Small-Town Billionaire. Renee Andrews

mind paying employees for the task, but having people simply help him out of the goodness of their hearts wasn’t something he was used to. Or something he wanted to get used to. He needed to leave Alabama. The sooner the better.

      “You’ve met Maribeth, haven’t you?” Dana continued, tilting her head toward the petite woman who looked even prettier close up.

      Almond-shaped chocolate eyes locked with his, and a light breeze carried that scent of apples and cinnamon he remembered. She quickly glanced toward the horses grazing nearby. Normally when people met the CEO of Brooks International, they treated him with the same regard Ryan’s father had always received when he led the Fortune 500 company. They stared or gawked or whipped out a phone and snapped a picture. The paparazzi typically followed Ryan around to snag photos of him at events, so he was used to the natural response.

      But he wasn’t used to this.

      He cleared his throat. “Yes, we met at your wedding,” he answered, giving his voice the tone he carried at a press conference or board meeting. One of power and authority. Confidence.

      “Your speech will let them know you are in control. Always maintain control,” Lawrence Brooks would say.

      But Ryan’s control slipped a fraction when the gorgeous lady turned her attention back to him, tilted her head and asked, “We met?”

      * * *

      Maribeth saw the flash in the rich guy’s eyes when she didn’t acknowledge their first encounter at the wedding. And when Dana’s laughter filled the air, she had to bite her inner cheek to keep from laughing, too. Undoubtedly, Ryan Brooks felt he was worth remembering. She knew the type, despised the type, and was ready for this conversation to be over so she could prepare to welcome the kids to camp.

      “Wow, Ryan, you must have really made an impression,” Dana said, attempting to smother her giggles with her hand.

      “Obviously.” He studied Maribeth as if she’d sprouted another head, and again, she looked away. Easier than staring at the beautiful male and giving away the fact that he made her knees a bit weak. It bothered her more than she cared to admit that she noticed the way his beard shadow highlighted the strong line of his jaw, or how his sandy hair complimented the blue in his eyes, like sand meeting the sea. Or that he was taller than she remembered, several inches taller. And that his shoulders were broader than she recalled.

      Had she really noticed all of that in her brief glance?

      She swallowed. Who was she kidding? Practically every woman in the U.S. had seen the magazine covers featuring America’s most eligible bachelor billionaire. He was a modern JFK Jr., with the looks and the money that went along with the title, exactly the kind of guy Maribeth would have given everything to—had given everything to—seven years ago.

      Not again. Never again.

      She’d moved to Claremont to get away from the possibility of falling for another guy like Ryan Brooks. What were the chances of running into a wealthy man who’d sweep her off her feet and smash her heart in this tiny town?

      Pretty good, when you considered the fact that Dana Brooks had become Dana Cutter and had also become one of Maribeth’s dearest friends. Naturally, her brother would visit.

      But that didn’t mean Maribeth had to be overly friendly to the guy.

      As it was, though, she wasn’t even being nice. Not very Christian, in the whole scheme of things.

      Help me, God. This is my weakness, guys like him, and for some reason, You’re putting me face-to-face with it, with him. And Ryan Brooks? He’d be number one on the list of way too handsome and way too rich for his own good. Definitely for my own good. Are you trying to teach me to be strong, Lord?

      Maribeth remembered the Bible verse from First Corinthians that Brother Henry had discussed in yesterday’s sermon. The one that said God will not let you be tempted more than you can bear.

      Okay, God. I can be nice.

      She forced a tiny smile. “I think I do remember meeting you at the wedding.” When she saw the curve of a grin tease the edge of his beautiful mouth, she added, “I believe you wore a navy suit.” Maribeth knew for certain that he’d worn a gray Brioni Vanquish valued at the same price as a modest Claremont home. She actually had a photo of Ryan Brooks wearing a similar suit on the wall at her store, and she chastised herself for the lie. She’d just promised God she’d be nice!

      Forgive me, Lord.

      What made her want to goad this guy?

      Any impression of a smile disappeared. “I don’t think so,” he said, studying her as though he knew she remembered the exact color of suit he wore to the event. And the fact that it fit him perfectly, the same way she tried to fit her customers when they visited her consignment store.

      “Oh, Maribeth,” Dana said, still smiling from her laugh, “his suit was gray. I asked Ryan to wear gray, since that’s what color John and Landon wore. Remember? You helped me pick out all of the colors for the wedding.”

      Maribeth nodded. “Yes, that’s right. I do remember now.” She picked at a loose string at the end of her sleeve to keep from looking at the guy. Then she heard the blessed sound of crunching gravel and turned her attention to the driveway, where an older-model silver BMW made its way toward the barn. “Oh, there’s Jessica Martin. She said she’d be bringing Nathan and Lainey a little early. I’ll go make sure all of their paperwork is done.” She turned and started walking away from Dana and her way-too-attractive brother.

      “Good to see you again, Maribeth.”

      She could keep walking and pretend she didn’t hear him, but she was less than six feet away. So she pivoted, forced another smile and then, unfortunately, emitted another lie. “You, too.”

      Please, God, forgive me again. And if it be Your will, send him back to his home...and away from mine.

      * * *

      By Thursday, Maribeth had successfully avoided any additional contact with Ryan Brooks, aka her ultimate temptation and undeniable reminder of her biggest mistake. The feat wasn’t that difficult, thanks to his rehab sessions in the morning and her quick departure from the ranch every afternoon to run her store on the square. For the most part, she hardly remembered he was in town.

      She paired a woven bracelet with an orange sundress and sandals similar to the outfit Hayden Panettiere had worn to a premiere last month and wondered whether Ryan had attended the same premiere. Then she shook her head and silently chastised herself for allowing the gorgeous man to invade her thoughts again. And to make matters worse, her customers seemed equally intrigued with the good-looking rich guy.

      “Oh, wow. Look, Nadia. There he is.” Jasmine Waddell, a nineteen-year-old blonde beauty, pointed to one of the photos on Maribeth’s celebrity fashion wall. “Can you believe he’s here? In Claremont?” she continued, and Maribeth knew before looking that her finger had landed on a photo of Ryan. Since Consigning Women focused on ladies’ clothes, most of the photos were of women; however, Maribeth often used pictures from red carpet galas, and naturally, several of the women had a nice-looking man at their side. Ryan Brooks happened to be that guy in no fewer than three of her displayed photos.

      “I’ve seen those pictures before,” Nadia Berry said. “But I’ve seen him in person at the Cutters’ ranch.”

      Jasmine’s blond hair formed a silky cape as she jerked around to face Nadia. Her blue eyes bristled with excitement. “Shut up. You saw him? I’ve been looking all over town just hoping to get a glimpse, and you’ve actually seen him? I knew I should’ve signed up to help with that camp. Is it too late to volunteer, Maribeth?”

      Maribeth swallowed. She could use the help, especially since two more kids were joining the group tomorrow, but there were only two days left in this week’s camp, and her own past experience kept her from wanting to put Jasmine anywhere near Ryan. “I believe we’ve got this week handled,” she said.

      But