Pumpkins, Cowboys & Guitars

by Patti Ann Colt

  She couldn’t control the blush the spread over her cheeks. “Bet you think I’m a lunatic.”

  “I think you were scared out of your mind. With good reason.” Deep talking, sexy walking man held out his hand. “Shane O’Hare.”

  “Kendra Dawson.” She watched his face for any sign he recognized her name and sagged with relief when there was no change in his facial expression. Good manners dictated a shake, so she offered her hand.

  His palm slid against hers. Oh, Lord! Warm tingles blossomed. Quick! Swallow against the sweeping shiver. No time to stifle a surge of lust. Callused hands. A strong, working man’s hand.

  Lord, she had no time for men. They were complicated and demanded attention and needed fussing over. She had trust issues and did not want a man right now.

  Well, maybe the want part wasn’t true.

  He’d said something she’d totally missed.

  “I’m sorry?”

  He grinned with knowing amusement in his eye. “Nice to meet you.”

  She rushed to fill in the gap, crossing her arms to cover her puckered nipples and lack of breath. “Thank you for the other day. I was freaked. I was in an accident with a horse in high school. A bad one.”

  “Get thrown from a horse?”

  “Uh, no, hit one with my car on a blind curve. I was sixteen.” My best friend died because of me. “I’m a bit skittish.”

  His expression shifted. “Understandable.”

  She tensed, ticked at herself for offering that tidbit. People were nosy. She had quit talking about the accident years ago. But the nightmares had returned. Her recent dreams were a jumble of slow motion replays. Both horse incidents mixed with decadent pleasure of intimate massages and murmured love words from the sexy man in front of her. Two weeks of that added up to little or no sleep with lots of sugar and caffeine consumption. That led her to blabbering details she normally kept to herself.

  He bent to look her straight in the eye and sent her heart racing. The understanding there soothed her embarrassment. “I think most people who had a horse jump out at them on that narrow path would have done what you did.”

  He was being so darn nice, upping his sexy quotient.

  She got off her car and faced him. “You didn’t panic. You seemed to handle him just fine.”

  He shrugged. “Firefighter. They pay me to handle things just fine.”

  She scuffed her shoe on the pavement and looked down the long path. She shifted her gaze to him and saw a flash of something that looked like nerves, then chided herself for being ridiculous. The man was sex on a stick and she so wanted to lick.

  “Would you like to run with me?” The deep timber of the question set a lip-tasting sex shiver down her spine.

  “Uh, no.” She didn’t want to run at all. She wanted to go back home and pretend she hadn’t bolted in front of this man like a panicked hoyden. She wanted to close her eyes and live in the fantasy. He was a sexy breathing hunk of imaginary bed partner, and she was dressed in her worst clothes with no makeup and a sloppy ponytail, feeling like a junior high student with a movie star crush.

  “All right then.” He stepped back.

  Maybe he would have left and maybe he would have tried again, but what she’d said and what she truly meant pushed her to her senses.

  She reached for his arm and pulled on his t-shirt sleeve. She dropped her hand immediately, not wanting to get zinged twice in less than five minutes.

  “That’s not what I meant. I took you literally. I don’t like to run at anytime, anywhere. But I have to run. I’m a pastry chef. Cakes, cookies, pies, and I sample my product. Frequently.”

  His shoulders relaxed and his smile – lopsided and charming – spread across his face. “I’d gladly offer my services as taster.”

  She stumbled over the visual of his solid male presence in her kitchen and exactly what she’d like him to taste. The heat of a fiery blush hovered under her skin. “Besides that, I’m not sure I can. After what happened. I don’t seem to be able to make myself.” God, could she babble anything more lame?

  “Well, how about we take it slow and easy. We can turn around whenever you say.”

  She ran nervous fingers over her hair. “Why?”

  “Why, what?” Six-foot confused male shook his head.

