Page 4 of Sweet Deal (Honeysuckle, Texas #4)

The challenge hung in the air between them; playful and so quintessentially Jim that Rachel couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up.

Win his five dollars back at corn hole? It was like stepping back decades, to a time when their biggest worries involved navigating high school hallways and finding creative ways to beat each other at everything from skipping rocks to arcade games.

It felt easy. It felt normal. It felt… surreal.

She let him pull her to her feet, the warmth of his hand lingering even after he let go.

Her gaze did a quick, involuntary scan from his perfectly combed hair down to his ridiculously impractical shoes.

Expensive tasseled loafers. In the heart of West Texas cattle country. Oh, this wouldn’t do. Not at all.

A mischievous grin she couldn’t contain spread across her face.

She deliberately looked him up and down again, slowly this time, letting her amusement show.

“Planning on beating me at corn hole dressed like that, Henderson?” She gestured pointedly towards his feet.

“I hate to break it to you, but that buttery leather, nice as it is, won’t survive five minutes on an unpaved surface.

He glanced down at his shoes, then back at her, a flicker of something in his gaze—maybe surprise, maybe embarrassment—quickly replaced by that easy grin. “They’re comfortable.”

“Comfortable for closing million-dollar deals, maybe. Not so much for actual real life.”

“Closing deals isn’t real life?” He did his best to put on a stern expression, but the twinkle in his eyes gave away the humor he was hiding.

“That’s right. And don’t even get me started on those slacks.” She waved a hand dismissively. “You can’t possibly be of any use to your family, or muck about the corn hole courts looking like you’re about to attend a yacht club luncheon.”

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture endearingly familiar despite the years. “Point taken. Problem is… I don’t actually have any jeans or boots here that still fit.”

She burst out laughing again. James Henderson, successful California businessman, back in his hometown without a single pair of functional jeans.

It stripped away some of the intimidating polish, making him feel less like a visitor from another planet and more like the slightly clueless friend she remembered.

Shaking her head in mock disbelief, she settled her hands on her hips and tipped her head at him. “What happened to the Texas boy I knew?”

“Apparently, he got temporarily distracted by sunshine and stock options.” Jim fell easily into their old rhythm of banter. “Figured I could sort out the wardrobe later.”

An idea took hold. “Well, later is now. Consider this your official Honeysuckle Welcome Wagon intervention, conducted by yours truly.” She hooked her thumb back towards the shops lining Main Street.

“Forget corn hole for a minute. First mission: Operation Find Jim Some Real Clothes. We need to get you into a decent pair of jeans that look like they might actually encounter dirt occasionally, and boots that won’t dissolve if they step in something…

organic.” She started walking towards the street, glancing back over her shoulder, enjoying the slightly bewildered look on his face.

“Unless, of course, you’re worried a little denim and leather might cramp your sophisticated California style? ”

He hesitated for only a second before that familiar laugh rumbled out and he fell into step beside her, easily matching her stride. “I’m all yours.”

All yours. Loaded words if ever she’d heard any.

It took a few moments to drag her mind back from places they should most definitely not go.

Her job was to get this guy some decent work clothes so he didn’t stick out like a sore city boy’s thumb, not to let her imagination run wild with what she could do if he really were all hers.

Tempted to link arms or hold hands as they walked down the street, Rachel decided keeping her hands in her pocket was the safe move.

“Miller’s General Store has expanded some since you lived here.

The pet shop next door went out of business about ten years ago and they took up the space.

They’ve got a pretty good selection of clothing now. Both work wear and even party clothes.”

“No more having to drive to Miller’s Creek for church clothes?” he teased.

“Nope.” She slowed her steps as they drew closer to the shop. “But if you want, we can buy some of those for you too.”

For the umpteenth time since they bumped into each other, they both laughed from somewhere deep down inside and Rachel felt lighter than she’d felt in ages. All their troubles, and there were many, fell away. At least for now.

Standing under the store sign, Jim shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Think of it as reconnecting with your roots.” Rachel pushed open the door, setting off the small bell above it. “Besides, you might actually enjoy being comfortable again.”

“I’m perfectly comfortable.”

“You won’t be the first day your dad pulls you out of bed to help muck the stalls or fix a fence post.”

“There is that.” He grabbed the door, ushering her inside first.

The familiar scent of leather and denim welcomed her as they stepped into the clothing side of the general store.

Amy Miller, whose family had founded the place about the same time as Honeysuckle came to be, looked up from the counter and patting the gray-haired chignon behind her head, broke into a wide smile.

“Rachel Sweet. Just the person I wanted to see. That dress you—” Amy’s words died on her lips as she caught sight of Jim. “Well, I’ll be. Jimmy Henderson, is that you hiding under all that city polish?”

Jim’s expression shifted from resigned to genuinely pleased. “Amy. It’s been a while.”

“Ten years at least.” Amy came around the counter, giving him a quick once-over. “And from the looks of things, you need my help desperately.”

Rachel laughed at the alarm that flashed across Jim’s face. “That’s exactly what I told him.”

Amy’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Let me guess. Rachel’s refusing to be seen with you until we fix…” she gestured at his entire outfit, “all of this.”

“Something like that,” Jim admitted.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” Amy clapped her hands together. “I’m thinking boot-cut jeans, a couple of good work shirts, and definitely proper boots.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Outnumbered, Jim seemed to steel himself for the inevitable.

