The Trouble With Valentine's Day

lucky. And while she stood there wishing she could faint, she was sure he was recalling every detail of the night she'd propositioned him. The night he'd made his rejection of her look like the easiest thing he'd ever done.

'This is Rob Sutter. He owns the sporting goods store where the old pharmacy used to be. Rob, this is my only granddaughter, Katie Hamilton. I don't believe you've met.' That's what her grandfather was saying, but over the buzz in Kate's ears, and Tom Jones growling about the Honky Tonk Woman, she heard something else. Don't take it personal, but I don't fuck women I meet in bars, shot through her brain like a thousand pin pricks. The silence between them seemed to stretch forever as she waited for him to inform her grandfather that they had already met. To tell him his granddaughter was a drunk and a slut. The pricing gun fell from her hand and hit the floor with a thud.

He glanced across his shoulder at Stanley. 'No. We haven't met,' he said. When he returned his attention to Kate, the surprise she'd seen on his face was gone, replaced by a curious smile that turned up the corners of his mouth. 'It's nice to meet you, Katie.'

'It's Kate,' she managed past the constriction in her chest. 'Only my grandfather calls me Katie.'

He stepped toward her and bent to pick up the pricing gun. The overhead light filtered through the hair on the top of his head and picked out the gold. The rasp of his jacket sleeve filled the silence between them. 'How long have you been in town?' he asked, his voice as deep and smooth as she remembered, only this time it didn't pour through her like hot buttered rum.

He knew how long she'd been in town. What was he up to? 'A couple of weeks.'

'Then we just missed each other. I've been on a ski trip with my buddies the last couple of weeks.'

She knew that, of course. And he knew that she knew it, too. But if he wanted to pretend they'd never met, that was more than fine with her. She looked down at his hand holding the sticker gun toward her. The brand name Arc'teryx was spelled out in white on the Velcro cuff that wrapped around his wrist.

'Thank you,' she said as she took the sticker gun from him. The tips of her fingers inadvertently brushed his and she took a step backward, dropping her hand to her side. Her gaze slipped up the zipper closing the front of his coat.

'It's a real surprise to walk in here and see anyone but Stanley working,' he said.

She blinked and stared into his green gaze. Nothing. Not a hint of mockery or a flicker of recognition. At first he'd looked surprised. Now nothing, and she couldn't tell if he was pretending or not. Was it possible that he didn't recognize her? No, that was probably just wishful thinking on her part. She'd never been that lucky.

'It's about time he got some help.'

'Ah, yes,' she murmured, distracted by her thoughts. She'd been drunk. He'd probably been drunk too. Perhaps the surprise she'd seen on his face a few moments ago had been nothing more than surprise at seeing someone besides her grandfather working in the M &S. Lord knew the rest of the town had been shocked to see her.

'She's come to help me out in the store.' Stanley moved to stand beside her and patted her shoulder. 'She's such a good girl.'

Rob Sutter glanced at her grandfather, then slowly he returned his gaze to her. She waited for him to laugh or at least crack a smile. He didn't, and she relaxed a fraction. Maybe this Rob guy was a total boozer. Could she be that lucky? Some men beat their wives and shot up the house. When they woke up in jail, they didn't have a clue why they were incarcerated. They sat with their head in their hands and didn't remember a thing. Being a person who remembered everything, Kate had never believed in alcohol amnesia. Maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe the owner of the sporting goods store had it. Maybe he was a blind drunk.

Perhaps she should feel a bit irritated that she was so utterly forgettable. At the moment all she felt was a glimmer of hope that she'd lucked out and he was a raging alcoholic.

Good girl, my ass. With his free hand, Rob Sutter unzipped his coat and shifted his weight to his left foot. Good girls didn't get wasted and pick up men in bars.

'How long do you plan to stay in Gospel?' he asked. The last time he'd seen her, she'd had her hair down. Smooth and shiny, like liquid fire. He liked it better down.

