Authors: Carol Grace
Wild Mustang Man (23 page)
He turned his head. Electric blue eyes met hers and gave her a long appreciative look.
"Hello, darlin'," he said with a lazy grin. "What can I do for you?"
She swallowed hard. "You can get out of my bathtub."
Obligingly he braced his hands on the edge of the tub and stood.
She should have closed her eyes.
She should have looked away.
She should have run for her life.
But she didn't. She stood there and stared at the lean, hard body of a magnificent man in all his naked splendor. Her face flamed. Her knees wobbled.
He came to his senses first and planted his hat against his muscular thighs. "Have a seat," he said, waving his other hand in the direction of a wooden bench along the wall.
"Who—who do you think you are?" she sputtered.
"Who do you think I am?" he inquired. Tiny drops of water slid down his chest, caught in the damp blond hair there and caused her heart to pound erratically.
"I think you're an intruder and you're trespassing on my property," she said stiffly.
"Your property..." A whole series of emotions— including shock and surprise—crossed his craggy face. But he recovered quickly. "Then you must be..."
"Chloe Hudson."
"Zebulon Bowie," he said extending his hand to grasp hers. "My friends call me Zeb."
"Mr. Bowie," Chloe said, trying to ignore the large callused hand that held hers and didn't let go. "What are you doing here?"
"What does it look like?" he said with a mocking smile.
"It looks like you're taking a bath in my tub, and I would appreciate it if you, if you... if you..."
What was wrong with her, allowing the presence of a naked stranger to cause her mind to go blank and her body to hum like a live wire? She was a nurse, for heaven's sake. She'd seen naked bodies before. But not like this one.
"If I would make room for you? No problem," he assured her. "You look like you could use some hot water."
Again the frankly sexual gaze raked her body and caused an instant and unwanted reaction. Her nipples peaked against the damp silk shirt that was pasted to her body.
"And a cold beer," he added.
"I don't drink beer," she said primly while her face burned and her parched throat ached for something cool, anything. But accepting a drink would make it look like he was the host and she was the guest. And make it all the more difficult to kick him off her property.
"Too bad," he said, letting her hand go and reaching behind him to grab a pair of clean jeans and a shirt from a shelf above the tub. "Made it myself. Won second prize last fall at the county fair."
She exhaled slowly. Her mouth was as dry as a cotton swab. "Well, maybe just a sip," she said weakly.
He nodded and brushed past her on his way out the door, causing her to tremble uncontrollably for no reason at all. Except that she'd had a long, hard day. And it wasn't over yet.
Zeb stood in the shade of an evergreen tree and pulled his jeans on over muscled calves and thighs. Then a clean, though wrinkled, shirt went over his damp head of hair. His skin cooled rapidly in the dry air. But his body was hot and buzzing with awareness.
So this was Chloe Hudson. If he'd known she had long gorgeous legs that didn't quit, spectacular breasts clearly outlined by a clingy damp silk shirt, and a face the angels would envy, he would have... What? Given up his plan to buy her property and resell it at a huge profit? Not a chance. Not even if she'd jumped in that tub with him and he'd watched the water bead on her smooth skin, traced its path with his tongue as it trickled down her neck.... What did she need an old hot-springs resort for? He, on the other hand, had a desperate need for cash. Now. And no need for sexual gratification. Not from little Miz Hot-Springs Heiress.
He grabbed a cold bottle of beer from under a rock in the stream, then lifted her suitcase and carried it to the bathhouse. "Got your brew for you," he announced. "And your duds."
No answer. He should have warned her about taking care in the hot tub. Some people, unused to a sudden infusion of hot mineral water, fainted dead away. He yanked the door open.
Her head was tilted back against the porcelain, her red-gold hair cascading in wet ringlets over the edge of the tub. Her eyes were closed.
"Chloe!"
Her eyes flew open and she gave him a look that could have shattered the bottle in his hand.
"I knocked," he explained, his eyes riveted on the slope of her smooth shoulders as she sank deeper into the water. But not so deep he couldn't catch a glimpse of rosebud-tipped breasts floating like strawberries in a glass of champagne. He drew in a ragged breath, set the bottle on the floor and walked out.
