Mountain Mystic (3 page)

Victoria’s mouth formed a perfect
O
, and speculation lit her eyes a second before she smiled. “You mean that gorgeous cabin over the ridge is yours?”

Suddenly apprehensive, Joshua asked, “You’ve seen it?”

“I saw it this morning. I took a wrong turn about a quarter mile back on this thing you call a road. It’s very … big,” she said, although
humongous
would have been a better word. “Is all that space just for you, or did you invite the circus to winter with you?”

“I like space.” Giving her a hard stare, he asked, “Did you go inside?”

“Well,” Victoria began defensively, “that door was unlocked too and I was—”

“Looking for me,” he finished, wondering what she’d touched and if he’d find her echo inside the place. “Is there a house within ten miles that you
haven’t
been inside, looking for me?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to … it’s just that I really needed to talk to you. Where else am I going to get a guide for free?”

“Victoria, you don’t need a guide. You need a keeper.”

“Are you volunteering for the job?”

“Me?” Joshua asked, surprised. “Volunteering to be your keeper?”

“Well … I can respond to the idea of needing a keeper in one of two ways. If you’re volunteering, I’ll swallow my pride and ignore the insult because I need your help. If you aren’t volunteering, I can afford to be insulted and tell you that I most certainly do not need a keeper. Especially one who goes around leaving all his doors unlocked.”

“Touché.”

“I thought so,” she agreed in a superior tone, but couldn’t hide the amusement in her eyes. “I’m
so
glad you got the point. I wasn’t quite sure you would.” She sighed. “Chauvinist hides are thick.”

A corner of Joshua’s mouth turned up. He’d forgotten what it was like to have a long conversation with a woman who wasn’t trying to impress him or
worried about her mind being read. Not that he could read minds. He read emotions, not thoughts.

Except with Victoria he couldn’t read anything. All he could feel was pure chemistry, a male attraction to a pair of incredible gray eyes. Intellectually he might like more insight into Victoria, but what he really wanted was to sink his fingers in her hair, which teased him by slipping demurely behind one shoulder and tumbling over the other.

“So …” Victoria prompted gently, “are you volunteering to help me or not?”

“You know, most of the women who break into my houses aren’t nearly so pushy.”

“Ah, well. There you go,” she teased with a shrug. “I’m not most women.”

“I think I’m beginning to figure that out for myself,” he murmured, wondering how he could feel relaxed and hot at the same time. Wasn’t he supposed to feel one way or the other? “Where exactly do you come from, Victoria Bennett?”

“Connecticut, darling. A veritable prison of privilege,” she quipped, and then wished she hadn’t when he raised one eyebrow in sudden interest.

“I see.” Joshua congratulated himself on being right about her. She was country clubs and yachts. Or had been. Victoria was hiding secrets; he’d bet real money on it. She had a pair of emerald studs in her ears that probably cost more than a few months’ rent, but she wore a Mickey Mouse watch with a black leather band.

Why was she living practically from hand to
mouth in the mountains of Tennessee? He tapped his index finger against the arm of the chair a couple of times, and then speculated, “My guess is that Victoria Bennett broke out of prison and ran off to become a midwife. Am I right?”

Not quite sure how to answer, Victoria busied herself removing an infinitesimal speck of lint from her leggings.

“Am I?” he pressed.

His question cut right to the heart of her feelings about Richard, her parents, and home. “Connecticut’s not really like that.” Victoria got up and walked a few steps toward the kitchen alcove. She made a pretense of inspecting the antique table’s wood grain pattern. With her back to him she said lightly, “I was only joking, of course.”

Like hell
, Joshua thought.
If you were joking, you’d be looking me in the eye. What’s wrong with Connecticut, Victoria?
He decided he wanted a chance to find out. “How long did you say this guide stuff was going to take?”

Victoria whipped around, wide-eyed, and then grinned. “The minute I saw you, I knew you’d do it.”

“Don’t jump the gun here. I haven’t actually volunteered yet,” he told her as he stood and began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

“Of course you have. Tennessee’s the Volunteer State. I’m a damsel in distress. You have to say yes or risk your state’s reputation.”

