7
Main Street was packed, and Cord had to bite back a groan as he pulled the truck into a tight spot between a beat-up pickup and a badly-parked minivan.
Almost as if she could sense his dismay, Molly glanced his way from the passenger seat.
"It's the Winter Festival," he said. He'd purposely chosen midmorning to avoid traffic in town.
One raised eyebrow from her, and he knew she'd read his emotions accurately.
We're not compatible. Like that.His words from three days before flashed through his head even as awareness clenched in his belly.
Stupid.
As soon as he'd uttered the words, their gazes had caught, and there'd been an instant flare of attraction between them. There was something about her that called him. It wasn't all physical either. She was whip-smart, even if she was too young for him.
But he'd told her they weren't a good fit. And he would never forget the look of utter terror on her face in the parts store parking lot. Molly needed a friend. Not a boyfriend.
So he did the same thing he'd been doing for three days. He shoved the inconvenient attraction into a box, promptly slammed the lid on it, and pushed it into the dark recesses of his brain.
She was squinting through the passenger window now, probably wondering why he was making such a big deal of what was basically a small-town swap meet.
It was the people he'd rather avoid. Not the junk.
"It might take a little longer,” he said, “but chances are, most of the crowd won't be in the store."
She frowned at him. "You don't want to check out the festival?"
"You do?" Three days ago, she'd freaked out because of a stranger on the sidewalk. Today, she wanted to join the throngs of shoppers looking at handmade trinkets and jars of jam?
Her smile was tight, her knuckles white on the door handle. But she nodded. "You might run into someone you know."
That's what he was worried about.
He followed her out of the truck and onto the sidewalk. "Parts store first," he muttered.
She'd been systematically dismantling the tractors and, every time he crossed paths with her in the ranch house kitchen, she had something exciting to tell him. Like some rusty part he didn't know the name of was salvageable. She'd spread them across an old sheet covering the living room floor. So far, the list of parts he needed to purchase was longer than his arm.
If he was lucky, she'd get distracted by the new parts, and they could skip the festival altogether.
He wasn't lucky.
Molly had him haul the backbreaking cardboard box to the truck and then talked him into a quick stop at the festival.
The fairgrounds behind the hardware store and bank had been transformed into a craft show slash swap meet, with booths set up inside the expo building—a fancy name for the wide open metal-sided building.
Two food trucks were parked at the curb, both with lines of people waiting to order.
"You hungry?" he asked.
She shook her head. She was pale and, if he weren’t mistaken, holding her breath.
He pulled her out of the foot traffic just outside the expo center doors. His hand on her forearm, he could feel she was trembling under his touch.
"There's no reason for us to go in there," he said.
She hiked her chin. Her eyes sparked up at him. "Yes, there is."
He was about ready to throw up his hands. Exasperating woman.
