Harlequin Desire February 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: The King Next DoorMarriage With BenefitsA Real Cowboy (Kings of California)

by Maureen Child

  “Yup.” Part of him was already up, but he was going to exhibit the restraint that had abandoned him last night if it killed him. Which it might. He hadn’t meant to wind up in her bed, in her arms—part of his brain still wasn’t sure she wasn’t using sex to get him signed to the part. But he wasn’t going to listen to that part of his brain. Not today.

  Eyes still closed, she smiled and touched his face, rubbing her fingertips over his facial hair. He was starting to think she liked the beard. A lot. “Five more minutes.”

  That was an option—nah, he decided. He didn’t want to rush things with her. Tonight, he could take his time. “How about I get you some coffee?”

  One eyelid popped up. “Did you just offer to bring me coffee? In bed?”

  The way she said it made it pretty clear that no one had ever made such an offer to her before. Which seemed a crying shame. Had no one ever taken care of her? “I’ll be back in five minutes,” he promised, but not before giving her the kind of kiss that made his evening plans clear.

  “Mmmm.” That time, she did purr. Damn, but she was making it hard to get out of this bed.

  He managed to extricate himself from her body and the covers. The fire was down to straggling embers, so he tied his bathrobe and threw a few logs onto the coals. His slippers were cold, but the sheepskin lining was far warmer than the bare floor. “Be right back,” he said, as if he was afraid she would bail in the amount of time it would take him to get downstairs and back up. Actually, he was a little nervous, but it wasn’t like she could up and leave.

  “Better be,” she called out as he shut the door.

  J.R. grinned the whole way down. For a long time—too long—his relationships with women had always proved true the famous line by Rita Hayworth—“Men go to bed with Gilda—they wake up with me.” Women went to bed with James Robert; they didn’t want to wake up with J.R.

  Except for Thalia. She was different, which was something of a gross understatement. Even though she knew all about James Robert—and, from the sound of it, had harbored a huge crush on him—she seemed to want J.R.

  She seemed to like him. Especially the beard.

  Lost in this train of thought, J.R. entered the kitchen. Minnie stood at the stove, frying bacon and a mess of eggs. The smell of biscuits had his stomach rumbling something fierce. He glanced over to where Hoss was still wrapped up in his buffalo robe. Didn’t look like he’d moved since last night.

  “Morning, Minnie,” he said with another yawn. “What time is it?”

  “Nigh on to ten in the morning. Coffee’s ready.” She dusted flour off her hands before pointing to two thermal mugs with lids set on the counter.

  “I’ll take Thalia hers,” he said, trying to keep his tone uncommitted. Suddenly, he was nervous all over again—but not because of the possibility Thalia would bail. Because he hadn’t given a moment’s thought to what Minnie and Hoss would say, how they would treat this new development.

  Minnie came up to him and touched him on the arm. “J.R.,” she said, and he saw the worry in her eyes. Are you okay? she seemed to ask him with a look.

  After all this time, it still made him feel good that Minnie cared. He remembered the first time he met her. Hoss had dragged him home from dinner after shooting one day, telling him he couldn’t live on beer and peanuts. J.R. had been braced for the gushing to start the moment Hoss’s truck had stopped in front of the beat-up trailer an hour away from the movie set. That’s what had always happened before. But from the moment Minnie had emerged from the trailer, a scold on her lips, he’d felt that she was nothing like his mother and nothing like the girls who threw themselves at him. The trouble had been, he hadn’t known how to act around a woman like Minnie Red Horse.

  Luckily, she hadn’t made it hard on him. Before he’d even gotten his hat off his head, she’d been tsking him. “Good lord and butter, look at you. When was the last time you ate a meal?” had been the first words out of her mouth, followed closely by, “Come in, come in.”

  And that had been it. The Red Horse house had been small and run-down; the food wasn’t five-star anything. But Minnie and Hoss had taken him in, made a place for him at their table, and for the first time in his life, made him feel normal. Real. So much so that he almost hadn’t even gone back to Hollywood after filming had ended. Minnie had been the one to convince him he had to honor his obligations then, but she’d made it clear he was welcome in their home anytime.

