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More boxes? The car was going to be more than loaded down with the boxes she already had. She shook her head and got back to her task. Grammy had mentioned the nut fry a few times now, and from what Charlotte had been able to gather, it was some sort of town party that some of the local ranchers hosted. People set up booths and sold their wares. Basically, it was a farmers’ market on steroids with a live band and booze, held on the lot of land that the Bronco Saloon sat on at the edge of town. Everyone in Cheyenne came, apparently.
Charlotte made a mental note to pick up some peanuts to fry with the others. She may not be around past summer, but she wanted to make a good impression. For Grammy’s sake, if nothing else. And she wasn’t about to admit that maybe making a friend wouldn’t be so bad—if that friend was Tripp.
Two days. In two days, she’d see him and have a chance to set her grandmother up for the year. Grammy normally sold two hundred jars at this one event alone. Maybe Charlotte could sell more than that. Start her season off with a bang.
Maybe she’d get to end the night with a bang, too.
Fingers crossed.
…
Tripp breathed in the smell of smoky barbecue and laughter. The nut fry was his favorite event of the summer. Sure, there were always the rodeo and the carnival to look forward to, but the nut fry was always a highlight. Seeing the whole town in one place meant everything to him.
The country band was playing hard and fast on the outdoor stage, and a massive concrete slab had been set up for dancing, lights strung along the tops of the poles that lined it. The fiddle player nailed his solo during the chorus, and everyone cheered.
“Great turnout,” Cash said, slapping Tripp on the back.
“Yeah. Wayne brought his barbecue sauce and samples of pulled pork to try it with.”
“I saw that. And ate it,” Cash said. “Then I bought five jars.”
“Well, that’ll last us a week.” Living with two guys on a cattle ranch meant they had red meat covered in some kind of sauce regularly. “I’m excited for the pears and whiskey.”
Tripp nodded, looking around. The tent Mrs. Gram usually occupied was set up and ready, but no Mrs. Gram and no Charlotte.
Not that he was looking for her.
Okay, he was. A little.
He hadn’t seen her in over a week, and he’d woken up hard every damn morning, thinking of her full, perfect mouth. Cold showers weren’t helping. He needed to see her. Talk to her. Touch her. He needed to find a way to have her in his world while keeping his boundaries firmly in place.
The former was starting to outweigh the latter.
Their time beneath the pear tree had been…different. More than the quick roll in the hay he’d expected. It was erotic and sexy as hell because he’d never had a woman be so into him—or his dick. Like she’d loved sucking him off, and he definitely wasn’t complaining. The sight of her lips wrapped around him would be burned into his brain forever. He’d been going crazy ever since and he needed to do something about it because the woman was taking up his entire mind. There had to be a way to have her without Gracie getting attached. Or getting himself attached.
Now if only she’d show up.
“Beep, beep. Succulent pears coming through,” Bo said, carrying several boxes on a dolly toward Mrs. Gram’s tent.
Right behind him was Charlotte.
God, she looked gorgeous. Her latest sundress had a flair of “city professional” to it, fitting her curves like a dream. Her strappy sandals laced up her smooth calves and made her look like a sexy Greek goddess.
She struggled to guide her load of pears around a rock, and he snapped out of his daze. He’d been so enthralled, he’d forgotten his manners.
“May I help?” he asked, trying to take control of the dolly.
“I’ve got it, thanks,” she said, and moved past him. Not avoiding, but not inviting.
His jaw clenched, and he knew right then and there he wanted her attention. And her mouth. And all of her. So damn bad he could taste it.
“How have you been?” he asked, walking beside her toward the tent.
“Great. Just canning a lot,” she said.
“Yeah, I figured.” God, he sounded like a moron. And Bo was helping her and not him, which made Tripp want to punch his best friend. Leave it to Bo to capitalize on showing up late and finding a damsel in distress. Tripp’s damsel at the moment, damn it.
Yeah, he was in bad shape if he was jealous of Bo’s helping Charlotte. He needed to get this woman out of his system. By enjoying her as long as he could with no attachment. Simple.
