha has opened the store in weeks.” Martha, even at age eighty-two, had always been lively and energetic, busy in the community and with her church work, until the stroke felled her. Or so Melinda had thought.