  It had taken him another year and a half, plus the death of his mother, before he’d been able to untangle himself from his acting career. He might never have done it—might have slipped further into alcoholism and drugs, might have wound up dead by the time he was thirty—if he hadn’t had those moments of profound normalcy at the Red Horse table.

  He owed them everything. He could only hope that, by giving them a home and jobs, by making them his family, he had come close to repaying that debt of gratitude.

  J.R. grinned, touching Minnie’s furrowed brow. “You worry too much, you know?” I’m good, he thought, squeezing her hand. It’s good.

  For only the second time in his life, it was good.

  “Oh.” Swear to God, it looked like Minnie’s eyes were welling up with actual, sentimental tears. “That’s...nice.” Then she spun away from him before any of those tears could spill over. Before he knew it, she had a wooden spoon in her hand and was waving it dangerously close to him. “See? I told you that woman wasn’t a danger.”

  “You and your womanly, Indian-y intuition were right.” J.R. poured the coffee and capped the mugs. Then he saw the kettle on the stove. “That for us?”

  “Only if you can carry it all.” Minnie handed him the oven mitt.

  J.R. grabbed the kettle in one hand, the mugs in the other, and headed back upstairs. By no means was the awkwardness over with, but Minnie’s stamp of approval added to his feeling of lightness.

  Thalia was propped up in bed, the covers up to her chin. “You brought me coffee,” she said in wonderment.

  “And hot water. I’ll pour some in your sink before I head back to my room.”

  She glanced up at him through sleepy lashes, but he could tell she wasn’t that sleepy anymore. “Oh?”

  “Been thinking,” he went on, as casual as could be, while he headed back to her bathroom. “Might be better if you stay in my room tonight. Use less firewood that way.”

  Which was a nice, polite way of asking her to sleep with him. And also, to sleep with him. Sure, the sex had been great, but he wanted her to wake up in his arms again. He wanted that closeness, that touch.

  He wanted her. Plain and simple.

  “Well,” she called out to him as he filled her sink with the warm water. “I certainly wouldn’t want you to have to get out of bed to check on my fire again.”

  “Exactly.” He caught sight of himself in the mirror, grinning his fool head off. How long would the snow keep her here? How long could they pretend to play house? A week, maybe longer. Wouldn’t be long enough, but he’d take what he could get.

  When he went back into the bedroom, he was happy to see she had a huge, silly grin on her face, too. A real smile, one that pulled on her muscles and would one day lead to laugh lines—not one of those vapid smiles most actors perfected to keep wrinkles at bay. “Minnie’s got breakfast going, then Hoss and I’ll try to get to the barn. If we can get the gas into the house, we can fire up the generator.”

  She nodded, sipping her coffee. “Sounds like fun.”

  She was teasing him. “No, fun is mucking a stall in subzero weather.”

  “I can help.” The offer came out of nowhere, but she seemed entirely earnest.

  “Muck the stalls?” She nodded, her eyes huge. “Really?”

  “My grandpa made me clean the barn in exchange for going riding,” she said. “I don’t mind.”


  He was trying not to gape at her, but he wasn’t doing a good job. She was full of surprises, no doubt. The good kind. How many women in Hollywood would offer to shovel manure—outdoors—in a blizzard? Maybe just this one. “We’ll ask Minnie about getting you bundled, then.”

  “Great!”

  J.R. was still shaking his head at this pronouncement ten minutes later as he waited in the hall for Thalia to emerge from her room. He’d washed up, put on the layers of long underwear and sweaters, and was sipping the rest of his coffee. He could handle a cold house—more so if he had Thalia to help keep his bed warm—but he’d sure like to shower before nightfall, maybe trim the edges of his beard.

  After several chilly minutes, she came out, bundled in what looked like two sweaters, mug in hand. “Ready?” she asked, holding out her other hand for him to take. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

  “Ready.” Ready to face Hoss. Ready for the snow. Ready for anything with her by his side.

