Ever After at Sweetheart Ranch (15 page)

“So . . .” she began, trying not to think arousing thoughts when his brothers were so close at hand, “what should we talk about? Because if I lay still, I'll fall blissfully asleep.”

“And your snoring would bring my brothers running?”

She elbowed him in the stomach, satisfied at his playful grunt. “I don't snore.”

“I'll have to find that out for myself,” he said, kissing her cheek, then gently biting her earlobe.

She felt him remove the condom. Closing her eyes, she whispered huskily, “Come on, we need something to distract us. Anything exciting happen today?”

“Well, you heard about the anonymous flyer that mysteriously appeared at every store all over town, didn't you?”

She eyed him curiously, almost nose to nose. “I was in school all day and then came directly here. What flyer?”

“This you'll want to hear, since you love books. Someone wanted the whole town to know that we have an anonymous author in our midst.”

Lyndsay was positive that all the color must have leached out of her face. Thank God for the humid heat up there in the barn rafters. She kept still, concentrating on her even, if shallow, breathing, then said very casually, “Anonymous author? What do you mean? I thought you meant the flyer was anonymous.”

“It was. Hell, maybe the anonymous author thought up this marketing strategy. Regardless, the flyer said that everyone should keep an eye out for the upcoming debut of a local author, and there'll be more hints to follow. You know how we love a good mystery around here.”

All she could do was nod.

Who'd decided to play around with her secret?

 

Chapter 13

W
ill didn't blame Lyndsay for being all stiff and nervous lying naked up in the hayloft when his brothers had been right below them. But she'd been a good sport and hadn't thrown on her clothes, as if their relationship was a dirty secret. But although he'd tried to soothe her with town gossip, she still seemed unsettled.

But at least she was still naked. Her skin glowed in the gloom. Her nipples were dark, the line of hair between her thighs as dark brown as her highlighted hair used to be. He wanted to pet every part of her, but he sensed she was no longer in the mood.

But she was still naked.

She'd been incredible, daringly agreeing to their tryst in the hayloft, accepting whatever he'd wanted to do—­initiating incredible pleasure on her own. No wonder his hard-­on lingered—­he couldn't stop thinking about what they'd done together.

To keep himself from sliding inside her again, he thought about his first experience teaching. He felt like he'd rushed and stuttered at first, but the kids had been pretty patient—­except for Alex and Logan, who'd thought it funny to hurt a horse's ears.

And Will had been clueless. He'd been surprised by Silver's behavior, but he'd thought he would eventually figure out the reason. Then he'd seen Lyndsay approach the kids at the back and speak quietly to the two teenage boys. Though the boys had looked sullen, they'd obeyed her instantly, and Silver had calmed right down. She had that authoritative vibe of a teacher, and he'd liked seeing her use it.

The sound of the dinner bell ringing in the distance brought him out of his reverie.

Lyndsay stared up at him. “So . . . your brothers are definitely heading to dinner?”

“I haven't heard them by the barn in a while. There's no reason for them to come back here.”

To his delighted surprise, she rolled him onto his back and straddled his thighs.

“Do you have another condom?”

His body stirred to life under her deliberate, hungry stare. “You bet I do.”

This time it was her turn to ride the cowboy, and he loved the way her breasts bounced and her hair fell down around her shoulders. It was erotic to watch himself disappear inside her. And when at last she collapsed on his chest, he held her close, stroking down the sleek bumps of her spine.

He'd spent a lot of years deliberately not thinking about Lyndsay as someone to date, had closed his mind away from sexual thoughts about her. Now he wondered what the hell he'd been thinking. She made him laugh; she made him horny. And she enjoyed sex as much as he did, even sex in risky places.

She propped herself up on her elbows and looked into his eyes, hair a mess all around her shoulders. “So . . . will anyone notice me sneaking out of here?”

He threaded his fingers through her hair. “Naw, they're all busy eating. You sure you gotta go?”

Her expression sobered as she studied him. “Yeah, it's a school night. And it sounds like once again I've been keeping you from your work and making your brothers bear the burden.”

He shrugged. “They owe me.” But he patted her ass and felt a stab of regret as she got to her feet. Then he consoled himself by putting his hands behind his head and watching her dress.

She eyed him when she was in her underwear and bra—­they matched, all white and lacy and feminine.

“So . . . you're not going to dinner?” she said.

“And answer questions about how we disappeared?”

She winced.

“I'll grab something to eat in the bunkhouse.”

“I'd suggest we get something, but . . .” She glanced at her watch. “I have an errand to run.”

