The Mason Dixon Line (A Horizons Novel) (3 page)

A part of him, the contrary part that
always got him in trouble, wanted to keep arguing, keep fighting. To tell her
no, insult her profession some more, and generally be difficult. Five years
ago, he would have.

But that was then, this was now. He was a
productive citizen now. Mostly. He’d gotten smarter about picking his battles.

Mostly.

“Fine. But maybe we ought to call it a day.
I’m staying outside of town. You live in Indy?”

“Yeah. You got your cell phone? I’ll enter
in my number. You can call me tomorrow and we’ll set something up.”

“Nah. I’ll give you the number where I’m
staying, but I don’t have a cell phone.”

“Seriously?” She gaped at him. “What kind
of person doesn’t have a cell phone in this day and age?”

“I like being inaccessible sometimes.” Most
of the time. Besides, when he’d had one, he’d never been able to remember to
keep the damn thing charged. Worse, he’d lost it and had to replace it three
times before he gave up carrying one entirely.

He had the feeling she had to work hard to
hold back a sigh.

She rummaged in her purse for a scrap of
paper and jotted down her own number, and then took his number and plugged it
into her own cell phone. It had a pink leopard-print case covered with
rhinestones.

Of course it did.

He shoved his sketch book and pencils into
his bag. He’d roughed in the basics. He’d finish the sketch later. He had
another priority now. Dunne wanted to see a draft of the kids’ story and rough
sketches at the end of Horizons' spring break.

He walked her out to her car, expecting a
shiny compact or something cute and trendy, like a Mini Cooper.

“Good God, what’s that? What are they
paying you at Horizons?” He stared at the wreck. He’d never expected a woman
like Carolyn Hart to something like this.

“Very funny. My car’s at the school parking
lot. My friend was the designated driver last night and I haven’t had a chance
to get back there to pick it up.”

“Whose car is this?” He circled the car in
disbelief. Only one hubcap remained. The rear bumper sagged, held on with duct
tape.

“My neighbor’s. And she’s a very nice elderly
woman, so don’t you dare make fun of her.”

“Oh, I wasn’t. I was making fun of you.”

“I see. I should have known.”

He peered at a series of scratches that
went down to bare metal. At one point, the car must have been painted
lime-green.

“Why don’t you take this back to your
neighbor? I’ll follow you, and then drive you to the school so you can get your
car.” As usual, he spoke before he thought.

“Really?” She looked as if she didn’t quite
believe him.

Dammit. Why had he just offered to spend
even more time than necessary in this woman’s presence? She annoyed him,
embarrassed him, and attracted him all at once. Not a comfortable combination.
Still, he’d made his offer, so he plowed on.

“It’s good for a laugh to imagine you
behind the wheel of this thing, but my conscience pains me too much to let you
drive it any longer than necessary.”

The mutinous look on her face melted away. “I
won’t argue with that offer. Horizons isn’t far away.” She opened the driver’s
door, wincing as it emitted a shriek. She threw her purse in the backseat. Just
before she closed the door, she looked back at him, her face set.

“Thank you, by the way.”

He waved her thanks away. “It violates the natural
order of things for a girl like you to drive a car like this. I’m only trying
to restore balance to the universe.”

“What does that mean, a girl like me?”

The kind of
girl who never gave him the time of day in school. The kind of girl who used to
stand and watch while her boyfriend beat him up.

What was with him? He never thought about
those days anymore. Something about Carolyn Hart brought them rushing back.

“You know, blonde. Pretty. A former
cheerleader, am I right?”

He could tell from the look on her face
that he was right.

“I’ll get my car and follow you.”

As he walked away, he heard the shriek and
crash of an ancient car door slamming. Hard.

“What the hell?”

Carolyn and Mason stood in the teacher’s
parking lot at Horizons. It was empty.

“You sure you left it here?”

“Of course I’m sure!” She gazed around the
lot, as if she could make the car materialize. “I can’t believe this!”

“You said you had a lot to drink last
night.”

“Not when I left Horizons, I hadn’t. I’d been
grading papers!”

“Anybody else have a key? Boyfriend maybe?
Maybe he came and picked it up.”

She shook her head. “Nobody has the keys
but me. No boyfriend, either.” Not that she liked admitting that to this joker.
Crap. “Somebody must have stolen it.”