  Skip the sex on a stick. He could be her pin-up calendar man every day of every month for the next ten years. He could sit in her kitchen and she could stare at his dreamy eyes.

  “Why do you want to run with me? You don’t even know me.”

  Shane stared off across the soccer field. “Where’s your running buddy?”

  “My what?”

  “Your running buddy? I shouldn’t have to tell you it’s not safe for a woman to run alone these days.”

  “I have pepper spray, have taken self-defense classes and only run during the day on busy trails.”

  “Good strategy.” He pointed at himself. “Add big guy, scares strange men off and you’re covered.”

  She hesitated. “I’m sure you have better things to do.”

  He shrugged. “I have to run too. Hauling hose ain’t for sissies. Come on.”

  He took off down the path, signaling for her to follow.

  Lord, oh Lord, what was she doing? She stayed away from people on purpose. She was only social online so she could hide behind her pastry chef persona. Then no one knew who her father was and she didn’t run the risk of interacting with people who had lost their life savings because of his actions.

  “Coming?”

  Her body moved of its own volition, as if attached to the stream of yearning heat stretching from his maleness to her womb.

  Forget the horse. She’d been run over by lust.

  ∞∞∞ ∞∞∞

  CHAPTER TWO

  Shane pulled into the gravel driveway of an older white brick house a couple miles down Copper Canyon Road. He double checked the address even though he saw Kendra’s car parked under the carport.

  A rail fence surrounded the property. The tidy lawn was dead brown, like all the other houses in the neighborhood. Hundred degree heat had hit Texas in early May. Still reeling from a previous year of super-hot weather, drought conditions over the last two months combined with watering restrictions had rapidly pushed the countryside to a breaking point. Two shrubs had recently been removed from beside the front door. Their remains lay neatly piled by the garbage. He took it all in, gobbling up information about where the woman lived like a fire consuming wood.

  Kendra was a multitude of conflicting puzzle pieces. She’d held him at arm’s length for over three weeks, keeping mostly to their running dates. She’d babble while they ran about anything and everything, and button her lip up tight when they were finished. She’d weakened once for coffee and the awkwardness of that still sat with him. Dammit he wanted more from her.

  She was a sexy, easy-going woman. It wasn’t the blonde hair, the great legs, the sweet smile. It wasn’t the bright colors she wore, the porcelain skin, or the beauty that breathed naturally, drawing everyone’s eyes to her. It was her quirky sense of humor, the affectionate gestures and tones when she forgot herself, and the depth of her intellect that pushed him to keep up. She was well-read, creative and damned closed-lipped.

  He wanted to taste more of her pastries – having devoured the scant few she’d brought him to try.

  He wanted to take her to bed and devour her.

  He wanted to watch her at work, wanted to be that one man allowed inside her boundaries.

  He turned off his truck and hoped to survive the summer heat with a suit jacket on. He’d tough it out, no matter what. He wanted to impress, wanted her to know he’d taken a bit of care.

  He’d made reservations at an upscale Italian restaurant and was nervous the ritzy place would send the wrong message. He brushed at lint on the leg of his navy suit pants. His black shoes pinched his toes. But he’d forgone the comfort of his dress cowboy boots because he didn’t want to do anything to remind her
about horses and bring that look back into her eyes. There was more to that high school accident and her fear of horses. He smoothed down his green tie and hoped the wearing would bring him good luck. “Third choice a charm. Hopefully.”

  He reached for the bouquet of pink roses. His fingers were actually trembling! He couldn’t remember ever being this nervous. Not when he’d first ridden a horse. Not when he first kissed Diana Bell in eighth grade. Not when he attempted to master his first bucking horse and ended up on his ass in the dirt. Not when he faced his first wall of flames.

  He got out of his truck and walked slowly to the front door, measuring his breath to appear calm. She called him earlier, but he hadn’t answered and stayed a country mile away from the voicemail. If she was cancelling, she would have to do so to his face.

  She opened the door before he mounted the steps.

