Tangled Up in Love Read Online Free PDF Page A

some form of polyester pants stretched tight across her wide behind and a floral-design top that drew attention to her ample breasts and lack of discernable waist.
    But Charlotte was a hoot, and they all adored her. Though she had to be at least sixty, maybe even seventy—they really ought to ask Jenna sometime—she was the sole owner of an alpaca farm, and ran it practically single-handedly. She sheared the llama-like creatures, cleaned and spun the fiber into yarn, then sold both the yarns and her own knitted and crocheted items at a booth she kept at a local indoor, year-round flea market. And if any of the girls from the group wanted to sell the items they made, Charlotte was only too happy to display those, as well, and give the women 100 percent of whatever she got for them.
    Ronnie took regular advantage of the woman’s kind offer, and while the money it brought in was nothing to write home about, every little bit helped.
    Charlotte may have been Jenna’s aunt by blood, but they all considered her a mother figure, and Ronnie often thought the majority of the women who attended the Wednesday night knitting circle came as much to see the older woman as to knit or chat with the younger ones.
    “Oh, no, dear,” Charlotte answered without lifting her gaze from her knitting, “I love listening to you girls go on about your jobs and your men and your lives. It keeps me young. And I may not be married, but I have had my share of beaus, so I know a thing or two about men myself.”
    Ronnie noticed that Charlotte straightened at that last part, raising her chin and thrusting her chest out just a bit.
    “You’re not telling us that you own a vibrator, are you, Charlotte?” Grace teased.
    If she was hoping to make the woman blush, she was destined for disappointment. Charlotte’s hands barely slowed as she cocked a brow and looked Grace straight in the eye. “You have to remember that I’m from a different generation, dear. One that learned not to rely on batteries for every little thing.”
    That caused a burst of raucous laughter. Nothing new for this group, really, but they were lucky other store customers didn’t complain to the manager and get them kicked out. Then again, if they were going to get the boot, it probably would have happened long ago.
    “Ronnie, dear, you should invite your young man to visit our group sometime,” Charlotte said. “We could show him a thing or two about knitting.”
    “Aunt Charlotte, the idea is for him
not
to learn how to knit. If he learns and does a good enough job tomake a scarf or dishcloth or something, then he wins the bet and Ronnie loses.”
    “And Ronnie does not want to lose,” Ronnie mumbled.
    “Well, I can’t say I understand the point of the little competition you have going with that Dylan Stone fellow, but I do think it would be nice if more men learned to knit. It would do them a world of good—teach them to relax and maybe even appreciate something that we’ve been doing for years.”
    “Yeah, that would be great,” Grace agreed, but even Ronnie couldn’t tell if she was being serious or sarcastic. “But in this man’s case, we’re rooting for him to fail.”
    “Miserably,” Ronnie added.
    “Miserably,” Grace repeated dutifully. “You get to keep the trophy if he loses, right?”
    Ronnie grinned, picturing Dylan’s beloved Harrison Award that he’d won for some piece or another, all silver and gold and sparkling. She kept it on the dresser in her bedroom both as motivation and to remind her that she’d whipped his butt on the last task he’d put her on. Whipped his butt and gotten a tattoo on hers, but that was beside the point.
    He loved that stupid award, and she knew it galled him to no end that she kept taking it away from him. And this time around, she meant to keep it.
    “Oh, yeah. And as soon as he loses this stupid competition altogether, I’m going to have his name removed and replace it with mine. That’ll really kill