Splinters (7 page)

y fingers have no marks on them. Buffed and glossy nails, smooth skin, every fingerprint a flawless whorl. What would it be like to work with my hands every day, all day like Duke does? I barely did anything after our aborted make-out session, but I have a few red spots, even through a tough pair of leather gloves.

Duke found a fence post with some loose barbed wire. He figured that was where the cattle Laughlin had called about this morning must have crossed over. I helped to the point of handing over big staples and critiquing the straightness of the wires. Mostly, I just watched Duke work.

He seemed to lose himself in it, forgetting about me for a while. I didn’t mind not being the center of attention. I got lost watching those tough leather gloves on his hands, his sleeves rolled up to expose his golden forearms, while he twisted wire back into shape with a weird pair of pliers. Sweat beaded and rolled down his skin and he’d cursed a lot, but…
Gah
, cowboying was sexy work. I might not’ve gotten laid under the wide blue sky, but I felt worked over from watching him and, hey, the day was still young.

Except, now that we’ve arrived back at the house, I can see Mia's not alone on the porch. There’s no mistaking who’s with her since I only know one woman who’d wear a purple silk wrap to visit a ranch in Texas.

“Allan, sweetheart,” Elsie hollers and waves both hands as she stands up. “Is that you looking like a cowboy? On horseback and everything!”

She looks like Eva Marie Saint, right off the set of
North By Northwest
. Black kid gloves, a heather gray dress that emphasizes the cinch of her waist, and the purple shawl no one but a few of us knows is actually armor for when she’s confronting the unknown. This is Elsie Moreland, my agent and best friend.

I don’t bother trying to dismount Suzy, my cock-blocking steed, with any sort of grace. I can’t even care that I hit the saddle with my face and fall down to my knees while poor Suzy whinnies and dances away. I just pick myself up and run for Elsie.

The wind jerks my hat off my head like some kind of reveal. I can see Elsie’s expression betray just a moment’s shock before she soldiers on with a big smile. Arms up to receive me, we collide with loud exhales at the impact, and grab each other close and tight. The moment the lemony scent of her shampoo hits my nose, I realize how very glad I am that she’s here. My instant connection with Duke is exceptional, but I need my truest confidant and kindred spirit.

“Everything will be fine, honey-bee.”

“Yeah.”

I can hear the stomp of horses heading off and have to look, so I pull back from Elsie and seek out Duke. He’s leading the horses toward the barn. Elsie makes an appreciative noise and gives me a wink. I can feel a blush creeping.

“Well, then,” she says. “Let’s get you inside to wash the stinky off of you.”

“I do not stink.” But I do a bit. Maybe I need more leather for it to work for me like it does for Duke.

“Manual labor was never good for your pheromones, sweetie.” She totters toward the door, obviously trying not to be obvious about potentially getting a tiny heel caught in the space between floorboards.

To Mia, who’s trying not to smile, I say, “She did introduce herself and was polite, right?”

“She’s been entertaining me with stories from your photo shoots.” Mia gives me a huge grin like she’s full up with scandals and sexploits.

I groan. Elsie better not have spilled about that time in Madrid with the pair of bullfighters and their one-upmanship challenge where they mistakenly thought I’d be the prize. Mistakenly because I had been sleeping with an adorable bear cub bellhop at the time. There was much arguing. Swords were involved. It’s still possible I may not be allowed back into Spain.

“Come along, Allan.” Elsie opens the screen door and beckons us. “I stopped by your hotel and was very mean to everyone until they let me have all your things. Let’s not allow their tears to have fallen for naught.”

“You brought my trunks?” I rush to her all over again as Mia giggles, bringing up the rear. “
All
of them?”

Elsie waves a gloved hand at all my trunks and cases, and I barely manage to contain a squeal of brightest delight. I drape myself over the largest of them, my hands on his little brothers, and say, “Hello, my babies. Daddy’s
missed
you.”

“Come over here, Mia,” Elsie says. “Sit with me for the show.”

“What show?”

I glance over to see them sitting down on the settee.

“The one where Allan either gets very butch and hauls his babies upstairs by himself—since we sent those lovely ranch hands back to work.” Elsie grins wickedly. “Or the one where Allan throws all modesty aside and changes clothes right here in front of us. Either way, it will be highly entertaining.”

I stand up again to glare at her even as I contemplate which scenario to enact.

Mia says, “I’m not sure all those trunks’ll fit in either guest room.”

Elsie claps and settles into her seat. “Excellent. Strip, sweetie. Show Mia how pretty you are.”

“Elsie, my sweet treat, you know I only strip for women with cameras.” I bat my eyelashes at her while flipping her off.

Duke walks in. “How ’bout men with cameras?”

I can’t help watching as he takes his hat off and runs his thick fingers through his hair. His smile is shy and I’m sure mine is goofy as I resist rushing over just so I can stand nearer to him. My eyes molest every inch of him from flattened curls to dusty boots and all the sweaty, meaty bits in between. Heaven help me, this is going to be a
long day
.