  His breath swept out of him, his knees threatening to collapse. God, she was stunning!

  “Good evening, Shane.”

  He let out a sigh and gave her the visual three times over she deserved. She was dressed in a sage green linen dress that crossed over her body in a manner that made him want to explore the exposed places and ease other spots aside to taste. The garment gathered in all the right places across her torso and had a sweetheart neckline with a cleavage that beckoned his eyes. He tried to find the gentleman his mama had raised, but struggled against the caveman “mine” instead. Her ivory heels made her legs look long as hell. Still, she only reached his shoulder.

  He came up the steps to her side and caught a gentle whiff of sweet perfume. “You look amazing.” He laid the roses in her hands, wanting to find some knightly bit of fluff to murmur, but those words weren’t able to jump the short-circuit in his brain.

  “Thank you. You look pretty handsome yourself.” Her hair was twisted up in an intricate braided up-do. The tendrils brushed her cheeks and she swept them away in a gesture he was becoming quite familiar with.

  He gazed at her, entranced by the shine in her green eyes, the moistness of her red lips.

  She dropped her eyes finally and traced a finger over the delicate pale petals. “You didn’t have to.”

  “I wanted to.”

  She stepped back, reluctantly if he read the movement correctly, and let him inside. “I’ll put these in water.”

  He should have stood like a polite guest at the door. Should have snooped in her living room or studied the mystery of the home from the entryway vantage. But he was desperate to see the heart of this woman and that was in her kitchen.

  He followed her and watched her fill a glass pitcher with water. Her hands were trembling as bad as his. She didn’t realize he’d followed her so he took a moment and studied her baking space. Her kitchen wasn’t anything like what he’d expected. It smelled of sweetness and chocolate and was folksy and homey.

  The space was small. Of course, two refrigerators and two ovens pretty much would eat up the space in any kitchen. Two butcher-block counters on wheels lined one wall, competing for space with the real cooking island. The twelve-by-twelve kitchen was precisely organized from the kitchen appliances to the industrial mixer, food processor and blender on one counter. Scribbled sticky notes lining one cabinet door added a bit of messiness to the space. A small desk in a side alcove accommodated a computer, a printer and a bulletin board with recipes and more notes pinned in precise vertical rows.

  The space would be claustrophobic except the room was painted a soft yellow like the butter that went into her cakes. The kitchen window had no curtains to mar the view of the garden in the back. A dozen prisms dangled across a decorative rod to reflect the light. Magnets spilled across the front of both refrigerators, the only haphazard arrangement in the room.

  An ivory sweater hung over the back of her desk chair and bright blue slippers peeked out from beneath the desk. The two stools at the breakfast island were upholstered in bright fabric etched with various colored coffee cups.

  He’d kill to sit at that counter and do exactly that.

  Drink coffee.

  Or espresso or beer, or iced tea or wine, or even cold water.

  But more than anything, he wanted to know the woman who bought the Mad Hatter cookie jar setting square and center on the island.

  Kendra turned to set the bouquet next to the cookie jar and pulled in a sharp breath, juggling the flowers. “Sorry, you startled me.”

  He stepped forward to steady the vase and helped her set it on the counter. “I should have waited at the door, but I admit I wanted to see your kitchen.”

  “This?” The wrinkle of her nose was cute.

  “Yes, this.” He eased onto one of the stools. “Don’t suppose I could get a sample to tide me over to dinner?”

  She twisted her hands in front of her and Shane relaxed. Sweeping at her hair, the trembling fingers, now twisting hands … she wasn’t as cool and calm as she seemed either.

  “One taste. Please.” He coaxed with his best little boy smile.

  “Well, I did try something new this afternoon.” She walked to one of the fridges in a sashay of hips and pulled out a small container. “The boys next door ate most of it, so I think it’s a hit, but an adult opinion – besides mine – would be good.”

  “How old were these boys?”

  “Ten or maybe eleven, I think.”