How could this have happened? Horizons wasn’t
in the best neighborhood, true. The area had deteriorated sharply since the
school had been built 25 years ago, but they’d stayed in part due to its
central location.

His expression was unreadable. “You’d better
call the cops then.”

She slanted a glance his way. “I’m
surprised police aren’t part of the machine you’re raging against.”

One side of his mouth lifted slightly. “Oh,
they are. But they have their uses sometimes.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” Her
irritation at the whole wretched situation made her waspish. Too bad. He could
take it. He’d certainly thrown plenty of undeserved attitude her way.

She called the police on her cell phone and
described the situation to a bored-sounding dispatcher. “It’s a red Mini
Cooper.”

The woman put her on hold.

Beside her, Mason murmured something that
sounded like it included the words “nail” and “her.”

“What?” Her head swung in his direction, dipping
the phone so that she didn’t shout directly into it.

“
I totally
nailed it.” She stared at him hard until he shrugged. “What? I thought you
seemed like the type to drive a Mini Cooper.”

Please. Her eyes narrowed. She could have
sworn he’d said something about nailing her. The last thing she needed was for
this nerd to start hitting on her. True, he might be kind of a cute nerd if it
wasn’t for his snotty, superior attitude, but still, not her type.

At least he’d lost the dorky hat on the
drive over.

Actually, now that she looked at him more
closely, his face surprised her. For such a scruffy guy, his features were
curiously well-sculpted. His dark eyes were wide and deep-set. His strong chin
and high cheekbones made him look almost aristocratic or something, like a lord
in one of those old period-piece movies her mother loved.
Pride and Prejudice
,
Jane
Eyre
, that kind of thing.

The dispatcher came back on the line.

“We’ll have an officer there in twenty
minutes.”

“Thank you.” She ended the call and stuck
the phone back in her purse. Nothing to do but wait now. She leaned against her
neighbor’s old Dodge, waiting for them to arrive.

Unbelievable. This was the last thing she
could afford right now. Did her insurance even cover theft? She didn’t know.
She gnawed on her lip. She was broke. Next payday, she could pay down her
credit card to give her enough room under the limit to rent a car, but what was
she supposed to do until then? The coffee in her stomach soured.

“Looks like you’re going to be driving the
Deathmobile for a while then.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. It’s my
neighbor’s car. Mrs. Powell is 83 years old. She needs it.”

She pulled her cell phone out of her purse
again. “Guess I’ll call my dad.” Yet she stood there, looking at her phone, not
dialing.

“Well?” She didn’t answer. “What are you
waiting for? Call your dad.”

She bit her lip and didn’t speak. Dammit.
Calling her dad
again
for help was
the last thing she wanted to do, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t get
around for a week with no car, and truly couldn’t afford a rental. She stared
at the pavement as if it might solve her problems.

“You okay? Hey, really.” He nudged her arm.
“It’s a car. No big deal. It’s just stuff, right?”

“It’s not that.” The words came out rough. “It’s
my dad.”

“What? Your dad a jerk or something?”

“No.”
Not
really. A little controlling maybe
. Feeling guilty for the thought, she
insisted, “He’s a nice guy. But I call him a lot. For money,” she clarified at
his blank look.

“Oh. You’re pushing thirty and don’t like
calling him for help.”

“Pushing thirty?” She glared at him. “Let’s
not make it worse than it is. I’m twenty-four. I’m still rounding down to
twenty.” It was already bad enough. Twenty-four was still too old to have
no idea
what you wanted to do with your
life, and to be calling dad for help every week.

“So if you’re not going to call your dad,
and you can’t keep your neighbor’s car, what are you going to do? Rent one?”

“I guess so,” she said, unable to hide her
lack of enthusiasm. She paused a beat. “Maybe I have enough room under my
credit limit to afford a rental car?” She calculated for a moment. “Do they
usually want a deposit?” God, she was pathetic. Twenty-four and not enough
juice on her credit card to rent a compact car for a week.

“Why bother with all that? Why don’t you
come stay with me?”

“What?” Surely she hadn’t heard that right.

“I’m in town from Chicago, but I’m staying
at my aunt’s summer home. It’s a cabin south of here, about forty-five minutes.
She offered it to me because she knew I’d be working and want a place free of
distractions.”

Uh-oh. She studied his face but didn’t see
anything other than sincerity and a lot of stubble. “Is this some kind of
come-on?”