  When they got downstairs, Hoss had moved. Now he was standing before the fire, stretching. “Morning, you two,” he said without even looking at them. Maybe Minnie had already told him to play it cool—or risk the wrath of her spoon.

  “Morning.” Thalia looked confident, but he heard the waver in her voice.

  “Thalia’s going to be moving into my room tonight.” She shot him a less-than-pleased look. So that probably wasn’t the most eloquent way of phrasing things. If there was one thing he’d learned in the last decade, it was that getting things out in the open made it better on everyone.

  Minnie and Hoss both paused, and Thalia’s hand clamped down on his. Then Minnie said, “That’s nice,” in the same tone she’d used earlier, and Hoss added, “Use less firewood, eh?” and it was just that easy.

  “Yup. She’s going to help out in the barn this morning, so Minnie, if you could get her set up after breakfast, that’d be great.”

  Minnie and Hoss shared a look that, for the life of him, he couldn’t read. Which was odd, as he’d lived with them for a long, long time. He let it ride. It was time for breakfast, after all, and he was hungry.

  Without much more ado, Minnie set out breakfast and they all dug in. Minnie and Thalia talked about the gear she’d need to borrow—snowshoes, coveralls, gloves and the like—while he and Hoss discussed the plan of attack. “If you can get to the gas tanks, Thalia will help me with the barn.”

  If Hoss doubted the wisdom of this plan, he didn’t show it. Instead, chewing his way around another piece of bacon, he said, “If I get the generator going and you two take care of the barn, then you and I can get the snowmobiles out and see if there’s anything to be done about the cattle.”

  “Deal.” Getting the generator running—with the accompanying heat and hot water—was a top priority.

  After breakfast, Minnie took Thalia upstairs while Hoss and J.R. suited up in the mudroom. The whole time, J.R. waited for Hoss to say something. No smart-ass comments, no waggling eyebrows came his way. “Think she can make it out to the barn?” was all he said.

  J.R. thought back to the serious way she’d offered to help. Honestly, he didn’t know if she could handle the snow, much less the barn. “I ain’t gonna be the one to tell her she can’t do it.”

  “That’s probably the smart move,” Hoss said. “Don’t strike me as the kind of woman who listens to what other people tell her she can’t do.”

  Even J.R. had to chuckle. “When you’re right,” he said as he clapped Hoss on the shoulder, “you’re right.”

  * * *

  Thalia stood in the garage, which was about the size of a barn and had half a forest of firewood stacked in it. Minnie hadn’t been lying—they could heat the house for a month, easy.

  “Steady,” J.R. said as he kneeled before her.

  Thalia balanced herself against the back of Minnie’s SUV as J.R. buckled her boot-clad foot into a snowshoe. She felt like the little brother in that movie A Christmas Story. Between her regular clothes and the sweatshirts, sweatpants, coveralls, hat, gloves, goggles and four pairs of socks Minnie had swaddled her in—plus the huge boots J.R. was working around—she didn’t think she could put her arms down.

  “There’s a rope that goes from the house to the barn,” Hoss was saying as J.R.’s hands worked. She wished she could feel his touch, but there were too many damn layers between them. “Don’t let go of the rope.”

  “Hold on to rope. Got it.”

  “There.” J.R. stood up, which was a pretty impressive series of moves for a man who was also wearing snowshoes. “Ready?”

  Thalia nodded, but she wasn’t so sure anymore. Offering to help in the barn had seemed like a fun idea at the time, but that was before she’d been trussed up as if she were going to climb Mont Blanc.

  “Here we go.” From her perch back by the door that led to the kitchen, Minnie opened the garage door. The whole thing groaned, and Hoss and J.R. rushed to help shove it up.

  The wall of snow on the other side was impressive. As in, terrifying. “How much did we get?” she heard herself say.

  “Probably only a couple of feet,” J.R. replied as he assessed the pile that was much closer to her head than her knees. “This is just a drift. Once we get to the other side...”