Color returned to her pale cheeks, and she tilted her head to one side. He could practically read her mind. She was wondering if he remembered her. 'As long as my grandfather needs me.' She turned her attention to Stanley. 'I'm going to finish pricing the beets. If you need anything, holler.'

As if Rob could forget her offer to show him her bare butt. As she walked away, Rob's gaze slid down the ponytail that hung below her shoulders, past the tight black shirt to her rounded behind in-black pants. No, he hadn't forgotten her. The image of her within the soft lighting of the Duchin Lounge had stayed with him long after he'd left the bar. That night he'd dreamed of soft auburn hair and eyes the color of rich earth. Of long legs and arms entwined with his. Of sex so intense, so real, that he'd just about climaxed in his sleep. That hadn't happened to him in a long time. A man didn't tend 'a to forget a thing like that. At least not right away.

'I really don't need her help,' Stanley said, 'but it's nice to have her around, just the same.'

Rob returned his gaze to the grocery store owner. He wasn't certain, but he thought he detected a light in Stanley's eyes when he spoke of his granddaughter. A little light that he'd never seen there before. He liked Stanley Caldwell, and he respected him, too. 'Is she living with you?'

'Yeah. She pampers me, but I try not to get too used to it. She can't stay with me forever. She'll have to get back to her own life one of these days.'

Rob grabbed an apple and moved toward the front counter. 'Where's home?' he asked. He'd been living in Gospel long enough to know it didn't take much to get a person's life story, whether you were interested in hearing it or not. And in this particular case, he was mildly curious.

'Katie's from Las Vegas,' Stanley answered as he moved behind the counter and rang up the milk, granola, and apple.

As Rob dug out his wallet, he wondered if Kate Hamilton was a dancer in one of the casinos. She was certainly tall enough. She had the breasts for those skimpy costumes, too. Back in his hell-raising days, she would have been just the sort of woman he would have gone for. Tall. Built. Easy.

'She's a private investigator,' Stanley provided while he placed the box of granola in a plastic bag.

That announcement surprised Rob. Almost as much as when he'd turned around and seen her standing a few feet from him, looking as stunned as he'd felt.

He handed Stanley a ten. 'She doesn't look like any investigators I've ever met,' he said, and he'd known a few.

'That's what makes her so good,' Stanley bragged. 'Women talk to her because she's one of them, and men talk to her because we just can't resist a beautiful woman.'

Rob had been doing a pretty good job of resisting women for a while now. Beautiful or otherwise. It wasn't easy, never that, but he'd thought he'd gotten over the worst of it. The constant craving-until a certain redhead had propositioned him. Walking away from Kate Hamilton had been one of the hardest things he'd done in a very long time.

He put the bills in his wallet and shoved it in his back pocket.

'Here's the key to your place,' Stanley said and shut the cash drawer. 'A couple of boxes from UPS came while you were gone. And yesterday, I picked your mail up off the floor for ya.'

'You didn't have to do that.' Rob took the key to his store and put it back on his key ring. Before he'd left for his ski trip, Stanley had offered to accept freight for him. 'I appreciate it, though. I made you something for your trouble.' He unzipped the breast pocket on the inside of his jacket and pulled out a fishing fly. 'This is a bead-head nymph I tied just before I left. Rainbows can't resist these guys.'

Stanley took it and held it up to the light. The ends of his handlebar mustache lifted up. 'It's a beauty, but you know I don't fly-fish.'

'Not yet,' he said and grabbed his bag of groceries. 'But I'm planning your intervention.' He headed for the door. 'See ya, Stanley.'

'See ya. Tell your mother I said hello.'

'Will do,' Rob said and walked from the store.

The midmorning sun bounced off snow banks and blinded him with white, stabbing rays. With his free hand, he dug around in the pocket of his heavy coat for his sunglasses. He shoved the Revos on the bridge of his nose, and