“Please,” he scoffed. “It’s not like I want
in your pants or something. I think we’ve established that you’re not my type.”

“True.” She drew the word out, obviously
thinking. “And you’re hardly mine.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, almost as if
she’d hurt him, but that couldn’t be. She’d simply repeated what he’d said
about her. How could he take offense?

“This will give us time to work on the
project. We’ll need to spend a lot of time together. This way, we won’t have to
spend all week driving back and forth.”

“True.” She eyed him. Mason might be
annoying, but he wasn’t dangerous, she was certain. He was an artist, for Pete’s
sake. What was he going to do, whap her over the head with a sketch book and
drag her off to have his way with her?

Besides, his aunt was Marjorie Freeman, a
pillar of the community and a major Horizons donor. Not a woman to be trifled
with. She wouldn’t let her nephew get away with anything shady. One word to Mrs.
Freeman about any hijinks on his part, and he’d be limping back to Chicago.

“Can you bring me back to Indy after spring
break is over?”

“Of course. After spending the week
together, I’m sure I’ll be delighted to get rid of you.”

She scowled. “The feeling will be mutual, I’m
sure.”

“Of course.” His grin said he doubted
anyone could find him as annoying as he found her. Oh, she’d like to smack that
grin off his face.

“Then after the cops come, we’d better go
back to my apartment. I’ve got a suitcase to pack.”

She’d be fine. How much of a threat could
he possibly be? If he gave her any trouble, she’d jab him in the eye with one
of his sharpened pencils.

But it wouldn’t come to that. She could totally
handle this guy.

“Wow, this is really . . . remote.” It was
the politest way that Carolyn could think of to ask, “What the hell have I
gotten myself into?” without actually saying it.

Mason’s Subaru bucked over every rut and
ridge of the gravel-topped road to the cabin. For the last leg of their drive,
the land had grown rocky and steep. Here, scrubby trees still bare from winter found
a foothold in jumbled ground.

“It’s quiet here, not a lot of
distractions. We’ll have nothing to do besides work on the story. No Internet,
no cable.”

“No cable? Are you serious?” She knew they
were here to work, but she hadn’t expected anything quite this austere. No
texting, no Facebook, no Home Retail Channel? How would she survive?

She’d spent most of the drive down texting
her family and friends to let them know where she’d be. Suz in particular had
dished out a fair amount of ribbing about her shacking up with a guy for spring
break. She’d tried to throw cold water on that, explaining that the arrangement
was strictly professional, and besides, he was a total nerd.

You know
what they say
, Suz had texted.
Once you go geek, you never go back
.

Right.

Mason shot her a smirk that made her want
to smack him. “Yeah, no cable. You’ll have to wean yourself off of
American Idol
or
Jersey Shore
or whatever for a week, not to mention texting your
friends every five seconds. My aunt says there’s no cell coverage either.”

He not only hated teachers, but he
apparently didn’t think much of those who used cell phones or watched TV
either. Three strikes against her. Good thing she didn’t care in the least what
he thought of her.

“Fine by me,” she lied. “Besides, I don’t
watch reality shows.”

“Oh, yeah? You sounded pretty darn upset at
the thought of doing without TV. Let me guess. You watch all the nature shows.
PBS, that kind of thing?”

His tone made it clear how likely he found
that
possibility. “Very funny. I’m not
some airhead, you know.” How many times in her life had she said that? About a million.
Somehow, it seemed that if you had to go around telling people you weren’t an
airhead, you’d already lost the battle.

“Come on. Every girl I know watches those reality
things.”

“I don’t.” Much. She wasn’t counting an
occasional episode of
Keeping Up with the
Kardashians
. She only watched that for the fashion. And the fighting.

“Uh-huh.” He sounded skeptical. “So what do
you watch, if it’s not reality shows?”

She bit her lip, certain the truth wouldn’t
impress him anymore than an out-of-control addiction to
The Bachelor
.

“Come on,” he wheedled. “You can tell me.”

“That’s true. You couldn’t possibly think
any less of me than you do already.”

“Try me. You never know.”

“I like to watch the Home Retail Channel.
It’s relaxing.” There. Let him make of that what he wanted.

“Home Retail . . .” He wrinkled his nose. “You
meant that dumb home shopping channel?”

“That’s the one,” she said breezily,
turning to watch the passing woods without seeing them.

“You’re sorry about missing that? You ought
to be thanking me for taking you away from it.”