“No problem.”

Still in her undies, she pulled her phone out of her jeans pocket and frowned at it as she read. Then she sent a text off and gave him a distracted smile as she donned her jeans and t-­shirt. She was retreating from him, back to her own life, her own concerns. She didn't explain anything to him, and he didn't expect it.

And for the first time, he felt like he wanted to know. He backed away quickly from that thought. It was none of his business.

When Lyndsay was at last dressed, she teased, “Now don't lounge around naked so long that you fall asleep. How will you explain that to your brothers?”

He sat up. “Could be ugly. I'll come down with you, like we just came in from a ride or something.”

He pulled on his clothes, then followed her down the ladder. He had her pause in the shadows while he checked out the yard between the barn and the house.

“All clear,” he said.

When she would have walked swiftly past him, he caught her in a hug and gave her a thorough kiss. “I had a great time today.”

She smiled. “I did, too. We should do this again sometime.”

“I'll call you.”

She nodded, and with a wave, she hurried toward her car. Will watched her move in the twilight, liking her athleticism, remembering how well she'd put it to use.

Reluctantly, he turned and jogged toward the bunkhouse.

D
riving away from the ranch, Lyndsay allowed her thoughts to linger on Will. She felt a warm glow of happiness and the knowledge that their intimacy had been even deeper than she'd imagined. He'd been thoughtful and sweet—­
and thorough,
she added to herself, knowing she had a Cheshire cat grin. She wanted to bask in the memories, but new problems intruded no matter how she tried to put them off.

Thoughts of the anonymous flyer made her grit her teeth. Someone was taunting her with the secret of her book debut. She couldn't believe it was the owner of the Open Book. She'd already talked to the woman a ­couple months ago, confiding her secret, since the owner would soon see the publisher's sales catalogue anyway. In return for the owner's not putting the book on the shelves until after school let out, Lyndsay had agreed to tell all her friends and family to buy their copies there and to allow the store to host a book signing in June. No, she couldn't believe the bookstore would want to lose her business by putting out a flyer like this.

The only other ­people who knew were her family and Mrs. Thalberg. Kate, Tony, and her dad wouldn't distribute a flyer against her wishes—­it could only be the widows, who always thought they knew better than everyone else. She didn't care that it was eight at night; she headed for the boardinghouse.

But on the way, she stopped at the grocery store, and there, amidst the newspapers lining shelves near the front entrance, was a colorful flyer with the words L
OC
AL
A
UTHOR
M
AKES
G
OOD
blaring across the top. There was even a picture of her book cover, with the title and author's name blurred. But you could see that it was a cowboy romance. Just like Will had said, the flyer promised to provide more hints to her secret identity.

She groaned and rolled the paper into a ball in her hand without realizing what she'd done, then glanced around guiltily. She'd thought she had everything under control, had convinced her family to wait, had even let Kate persuade her that Will probably wouldn't recognize himself.

And then—­this flyer.

Kate and Tony had texted her about it several times during the day, but she hadn't had a moment to glance at her phone. At the ranch, she'd texted back that she'd heard about the flyer and was going to do something about it. She got back in her car and drove to the Widows' Boardinghouse, on the southern side of the creek at the edge of Silver Creek Ranch land.

The house was a beautiful old Victorian with wraparound porches and gingerbread trim. She drove past the front entrance, with its big
WIDOWS' BOARDINGHOUS
E
sign, and around to the kitchen, where her dad's car was parked next to the widows'. Well, he should know what was going on. She marched up the steps and rang the buzzer.

When the door opened, the smell of something spicy wafted out at her, and for a moment she felt faint—­she hadn't eaten since lunch, and she'd certainly exerted herself enough.

“Lyndsay,” Mrs. Palmer said, her Western twang drawing out her name, “what an expected surprise.”

Expected? Yeah, they'd expected her, all right. Lyndsay knew they weren't stupid. She held up the wrinkled flyer.

Mrs. Palmer's grin didn't fade, although her eyes twinkled mischievously within the deep lines of her face. “Come on in so we can—­”

Lyndsay walked right in past her.

“—­talk?” Mrs. Palmer finished.

The other two widows and her dad were seated in the cow-­themed breakfast nook, enjoying a pan of lasagna. Sliced fresh bread was heaped in a cloth-­lined basket, and a bottle of red wine stood nearly empty in the center of the table.

Mario stood up. “Hi, babes.”

“Dad,” she said, nodding but not smiling. She held up the flyer again. “Did you know about this?”