So now they were even, he thought as he stomped down the rickety steps to solid ground. She'd seen him and he'd seen her. It wasn't as if he'd never seen a naked woman before. Then why was his heart pounding in time to some distant drum?
He glanced back at the bathhouse. "Hey," he yelled. "I left your bag at the door."
No answer. He could go back in. Make sure she hadn't succumbed to heat prostration and didn't need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Oh, lord. The idea of
plundering her mouth, exploring the moist hot recesses, set his pulse racing.
As he stared at the door, it opened. Slowly, cautiously, she stuck her head out, extended one bare arm and dragged the tan leather bag inside.
Enough, he told himself. Enough ogling his new neighbor and fantasizing about saving her life by holding her flat against the floorboards, forcing her lips open, filling her lungs with air from his, his hand cradled under her head. He let out a deep breath. And practiced what he'd say when she came out.
"Welcome to Paradise," he'd say. Then he'd wait a minute to let the irony sink in. "It's not much to look at, but it's all there is. Not to worry. Being the good neighbor I am, I'll take it off your hands. Right after dinner. Then I'll give you a ride to your car...your bus, whatever. And you can be on your way." He smiled with satisfaction. He shouldn't have to say much more. The run-down buildings, the overgrown weeds spoke louder than any words.
Chloe let the last draught of the smooth dark beer slide down her throat, then rubbed herself dry with a rough towel she found hanging from a peg on the wall. Her skin tingled, and her body throbbed. She closed her eyes and said a prayer that when she opened the door, the cowboy who thought he was God's gift to women would be gone.
But he was far from gone. Instead, he was kneeling over a campfire, sun-bleached blond hair falling over his forehead, coaxing a bundle of dry sticks to burn. She noticed broad shoulders in blue denim and muscled thighs in tight jeans. She sucked in her breath. He had a gorgeous body, in or out of his clothes.
She reminded herself that his gorgeous body was trespassing on her property and stalked purposefully toward him across the clearing.
Almost Married
Laurie Clayton, meet your goddaughter.”
Laurie held out her arms and took from her friend Gretel the most adorable baby she’d ever seen. The baby’s little fingers tangled in Laurie’s hair and her sweet smell filled her with a bittersweet longing for a child of her own. “Oh, Gret, she’s sooo cute. A perfect angel.”
Gretel sighed. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d heard her crying all the way down to the airport. She’s teething and it’s been awful.” Laurie hugged the baby to her and Morgan gurgled happily. “She likes you,” Gretel said, then surveyed her friend carefully. “Still slim, gorgeous and single. How come? I thought you’d be the first to take the plunge and have a family. You like kids so much.”
“Yes, well, it’s still customary to get married first,” Laurie said ruefully. “Like you did. Like my sister did.”
Gretel nodded understanding. “You wait here with Morgan. I’ll get the car from the garage and bring it around.”
Laurie hardly noticed Gretel was gone, she was so entranced with this baby, this miracle of soft skin and round, chubby cheeks. The baby gave her a toothless smile and Laurie thought she’d landed in paradise instead of Buffalo, New York.
“I’ll let you get over your jet lag tonight,” Gretel promised as they headed out of town into the fertile farmland of upstate New York where Gretel and her husband raised apples, “but tomorrow I’m going to give you the royal tour, from the museum to the zoo and last but not least, Niagara Falls!”
“All in one day?”
Gretel laughed. “We’ve got five whole days before I join Steve in Seattle. Plenty of time to see everything and let you get to know Morgan. If you’re sure you’re still up for baby-sitting for two weeks.” Gretel shot an anxious glance at her best friend.
Laurie turned her head to smile at her goddaughter. “Of course I’m up for it,” she assured Gretel. “I can’t wait to have her all to myself. You’re right, I’ve always liked kids. And I adore Morgan already. Her pictures don’t do her justice. You don’t have to entertain me. I’ll be happy to help out around the place. With Steve gone away to school, you must need help picking apples or something.”
