more time for her to worry because the man himself stepped into the doorway, catching her hovering there.
Familiar coffee-brown eyes stared down at her, narrowing. “Hiding, Leenie?”
The nickname jolted her. Only Dane had ever called her that. She cleared her throat and waved at the elaborate wedding gown consuming a good portion of the space in her small work room. “Working, actually,” she managed. “What, uh, what brings you here?” She was vaguely aware of Meredith chattering to someone in the front of the shop.
But mostly she was aware that an absence of six months hadn’t made Dane think more fondly of her. Not if the chilliness on his numbingly handsome face was any indication.
To be fair, she had turned down his marriage proposal. The one six months ago. And also the one twelve years ago. The first time, she’d been a girl. Of course she’d turned him down. But now she was a grown woman. And she’d given him the only answer a sensible person could when two people were so wildly different.
“Mom’s helping me find a Christmas present for Becca.”
So it was his mother with whom Meredith was talking. Alarm drained away, replaced by disappointment that he’d come in only to shop.
Just because she’d been sensible didn’t mean it had been easy to walk away from him. She missed him. Desperately.
She brushed her hands down her thighs, only to poke herself through her velvet slacks with the needle she was still holding. She focused on tucking it safely into the pin cushion rather than looking at him. “I’m sure there’s something here your sister would like.” Along with the rest of Dane’s family, Becca worked on their ranch. But unlike her big brother, she didn’t roll her eyes at a little frippery now and then.
“That’s what Mom says.”
Charlene would have been glad to step past him. To go into the considerably more spacious retail area. But Dane’s dusty cowboy boots were firmly planted, and he didn’t seem in any hurry to budge at all.
As if he was perfectly aware of her discomfort.
And that he was enjoying it.
“Mom also told me that Caroline says you’re not planning to be at their Christmas party. You’ve been coming every year with your folks since we were kids.”
For as long as Charlene could remember, Nanette and Dale Dalton had hosted a huge Christmas party for their family and friends. Since Charlene’s mother, Caroline, and Nanette were the best of friends, the only years Charlene had been able to pass on the event were when she’d been living in California. “Not every year,” she reminded.
He just gave her a long look.
She broke his gaze and stared blindly at the bolts of fabrics propped against the walls. Her heart felt like it was pushing out of her chest. “I didn’t think you’d want me there,” she finally admitted.
There was no way Dane would be absent. He now ran the ranch where he’d been born and raised. His folks lived there, too, though at some point during the years Charlene had been in California, he’d moved from the main house into the foreman’s house. Which was where he fully expected the woman he chose for a wife to live with him.
Forty minutes away from town—and her boutique.
She could have adjusted to the distance if he hadn’t thought her business was useless to begin with. He’d always said he couldn’t understand all the hoopla women made over a dress. But then, he was satisfied to pick up his flannel shirts from a hardware store.
“It’s their party,” he repeated. “Just because you can’t abide the idea of marrying me doesn’t mean you need to wipe them off the planet, too.”
She winced. “I never said I couldn’t abide—”
“I know what you said.” His voice was flat. “You said no. I told Mom I’d talk to you about the party and I have. If you want to disappoint a woman who’s treated you like one of her own daughters your entire life, that’s on you.” Then he turned on his boot heel and walked away.
Dane strode across the shop, imagining that he could feel Charlene’s gaze burning into his back.
He put on a pair of mental blinders and stepped around the white Christmas tree that stood in the middle of the shop, dripping with glittering jewelry, and edged past the rustic wood ladder that was draped with sheer lacy panties and bras. He finally reached his mother, who was deep in discussion with Meredith over the merits of a red sweater over a blue one.
“Which do you think?” Nanette held both sweaters up for Dane’s opinion.
All he wanted to do was pay for whatever his mother figured Becca would like best and get the hell outta Dodge. But he knew his mom. She’d figure his hurry to leave Charlene’s would have to do with the shop’s owner. And since she’d be right, he stifled his impatience. “The red one.”
“Scarlet,” Nanette corrected, smiling impishly. “Excellent choice, honey.” She handed it to him. “I’m going next door to the boot shop.”
“Don’t be bringing home any more Castleton’s,” he warned. “That new puppy of yours’ll chew them up, too.”
She just smiled and hurried through the garland-draped entrance. Now that he’d done the deed—talked to Charlene about the party—she was smiling at him again. As if one five-minute conversation with Leenie would magically solve anything.
“Wish I could afford a pair of Castleton’s.” Meredith was smiling good-naturedly as she rang up the stupidly expensive sweater. “Out of my budget, I’m afraid.”
“Out of most people’s budget,” Dane murmured, but from the corner of his eye, he was watching the archway leading to the workroom. Willing Charlene to appear. Wishing she wouldn’t. “Sort of like shopping at this place.” He was proud of Charlene’s accomplishments. Though he’d rather chew glass than admit it and have her leave Red Rock—and him—all over again when her ambitions took her off to some other place again. He was a rancher, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly how successful she was becoming.
Meredith was laughing lightly. “Your sister will love the sweater. Cashmere never goes out of style. It’s worth every penny.” She looked past him to the young blonde who was carrying the same sweater—only this time in blue—up to the register. “Felicity, tell him I’m right.”
“Cashmere’s worth every penny,” the other woman assured him. He recognized her and her sunny expression from the chocolate shop his mother loved.
“Dane prefers the feel of flannel,” Charlene said smoothly, sauntering in from the back room. She was wearing skinny brown pants, a flimsy gold blouse—through which he could easily see a scanty brown camisole that was a whole lot more underwear than shirt—and about a dozen gold bracelets. And her blue eyes, lighter than the pale winter sky outside, seemed to drill into him. “Isn’t that right, Dane?”
What he preferred was the feel of her ivory skin lying warm and naked against him. But all of that had come to a screeching halt six months ago when she’d
