Tempting Meredith (3 page)

Except he hadn’t called. He’d said he would, but he hadn’t. Did he regret last night? Or was he angry because she’d left when he’d asked her to stay? Or was he just busy?

Only one way to find out. And it wasn’t sitting around forming hypotheses. She called Dylan.

He didn’t pick up. She didn’t leave a message. Dylan never checked voice mail, just reviewed incoming numbers and returned those he was interested in.

Her last thought as she succumbed to sleep early Sunday morning was whether or not he’d return
her
call.

Chapter Two

Eight years later

In Meredith’s experience, once a man started to share his breadth of knowledge on a subject, only an act of God could stop him, and even that was iffy. So she listened to what’s-his-name’s informal physics lecture. Not string cosmology or misaligned stellar dynamics or dark matter, but Physics 101. Basic
p
=
mv
stuff. She reminded herself that he couldn’t know she played with atoms in her sleep. Literally. She got some of her most creative solutions in dreamland. Instead, she sipped her iced tea and tried to keep her gaze from straying to the windows overlooking the gun range.

That proved difficult, because the instructor for her basic firearms class was there. On the range. She mentally thanked Darrell Williams, her grad student, for recommending Charlie Connor. Not only was he an exceptional instructor, but he was cute. Auburn hair, blue eyes, a short-cropped beard and mustache. She’d never been into facial hair, not even those trendy three-day beards all the male celebrities wore, but Charlie had changed her mind. Very light freckles across the bridge of his nose. Those freckles were the cute part. Because the way he moved and held himself...mmm-mmm good. No, there was nothing cute about the way he moved. For the last two days she’d watched him move. Watched his hands as he unloaded, loaded and fired various rifles, shotguns and handguns. Imagined those hands loading and unloading her. Watched him pacing in front of the gun safety class and striding up and down the firing range, faded worn jeans hugging his narrow ass, his legs eating up the ground when he was in a hurry, which only happened when he spotted a safety problem on the range.

What’s-his-name touched her arm, and she jerked and stepped away, glaring at him. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him he was wasting his breath, but just then Darrell strolled up.

“Hey. How’s the lesson going?” her grad student asked. Darrell was the reason she’d chosen this particular gun club. He worked here on weekends.

Her physics lecturer spoke up. “I was just explaining the physicality of firearms.”

Darrell’s head swiveled back and forth between them. “Huh?” She’d never seen him so confused. Not even when she gifted him with an as-yet-unsolvable astrophysics problem.

What’s-his-name shook his head. “Kids these days. They’re too busy playing with their iStuff to pay attention in class.” He narrowed his eyes at Darrell. “Physics, boy. Science.”

“But she
teaches
physics. And physicality doesn’t have anything to do with—”

“A high school teacher?” the man asked Meredith. “Maybe I should write this down for you. Boys should learn this stuff.”

She glanced at the table where the gun case with her .22 rested, her protective eyewear and earmuffs on top, and struggled to contain her irritation. She’d enjoyed her first attempt at target shooting. She wanted to get back to it. Her bullets had been closing in on dead center when her arms had tired and she’d decided to take a break. And then what’s-his-name had ambushed her while she’d been sipping her iced tea.

A hand clamped on the man’s shoulder. “Are you schooling Dr. Burke?” Charlie asked.

“Darrell said she’s a teacher, not an M.D.”

“She’s an astrophysics professor,” Charlie said. “A Ph.D.”

“Ahh, not a real doctor.” He looked her up and down and narrowed his eyes. “You teach college? Where?”

“TIMT,” she answered, not bothering with the mouthful, Texas Institute of Math and Technology. Most people in the state were familiar with the university’s acronym.

“Must be part of some hiring quota,” he mumbled.

Her hands clenched, and the paper cup crumpled. Had he really just said that? She didn’t know how to respond, wasn’t sure she could speak even if she had the words.

“She’s tops in her field,” Charlie said. “You could probably learn a thing or two from her.”

What’s-his-name looked like he’d gotten a taste of something unpleasant. Maybe his foot in his mouth.

She was torn between arguing with him and thanking him for bringing her to Charlie’s attention. The woman in her celebrated the fact that Charlie had noticed her, knew something about her and was hopefully going to rescue her from the overbearing, chauvinistic asshole whose name still escaped her. Okay, a rescue might be too much to expect. Men didn’t do that anymore. Which was fine. She was an intelligent, independent woman who didn’t need a man to save her. She could do it herself.

