Charleigh can’t help it; she rises from the porch, and a loud sigh escapes her. She thinks she can hear a snort of laughter from Abigail.
As the man climbs from the truck, Abigail strides across the field to greet him, breast tucked back inside her dress, Molly running at her heels.
Even from twenty feet away, Charleigh can tell that the ladies were right: He’s drop-dead handsome. Tall, lean, dressed in a Henley shirt with the buttons undone, exposing a tanned chest. His hair is honey colored and swooped to one side, licked by sweat.
Abigail leaps into his arms, and he lifts her, spinning her around as though he’s been away at war for years and is just returning. The two kiss, first a peck, then a full-on make-out session as baby Molly tugs on her father’s pants leg. When they unlatch, he lifts the child to his hip and spins her around, and Abigail shoots Charleigh another self-satisfied look.
Every nerve in Charleigh’s body is rankled. Shehatesthis woman for everything she stands for—all the corny religious bullshit—and again, hates her for everything she has and for the fact that she seems unbothered by all that she doesn’t have. Plus, she’s provocative, haughty. Thinks she’s better than Charleigh.As if.
And if Jane is anything like her mother, Charleigh can see why Nellie hates her, too.
“Hey, there!” The man is now striding toward Charleigh. “Ethan. Ethan Swift. Pleasure to meet you—”
“I’m Charleigh. Andersen.”
Ethan clasps Charleigh’s hand in his own, squeezes it, pumps her arm with his very ripped forearm.
Charleigh’s previous distaste dissipates as her eyes lock on his, which are a light brown, so light that they almost look amber. Ethan fixes her with a crooked smile, flicks those eyes over her, grins back with what appears to be approval.
Abigail clears her throat. “Charleigh here was just leaving! Seems we don’t have anything she’s looking for.”
Charleigh’s mouth hangs open; she wasn’t exactly on her way out but it’s clear that Abigail wants her to be.
“Unless, that is,” Abigail adds, moving in for the kill, “youdowant to try some of my skin-care botanicals. For antiaging and all.”
This little bitch.Charleigh could punch her right now.
A humph barks out of Charleigh. “No, no thank you. I’m not really comfortable using anything on my face that hasn’t been approved or professionally tested.”
An answering humph shoots out of Abigail.
“Well,” Ethan says, his voice low and sweet, the strings of a cello being bowed, “maybe you’re interested in a custom piece, then? It’s what I do. I make custom furniture.”
As beguiled as she is by Ethan, she willnotbe doing any dealings with this weird family. The line in the sand has been drawn.
“Maybe you’d like to see some of my work?” Ethan hitches a brow, and wait, did he justwinkat Charleigh?
“Thank you, honestly, but…I really only have antiques, and I use a decorator and everything, so I really don’t need anything—”
“Oh, who’s your decorator?” Ethan asks.
It’s none of his business, that’s who, but what can she say?
“Um, Ford Design. Jackson Ford’s the owner.”
“Well, it wassonice of you to pop by,” Abigail pipes up, scooping Molly into her arms and moving quickly away from Charleigh, whom she’s clearly giving the heave-ho.
“Well, see you around, then?” Ethan grins at her. A slightly crooked grin that makes him even sexier. Wickedly so.
“Yes.” Charleigh walks around him, neck flushing, keys balled in her fist. She reaches her car, crams herself in as quickly as possible. She’s totally spun around.Why does Ethan have to be so hot, and also, what the fuck kind of freak show was all that with the woman?
12
Jane
I give Cookie a gentle squeeze with my right leg so that she’ll make the turn.
We haven’t taken this route home from the general store before, but I know that this particular oil road cuts over to the highway. From there, we can follow along the shoulder until we hit Seven Pines.