“That nickname refers to fighting Indians and going to war. Showing a midwife around the Triangle
doesn’t compare. We wouldn’t be risking life and limb.”

“Obviously, you haven’t seen a pregnant woman in transition.” Victoria chuckled, thinking about the most intense forty-five minutes of labor. “Bloodthirsty Indians do not hold a candle. Trust me on this.”

“I don’t trust most people.”

“How sad for you,” she said quietly, and extended her hand as if to shake on their deal. “But not to worry, you can trust me. I’m not most people.”

Joshua eyed the slender hand and blunt-cut nails. Normally, he didn’t shake hands. The gesture was too intimate, almost emotional voyeurism, but he found himself in the unusual position of wanting to close his hand around hers. He wanted to know if the warmth in her voice was in her emotions too, and maybe he’d find out if he touched her. More than anything else, though, he wanted to touch her for the simple pleasure of making a physical connection.

When his palm slid against hers, the only sensation Joshua felt was the erotic friction of skin against skin. The only emotions he experienced were his own, and they tumbled together in an impossible mix of rationalization, intuition, and passion.

Victoria Bennett was just the kind of woman he made it a habit to avoid. He didn’t need his sixth sense to tell him that. It was all there in her body language, on her face, in her glorious gray eyes, in her voice, in her career. She’d be calm in crisis, hot in bed, and the greatest shame of all was that maternal streak a mile wide. She was a midwife. The two went hand in hand.

He needed space, not nurturing. He needed to keep people out, not let them in. Unfortunately, she challenged him, made him forget all the promises he made to himself when he came back to the mountain. She made him forget everything except how her hand fit in his and how he wanted more than a handshake.

Staring at their hands, Victoria knew this was anything but a proper handshake. He wasn’t supposed to be rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand. She wasn’t supposed to feel tingly or shy. She wasn’t supposed to be staring at the contrast of his tanned skin against the paleness of hers.

A handshake wasn’t supposed to go on this long. Certainly not a business handshake. But this isn’t business, she reminded herself. She’d known that the moment his hand found hers.

Silence stretched between them, so powerful it roared in her ears and stopped time. All she could focus on was the pad of his thumb stroking softly against her skin. She didn’t dare look up, afraid of what Joshua would see in her eyes. He already knew about Connecticut; she didn’t want him to see how much one silly handshake affected her.

Victoria Elizabeth Radcliff Bennett didn’t lust after men in public. She much preferred to lust in her heart, where it was safe. Where she couldn’t be rejected. Richard had taught her all about how important it was to hide emotions, about never letting anyone see what buttons to push.

Finally, she said, “I should go now.”

Joshua heard her, but didn’t release her hand. He
wasn’t through memorizing the texture of her skin or the shape of her fingers. Softly, he asked, “Do you always do what you should?”

“I try to,” she whispered, her attention riveted on his mouth now that she’d raised her head. Instinctively, she wet her lips, knowing that she wouldn’t pull away if he kissed her. She hadn’t been kissed in such a long time.

He dropped her hand and stepped closer until only a couple of inches of thin air separated them. “Maybe you should do what you
want
instead of what you
should.
”

Swallowing, she asked, “What makes you think I don’t do what I want?”

“Does anybody?”

She lifted her chin a notch, adjusting her line of sight so she could look into his eyes. “Do you?”

“Most of the time,” he assured her without hesitation.

“But not all the time,” she added softly.

“No, I don’t always do what I want. Otherwise, I would have joined you on that bed, kissed you first, and asked questions later. As it is, I’m pretty sure I made the wrong choice.”

“You did?” Her voice sounded flimsy and breathless even to her own ears.

“Love, I should have kissed you when I had the chance. Before I had time to think about it.”

Victoria sucked in a small breath and couldn’t help but compare him to Richard. Her ex-husband had always called her
Victoria.
Even in the throes of passion,
Richard managed to get all four syllables out. Hearing an endearment spoken in a husky male voice threw her off balance, tricked her into leaning a tiny fraction in his direction. Without really meaning to, she asked, “What’s stopping you now?”

“An inconvenient sense of honor.”

