Burned by a Kiss Read online

  “I’ve never known much about Mary.” Emma looked close, glad for a chance to escape the intensity of Santana’s gaze. “I mean, we’ve known her all our lives, but she’s just always been the owner of the Midnight Bar and Grill.”

  “The lady who sits in the third pew in church, and looks at you askance if you take her seat,” Sierra said.

  “Mary makes the best chicken fried chicken around,” Santana said. “You two are focusing on the wrong things.” He leaned close to look, and Emma could smell his skin and something woodsy.

  “We need to move along,” Nick said, “if I’m springing for your lunch, kids.”

  “And we brought you along just for that reason,” Sierra said brightly. “Look!” Sierra stopped, completely transfixed. “There it is!”

  At the end of the hallway, the gown rested on an old fashioned dressmaker’s bust, and Emma could tell at once the dress was in pristine condition. It had obviously looked been stored away carefully and lovingly, waiting for its magical day to arrive.

  “It’s beautiful,” Sierra said reverently.

  Emma had to agree. “The lace on the cap sleeves is stunning. I think it’s hand-made.”

  The gown had a simple Victorian bodice that tied at the rib cage, a high waistline that would give the wearer a turn-of-the-century look. The entire dress was made of lace, which had been worked into flowers.

  A curator came over when she noticed their interest. “This is Miss Melly Shelby’s wedding dress,” she said. “Of course she never married, so this lovely gown has never been worn.”

  “Never?” Emma asked, suddenly feeling sorry for lonely Miss Shelby.

  “No. She made this, working the lace herself.” The curator reminisced. “Of course, when we were in school, Melly Shelby was voted Most Popular, Most Beautiful, and Most Likely to Succeed. She definitely succeeded in her life. She just never found the man of her dreams. Excuse me.”

  The curator floated off to help some other customers.

  “Just like Mary,” Emma said. “Mary will probably never marry either.”

  “Ew, I get chills thinking about poor Miss Shelby making her dream dress, and then never getting to wear it. Look, I’ve got goose pimples.”

  “That’s because it’s twenty degrees in this rickety joint,” Santana said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Nick chuckled. “I’m warm as toast.”

  The ladies glared at Santana.

  “Oh, all right,” he said, relenting. “Shall we have tea here?”

  “No.” Sierra waved the curator back over. “We’ll take it. This gentleman right here,” she said, indicating Nick, “will pay for it.”

  Emma watched as Nick pulled out his wallet. Her gaze bounced to Santana, surprised that Nick did exactly what Sierra said.

  “Let’s go outside,” Santana told her. “I promise it’s warmer out there.”

  She followed him out of the house. “Was that weird? Or was it my imagination?”

  “Of course it’s weird. Sierra’s training Nick. So far, I’d say she has him wrapped around her finger.” Santana sat on the porch and leaned back on his elbows, untroubled by his sister’s methods.

  The cold from the porch seeped through Emma’s jeans to her fanny. “I don’t know what to think about Sierra’s dress shop.”

  “It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. It’s happening.” He leaned back. “It’s on Nick, the way I figure it. Whatever their bet is, I hope he knows what he’s up against.”

  Sierra bounded out onto the porch, Nick following behind her, holding the long dress in a plastic bag. “All done!”

  “This was quite the adventure. So much history in this little town,” Nick said.

  Santana got up. “Here’s the thing, Nick. Buying my sister rags and hiring me, financing my sister’s pipe dream—we don’t need any of this. We’re not a charity case. You’re not responsible for us, and frankly, we don’t need another family member. Especially one who owns everything we had.”

  “Santana!” Surprised, Emma grabbed his arm. “Come on. Let’s get Nick to the airport.”

  The two men glared at each other for a moment. Santana hadn’t moved, though she tried to guide him away from Nick. What if they came to blows? That wasn’t going to help the situation.

  Then again, what difference did it make? She was the only true outsider here. Releasing Santana, she stalked off the porch. “If you two want to fight, have at it. I’m getting in the car. It’s too cold to stand around and listen to stubborn men squabble.”

