Magnolia laughed. “Of course. I completely forgot the two thumps. It’s funny how quickly you forget.” She hesitated for a long moment before she snapped out of whatever thoughts had overtaken her mind. “So what are you looking for today? A self-help book? A good mystery? An intriguing biography?” She winked. “A steamy romance? I just put a display rack up of a new release that made my panties catch fire from just looking at the cover.”
Before Tully could say she wasn’t interested in catching her panties on fire, the phone rang and Magnolia quickly answered.
“Time To Read. How can I help you? . . . Oh, hey, Uncle Otis . . . yes, everything is going great.” She rolled her eyes at Tully. “No, I haven’t painted the bookstore pink. How are you doing?”
Since it looked like Magnolia might be a while, Tully decided to give her some privacy and headed to the spiral staircase at the back of the store.
The staircase was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship made by Otis’s great-great grandfather who had been a clockmaker, along with all of Otis’s ancestors. Much to his family’s disappointment, Otis had enjoyed reading more than making clocks and had turned the family clock business into a bookstore. Although there were still plenty of clocks. They hung on the walls and were tucked on shelves in between all the books. Every hour and half hour, the entire bookshop would be filled with a cacophony of chimes, gongs, and cuckoo chirps.
Some people in town thought it annoying.
Tully found it endearing.
Just another lovable quirk of the bookshop. As were all the hidden nooks and crannies to cozy up in with a book.
Placed amid the shelves were overstuffed chairs and antique loveseats. Needlepoint rockers and piles of large, cushiony pillows. Brightly painted Adirondack lawn chairs and big puffy beanbags.
Tully’s favorite reading spot was on the second level. She has spent many enjoyable hours cuddled up on the floral cushions of the window seat, reading and looking out on her beloved town. She loved non-fiction more than fiction books. Today, she planned on looking for a book she’d seen online about the history of country music and dancehalls.
But before she could reach the history section, she ran into the display rack Magnolia had been talking about.
She was right.
The cover was a panty torcher.
Tully glanced around before she picked up the book and read the back blurb.
It sounded steamy. Really steamy.
She looked around once again before she tucked the book to her chest and headed through the overfilled shelves to the window seat.
But as it turned out, someone had already claimed her favorite spot.
CHAPTER SIX
Tully couldn’t believe her eyes.
The man had to be an illusion.
And it wasn’t like images of Jaxon Hennessy hadn’t popped into her head a lot in the last week. Standing in the back doorway of Honky Tonk Heaven . . . staring down at her as his muscled body flattened her against the ground . . . cradling her face in his hand in Birdie’s kitchen.
But not one of those images had been of him stretched out on a window seat with a tatted arm crooked over his head and a book resting open on his broad chest. She had never seen his face so relaxed . . . or his hair so mussed from the fingers that absently ran through it as he read.
Seeing Jaxon like this was like seeing behind the curtain of the Most Powerful Oz. She’d always thought Jaxon was a dark-haired wizard who could terrorize or enchant as he so pleased. He certainly wasn’t just a man . . . a man who relaxed in the window seat of a quaint bookshop and read.
But when a cacophony of clock dongs, chirps, and chimes went off and those gold eyes shifted to her, pinning her with their intensity, she knew he was no illusion.
He was real.
Her world tipped and, once again, she felt like she was on the deck of a ship being rocked to and fro. All she wanted was to flee and return to solid ground. But it was too late for that. She couldn’t run without letting him know exactly how unbalanced he made her feel.
Although he already seemed to know.
Once the clocks had quieted, he spoke. “Is there a reason you’re standing there looking like a trapped rabbit . . . Officer Gentry?”
His sarcastic words stabilized her tilting world.
“I don’t feel trapped.” She glanced at the book resting on his chest. “Just surprised. You can read?”
