Simple Gone South (Crimson Romance) Read Online Free PDF Page A

wanted to sit.”
    “I might have mentioned something about near the bar and a good distance from the band, preferably against the wall.”
    “Where is Lanie?” Lucy asked, as she settled into her chair.
    “She will be downstairs working the silent auction,” Missy said, studying her list of items. “Tolly, Nathan, and Luke won’t be here until the show’s over. Hmmm . . . they have an electric train in the auction. That might be worth looking at.”
    “That’s what I was afraid of.” Harris rolled his eyes. “It’s not enough that we spent a fortune on Bon Jovi props.”
    “But we had the best ones,” Missy said. “We were the best.”
    “Without a doubt.” Harris picked up Missy’s hand and kissed her wrist. “Always.” Lucy’s stomach turned over. Oh, to have someone look at her like that. Just once. No, once wouldn’t be enough. Once never was. Once was worse than never.
    “I’m going to look at the auction stuff and check on that train. Lucy, you want to come?”
    “No.” And she didn’t. She’d donated four hours of free design consultation and Aunt Annelle had given a chair from the shop. As far as she was concerned, her contribution to the auction was complete. “I want to sit right here and revel in the fact that I don’t have to throw my head back and pretend to bellow.”
    Missy rose and Harris followed suit. “I’m going to get a beer. Wine, ladies?”
    “Sure,” Missy said.
    “Wild Turkey 101,” Lucy said. “Straight.”
    Lucy closed her eyes. Oh, to be able to sleep. To be able to be away from here. Usually, she liked these people, liked these events. It was part of the charm of having a home in a small town. She didn’t like to think that she was letting the impending arrival of Brantley Kincaid ruin it for her. Why should it? If she didn’t live in his hometown, she probably wouldn’t even think about him anymore.
    The band began to warm up with “Mustang Sally.” Where was Harris with her bourbon? That song always made her want to drink. Not that she needed alcohol to face Brantley. It had been a long time ago.
    “Mr. Sambora, I presume?”
    Lucy opened her eyes. And there he was, smiling like he always did and no one else could. If he’d been beautiful this afternoon in his white polo shirt and blue jeans, he was now Adonis in Brooks Brothers. Or Brooks Brothers coming undone since his tie was a little looser than it had probably started out. Blue blazer, khaki pants, blue oxford shirt that fit like it had been made for him—because it surely had. The burnished silver buttons on his blazer bore a monogram, but not Brantley’s. They were at least four generations old. Lucy didn’t have such things but she knew about them.
    He sidled up to her, tall, broad shouldered, and lean hipped. His thick straight hair looked like moonbeams and sunshine had had a fight, but moonbeams had won. The result was pale blond with enough gold undertones hanging around to make it look warm. Gorgeous hair, and he had enough to toss. That color would have cost a fortune in a salon but Lucy knew it came from the same place he got his tan—the great outdoors. The cut was a different matter. Clearly, he had a stylist who knew how to make straight hair look alive. His driver license would say his eyes were brown, but they were as far from that as they were from blue. Clear dark amber was what they were. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see a prehistoric insect trapped there. He had a firm jaw, white teeth, and was clean-shaven. Lucy hated that stubbly male model look—though Brantley Kincaid could have been a model. Always could have been, even before he grew his man’s body and lost the boy softness in his face.
    Sparkle! Say something smart! Save your pride!
she told herself. He was waiting for an answer.
    “Yeah, well.”
Oh, brilliant!
She ran her hand through her hair. “I think I washed Mr. Sambora down the drain.”
    He slid into the chair next to hers. Great. She could