And to prove it, she laid a hand on what’s-his-name’s arm and drawled, “Why don’t you write down that physics lecture for me and give it to Darrell. I’ll make certain he remembers to bring it to class tomorrow. Darrell, would you get him a pen and some paper?”

“Sure.” Darrell smirked then led the man away.

Charlie nodded toward the shooting range. “You’re good. A natural,” he said. “You should consider competitive shooting.”

She drank in his spicy scent, wanting to fill her mouth with it and roll it around her tongue like a fine wine. It wasn’t tangy like cologne, but natural with a hint of what was maybe his soap or shampoo. “That’s so sweet of you to say,” she said, keeping up the ditzy blonde act since it was more likely than the astrophysics professor to get a little sheet time with him.

His brows knit together. That was odd. What had she said that was so difficult to understand?

“Are you messing with me?” he asked.

She fluttered her eyelashes, twirled a strand of hair and focused her adoring gaze on him. He was short for a man. Five-eight, tops. She wasn’t getting a crick in her neck looking up at him—not like she did with her brother and brother-in-law and most every other man on the planet. And she was definitely required to look up because he was standing in “the field of interest.” Closer than a casual conversation. “What do you mean?”

He lowered his voice. “Where’d the professor go?”

She scanned the room. What’s-his-name was indeed gone. “I suppose he’s working on those notes for me.”

“No. I’m talking about Professor Burke, not Jack.”

She stifled a sigh. Busted. So much for the anticipated sheet time. “Never mind,” she mumbled.

“No, really. You’d be great.”

At sex? No, wait. He was still talking about competitive shooting. “I don’t have that kind of time to put into it,” Meredith said. “I’m just interested in learning to protect myself.” And hitting that small red dot, although that hadn’t been her goal when she started. She’d never imagined she would enjoy the challenge of target shooting. But she was hooked...at least until she hit dead center. She could do it. She knew that with a certainty born of years of setting goals and meeting them—as long as those goals weren’t hampered by the irrationality of people and their emotions, including her own.

“Protection?” His brows drew together. “A specific threat or protection in general?”

“Just protection in general. My brother-in-law thought it was a good idea.”

“Okay, no competitive shooting. What about hunting?”

“What about it?”

“Is it something you might be interested in?”

“Hmm. You mean camping in the middle of nowhere in the rain and snow. Bears and mountain lions stalking me. No hot water. No toilets. No electricity. Rocks and sticks under my sleeping bag. Bugs.” She shivered. “No thanks. Been there, done that. Not interested in trying it again.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. There’re some fancy hunting lodges out there.”

“I’m assuming one must leave those fancy hunting lodges in order to actually hunt?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Outside with the bears and mountain lions and bugs?”

“Right again. But the bears and mountain lions won’t bother you.”

“Media reports to the contrary?”

He grinned. “In other parts of the country. We just don’t see that many around here.”

“That leaves the bugs.”

“So it’s not the actual killing of an animal that you object to?”

“No. I like meat. And I know where it comes from.”

“Okay. We’ll talk about it later. How about tomorrow evening? We could come to the range, shoot awhile, and then have dinner.”

The suggestion surprised her. Most men weren’t interested when they learned she was a science geek. And those who
were
interested took a little longer to work up the nerve. Unless they were creeps. But Charlie wasn’t creepy. And he’d proposed an unusual date. Charlie Connor was looking better and better. “That sounds fun, but let’s make it interesting.”

Charlie lifted a brow and waited for her to continue.

“A shooting competition. Loser buys dinner.”

Charlie was shaking his head before she finished speaking. “Huh-uh. A gentleman always pays.”

“Awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“That I’m a gentleman or that I’ll beat you?”

“That you’ll beat me.”

“You’re good, baby. But not that good. Yet.”

An angry buzzing started in her ears. Heat flashed through her body and tinted her vision with red cellophane.

Bring me a beer
,
baby.
He wants you
,
baby.
He thinks you’re hot
,
baby.
I’ll call you later
,
baby.
Baby
,
baby
,
baby.

She took a step closer to Charlie, but his face was overlaid with Dylan’s.

His eyes widened, but he didn’t step back.