Yeah, he shouldn’t hold his breath for that
one.

They crested a rise and came into the sight
of a wooden cabin at the back of a small clearing. A porch ran across the front,
dotted with tarp-covered furniture. A pipe rose from the cedar-clad roof,
hinting at a wood-burning stove inside.

She frowned as she realized the building
reminded her of something. “It looks like a Cracker Barrel.”

“Sorry, but there’s nothing to buy here.
Maybe I can drop you off at a mall later.”

“No thanks. I’m sure I can safely go a week
without shopping.”
That
was pure
bluster. She hadn’t gone a week without shopping in years, but she could. If
anything else, she wanted to wipe that look of smug, hipster, I’m-so-above-consumerism
superiority off of his face. He set her teeth on edge without seeming to try.

He parked to one side of the cabin and
popped the trunk. She tried to retrieve her own suitcase, but he shushed her
and carried it to the porch, going back for another trip for her laptop.

The chivalrous gesture was something,
anyway. At least he wasn’t a
complete
ass. Just ninety percent ass.

She forgot her pique when he unlocked the
door and flipped on the light.

“It’s lovely!” Knotty pine paneling gleamed
on every wall. A wood-burning fireplace sat in one corner. In the middle was a
large quilt-covered bed.

In one corner sat a TV across from a
comfy-looking leather sofa. “I thought you said there was no TV.”

“I said there was no cable. We’ve got a DVD
player and some old movies, though.”

“Oh.” She tried not to sound wildly
relieved. At least she’d be able to veg out in front of the TV a
little
bit.

A rudimentary kitchen took up one corner,
with ancient appliances, a tiny microwave, a couple of cabinets, and an oak
table with chairs. A laptop and papers sat on the table. At each end of the
cabin were walled-off spaces. A bathroom and second bedroom, she guessed.

Next to the door sat a suitcase and an
empty laptop bag, and a long box covered with a tarp. He must have dropped off
his stuff earlier.

Wandering into the kitchen, she peered into
a dusty cabinet. It contained only a can of tomato sauce. She opened the
fridge. It was dark, empty, and room temperature. “There’s no food. Does this
thing even work?”

“My aunt hasn’t been here in a while, so it’s
empty. She probably unplugged it. She said there’s a grocery about 30 minutes
away, in the nearest town. I’ll run in tomorrow and pick up some stuff, unless
you’re hungry now.”

“Nah, I’m not hungry.” They’d hit fast food
on the way down and the greasy burger and fries still sat in her stomach like a
rock. “I’ll plug in the fridge.” She grabbed the hinged side of the door and
gave it a tug, but it didn’t budge. Her purse slid down her shoulder. She put
it down and braced herself, yanking hard. It moved a few inches, but not enough
to access the cord at the back.

“Here, let me.” His low voice right behind
her made her jump.

Before she could step away, he moved in
behind her, reaching past her to grab both sides of the door. His breath,
smelling warmly of coffee and cinnamon, stirred her hair. His chest and
shoulders surrounded her, his arms aligned along hers. An unexpected and
totally unwelcome tingle of sexual awareness flared to life. “Ready? Pull on
the count of three.”

When she didn’t answer, still trying to
process the fact that the delicious tightness in her abdomen had something to
do with Mason Dixon, of all people, he looked down. “Ready?”

She shook herself mentally. When he counted
down to three, they both tugged hard at the fridge. It slid toward them about a
half a foot. For a hipster artist, he packed some muscle under that
thrift-store trench coat. She could feel the swell of his bicep under his
sleeve, pressing against her outer arm. A totally insane impulse to lift her
hand to his arm and explore the hardness under the fabric came over her.

“Again, ready?” She shook her head to clear
it.

“Ready.” This time, she got a whiff of some
delicious scent—cedar, maybe? Was it his aftershave? She wasn’t petite, but he
still stood a few inches taller than her. The top of her head fit rather snugly
under his chin. How could such an annoying guy feel so right snuggled up
against her?

“Carolyn?”

His voice, even harder than his bicep, cut
into her sensual haze. She pulled away with a jolt. She lowered her head to
hide her red face.

“On three, okay?”

“Sure.” This time, the refrigerator slid
another foot with his help.

He stepped back immediately, leaving her
cold and bereft. “Thanks,” she muttered, not meeting his eye as she retrieved
the cord from behind the fridge and plugged it in.