  Hoss already had a shovel and was pushing the snow away. After a few minutes, Thalia could see the crystal-white world on the other side. Everything looked both softer—the corners of buildings were cushioned and rounded, the world blanketed in comfortable white—and harsher. The wind had blown the snow into severe, sculpted drifts more fitting for a modern art museum than the Montana wilderness.

  J.R. gave Hoss a leg up to get over the snow. Then he motioned to Thalia. “Your turn.” She swore she heard something close to a tease in his voice.

  What, did he think she’d chicken out? Hell to the no. She squared her shoulders and clomped over to where he waited for her. She couldn’t see much of anything about him—he had on a full ski mask and goggles—but she would bet money he was smiling at her. “Ready,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

  J.R. nodded his head, then picked her up and more or less hefted her through the opening Hoss had shoveled. One of her snowshoes caught on the edge and she lost any semblance of balance.

  “Watch it.” From beneath his mask, Hoss’s easy drawl reached her ears as he caught her by the arm and got her upright on the snowshoes. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this, you know.”

  “Agreed.”

  Hoss guided her over to the rope and waited until she’d looped her arm around it before he went back and helped haul J.R. up.

  The nice thing was, for the first time since she’d arrived in this state, she wasn’t freezing her butt off outside. The many layers she had on made moving a new and interesting experience, but she only felt the wind on her face. Her toes were, for the time being, safe.

  J.R. took the place in front of her, and Hoss brought up the rear. Slowly, the three of them made their way out to the largest of the three barns. For her first time in snowshoes, she did pretty well. She hoped, anyway. At least she didn’t fall into either of the men and she didn’t let go of the rope.

  Getting into the barn was an exercise in falling with style—at least, Thalia hoped she fell off the drift and into J.R.’s waiting arms with style. He unbuckled her snowshoes for her and she stepped clear. “Wait here while we get the gas,” he said.

  Nodding, she looked around. The barn was massive. From where she stood, she could see a full-sized, covered arena behind a gate on her left. Straight ahead was a row of stalls—maybe twenty in all. Did he keep that many horses? Wow. To her right was a big room with a desk and a bunch of saddles on the wall—the tack room and office.

  The whole place was clean and bright, with paint that looked relatively fresh on the walls and the sme
ll of alfalfa hanging in the air. Thalia took a deep breath, smelling the scent of a childhood summer spent at Grandpa’s farm.

  She was hit with an unexpected burst of homesickness—not for Hollywood, but for Oklahoma. She’d been so busy with work that it had been hard to find the time to get home to see Mom and pay a visit to Grandpa’s and Dad’s graves. She’d been trying to tell herself she was going back when she had this project done, or that award—that Oscar—won, but maybe that hadn’t been what had kept her away. Maybe it had been that she hadn’t wanted to go home until she was as famous as her mother thought she was.

  Thalia walked to the first stall. She hadn’t lied to J.R.—she’d always loved horses and had mucked plenty of stalls in her day to earn an afternoon riding around Grandpa’s land. She was less than thrilled to see it was empty.

  So were the next four stalls on either side of the sawdust-covered aisle, which left her with a vague sense of unease. There were horses somewhere in here, right?

  Then, in the fifth stall, she found one and, from the sound of it, the next several stalls were also filled. The horse in the stall—a dirty white gelding with a long mane that flopped every which way—nickered at her through the bars. She saw he had a quilted blue blanket over him. That was good. She didn’t want to think the horses were out here freezing.

  “Hello, baby,” she murmured, pushing her goggles back and holding her hand out for the horse to sniff. “What’s your name?”

  “Coot,” came a voice from behind her. “As in, Old Coot.” Thalia turned to see J.R. standing, his legs spread wide as if he were master of everything in his domain.

  She’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel a little thrill of excitement at seeing him. He’d removed his mask and pushed his hood back, revealing his rugged face. “He’s retired,” J.R. added, coming up next to her and patting Coot on the neck. “We rode together for a long time, didn’t we, Coot?”