“Not this one,” I state.
Our conversation is exactly the reassurance I needed to solidify my decision not to give up on things with Charlie. Still, I have to remember that when she showed up at the ranch, she was already reeling from the unexpected bombshell she received at the doctor’s office and hadn’t had much time to process it before I proposed.
This has to be so much harder for her than it is for me. Not only is she carrying our baby but she’s also dealing with the physical toll of pregnancy on top of her diabetes, which is already complicated enough. My job is to lighten her load and show her how good things could be if she gave us a chance.
I stare at the crooked sign hanging above Timeless Threads. My fingers tap restlessly against the steering wheel as I debate whether to go inside. If I do, it’s a toss-up whether Charlie will tell me to fuck off or give me a chance to explain why I’m here.
The flowers on the dashboard seem to be mocking me for even thinking this was a good idea. The alternative is accepting Charlie’s rejection, but I’ve never been the type to walk away when something matters this much.
I take a deep breath and get out of the truck before I change my mind. With my peace offerings in hand, I go inside, hoping this plan doesn’t backfire.
The bell above the door chimes, and I take in the cramped space—antique furniture, glass display cases filled with trinkets, and clothing racks spilling into the narrow walkway. It makes me uneasy knowing Charlie moves and rearranges all of this by herself on a regular basis.
Just last month, she had to call the damn fire department after getting stuck under a dresser she tried to move by herself. It’s worse now that I know she was pregnant, and I shudder to think of anything happening to her or the baby.
I bite back a groan when I spot Ethel Knox rummaging through a stack of old magazines on a nearby table.
Dammit—she’s the last person I wanted to run into today.
She’s been the housekeeper for the cabins at Silver Saddle for over twenty years, and she also happens to be the undisputed queen of town gossip. I can already predict this impromptu visit of mine is going to spread like wildfire before I even make it back to my truck.
Her lips curl into a knowing smile when she sees me. “Howdy there, boss. Didn’t expect to see you round these parts.”
I school my features, swallowing my irritation. “I was in town picking up supplies, and Briar asked me to stop by and bring Charlie coffee.”
Ethel arches a brow, her gaze dropping to the flowers in my other hand. “Funny. I’ve never known you to make special deliveries to your sister’s friends.”
I clear my throat. “Charlie’s particular about her coffee, and I didn’t want to risk someone else getting her order wrong.”
Christ, I sound like Walker—fixating on a woman who’s friend-zoned me. At leastheended up marrying his obsession. Charlie can barely stand to be in the same room as me, and she’s far too stubborn to accept my help, even if it’s for her own good.
Ethel presses her lips together, fighting a grin. “How thoughtful. Let me guess, the flowers were another request from Briar?”
“Uh…”
I’m saved from answering when Charlie comes out of the storage room with an armful of colorful old hat boxes.
Confusion flickers across her face when she sees me. “Heath, what are you doing here?”
I’m momentarily distracted, noting that she’s a fucking vision in black skinny jeans with ripped knees and a graphic tee featuring a cartoon dumpster fire engulfed in flames. Guess there’s no need to ask how she’s feeling—her shirt says it all.
She drops the boxes by the register and plants her hands on her hips. “This better not be how our conversations go moving forward.”
I join her behind the counter, hoping to keep this conversation private. God knows Ethel would sell a kidney to listen in.
“And how is that?”
“I ask a question, and you stare at me like I’m speaking gibberish. If I wanted to have a one-sided conversation, I have four perfectly good walls I can chat with,” Charlie quips, motioning around the room.
“It’s not my fault it’s impossible to get a word in edgewise,” I grumble.
She moves closer, tapping a manicured nail against my chest. “I wouldn’t have to do all the talking if you’d give me a proper hello.”
“Oh?” I ask, dragging a hand over my stubbled jaw. “And what exactly qualifies as a proper hello?”
“You could start with, ‘Hi, Charlie, I wanted to stop in and see how you’re doing,’” she replies, her tone sweet as syrup.
I notice Ethel has drifted to a nearby rack of clothes, so I subtly step closer to Charlie.