“I didn't. But if you'll let them explain—­”

“Explain?” Lyndsay interrupted in disbelief. She rounded on Mrs. Thalberg, who gave her a calm look. “I trusted you with a secret. I feel betrayed.”

Mrs. Thalberg's forehead wrinkled in a frown. “I was worried you'd consider it that way. I admit I hatched a plan without telling you, but I thought in the long run you'd thank me.”

“Thank you?” Lyndsay echoed, throwing her arms wide. “I specifically told you I wanted no one else to know until school was out. I trusted you at a family dinner—­”

“Lyndsay,” her father interrupted, his expression and voice going cool. “Be careful what you say next. You haven't heard their explanation. I accepted
your
explanation of why you wanted to keep the book publication a secret—­even though I didn't agree with it. And you'll notice that Rosemary and her friends have kept it secret, too.”

“But they're dropping hints about revealing it!” Lyndsay shot back in frustration.

“They don't plan to announce your name until you're ready,” Mario continued. “If you'd have let Rosemary speak, they would have reassured you. What I don't understand is why you are this upset. The ladies want to help boost the revelation of your book debut. They won't go public until you're ready.”

Lyndsay opened her mouth but realized belatedly that she was still thinking about Will, and what he'd think if he read her book. Was she panicking more about that than anything else?

Mrs. Ludlow briskly pulled out the chair next to her, and Lyndsay sank into it.

“I'm sorry,” she said, gazing with wide eyes at Mrs. Thalberg. “I—­I panicked. I shouldn't have gotten angry.”

But her father was still frowning at her.

Mrs. Thalberg sat down beside her and touched her hand. “I owe you an apology, too. I should have told you I'd be telling my housemates your news. I . . . tell them everything,” she admitted helplessly.

“I know. And if I'm honest with myself, I knew you'd tell them. And I trust you all,” she added, looking at each of them in turn. “But hearing about this flyer and then seeing it in person . . .” She trailed off, still finding it difficult to unclench her gut.

“It was a shock,” Mrs. Palmer said matter-­of-­factly. “It was my idea not to tell you. I thought you'd like the surprise of knowin' you had help with your big debut.”

Lyndsay covered her face with both hands. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered from behind them.

“We all are,” Mrs. Thalberg said. “Let's agree we all should have talked more. Now, would you like some lasagna?”

Lyndsay's stomach chose that moment to give a very loud gurgle.

Everyone laughed, easing the tension, and even her father seemed to let go of his unhappiness with her.

Soon Lyndsay was digging into the gooey-­cheese goodness of pasta, meat sauce, and mushrooms.

“You know,” Mrs. Ludlow said casually, “we debated using our Facebook pages to hint at your news.”

Lyndsay froze with a piece of bread halfway to her mouth. “But then ­people could question you and maybe you'd get sick of keeping the secret.”

“Our thoughts exactly,” Mrs. Ludlow agreed. “We preferred to remain anonymous, right along with you. We've had a lot of practice writing anonymously, starting way back.”

Lyndsay noticed that her dad deliberately focused on his plate, as if he didn't plan to speak. “Can you tell me about it?”

The widows all exchanged a look, and a conversation seemed to silently pass between them.

“Okay, we'll trust you with our secret,” Mrs. Thalberg said cheerfully.

Which made Lyndsay feel even worse for barging in and throwing accusations around instead of calmly asking for an explanation.

“Don't be so dejected, my dear,” Mrs. Ludlow said.

Lyndsay gave the old woman a chagrined smile, then took another delicious bite of lasagna.

“We used to write a secret gossip newspaper back in high school,” Mrs. Thalberg said. “We called it
Daisy Won't Tell.
We found out who was dating who, things like that.”

“I do believe we did a good deed by unmasking that teacher who preyed on his students,” Mrs. Ludlow said with conviction.

“Was this when you called yourselves the Purple Poodles?” Lyndsay asked.

“Ah, you've heard of us,” said Mrs. Palmer with glee.

“Let me guess,” Mrs. Thalberg said dryly. “Eileen Sweet.”

“She told Will the name, and he told me,” she admitted.

Mrs. Ludlow arched a white eyebrow. “It does not matter who knows—­infamy can be satisfying in itself. What else is now common knowledge?”

It felt a little strange to talk about something secret in the widows' lives—­when she'd just been railing about her own secrets. “It seems . . . Mrs. Sweet quite regrets the problems that started between you all in high school.”

Again, there was another silent zap of widow communication.