The Rancher's Dream. Kathleen O'Brien
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She waved her hand to make the statement more vague. “Or whoever.”
She was taking a chance here. She was banking on having read this Rory character correctly—and she was counting on Becky being smart. Her instincts told her Becky knew, if only subconsciously, that she’d never walk down the aisle with Rory, and didn’t really want to, anyhow.
For a minute, as Becky remained poker-faced, Crimson thought she’d miscalculated. But then Becky closed the portfolio slowly.
“Yeah, maybe I’d better think about it some more.” She scraped back her chair and stood. “I’m sorry. I feel bad I took so much time, and then didn’t even—”
“Don’t feel bad.” Crimson stood, too. “I think you’re making the right decision.” Impulsively, driven by some unnamed instinct, she grabbed one of her business cards and held it out. “And listen, if you ever...if you ever need anything...”
The girl looked confused. Well, of course she was confused. Crimson wasn’t sure why she had said that, either. Except...her gut told her Rory was not a good guy.
Becky took the card, glanced down at the odd name, Crimson Slash—the name Crimson had adopted when she took the Needles ’N Pins job. Crimson’s cell number was on it, too. This was the card she gave only to her regular, trusted clients.
Becky didn’t react, simply shoving it into her jeans pocket. She cast a doubtful glance toward the door, as if she were afraid her boyfriend might saunter in now and force her to get the tattoo after all. “If Rory comes...”
Crimson smiled. “If Rory comes, I’ll explain you got called away.”
“Yeah.” Becky nodded. “Yeah, that’s good.” She started to offer to shake hands, but clearly decided that didn’t make sense and settled for a wave and a smile as she hurried out the door.
Relieved, Crimson sank back onto her chair.
“Not so fast, Doctor Freud.”
She looked up. It was Pete, all six foot four inches of him, standing in the spot where Becky had just been. His gloved hands were fisted on his hips, which accentuated the fact that he’d rushed over in the middle of Butchie’s tattoo.
“Pete, please don’t give me a hard time about this.”
She wasn’t in the mood. She’d have quit this job ten times during the past few weeks if she could just decide where to go next. If she could just get up the courage to leave Silverdell. “She would have regretted it before she got home, and then there would have been hell to pay.”
“Hell I can handle. But employees who chase off the customers...that I can’t afford.” To her surprise, Pete’s brown eyes seemed to hold an undercurrent of sadness. “Clear out your locker, Red. You’re fired.”
* * *
ACTUALLY, IT WAS perfect timing. She’d been planning to meet Grant Campbell for lunch at Donovan’s Dream, at noon, anyhow. Grant had given Kevin a lift into town for a meeting, which meant he’d probably be bringing Molly, Kevin’s baby.That was all the consolation Crimson could ask for. At six months, Molly was a dream, warm and loving and absolutely adorable.
And if Crimson was leaving Silverdell soon, she was glad of every minute she could get with the baby.
It didn’t take her long to pack up.
She always traveled light and didn’t have much to clear out. The plate of cookies, her tea mug, her purse and a couple of spare black T-shirts she kept in case she spilled something...that’s all she’d ever moved into the shop, even after a year.
She dumped her portfolio in Pete’s trash can, where it hit bottom with a thud. A swoosh of relief moved through her as she realized she wouldn’t ever need it again. However much she loved Pete, she wasn’t a tattoo artist. This job had only been an attempt to leave behind the old Crimson, the “real” Crimson, who would have been happier in a restaurant or a kitchen, or waiting tables, or anything that involved food.
At the last minute, Pete came out to the car and hugged her awkwardly. His droopy brown eyes made him look like a basset hound with indigestion, and she patted his shoulder as if he were the one who’d been fired, not her.
“Damn it, Red,” he said thickly, “if you’d just behave yourself—”
“But I won’t. You know that.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. Glancing at the sky, which was as lumpy and gray as a pad of old steel wool, he sighed. “Look, it’s going to rain. Why don’t you come on back inside? We can talk it over.”
She shook her head, smiling. He was so softhearted, poor guy, and he’d been good to give her a job sterilizing his equipment when she didn’t have a single reference, or a single day’s experience. She didn’t want him to agonize over this.
“It’s okay, Pete,” she said. “It’s time. Past time. I needed a nudge.”
He squinted as a few fat drops of rain splatted against his cheeks. “Maybe. Hell, at least don’t be a stranger. Come see me sometime. If you ever decide to get that tattoo we’ve been talking about, it’s on the house.”
The tattoo had been a running gag. She was the only person who had ever worked for him who didn’t have a single spot of ink on her skin. Probably that should have tipped him off that her heart wasn’t in it.
She laughed, and he hugged her again, clearly relieved there would be no hard feelings. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to let go. The rain fell harder, but she didn’t mind. Her hair was in that awkward, growing-out phase, anyhow, and never looked exactly great.
“Hey, what are you doing, hugging my girl on the public streets?”
Crimson and Pete broke apart at the sound of the deep, male voice. Grant Campbell stood there, with little Molly in his arms, the baby carrier and diaper bag dangling from the crook of his elbow.
He looked as gorgeous as ever—maybe more so, because, wow, there really was something about a man holding a baby...
He winked at Crimson, the thick black fringe of lashes dropping briefly over the gold-flecked brown eyes. His lopsided smile gave her a rush of warmth, as if he’d leaned over and kissed her...though naturally he hadn’t.
He was just kidding about the girlfriend thing. For a brief second, Crimson wondered why. Why hadn’t she ever let herself fall for this amazing specimen of male magnificence? Why was she dating his single-dad friend Kevin instead?
But then she remembered. First of all, Grant was a very satisfactory friend, and it was much easier to find dates than friends. Secondly, it was almost impossible to catch Grant between girlfriends, anyhow. He was like a thousand-dollar bill...if any woman was dumb enough to let him slip through her fingers, he wouldn’t hit the ground before another woman grabbed him up.
“Red’s not your girl, Campbell.” Pete sounded cranky. “And she’s not mine anymore, either. She just got fired, so you better be buying lunch, big shot.”
Grant glanced at Crimson, raising his eyebrows.
“Yeah, he’s serious,” she said. “I’m unemployed. But don’t worry. I’m buying lunch. I feel like celebrating.”
With a final, teasing smile at Pete, she took custody of the diaper bag and nudged Grant into motion. They needed to hustle before they got drenched.
Marianne’s restaurant, Donovan’s Dream, was a couple of blocks down, on the chichi end of Elk Avenue, the main downtown street of Silverdell. As the rain intensified, they started to run. By the time they ducked into the café, sweeping in on the familiar notes of “Danny Boy,” which played whenever the door opened or shut, Molly was red-faced and crying.
Immediately Grant handed her to Crimson. Crimson took over without complaint—this pattern had been established a couple of months ago, when Kevin and Molly had first come to stay with him.