Several agonizing seconds passed as she realized he was turning her down. He had no intention of taking what she’d subtly offered, what she should have known better than to offer in the first place. Confused, she straightened, pink staining her cheeks again. “What’s honor got to do with it?”

“Kissing you would be like shooting ducks in a barrel. Sort of like dueling with an unarmed man. Like—”

“I get your drift!” she interrupted angrily, dragging her fingers through her hair. When she’d collected herself a little more, she thumped him on the chest to move him out of her way. She needed room to pace.

Joshua couldn’t have done a more effective job of bringing her to her senses if he’d dumped a bucket of cold spring water over her. After a several steps she turned around and put her hands on her hips. “Ducks in a barrel? Unarmed? Oh, please! Give me a little credit. I may have made a mistake peeking inside your cabin, but I am not the last starry-eyed virgin in America. I’ve been married. I’m a midwife, for God’s sake. I probably know more about making love than you and five of your buddies.”

Joshua clucked disappointedly. “I’m not talking
about making love, Vicky. I’m talking about chemistry. Lust. Sex. What do you know about those?”

She opened and closed her mouth several times, but nothing came out. She needed an exit line. She needed distance, and she needed both quickly. Backing away from him, she said, “I know enough to run as fast as I can when confronted with them. I don’t need to be sidetracked. The only thing I have time for is building my practice. I absolutely don’t have time to play games with you.”

“Does that mean you won’t be needing my services as a guide?” Joshua wanted to take the question back as soon as he saw her reaction. She stiffened, the healthy spark of anger went out of her eyes, and she composed herself in the blink of an eye. He felt her withdrawal in an almost physical way. She was once again the cool beauty he’d caught in his bed.

“You know I need you,” she stated.

“You just don’t plan on wanting me.”

She glanced at the door and then at him. “Right.”

“All you need is a tour guide”—Joshua walked to the door and opened it—“who keeps his chemistry to himself.”

“Right.”

“I think I can manage that.” Casually, Joshua stretched his arm across the door, stopping her escape. “When do we start, boss?”

“I’ll call you,” Victoria said, deftly slipping beneath his arm and off the porch without a backward glance. “Dr. Grenwald’s got your number.”

Joshua watched Victoria climb the hill and murmured, “What a coincidence. I’ve got yours.”

Victoria studied the colorful map on the table in front of her and gritted her teeth. She had to get her mind off the blatant challenge in Joshua’s eyes and back on the task at hand. She was determined to have some sort of plan before she called Logan back. After the fiasco two days earlier, she wanted to be professional and organized the next time she saw him. She wanted to know at least
where
she wanted to go even if she didn’t know the best way to get there.

The only trouble was, she didn’t have the foggiest idea where the Mention and Logan’s Hollow clinics were going to be. The towns were supposed to let her know as soon as each decided which school or church in their area could donate a day for her visits. Even worse, she didn’t know where she was going to live. The weekly rates at Shepherd’s Motel were going to skyrocket as soon as it got a little cooler and the leaves began to change color. Tourists would overrun the area for a brief time, trying to capture the event in photographs that could be only a pale imitation of the real thing.

The real thing.
That phrase made her think of Joshua again. She could still see him vividly when she closed her eyes, brown hair touched by the sun, and big as all outdoors. Especially those hands. She hadn’t been able to get them out of her mind. A memory of
something flirted at the edge of her brain, but she couldn’t pull it close enough to examine.

Exasperated with herself for wasting time, she threw down the pencil, which hadn’t made one mark on the map, and tried to sort out her priorities. Instead of worrying about Joshua Logan, she should be out looking for a house. Pronto, in fact.

She heard the familiar clump of Wally Grenwald’s footsteps in the entrance hall of the renovated old house that served as their offices. Wanting to catch him before he got out the door, she yelled instead of getting up. “Dr. Grenwald!”

Despite the fact that he was past seventy and looked every day of it, his voice boomed out strong and musical and got louder as he got closer to the back of the house. “You cannot get blood out of a turnip, dear. I have leased you three rooms at a rock-bottom price and given you every piece of spare equipment I have been able to beg, borrow, or steal.”