She didn’t back down. “My name’s Meredith. Or Dr. Burke. Take your pick. One more ‘baby’ or ‘doll’ or ‘sweetness’ and we’re done. Understand?”

He recovered quickly enough. “Tell you what. You make a list of nicknames that are off limits, Doc, and I’ll memorize it.” He paused. “In fact, email it to me. You’ve got my card. Then we’ll be all set for tomorrow.”

* * *

Monday morning, Charlie opened his email to find “the list.”

Charlie, I’ve tried to be as inclusive as possible without expending too much time on this. I’m certain you’ll get the gist of it.

Baked goods: muffin, honey-bun

Animals: kitten, bunny

Fruits or vegetables: sugarplum, pumpkin, peaches

Foreign: cherie (gag), cara

Flowers: buttercup

Sweeteners: sugar, honey

Miscellaneous: angel, princess (gag, gag, gag), pookie (seriously?)

Worst offenders and cause for immediate dismissal or castration: sweetness, Gidget,

What the hell was a Gidget? He’d have to do an internet search for that one.

sunshine,

No one in his right mind would mistake Meredith for sunshine. Unless the man was referring to her hair color.

babe, baby

See you tonight.

Meredith

So she hadn’t ruled out Doc and hadn’t included “occupations” in the list. He leaned back in his chair and grinned. More importantly, she hadn’t backed out on him. This was gonna be fun. He’d rarely seen anyone take to shooting like she had. And she hadn’t been squeamish about it either. She’d handled the gun with respect and quiet confidence. Hadn’t been giggly or silly. At least not until Jack had tried to give her a physics lesson. He might’ve felt sorry for Jack if the guy weren’t so obtuse. Meredith didn’t look old enough to be a physics professor. Hell, twenty years from now she wouldn’t look like a physics professor. Not unless she grew a beard—a gray one—and some ear hair. She’d have to lose the curves, too, and that long, curly blond hair.

He fidgeted in his chair and adjusted his cock then clicked on an email from Blaine.

Check it out.

Charlie opened the attachment—a photo of one of their trophy bucks standing in the middle of a meadow. Beautiful. Judging from the shadows, he’d say it was taken late afternoon, early evening. A twinge of homesickness tightened his chest, which was stupid. Charlie had only been gone two weeks. Only two left before he headed back. When he’d told Mike he’d fill in for one of his instructors who was on maternity leave, it hadn’t occurred to him that he’d be homesick. It was Blaine’s off season—the lull between the end of deer hunting season and the beginning of summer vacations. Nothing much happening, so it was an ideal time to help Mike out at the gun club and to catch up with high school buddies. But the last couple of days, he’d missed home. It was the longest he’d been away from the ranch, from Blaine, in four years.

Charlie called Blaine’s cell, wanting to hear his voice. When Blaine picked up, Charlie said, “How’s the campaign going?”

Blaine was running for sheriff against the county’s ineffectual incumbent, Jerry Walton. He’d toyed with the idea for a couple of years before some of his friends and neighbors had held an intervention of sorts and convinced him to throw his hat in the ring. It wasn’t that folks didn’t like Jerry. It was just that he was more interested in the shiny badge and the truck that came with the office than actually doing the job.

“I could do without all the speechifying and baby-kissing, but other than that, it’s good.”

“So the ass-kissing isn’t bothering you?”

“Depends on whose ass,” Blaine said wryly. “How’re things at the gun club?”

Meredith immediately came to mind. “Great,” he said before a touch of superstition tamped down his enthusiasm. He didn’t want to jinx their date tonight.

“I’m not gonna lose my top guide, am I?” Blaine asked.

“Yeah, right.” Like that would happen. He had the best job, hands down, no contest. Blaine would have to fire his ass, tie him up and haul him away to get rid of him. Poison might be necessary, too. He clicked back to Meredith’s email. “Hey, do you know what a Gidget is?”

“A gadget?”

“No. A Gidget.”

“Some kind of mechanical device?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

“What’s the context?”

Not going there. “No context.”

“Did you search online?” Blaine asked, the click of the keyboard punctuating his words. “Here it is. Gidget—a fictional character named after a cross between a girl and a midget.”

No wonder Meredith didn’t like the nickname. Obviously, she was sensitive about her height. Or lack of.

“It was a book then a movie then a TV series. Before our time. Where’d you hear it?”