There was something oddly satisfying about seeing Mr. California Finance surrendering to the return to his Texas roots.

His glance landed on a particularly ornate belt buckle display and for just a minute she thought he might turn tail and run.

“Shall we take the first step in your re-introduction to living in West Texas?”

A sly grin teasing one side of his mouth and he nodded. “Be gentle with me.”

She almost swallowed her tongue. Did he have any idea how that sounded?

Had they teased like that when they were younger, and she just hadn’t noticed?

Or is this what playful banter became when you were all grown up?

Or maybe, just maybe, she needed that husband more than she realized.

Her eyes almost rolled back into her head at her own thoughts.

This was not the time to think about the fate of the ranch and her duty to save it.

This was just old friends hanging out. And if anyone believed that baloney, for five dollars she had some beachfront property in Kansas to sell dirt-cheap.

The general store smelled exactly the same as it had when Jim was a kid—leather, cotton, and that peculiar mix of metal and wood that reminded him of his father’s workshop.

Jim ran his hand over a shelf of folded jeans, the familiar stiff denim had nothing in common with the tailored slacks hanging in his California closet.

“These,” Rachel declared, pulling a pair of dark blue Wranglers from the stack. She handed him a couple of shirts to take into the dressing room with the pants.

Jim stood in front of the three-way mirror, turning slightly.

The jeans fit perfectly—comfortable, sturdy.

The simple clothing shouldn’t have felt like a revelation, but somehow, they did.

In California, his clothes had been armor—designed to impress, to fit in, to project an image of success and sophistication.

Here, that armor felt unnecessary. Cumbersome, even.

“You decent in there?” Rachel called.

“Define ‘decent,’” he shot back, pulling aside the curtain with a flourish.

Leaning against a display rack, arms crossed, a small, genuine smile played on Rachel’s lips.

Not teasing, not laughing, just… watching him.

Her gaze held an intensity that had nothing to do with critiquing his new wardrobe.

It was the same look he’d caught a few times at the park, a look that made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t felt in years, maybe ever.

It sent an unexpected warmth spreading through his veins. “You clean up nice.”

“It feels right.” He turned to the mirror again, surprised by how true his words were.

“Okay.” Amy hurried over with a pair of dark brown, basic, intended for work not show, cowboy boots. “These should do the trick. Oiled leather, good solid heel. Won’t fall apart the first time you step in…” she paused, glancing at Rachel with a conspiratorial wink, “…mud.”

He sat on the small bench to try them on, pulling off the ridiculous loafers and feeling like he was shedding another layer of pretense along with them.

The boots felt solid, grounding. He stood up, testing his weight.

No surprise, they felt right. Like coming home, they’d need a little breaking in, but before he knew it, everything would fit perfectly.

“Well?” Rachel pushed away from the rack, walking towards him. Her earlier amusement was gone, replaced by that same thoughtful scrutiny. “What’s the verdict?”

He met her gaze, holding it. So many thoughts ran through his mind. “You done good. Thanks for the, uh, intervention.”

“Anytime.” Her voice was softer now.

Amy reappeared, triumphantly holding the ornate belt buckle he’d eyed earlier. “Almost forgot the finishing touch. Every respectable Texas man needs a statement buckle.”

Before he could protest, Rachel stepped forward. “Actually, Amy, I think this one suits him better.” She held up a simpler, cleaner buckle from the display—brushed silver, classic western engraving, solid without being flashy. She showed it to him. “What do you think?”

He took it, the metal cool against his palm. It was more him. Or at least, more the him he wanted to be now. How did she know that after all these years? He looked from the buckle to her face, catching that flicker of something deep and knowing in her eyes again.

“Perfect.” He handed the buckle and his credit card to Amy. “Ring it all up.”

“Do you want to change back into your other clothes, or should I bag them up for you?”

He shook his head. “I’ll wear these. You can bag… no, you know what? Just donate them.”

Amy’s gaze darted over to the dressing room where his California clothes hung, and thousand-dollar leather loafers rested. She was probably wondering who the heck around here would need those, but with a gentle nod, smiled up at him and hurried back to the counter.

Standing at the register, in comfortable silence, waiting for Amy to ring up the sale, he wasn’t thinking about hedge funds or bottom lines or profit ratios.

He wasn’t thinking about the life he’d walked away from, or the possessions he’d left in California.

He was feeling more himself, more grounded, and more real than he had in over a decade.

Sale complete, credit card back in his wallet, he opened the shop door for Rachel, and standing on the curb, turned to face her. “So, am I suitable for a game of corn hole now?”

Turning her wrist, she glanced at her watch and her bright smile slipped. “I’m sorry. It’s getting late and Mom is expecting me back. Rain check?”

Doing his best to hold his own smile, he nodded. “Of course. My folks are probably wondering where the heck I am too.”

They stood awkwardly for another moment or two before one of them, he wasn’t sure which, finally took a step back, putting distance between them.

“You won’t be a stranger now, will you?” Her voice was softer, almost timid.

“Not a chance,” were the only words he could form that made any sense. “I have a rain check coming.”

And on that, she laughed again, pushed to her tippy toes, gave him a kiss on the cheek and hurried back to where her truck was parked.

Of all the things he’d done wrong in his life, now more than even yesterday, he was absolutely positive coming home had not been one of them.