  “No judge then. That age will eat anything.”

  Kendra flipped off the lid and pulled open a drawer for a spoon. “In that case, try away. Chocolate. Raspberries. Has the texture of tiramisu.” She moved to him and lifted the utensil to dish up a spoonful. The smolder in her eyes dried the spit in his mouth. She could feed him any day of the week and eighty times on Sunday!

  But then she thought better of the action and handed the spoon over to him. She pushed the small bowl in front of him.

  Disappointment crushed his breath.

  She stepped back. Her hands gripped the edge of the butcher block. Her eyes swept over him like a nervous lover, the heat banked.

  Shane dished up a bite and lifted the spoon to his mouth. He let the concoction hover near his lips. “Is one taste going to be enough?”

  A light blush spread across her cheekbones. “Never. Hopefully.”

  He kept his eyes on hers and slipped a small portion in his mouth. The chocolate exploded, deep and rich, against his tongue. The tartness of the raspberries was a few moments behind. The flavor lingered as the cake melted in his mouth, forcing him to swallow. He moaned.

  “You like?”

  He held up a finger, cleaned off the spoon and closed his eyes. If he looked at her now, he’d dive across the counter and see how she liked kissing a chocolate-flavored mouth. He was hard and wanting and trying desperately to remember that there were steps in a courtship ritual. Women deserved respect and expecting a trip to the bedroom on the first house visit was not the definition of respect. He swallowed and cranked down hard on the need before opening his eyes. “Is there more?”

  She gave a small laugh. “Uh, no. I could make more. You don’t think it’s too tart?”

  “No. All it needs is a cup of coffee to settle down the riot it causes on your tongue.” He took another bite and simply enjoyed the sensations.

  She grinned at him, pleasure making her eyes shine. “You’re hired.”

  He turned his head, puzzling over that statement. “As what?”

  “My official taster.”

  Shane sagged a bit, feeling as if he’d scaled the walls of her invisible obstacle course. He couldn’t disguise the pleasure her words gave him. “Accepted. Thank you.”

  Kendra cleared her throat. “Thank you.” She moved to the counter and snapped the lid on the small amount remaining in the container.

  He reached for her hand before she could shift away and stroked his thumb over her knuckles. “Talented hands.”

  She tried to pull her hand from his. “You just want more cake.”

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Well…that’s one thin
g I want.”

  She hesitated. “Dinner? We are going out, right?”

  He dropped her hand and mourned the loss of its softness. “Yes. Italian.”

  “I called early to find out how to dress, but since you’re in a suit, I’ll assume this is okay.” She put the container back in the fridge and turned to him, a bit of formality in the set of her shoulders.

  “Blondie, you’re more than okay. You look beautiful. Let’s get the party started, okay?”

  “You’re driving, so you say when.” She picked up a small ivory clutch and walked to the door. “You coming?”

  She paused on the threshold, searching for and finding her keys in the small purse.

  He always seemed to end up behind her. Watching her in running shorts was basic lust stirring. Watching her move in that dress was going to require a supreme effort to control every fantasy he’d been having lately.

  She flipped on the porch light, locked the door and dropped her keys back into her purse. “Where are we going?”

  “Downtown Southlake. Bit of a drive, but this place is really nice with good food. I think you’ll like it.” And they weren’t likely to run into any family or friends who would ask questions. He’d kept the fact that he was seeing someone pretty much to himself. He was missing poker night, though. He played every Friday with his brother, two cousins, and two of his best friends at the Low Down Restaurant and Saloon. No one missed poker night unless they were dead or on a date with benefits. The guys were going to fricassee him until he confessed.

  The air was damn hot enough to bake a cake without an oven. He followed her to his truck, opened the door and took her hand to help her up. She accomplished getting in the higher seat with the tight skirt of her dress with more grace and ease than he expected. She gave him a tart grin. “I swear men buy trucks to watch women get in them.”