Although he had to admit that this one seemed to have a little more going for her than most of the beauties he’d been involved with in the past. Including Lisa.
Assistant manager of a feed and seed store? Was she putting him on? He could have sworn she was on the level, but it didn’t add up. Not that feed and seed clerks couldn’t wear fancy yellow britches and three-inch clogs, but he had a feeling she was leaving some thing out of her résumé’. If there was one thing Gus couldn’t abide, it was being played for a sucker.
Not that there was any chance of being played for anything, because he wasn’t going to get involved, never mind the fact that all he’d been able to think about last night was getting her into his bed. Or him self into hers. He’d lain awake for hours after he’d gone to his own room, wondering what it would be like to kiss her. Wondering how it would feel to run his hands nice and slow and easy down that long, silken torso—to kiss his way down her throat and then taste those small, sweet breasts.
He’d wondered a lot more than that, too. Fortunately he had better sense than to try to satisfy his curiosity.
Making an effort to subdue his renegade libido, Gus told himself it was nothing personal. He’d always been a pushover when it came to ladies in need. Some guys never learned. That didn’t mean he had to adopt them all, for crying out loud.
Realizing he’d been staring at the top button on her shirt, he shifted his gaze and said, “Well? Are you going to wiggle ‘em, or not? I need to be sure all your parts are in working order before I let you go.”
That got a rise out of her, all right. The lady wasn’t quite as unflappable as she liked to pretend.
“Minor correction—you’re not letting me go. I’m going,” Mariah said sweetly.
“Yeah, sure. Now, wiggle your fingers for me, will you? I think the swelling’s gone down some since last night.”
It had. Her hand was no longer throbbing quite so much, but it was still swollen. The thought of bending her fingers made her wince. They were a nasty shade of purplish blue, the marks of the door clearly visible between the first and second joints of her ring finger. Taking a deep breath, she wiggled them experimentally and couldn’t quite suppress a sharp, indrawn breath.
“Not so good, huh?”
“Much better. The soreness is almost gone,” she lied.
The waitress brought their orders, and despite the fact that she hadn’t wanted anything, Mariah stared hungrily at the mounds of scrambled eggs, bacon and hash browns. Next to the plate of pancakes swimming in syrup and butter, there was a basket of toast and a plate of jelly, including a single tub of her favorite guava jam.
“Want me to feed you or can you manage a knife and fork? Eating pancakes with your fingers is pretty messy. Maybe you’d better tuck your napkin under your chin, just in case you dribble.” Gus grinned at her. The man had a truly wicked smile.
“Do you enjoy humiliating people?”
Dumping his third packet of sugar into his coffee, he cocked his head thoughtfully. “Yeah…now that you mention it, I suppose I do. I used to enjoy the occasional spot of hunting, but blood sports take a lot of energy. These days I usually settle for a round or two of recreational humiliation. Doesn’t require nearly as much exertion.”
“Beast,” Mariah muttered. She grabbed the tub of guava jam, set it beside her plate and stirred a sweetener into her coffee, and then automatically lifted the thick mug with her right hand.
Hot coffee splashed all down her front. She yelped and grabbed her injured fingers with her left hand. The mug rolled across the table and onto the floor just as Gus grabbed a fistful of napk ins and started blotting her chest. What with the pain in her fingers and the sting of the hot coffee, it took several moments before she thought to shove his hand away from the front of her shirt.
Gus looked first stricken, then embarrassed. “Hey, I didn’t mean—that is, I wasn’t trying to—”
“I know.” She did know, too. Gus might have more shortcomings than your average man, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t the type to grope a lady in a crowded restaurant.
Or even in a motel room, late at night, when the rain and darkness enclosed them together into a small world of their own.
“Gus, it’s all right, really.” She plucked the clammy wet fabric away from her body. Oh, for goodness” sake, what a klutz she was! At this rate, everything she owned would be stained beyond redemption.
Ignoring her own vinyl slicker, Gus lifted his black leather jacket from the rack and draped it over her shoulders, and Mariah gathered it around her. The lingering warmth of his body felt good over her rapidly cooling wet shirt.
“Are you burned?”
“No, I don’t think so. It wasn’t all that hot.”
“Maybe we’d better—“
“Gus, I’m all right—really! Although if I knew that much about astrology,” she said with a despairing sort of chuckle,” I might be tempted to blame it on the stars. I think all mine must have gone on strike yesterday morning. What do they call it?”
“Call what?”
The waitress arrived with a towel and mopped up the river of coffee that dripped from the table onto the bench, and while Mariah worked her arms into the voluminous jacket and turned back the sleeves, Gus quietly requested a smaller, thinner cup.
“You know, when all the stars go backward?”
“I dunno. Apocalypse?”
“I’m beginning to believe it. It’s called retro something. They’re not really moving backward, it only lo oks that way, and it’s supposed to cause all sorts of screwups. Burdy, one of my sisters, was into astrology last summer. She told me that my hardest years would be the earlier ones, but that things would look up after a while.” She lifted her face and Gus tried his damnedest to ignore the deep shadows under her eyes and the hint of a quiver in her voice. “Is it after a while yet?”