She straightened and put her hands on the
fridge to push it back, but he ignored her. “I’ll get it.” He slid the fridge
back into place and left the kitchen, disappearing outside again in a moment.

Apparently he didn’t need her help.

She brushed grit off of her hands and
glanced around the cabin. The king-sized bed took up a large part of the cabin’s
main room. At the opposite end of the cabin, an area had been walled off with
oak paneling. That must be the second bedroom. She’d let him have the big bed
and take the smaller one. She could be magnanimous.

She picked up her suitcase and headed for
the second bedroom. A nap sounded good. The drive had been tiring, and her
hangover still hadn’t totally dissipated. Maybe she could talk him into letting
her rest a bit before they got started. Whatever weird sensual current had been
thrumming between them there for a minute was probably due to exhaustion on her
part. If she’d been feeling her normal self, she’d never have found Mason
attractive.

She opened the door, already dreaming of
throwing herself into a cozy bed, only to stop dead in her tracks.

“It’s a bathroom.” Where was the other bed?

“Yeah, there’s only one bed.” Mason’s voice
low in her ear made her jump. “Sorry, I guess I forgot to tell you.”

Her stomach curdled. “Yes, you did forget
to tell me.”

She turned on him, her gaze accusing. The
geek was more devious than she’d first thought.

She didn’t like being taken for granted. Just
because his muscled body near hers had made her go all mushy for a minute there
didn’t mean she would jump in bed with a guy she just met. She only did that
sort of thing in emergency situations, like when she felt horrible about
herself and had several cocktails sloshing around in her stomach.

Right now, neither of those was the case.
With any luck, he hadn’t noticed her weird little hormonal flare-up when they
moved the fridge.

“I didn’t think it was important. The sofa in
my aunt’s office folds out.” His lips quirked in a smile. “Besides, I think I
ought to be the one concerned about my virtue, huh? How do I know you’re not
going to try to slip into bed with me during the night?”

Okay, so apparently he
had
noticed that weird hormonal flare-up in the kitchen. How
mortifying.

She longed to smack him. He’d embarrassed
her and he knew it. What’s more, he
enjoyed
it. He was so damn
superior
, with his
moral rectitude and his above-it-all views about teachers. And cell phones. And
shopping. And cable TV and texting. He probably disapproved of sunshine and
rain, but he hadn’t gotten around to saying so yet. Now he had the gall to
imply she was loose, which she wasn’t—most of the time.

He so had another thing coming.

She turned to face him, bracing one arm on
the door jamb next to his head. The motion brought her close enough to smell
his aftershave again. Hmmm, the clean aroma made her want to lean in and savor
it, but she had something else in mind. One breast brushed against his chest. Just
like that, she heard the swift intake of his breath. Funny how that worked. She
slid one nail up right between his pecs, which even she had to admit were nice
for a guy who spent most of the day with a charcoal pencil in his hand. Not
body-builder huge, but firm and defined.

He frowned, shoulders stiffening. “Hey,
what are you—what is that—” She silenced him with a fingertip to his lips.

“Shhhhh.” His eyes dropped to her lips,
which was right where she wanted them. She eased up on her tip-toes and brushed
her mouth near his earlobe. His eyes stared straight ahead. He looked
shell-shocked.
Good.

Her nose dragged through his soft, short
hair, savoring the scent of his warm skin and some botanical-smelling shampoo.
Her right hand left where it explored his chest and moved up to slide his
glasses up to the top of his head.

“Hey, what—”

“Hush.” This time, she spoke right into his
ear, letting her warm breath heat his skin. He shuddered in response and she barely
withheld her crow.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Mason?”

“Girlfriend?” The word came out flat, as if
he parroted a word from a foreign language that he didn’t understand. “No, I
don’t. What are you—?

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” She brushed
the silky dark hair back from his ear and nipped his lobe for a second with her
teeth, reveling in his flinch. His breath drew in sharply. Good. She’d bet her
Mini Cooper that if she looked at the front of his pants, she’d see a bulge
tenting the fabric.

“Why are you glad I don’t have a
girlfriend?” The words came out low and tentative.

She slid one hand down the angle of his jaw
and leaned in to speak low and husky into his ear. “Here’s why, Mason. If I
do
decide to slip into your bed, I don’t
want you to feel guilty when you let me. Because if I decide I want you, you
won’t say no. And the last thing you’ll think about is your virtue.”