“There will be no shooting,” Abby insisted, her right eye beginning to twitch. “And it’s not staying. In fact, I will pay you to deliver it back to where it came from.”
She was tired of being manipulated by men. There was no way she’d let Richard weasel his way into her life—not again. She wasn’t that lost, heartbroken college student anymore. She was a successful, independent, man-free woman who was in charge of her own destiny and—
Oh. My. God. Abby froze at the sight of a real-life Adonis pounding the pavement—pavement that happened to fall within her neighborhood watch territory. Moving with a confidence and masculine grace that was far too natural to be manufactured, Jack “Hard Hammer” Tanner, as he had been known in the NFL, was 100 percent pure, unadulterated eye candy—no embellishments needed.
At six foot five and 250 pounds of solid muscle, Jack Tanner was a mountain of testosterone and sculpted male perfection. He was sporting a pair of black jogging shorts slung low on his hips, a San Francisco 49ers ball cap, and a matching T-shirt that—sweet baby Jesus—dangled from his waistband instead of covering his chest, leaving miles of tan torso that made her mouth dry and her palms wet.
Because in true Abby fashion, it wasn’t a sweet engineer or reliable bookkeeper who got her hot and bothered. Nope, after seven years without a single flutter of interest, it was NFL legend, football god, and St. Helena’s most lickable and available bachelor who had flicked her switch.
And just like her ex-husband, Jack Tanner was responsible for a good portion of the town’s female fuses being blown. Which was why she sagged with relief at the sight of him jogging down the cul-de-sac and past her house.
Her premature celebration ended when, as though her morning wasn’t complicated enough, Tanner reappeared, slowly walking backward, retracing his steps, and coming to a stop at the curb of her driveway. He took in Shrine de Richard, then his gaze drifted to Abby, pinning her with an amused look before releasing a lethal smile that left more than just her hands wet.
Another in a long list of reasons to stay away from him.
“Before we can talk terms,” Rodney said, and Abby had to strain to understand him over the blood pounding in her ears, “we have to close out this transaction.”
“Fine.” Abby grabbed the clipboard and scribbled her name.
A here, here, and here later, she was one step closer to eliminating Richard from her life, and it gave her something to do besides gawk at the way Tanner’s muscles played as he jogged up the driveway—straight toward her.
Rodney took the clipboard. “I can get your package—”
“It’s not my package,” she clarified as Tanner strode up. He didn’t talk, just silently situated himself way too close for her to ignore. But she tried her damnedest.
“That signature there says it is.” Rodney’s meaty finger stabbed at her signature scrawled on the delivery slip. Then he flipped the page and wrote up a new delivery form and handed it to her. “Now, if you want to hire me to ship it back, that’s going to cost you nineteen-oh-four, with tax.”
“Fine. I’ll go get my purse.”
“We don’t take checks.”
“I have cash.”
“I don’t know if I feel comfortable carrying that much money around on my person,” Rodney said, running a greasy hand down the front of his coveralls.
At his comment, Abby looked at the total he’d scribbled on the paper and felt her heart plummet straight to her toes. “You meant that nineteen-oh-four. You’re going to charge me two grand to return a statue that isn’t even mine?”
“You signed for it, right there, so legally it’s—”
“Mine. Yeah, yeah,” Abby mumbled. “But two grand?”
“You see the size of him,” Rodney said, his eyes straying back to Richard’s package.
“He wasn’t that big!”
“Need any help?” Tanner offered sweetly from beside her.
“Nope, I’ve got it.” Abby squared her shoulders and signed the form.
Last year, she’d set out to get herself a divorce and find living arrangements that didn’t include her childhood bed or her nonna as a roommate. Check. And check. This year, she was determined to prove to this town—and herself—that she could stand on her own two feet. Starting today.
And that didn’t include a man.
“Do you take credit cards?” Abby asked. She had no idea how she would afford two thousand dollars right now. That added up to a lot of piano lessons.
“Yup. Let me call the station and make arrangements.” Rodney disappeared into the cab of his truck, leaving Abby alone with Tanner.