He swore silently. It wasn’t the shadows that got to him. It wasn’t even the quiver. Dammit, it was that wistful little smile of hers that blew a hole a mile wide in his defenses. Scowling, he concentrated on cutting her pancakes, and they finished breakfast in silence.
Mariah thought that Gus was probably counting down the minutes, in spite of the fact that he was dawdling over his third cup of coffee, seemingly in no hurry to get on the road. Mariah told herself he was probably just taking one last stab at the good Samaritan thing. She was beginning to feel guilty for some of the things she’d said to him. The poor guy couldn’t help his disposition—it was probably genetic. In which case, if he came from a long line of grouchy people, he deserved sympathy.
“Look, in case I gave you the wrong impression, Gus, I really am grateful for everything you’ve done. You didn’t have to help me at all. You could have left me at the convenience store and gone on your way to—well, to wherever it is you’re going.”
He shrugged. With another man, she might have thought he looked embarrassed. “Sunshine,” he said. “Just looking for a little sunshine.”
“Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I do appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if—”
“You’d have done just fine,” he growled.
“Yes, I would. I’ve been taking care of myself for nearly thirty years, but that doesn’t mean— Oh, for heaven’s sake, thank you! There, I’ve said it! You kno w, you really are a terrible grouch, Wydowski. I don’t see how you can tolerate your own company.”
At that, he grinned again, and she was struck once more by what a puzzling, exasperating—and yes, what a shockingly sexy man he was. Glowering at the slightly less-than-perfect white teeth and those penetrating eyes of his, Mariah gave up. Men like Gus Wydowski were totally outside her experience—and wasn’t that a blessing! “Forget it, will you? I’m ready to go whenever you are,” she said with a sigh, knowing even as she spoke that it was a lie.
Her car was still where she’d left it, intact so far as she could tell. Gus dealt with the clerk while Mariah dealt with h
er luggage, then she suffered the sharp edge of his tongue when he came out and caught her trying to juggle the heavy box of books with two arms and one good hand.
“You’re nuts, you know that? You’re not safe to be out in the world on your own.” He lifted the box from her arms and dumped it into her back seat. “Your tires are practically bald. Do you have a spare?”
“Certainly I have a spare, it’s in the trunk along with the tools.”
“Let’s see your key, I’d better check it out just in case.”
She had the one key she had stashed under the hood. It fit the ignition, not the trunk. She told him so, and then listened while he unraveled a few more yards of profanity. It occurred to her even as she waited for him to get it out of his system that there were different types of profanity. Gus’s was angry, but it wasn’t smutty. Smut offended her, but anger she understood.
“If you’ve finished with your damning and helling, I’d like to be on my way.”
“Let me see you start her and back her around.”
“Wha-a-at?”
“Mariah, if you can’t grip a steering wheel and change gears, how the devil do you plan to make it all the way to Muddy Whatsis?”
“Landing! It’s Muddy Landing!” If she sounded upset, it was only because she’d been wondering the same thing. If she couldn’t even hold a heavy coffee mug, how was she going to get herself home? And even if she did, how on earth was she ever going to handle twenty-odd pounds of active, squirming, little girl?
“Have you decided which way you’re going? There’s a lot of traffic on I-95, but I’m not sure the other route’s much better.”
“I’ll manage just fine. And now, I really do have to go. Gus, thank you again. For everything. I’ll send you a check just as soon as I—”
He cut her off in a way that left her reeling on her feet. Catching her by her shoulders, he hauled her up against him, taking care not to touch her right hand, and kissed her. It was no friendly little peck, either. His mouth was hard and warm and thorough. He tasted of coffee, and to her amazement Mariah found that she wanted to touch him all over, to hold him with both arms and not let go.
A moment later, staring at his dark, scowling face as he swung up into his truck, she remembered to close her mouth.
“Well… damn,” she whispered.
Gus headed south. Mariah watched until his tail-lights disappeared in the misty rain. A few minutes later she was headed north, furious for no real reason at all. She had a full tank of gas; she was within a few hours of home, and she was managing without an unbearable amount of discomfort in spite of the fact that everything except for the turn signal, which she hardly needed on the interstate, required the use of her right hand.
“Damn the man, anyway,” she muttered as she stopped at a traffic light just outside Jacksonville. She fancied she could still taste his kiss. She had never been kissed by a bearded man before, and she couldn’t decide whether she’d liked it or not.
Oh, she’d liked it, all right. Heavens, yes, she’d liked it! Even more, sh e had liked the feel of his hard body against hers, the leathery, soapy, masculine scent of him and the feel of those arms holding her so close she could hardly breathe—arms that could offer shelter, protection and goodness knows what else to some lucky woman.
By the time she got through Jacksonville, she was still going over it in her mind. It was a good thing, she decided, that he’d gone his way and she’d gone hers, because the last thing she needed in her life at this point was another complication.
And Gus Wydowski would be a complication of the most complicated sort!
Five
Gus made it as far south as Jupiter Beach. The rain had stopped, but it was still untropically cold. Not exactly beach-lying, bone-baking weather. He considered heading on down to the Keys. He still had time. There was nothing to stop him. No reason why he couldn’t go wherever he took a notion to go and stay as long as he wanted to stay, just so long as he got back in time to get started on the Paragon Shores project on schedule.