“Oh,” Elsie coos, “he’s very skilled wherever men are concerned.”

I manage to drag my gaze away from Duke to slap her with my stink eye. She winks at me.

Duke clears his throat and it looks like… Aw, hell, he’s blushing. Why is that so adorable? I want to smother him with kisses and pinch his cheeks. The red ones I can see
and
his sit-upons.

“How ’bout I help you get these upstairs?” Duke waves at the trunks, and then heads over to squat and lift one onto his back. He grunts, his arm muscles bulge, and I ogle him while trying to remember how to breathe.

A giggle from the girls on the sofa snaps me out of it. I ignore them completely and walk over to pick up my toiletry and makeup cases. Yes, they’re the only ones I can carry myself that don’t cause me to grunt and groan and whine from how heavy they are. I’m not making those sounds while carrying luggage, thank you. I’ll save those for Duke.

The view as I follow him upstairs isn’t exactly drool-worthy since my trunk blocks him, but knowing he’s toting
my
things into one of the spare bedrooms so I can
stay
definitely flips my switches. As we walk into the room, I clue back into what he said about men with cameras.

“Do you really want to take my picture?” I set down my cases.

He takes his time putting my trunk on the floor, and then stands up straight. He’s breathing a little fast—those trunks are heavy—but the look in his eyes… I have time enough to gasp and brace myself before he’s on me, pinning me to the wall, devouring my mouth.

I make some of those sounds I’d reserved for him now as I scrabble to draw him as close as possible. His big hands grab my ass, squeezing. I want to spread my legs and wrap them around his waist, but mine are trapped between his. I buck up into him and groan when he does this swirl and suck thing to my tongue.

This man might not’ve been out for long, but he’s been around the barn a time or two. Which is why, when he pulls back and lets me go, I nearly collapse at his feet.

“
Duke
,” I say with some definite whine while getting my shaky legs back under me.

He wipes at his mouth and steadies me with a hand on my hip. “Sorry, darlin’. Not while they’re down there knowin’.”

“But—”

“I don’t want a fistful of stolen minutes. Not with you.” He leans in and kisses my cheekbone, right near my eye. “I want hours with you, Al.”

The hot rush of that makes my eyelids flutter. I nod, too caught up to speak.

“’Course, you look like I’ve had my way with you already. Why don’t you wait here and collect yourself while I bring up the other trunks? Then you can change.”

A puff of a laugh escapes me because I do feel rather ravished.

His hand leaves my hip by way of sliding across my stomach, fingers petting, and then he’s out the door again. I stay leaning against the wall until the room stops wobbling. It takes a while. I stay right there all through him hauling up the other two trunks, positioning them in the corners of the room so I can open them. I’m well braced up for one more oral assault and a wicked grin before he leaves me alone to…

What am I supposed to be doing?

Changing. Right.

The man’s a brain frier. Mine is thoroughly crisped.

I change into jeans that fit me properly, a silky, sky-blue tee, and little boots that are
almost
cowboy ones. And let’s not forget the hot pink panties with the lace waistband that peeks over my jeans every time I bend over.
That
should get my cowboy back for leaving me hanging.

nfortunately, by the time I come downstairs, Duke has gone back to his ranching things. I’ll be sure to make him catch a glimpse of the good stuff later.

While Mia makes lunch for the boys, she helps Elsie and I make tea and nibbles. Elsie never likes to eat much before or after a flight, and I’m still rather full from breakfast, but as we always enjoy grazing, we have tea. Who knew a slice of hardboiled egg tastes better when the chicken it came out of is eyeing you from the backyard? Not that I need more eggs in my diet. I’ve probably eaten four already today. But since Elsie doesn’t mention anything about her product—me—getting fat, I indulge as I wish.

“Mind if we discuss some business?” Elsie asks with her feet up on an ottoman that matches the buttercup settee she’s lounging on.

“Please do.” I touch my head and grimace at her.

“First, I did the usual searches and could find nothing about last night. No blog posts and definitely no photos. There were a few sightings of you around Houston during the day, but nothing after six o’clock local time.” Her voice takes on a shaper edge. “I’m not sure what that means about the psycho who did this to you, but I’m grateful there’s no digital evidence out there to hurt you further.”

I nod while looking out the window behind her, but have to look away when the golden light becomes too much. There might not be photographic evidence, but I can see myself clearly in my mind’s eye. It will haunt me without help.

“Now,” she says in a brighter tone. “Your look is still unique. Your hair was always a bonus, not a requirement. Wigs exist for a reason.” She munches a tiny pretzel, apparently done with bumper sticker wisdom.

I’ve been celebrated for my Nordic bone structure, the creaminess of my skin, and the natural presence I have in front of a camera. Photographers love how easy it is for them to get exactly what they envision while working with me. This isn’t bragging; I’m just good at what I do and experienced at it now that I’m twenty-three. But I realize Elsie is right about my hair having been more of an added feature and not the main attraction, so… “I suppose you’re right. It might’ve even been time for a change,” I allow with a shrug.