It Must Have Been the Mistletoe(48)

“Well, let’s just say I was much happier about the prospect when I originally gave in…I mean, agreed to go home.”

Before her latest career bust. Her sixth since leaving home at eighteen, which only added to her parents’ readily shared worries. Unshared, she was sure, were their suspicions that she was a total loser.

A suspicion she was starting to buy into.

Case in point. She’d loved the idea of being in fashion. She was great at putting together outfits. But as her most recent boss, a high-end clothing designer had reluctantly told her, she had a narrow vision and a quirky style that only one percent of the population could pull off. In other words, she sucked as a designer.

Her big plan for the holidays had been to prove to her parents that she wasn’t their loser little girl. Part one was to wow them with tales of her career success. Part two had been to get them an awesome present, like her sisters always did. She’d prove that she was not only focused and happy, but that she was doing well enough to buy them something they’d never forget.

And she’d found the perfect gift. The lady who ran the antiques shop in Ponder Hill had tracked down an antique victrola just like Rita’s great-granny’s. Rita had grown up hearing the story of how her parents, both musicians, had loved to dance to music from that antique victrola while dating. When Rita was about two, her dad had broken it during one of their many moves.

She’d been so excited to find one. This was a gift that would not only outdo her sisters’, but touch her parents’ hearts. She’d spent the past six months making payments, with the last installment due when she got home to pick it up.

A payment she no longer had, thanks to losing her job and having to use her savings to pay rent.

But she wasn’t giving up. She had a Plan B.

Wait tables, smile until her cheeks hurt, and pull in enough tips to make up the lost funds. Squaring her shoulders to shake off her doubts, Rita lifted another tray of drinks and turned to weave expertly through the crowd. She’d only gone a couple feet when she saw the key to Plan B belly up to the bar.

“Benny, you cutie pie. Get yourself a drink on me and I’ll be with you in a few.” She gave the pudgy balding guy an extra big smile and winked as she turned away. She needed Benny to agree to put off their departure by a few extra days to give her some time to sock away more money. She hoped smiles and the sight of her ass in a short skirt would do the trick.

On cue, he immediately zeroed in on her legs.

While Benny enjoyed his thrill, the guy behind him caught her eye. A tiny shiver of awareness slid down her belly, then the crowd moved and she lost the view. Crazy. Even though she rarely dated these days, hot guys were still pretty common in her life, but they rarely gave her tingles. Not even tall, sexy guys with wind-tossed golden hair and shoulders to die for.

“Cutie pie?” Kimmi shot back. “You need your eyes checked.”

“Looks aren’t everything,” Rita said dismissively. “He’s from Ponder Hill. Benny graduated with my oldest sister, and when I put the word out that I was looking for a ride, he offered a no-strings-attached transport home for the holidays.”

“Ooh?”

Rita snickered at the sexy lilt in Kimmi’s tone but shook her head. “Hardly. In the first place, he’s a nice guy but not my type.”

Her dream type had been cemented back in high school. Tall, bad-boy blond with a chip on his shoulder and an attitude that said c’mon. Rita sighed at the memory. She’d met plenty of bad boys, plenty of blonds and plenty of guys with attitude. But none did it for her like that wild Ramsey boy had.

“And in the second place?” Kimmi urged.

Rita gave a rueful half smile and said, “In the second place, Benny’s a mama’s boy. And I’m hardly the kind of girl guys bring home to their family.”



TYLER RAMSEY WATCHED the sexy pinup queen make her way through the crowd, noting his weren’t the only eyes glued to the sweet curve of her ass. Rita Cole. Pure fantasy material and the last woman in the world Tyler wanted to see.

“C’mon, Benny,” Tyler cajoled. “You’ve got better things to do than play taxi to a diva. Tell her the deal’s off and let’s go test your new bike.” He referred to the custom Harley he’d driven fourteen freaking hours to deliver. To a guy who, instead of showing the brand-new bike off to all the potential customers he’d told Tyler about, was taking off in the morning to drive those same fourteen hours back to Ponder Hill. Hell, if Tyler had known, he’d have stayed home and let Benny get the bike there.

He definitely wouldn’t have gotten within touching distance of Rita Cole.