  Santana was right: Sierra’s dream was a bit outlandish, but that wasn’t her problem. Nick was trying to buy his way into the Dark family, but that too didn’t concern her. And Santana was just being…well, he was being an annoying hardheaded male. Unfortunately, the only time he was sweet was in bed.

  That wasn’t going to be enough.

  Chapter Nine

  They were walking to the Range Rover when Nick got a call on his cell phone. The three of them waited for him to finish his call, Santana wondering what he was doing here playing gofer to a man who had just bankrolled Sierra’s shop.

  “My flight is canceled,” Nick said, rejoining them. “A snowstorm came in unexpectedly.” He glanced up at the sky, searching the overcast whiteness. “Do we get much snow in Star Canyon?”

  “We?” Santana sighed. The man was part of Star Canyon, whether he liked it or not. Nick seemed nothing if not determined. “No more than six inches, most likely. But it’s a good time to head back if you’re not going to the airport. Am I driving?”

  “Sure,” Nick said. “I can work if you drive.”

  “Has someone ferried you all your life? Driven you here, flown you there?” Santana asked, more curious than annoyed.

  “I never really thought about it.” Nick shrugged.

  “While you two butt antlers to see who’s the strongest, can we get in? It’s cold,” Sierra said.

  “If I’m driving, Emma’s sitting up front with me. She’s the only person among us who doesn’t annoy the crap out of me.”

  “Fair enough.” Nick opened the back door. Sierra got into the car carefully with her purchase. She spread it over her knees. “Never mind him, Emma. Just ignore the driver if he gets too ornery.” She glared at Nick. “Just because we’re stuck together for a couple of hours back here doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

  “Of course not,” Nick said, amused. “Business partners, only.”

  “That’s right.”

  Emma got in next to him, and Santana felt himself relax slightly. “Hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  “How do you feel about grabbing a bite?” Santana asked in the general direction of the backseat.

  “I’m hungry,” Nick said.

  “I don’t care,” Sierra said. “I can go days without food. But if you folks want to stop somewhere, the curator suggested Miss Sugar’s Tea room. She apparently also operates a popular B&B.”

  “That’s not food,” Santana said. “Cookies and tea aren’t going to cut it.”

  “You don’t always need a steak,” Sierra said. “For your information, Mr. Narrowminded, Miss Sugar apparently serves a wicked BLT.”

  “What is it with all the spinsters in this town?” Santana asked. “Will we have to listen to the sad tales of the never-married over our BLTs?”

  “He’s a spoilsport, Emma,” Sierra said. “Jeez, Santana, what a crab you are sometimes.”

  Santana liked the sound of Emma’s laughter at Sierra’s comment, even if it was at his expense. “You’re okay with the tea room?” Santana asked her.

  “Sure. I’ll eat anything.”

  He thought she was always much more easygoing than he was. Santana told himself it was watching Nick buy the wedding gown for Sierra that had him in a twist, but more likely, it was Emma. He wanted to be alone with her, kiss her, hold her.

  “Miss Sugar’s it is,” he said, and drove into town while Emma looked the directions up on her phone.

&nb
sp; “Apparently, Miss Sugar is the local authority on ghosts,” Sierra said, thrilled to be supping with the supernatural. “She has so many tales of transformative incidents she’s been asked to write a book on the subject!”

  “Ridiculous,” Nick said, and Santana thought that was the first time he’d agreed with him on any topic.

  “What do you think, Emma?” Santana asked.

  “I don’t think it’s ridiculous,” Emma said. “I never doubt the spirits.”

  “You’re too levelheaded to believe in ghosts,” he said.

  “You’re too thick-headed not to,” Sierra said. “We’ve had this discussion a time or two over the years. My brother isn’t a believer. Nor am I, for that matter.”

  “We have to believe,” Emma said. “Otherwise, if we have no connection to the supernatural, we’re not allowing for miracles in our lives.”