“We’ve got a small staff who do the year-round stuff, spraying, grafting, but during harvest a whole crew comes in to work. By that time Steve will be back to oversee the whole thing.” She turned to smile at Laurie. “I’ve been waiting for you so we can relive those carefree days when we were young and foolish, when we flew from coast to coast, flight attendants without a care in the world except which restaurant to go to and which guy to go out with. We’ll put Morgan in the back seat with her teething ring and we’ll be off.”
Laurie noticed Morgan had nodded off and was sleeping peacefully in her car seat, her pale eyelashes dusting her fair skin, her cheeks the color of her pink dress.
“We’re in apple country now,” Gretel explained, waving her hand at the green fields dotted with heavily laden fruit trees, “one of New York state’s major crops.”
Laurie tore her eyes from the sleeping child to look out the window at the acres of trees, trying to pay attention to what Gretel was saying. Young and foolish. Laurie didn’t ever want to be young and foolish again, not foolish enough to fall in love with a married pilot and foolish enough to believe him when he said he loved her.
Gretel continued her lecture on the cultivation of apples until they arrived at a cobblestone house set on a rise above the orchard. Laurie stood in the living room of the vintage structure admiring the rustic furniture, the Native American blankets hanging on the wall and the huge old fireplace while Gretel rushed to answer the ringing telephone in the kitchen.
When Gretel reappeared with Morgan in her arms, her expression was anxious and her face a shade paler than before. “That was Steve,” she said. “He’s finished his agriculture course early and wants me to come right away.”
Laurie spread her arms out, palms up. “Well, why not? I’m here. You haven’t seen him in what, six weeks? You haven’t taken a vacation together since your honeymoon. I say go for it.”
Laurie hugged her daughter to her and sat down on the couch. “You’re right, I know you’re right. It’s just that—I’ve never even left Morgan overnight before. When you offered to stay with her I was—I am so grateful. But...” Gretel’s lower lip trembled as she buried her face in her daughter’s red curls.
Laurie watched the interplay between mother and daughter and her heart filled with sympathy and a touch of envy. If things had been different, if she’d been more sensible...
“It must sound silly to you,” Gretel went on, “but you’ll understand when you have a baby of your own.”
One of her own. Laurie felt a lump form in her throat. With her luck she had small hope of having one of her own, let alone finding a man to have a baby with. She nodded at Gretel. “I understand perfectly.”
“You’re a true friend,” Gretel said earnestly, “the best. Don’t think I don’t appreciate what you’re offering, staying with a teething baby while I fly off to take a second honeymoon. If I weren’t such a worry-wart… Come on,” Gretel said, getting to her feet. “You must be tired. I’ll show you your room. I told Steve I’d sleep on it and let him know tomorrow.”
The guest room was furnished in the same style as the rest of the house, with a handmade quilt on the antique iron bed frame and a large oak armoire against the wall. After Gretel said good-night and took the baby with her down the hall, Laurie sat on the edge of the bed, her stocking feet resting on a handwoven braid rug, and tried to stifle the feelings of envy that threatened to engulf her. A charming old house, a husband and a baby. What more could anyone want?
She shook off her unbecoming feelings and got undressed. In bed, snuggled under a fluffy comforter, Laurie told herself now that she’d quit her job with the airline and forgotten about the handsome but married pilot who’d nearly broken her heart, she had her whole life ahead of her, that anything was possible, that all her dreams could come true. But the niggling questions remained: How, When, Where and Who?
The next day Gretel called Steve back and told him she couldn’t leave so soon and she and Laurie and Morgan headed off to see the sights. Morgan was tucked safely in her car seat, gnawing happily on her teething ring. It was Gretel who didn’t look happy. Not the next day nor the day after that. No matter how interesting the pictures in the art museum or how dazzling the view of Ontario from the Peace Bridge, she was racked with indecision about when to leave.
“So, Morgan,” Laurie said one afternoon as she held the little girl in her lap and fed her applesauce. “Shall we put your mother on the next plane for Seattle before she has a chance to change her mind?” Each day Laurie found herself growing more attached to her goddaughter, and Morgan was more willing to go to Laurie when her mother was tired or busy.
