Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
“But you haven’t finished eating.”
I smile at her, trying to soften the blow. “I have sort of a sweet tooth.”
She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Well, stay put, I’ll get it for you.”
“No! I mean, no, that’s okay. I need to talk to Janie anyway.”
I see the shocked looks on their faces, but I don’t care. I thank them again and walk over to the buffet table. Nothing is going to get between Janie and me now. I’m going to talk to her if it’s the last thing I do.
5
Janie
I should have just stayed in the church. If I’d done that, I wouldn’t have to see Ginger pawing all over Carter. And well, it doesn’t seem like he’s enjoying it all that much, but he has to know what Ginger’s reputation is like. Of all the people here, why is he sitting with her? I try to hold in my disappointment. I take a deep breath and sigh.
“You sang and played beautifully, Miss.”
I smile at the cowboy in front of me. He’s blond, blue-eyed, and close to my age. If I’d seen him last week, I’d probably have been more interested in talking to him. But not now, not after meeting Carter earlier this week. Darn, I can’t let him ruin me for all men. We just talked. That was it.
I hold my hand out to the cowboy. “Thank you! I’m Janie.”
He wipes his hand down the front of his shirt before grabbing mine in a firm handshake. “Hi. I’m Tommy.”
I nod and pull my hand back quickly, trying to ease my reaction by smiling up at him. “Well, we’re glad you came today. Here’s a piece of pie. We hope to see you next week.”
He takes the pie but doesn’t move on. He’s staring at me, and I know he’s about to ask me out. I just know it.
I chance a look at Carter and he’s staring right at me. I can feel the heat of his gaze all the way over here. I swallow and my gaze falls on the woman next to him. Of course, he’s only been here one day and the single ladies of the church have already pounced on him. I sigh and pull my eyes off him and back to what I’m doing.
“Can I get a piece of pie?” an elderly man asks from behind Tommy.
“Yes, you absolutely can.” I focus all my attention on him, and finally Tommy walks away. “Would you like apple or blackberry pie?”
“Apple.”
I nod and put a big slice on the old man’s plate. “Enjoy.”
“I will. Thank you.”
The man is already shoveling a forkful of the pie in his mouth before he gets away from the table.
“Can I get a slice of pie?” Carter asks as he walks up to me. He doesn’t stop in front of the table. No, he circles around it until he’s standing next to me. It’s either the dropped octave of his voice or the closeness that has goosebumps rising on my arms in this hot Tennessee heat.
I don’t dare look up at him. I stare at the table. “Sure, you can. Apple or blackberry?”
“Did you make either of them?” he asks as he moves even closer.
My breath hitches. “Uh, yeah, I made the blackberry. But it doesn’t look like it’s very popular.”
“Blackberry,” he says and even though he’s just naming off a type of pie, he somehow makes it sound sexual.
I cut a slice, put it on the plate, and hand it to him. “I would have thought Ginger would have gotten you a slice.”
Darn it, I said that out loud. I told myself I had no right to be jealous, but here I am spouting off at the mouth. I bend over, wiping the nonexistent crumbs off the table.
“Janie.”
“Yeah?” I say as I straighten the plates and plasticware that doesn’t need to be straightened.
“Look at me.”
I pause, paste a smile on my face, and stand up. “I’m lookin’ at you.”
His hat is low on his forehead, and the shadow makes his eyes look even darker. “Does it bother you that I was sitting with Ginger?”
I shake my head, ready to deny it, but he puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Don’t lie to me. There’s a lot of things I can handle, but lying isn’t one of them.”
I jut my chin at him in defiance, but I know I won’t lie to him. “Yes, it bothers me. But it shouldn’t. I don’t have the right—"
He interrupts me before I can finish. He sets the pie down, and his hand goes up the curve of my neck, and he holds on to me there. “You may think you don’t have the right, but I disagree. I didn’t like seeing Tommy Cavanaugh talking to you either.”
I blink as his thumb strokes across the pulse point on my neck. My heart is going wild in my chest. “Who’s Tommy Cavanaugh?”