  Santana thought he’d experienced a few miracles, the most recent being making love to her. That was a miracle he hoped happened again, and soon. He would willingly shop for gowns, and eat spinster-made BLTs, if it meant he could lose himself in her sweet welcoming body. Had he prayed for heavenly assistance when he was in war zones overseas? Yeah. A fucking lot. And their father had been religious as hell. What was there to believe in now? “I don’t know,” he said instead.

  “This is fascinating,” Nick said. “I was at a party once where there was a fortune teller as the evening’s entertainment. Everyone seemed quite taken with her.”

  “And taken by her. I’m sure she emptied plenty of purses while she was there,” Santana said.

  “You say purses like it was a female event. But the men listened, too. Skeptically, at first,” Nick continued. “In my case, she told me that my ambition would one day bring me down.”

  Emma turned to look at him. “Bad party tricks, obviously? You don’t seem like such an ambitious man to me.”

  “I don’t know,” Nick said softly. “Her words made me cautious. Ever since that night, I’ve felt this strange sensation that any minute I might walk into more than I can handle.”

  “What a load,” Santana said. “If you let nonsense like that into your head, I doubt very seriously your ability to keep a working ranch together.”

  “That’s what I have you for,” Nick said.

  He felt Emma’s gaze on him. “He’s right. You need him, and he needs you,” she said.

  There was an instant recoil in Santana’s gut, even as he realized the truth of Emma’s words.

  “We don’t need anybody,” Sierra said. “We could live in a cave and be perfectly happy.”

  “You could,” Emma said quietly, “but you’re not. Nick is financing your business. And you’re helping him hold on to the land he has zero idea about working. As far as business matchups go, you both need each other.”

  Sierra sighed gustily. “It doesn’t mean we have to sit around thinking self-defeating ideas like we need each other. Jeez. What ever happened to the pioneer spirit of raising yourself up? Relying on yourself?”

  “I don’t care about independence,” Nick said, stunning Santana. “I’m happy to be with family.”

  “We’re not your family,” Sierra said. “You’ve adopted us, but that’s as far as the ties go.”

  “Your fathers were brothers,” Emma said. “Even if there’s no blood tie, you’re in this together for the time being.”

  “Ah, nuts.” Sierra poked Santana in the shoulder. “If you marry her, one half of your marriage will be rational and steeped in common sense. Here’s a hint: it won’t be your side.”

  “No one’s getting married,” Emma said, before Santana could reply. What shocked him was that he hadn’t been about to make the response Emma had, which should have been his, as the typical male response. Don’t tie me down—right?

  No, the words on his lips had been No, her side has all the brains and the beauty.

  What the hell was his problem?

  “Anyway,” Sierra said, “you’re all way too serious. There’s no such thing as magic, or supernatural elements. It’s all talk. It starts when you’re a kid, because your parents want you to believe in stuff to make you behave.” She grinned. “I’m not even sure I believe in God,” Sierra continued. “Definitely I don’t believe in angels, saints, ghosts, spirits. I just don’t.”

  “And yet you’re opening a store you’ve named the Magic Wedding Dress?” Nick asked. “I saw the sign in the back of the storeroom. And the business cards.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t believe in great sales technique,” Sierra said. “That old woman gave me a great idea. I’m running with it. I’m going to put that antique dress in the front window and never sell it. It’s my good luck charm. Melly Shelby may never have married, but her beautiful dress will bring me lots of ladies who will want a gown as amazing as hers.”

  “I think her dress meant something to her,” Santana said. “She didn’t make it to be a good luck charm.”

  “And I think you have a soft heart, especially when it concerns elderly folk with a hard luck story, and little children who need role models,” Sierra told him.

  “Sierra!” Astonished by the cold note in Sierra’s voice, Emma turned to look at her best friend. “What has gotten into you?”

  “I don’t know,” Sierra said glumly. “I don’t feel very well.”

  “What’s wrong?” Nick asked, concerned.

  “We’ll get you some lunch,” Santana pulled in to Miss Sugar’s. “That’ll probably help. We’ll have to hurry, though. I don’t want to get caught on the road if the snow starts.”