So how come he was headed north again?
He didn’t even want to know. One thing he did know: it had nothing to do with the woman. He had no intention of going anywhere near Muddy Whatsis—if such a place even existed. Probably one of these little backwoods swamp settlements where everyone was kin to everyone else—sometimes a little too close kin for comfort.
On the other hand, it might not have occurred to her that along with everything else, the creeps who had snatched her purse had access to her address as well as her house keys. They’d headed south, sure, but the highway ran both ways.
Gus told himself there was little chance they would follow her home. If she’d had a St. Augustine address, there might have been a danger, but no two-bit hoods were going to follow a mark all the way to Georgia on the off chance that she had something at home worth st ealing.
Still, as long as he was passing through the neighborhood, it wouldn’t hurt to make sure she was all right. It didn’t mean he had any personal interest. He would have done the same for anyone under similar circumstances. Jeez, a guy would have to be a big-time loser to get involved with a woman like that just because she happened to appeal to him physically.
Right. And food appealed to a starving man.
Absently he scratched his jaw as a slow grin spread over his face. Man, would she evermore be ticked off if he were to show up on her doorstep. Might even be worth going a couple of miles out of his way just to see the look on her face.
Gus had no illusions about his own attractions. He had a healthy bank account, which made up for a number of shortcomings, but even so, he was no great prize. He’d been called a lot of things by a lot of women: a battle-scarred, pig-headed loner with a lousy disposition being among the milder descriptions. And that didn’t even take into account the addiction he was doing his damnedest to kick.
Namely, women. Women like Mari ah. Women who might be spoiled and superficial, but who were so damned good to look at, a man clean forgot to check under the hood until it was too late.
He was beginning to think Mariah might be different, but then, he’d been fooled before. If he was smart, he’d detour around by way of Tennessee instead of deliberately riding into an ambush.
On the other hand, he thought a few miles later as he popped a handful of M&M’s, Mariah had mentioned the fact that Muddy Whatsis was only a mile or two off Highway 17. He’d be passing right by the place. It would be downright discourteous not to swing past just to make sure she’d got home all right. Five minutes tops, and he’d be on his way north again. In a day or so, he’d have forgotten all about that wistful little smile of hers and her husky little laugh.
Not to mention a few other asset s.
Spotting a smoky half a mile ahead, Gus eased up on the gas pedal. The last thing he needed at this point was to get involved with the Georgia highway patrol.
Or, for that matter, with the princess of Muddy Whatsis.
Mariah put the dishes in to soak and tuned the radio to a rock station. She hated it, but Jessie seemed to like it, judging by the way she chortled and bobbed up and down, hanging on to the playpen rail with one wet fist, waving the other to keep time.
Even teething—even away from home, with an aunt she hardly knew, Jessie was a happy baby. Mariah didn’t know how she would have coped if her niece had been any less laid back. She’d got home Friday night, too exhausted to unpack, fallen into bed and slept for nine hours straight. Basil and Jessie had arrived early Saturday morning. Basil had been in such a rush to get off again that he hadn’t even asked how she’d hurt her hand, much less if it was going to be a problem.
Poor Basil. It was not that he was insensitive, he just had a lot on his mind, what with Myrtiss taking off like that and having to leave his business in the hands of a high school boy while he brought Jessie here and then go racing off in search of his wife. He had checked with her parents in Arkansas, but if Myrtiss was there, they weren’t saying so. He’d
just have to go and see.
Mariah had tried to absorb all the information about vitamins and which foods went with which meals, and about keeping small nonedibles out of reach.
She had learned right off that everything was edible, and that nothing within reach of those greedy little fists was safe. Jessie couldn’t walk yet, but one way or another she covered ground remarkably fast, pulling herself up on everything. Mariah had spent that first morning trying to keep up with her and childproof the house at the same time. As far as she knew, she’d succeeded, thanks to the folding playpen Basil had remembered to bring along.
And finally, thank goodness, the sun had decided to shine again! Except for the water standing in the low sections of her yard—which was just about everywhere—you wouldn’t even know it had rained for a solid week. As soon as things dried up a little more, Mariah intended to drag the playpen out onto the porch so she could work outside. She’d neglected her yard for too long.
The althaeas, for instance, weren’t happy by the back fence. She thought the soil might be too sour. Maybe if she moved them over near the azaleas she had transplanted last year…
But then, her azaleas hadn’t grown an inch, either. In fact, if she didn’t soon see a little improvement, she was going to dig up every last one and move them to a new location.
That is, she would once she could handle a shovel again. So far, she could barely manage a broom. Driving all the way home hadn’t helped her hand any.
“Jessie, spit that out!” Kneeling beside the playpen, Mariah tried to pry what looked like a shoestring from her niece’s mouth.“ Sweetie, you can’t be hungry so soon,” she muttered. “You’ve already eaten toast and a bowlful of gluck—what didn’t end up on the floor or the walls, at least.”
The Beauty, the Beast and the Baby (Man of the Month) Page 6