It was time he put her straight.
He tossed the empty beer bottle into the tiny waste can by the door, then stormed out of his room and down the hallway with its worn carpets and peeling plaster.
The historic building had stood on this spot for eighty years and was the only rental in town that still had a community bathroom.
Brody didn’t get far.
Racing down the wooden staircase, boards creaking under his big feet, he ran smack into Mary and her dragon lampshade.
“Brody, how nice of you to help me move in,” Mary said, handing him the lamp. Long fringe flew into his face, nearly choking him.
That wasn’t the worst of it.
She was close to him, so close he could feel the heat of her body, smell her scent. Mary was aroused.
Her need made him hard.
A pang he’d long forgotten ate at him, but he ignored it.
“You’re not staying in Richmond,” he said, laying his hand on the banister so she couldn’t get by him.
“I most certainly am.”
“You’re a small-town girl, Mary. You don’t know anything about men. There are all kinds of wolves here.”
“Like you?” Her brow arched.
“Yeah, like me.” She tried to squeeze by him, but he blocked her from going up the stairs. “Why don’t you be a good girl and go back to Plain, where you belong.”
“I-I can’t, Brody.”
“Why not?”
“Well ...” she began, tears appearing as if on cue.
He braced himself. Here it came. The sob story.
He knew the drill. Whatever girl he was dating would give him a lame excuse about why she had to send money home to her dear old mother.
Then she’d stick out her hand and her boobs for a fifty. Or a hundred. He fell for it every damn time.
He was such a chump.
Mary had her own version.
“I lost my job,” she said, trying to get a better grip on her suitcase. Her hands were sweaty, and she was breathing hard.
“You gave somebody the wrong bowling-shoe size?”
She managed a small smile. “No. They tore down Pop’s to make way for a big discount store.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Brody said, relieved.
Juggling the lamp in one hand, he reached into his pocket for his wallet with the other. “I get it. You need some money to tide you over until the new store opens and you get your job back—”
Mary shook her head. Slowly, back and forth. A sick feeling hit him in the gut, like he’d swallowed a pomegranate whole.
He put his wallet back into his pocket.
She said simply, “Grandma Blanchard died.”
That news set Brody back. Filled him with guilt. Mary had lived with her grandmother since she was born and her mother ran off with a used-car salesman.
She continued with, “Her last wish was for me to find you so we could get married.”
“Is that why you’re still wearing my ring? A ring you conned me into giving you because I felt sorry for you after graduation night when you said I was your first?”
Brody would never admit his teen crush on Mary was real. He’d never forgotten those summer days hanging out at Jasper Bridge, eating her chicken salad sandwiches and playing hide-and-seek like two kids, before jumping into the clear river to cool off.
Or those gray winter mornings before school, when the first snowflakes fell hard and fast and landed on her face and cheeks. And how he’d lick them off the tip of her nose as they huddled under the bridge to keep warm, their arms wrapped around each other.
Since then, he’d outgrown Plain. And her.
He shook off his past. Dumped it into a deep well somewhere in his mind so he couldn’t remember.
“Oh, so that’s how it is—you felt sorry for me.” She dropped the suitcase on his foot. Hard. “You’re such a jerk.”
“Damn,” he grunted, bending to rub his toe. The fringe on the lamp caught on his watch, tearing off a piece from the shade.
“How do you know I’m not here to give your ring back to you?” Mary demanded. “Maybe I don’t want to marry you.”
“But you said in the diner—”
“That was before I found out about you and your wild ways, Brody Jones. You’ve changed since you left Plain.”
Brody began to wonder if she had shown up to dump him. “If that’s how you feel,” he said, “then give me back the ring right now.”
“With pleasure.”
She yanked on her finger, but it wouldn’t come off. “I guess I’ve had it on so long, it won’t budge.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said casually. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Not to you, anyway.” She grabbed the lamp from him and looked dismayed at the torn fringe. “Grandma Blanchard would be heartsick to see how you’ve treated her lamp and her granddaughter.”
“What about the way you treated me?” Brody fired back. “Tossing hot mac ’n cheese all over my shirt.”
“I didn’t throw it at you, and it was cold, not hot.” She pushed by him. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to unpack. Duffy has me working the night shift.”
“Then you’re not leaving?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m a big girl, Brody. I can take care of myself.”
“Duffy’s is a busy twenty-four-hour diner. Creeps and weirdos roll in at all hours.”
“You ought to know,” she called over her shoulder as she went up the stairs, adding a sexiness to her voice that didn’t go unnoticed by him.
“I bet you don’t last a week,” he called after her.
“Don’t be so sure.”
She slammed the door to her room.
Smirking, Brody went back to his room and popped open another bottle. Lying down on the bed, feet up, he drank the beer with gusto. What was he worried about? Duffy lost more waitresses than he hired. This was one bet he was going to win.
Hands down.
He watched ESPN, then grew bored. He needed some action. Richmond came alive at midnight. So would he.
Mary Blanchard wasn’t used to working the graveyard shift. If it was dark outside, she ought to be sleeping. Not so last night.
She was tired, bone tired. She never knew her legs could hurt so much. She’d been on her feet since late last night, hopping tables, making coffee, and serving up the midnight special—a burger, curly fries, and a cherry soda, all for under five bucks.