  He studied Sierra as she got out of the truck. She was pale, but that wasn’t what caught his attention. It was how carefully Nick hung the wedding dress from a hook in the back, laying it over the seat, then hurrying around to put a hand under Sierra’s elbow. Santana thought his sister would probably give Nick a swift kick to the ankle, but she didn’t.

  In fact, his starchy sister sort of melted against Nick for support.

  “Let’s get you out of the cold,” he told her, taking his sister from Nick and guiding her inside the cheery tearoom.

  Sierra was hot, very hot. Santana touched his sister’s forehead as a tall woman—maybe Miss Sugar?—yelled at them from the direction of what he supposed was the kitchen to take any seat they wanted, and she’d be with them in a moment. “Sit down, Sierra.” He guided her into a funky star-shaped chair at the nearest table. “When did you start running a fever?”

  “I’m not,” Sierra said. “At least, I wasn’t.”

  “You are now.” He felt her head again. “Let’s get you out of your jacket.”

  He helped Sierra shrug out of her big parka. Nick took a seat, his face helpless and worried.

  “Let me see.” Emma knelt down next to him, staring up at Sierra. She touched her friend’s forehead. “Sierra, you were fine at the estate sale.”

  “I know.” Sierra took a deep breath. “I just feel so strange all of a sudden.”

  “Maybe we should drive on back,” Nick said.

  “Let’s get her some water at least,” Emma suggested.

  The large woman who’d bellowed at them cheerily came over, her face wreathed with delight to have customers. They were the only ones in the place, and Santana wondered about the veracity of Miss Sugar’s being the most popular café in town. “Hello, folks. Sorry about the wait. I was putting the last bit of frosting on a cake that had just cooled. Strawberry cake with cream cheese frosting, in case you’re wondering. And I made a blackberry pie.” She looked down at Sierra’s flushed face. Santana thought the woman was maybe too thin to eat much of her own baking. She had white hair she’d twisted in a long braid that hung over her shoulder and snaked down to her rib cage. Her white apron was clean, and lettered with blue letters that matched the tearoom décor: Miss Sugar.

  “Miss Sugar,” Santana said, “could we have some water?”

  “With some lemon,” Sierra said. “I’m craving a lemon.”

  “You
sick, honey?” Miss Sugar asked.

  “I wasn’t ten minutes ago,” Sierra said faintly.

  “I’ll get that water.” Miss Sugar beetled off quickly.

  Sierra’s hands were shaking. Santana took one in his, stunned that it was ice-cold. “Sierra, you’re really ill.”

  “Did you eat something while we were at the estate sale? I saw some plates of cookies sitting out,” Emma asked.

  “I didn’t.”

  “Are you hurting anywhere?” Emma said, and Santana was glad for her levelheaded approach. He was far too worried about his little sister to be any good with this. But he couldn’t remember Sierra ever being sick—and it troubled him. She’d had the odd cold over the years, and once they’d all gotten the chickenpox together, creating quite a bit of mayhem in the house for their mom because they’d been fairly demanding patients.

  But not Sierra. She’d laid quietly in the room with her brothers, where they’d set up camp in the den so Mom could oversee them all at once. Sierra alone had kept a cheerful countenance, when she wasn’t asleep.

  She’d gotten well first, too.

  “I’m not in any pain. Not even a headache,” Sierra said. “I’m never sick. But I don’t feel good at all.”

  “Okay. Let’s get some water in her, maybe a to-go cup, too, and try to outrun the storm,” Nick suggested. “She’d feel better in her own bed.”

  “I want a slice of that pie,” Sierra said. “And I want to hear at least one of Miss Sugar’s ghost stories.”

  “You don’t even believe in ghosts,” Nick said. “Why would you care to hang around to listen to baloney?”

  “I don’t know,” Sierra said weakly. “Is anybody else hearing chimes?”

  Santana pressed his sister back in the chair and stood as Miss Sugar came back to the table with her tray, rapidly putting four waters, a bowl of sliced lemons, and a platter of tiny wafer cookies on the table.

  “Thank you,” Sierra said, her voice dull. “Can I have a slice of that pie and a cup of hot tea?”