by Zoe York
The smile in his voice hit her right in the hoo-hah. “Yes, ma'am.”
This time the kiss was long, lingering, and every other good L-word. She sighed when he lifted his head. “Don't 'ma'am' me.”
Bram brushed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “Respecting my elders.”
“No pot roast for you.”
“I didn't figure on gettin' any since you won't let go of that door.”
She glanced past him. “Where's your truck?”
“I parked in back.”
“Ashamed to be seen with me?”
He rolled his eyes and took her hand before starting toward the kitchen. “No, but it's probably best that I park back there anyway. More than likely the dawn patrol has you marked on their route.”
“Dawn patrol?” she asked, trotting to keep up with his long strides as he headed straight through to the mudroom.
He pressed the latch on the back storm door and scowled when it jiggled. “Ernie Biggins runs his Mountainview Dairy route right by here. By eight he'll be at the Cast Iron Cookery, spilling his guts.”
“I'm afraid you've lost me, and where are we going?”
“Out here.”
He led her down the steps, crooking his arm and holding her hand at the small of his back while he picked his way across the darkened yard. A choir of crickets chirped. Not to be outdone, the frogs sang out, filling in silent spots in the damp evening air.
“Ernie is the milkman. He tends to notice if there's any hanky-panky going on.”
She snorted. “Hanky-panky.”
“The Cast Iron is the greasy spoon over at Hopville. By nine, half the county knows whose hanky has been pankyed.”
Bram yanked the handle to release the tailgate on his truck and pulled out a battery-operated camping lantern.
“You don't want anyone thinking there's hanky-panky going on here,” she concluded.
“It's none of their damn business if I've got a hankering.” He hit the switch and the lantern sprang to life, illuminating his rakish grin.
Lynne was glad the pool of light fell short of where she was standing, though she was fairly sure the glow from her burning cheeks might be sufficient to flood the entire yard. “Do you have a hankerin'?”
He handed the lantern to her, gesturing to the bed of the truck. “I brought you a present, Miss Lynne.”
She turned, shining the pale blue light in the direction of the cab. A glint of silver caught her eye. A low cluck made her gasp. “Ohhh.” Lynne leaned on the tailgate, a slow smile lighting her face. “You brought me chickens.”
“Hens. Four of them.”
“Four,” she breathed, swinging the light in an arc to inspect the cage's occupants.
Favoring her with a smile, he leaned against the truck and drawled, “I'd have brought more, but my mama might have noticed a few more missing.”
She gripped the side of the truck to keep from pouncing on him. “You stole your mother's chickens for me?”
“She's got plenty.”
Her fingers loosened their grip on the cool metal. “You're the only man who's ever given me stolen chickens.”
Bram chuckled. “Well, I guess flowers or something....”
She raised her hand to his chest to stop him, palm splaying over the soft knit of his shirt. Heat radiated from his skin, warming her through the fabric and warding off the chill of the spring night. “They're beautiful. Thank you.”
He gave a slight shake of his head, his eyes locked on hers. Pale moonlight lit his face, picking out the lines and crags marking his skin. “No, you are. I should have brought flowers.”
Her fingers folded into the cotton, gathering the fabric into her damp palm. She pulled him closer, her lips reaching for his as she whispered, “They're perfect.”
His kiss was sweet. The scent of damp earth, tender shoots of grass, and the must of feathers mingled with his aftershave. Her hand slid up and she leaned into him, holding him there. She traced his throat and teased the granite line of his smooth jaw. His pulse jumped against her pinkie when she parted her lips.
Their tongues tangled. The tailgate cut into her bottom. She gave in to its prodding, leaning back and pulling him down with her. Their lips parted when her back hit the bed of the truck. Bram's breathing came rough and ragged. Hers was no better.
She reached for him, tugging on his arms, urging him to cover her. He braced his hands on the truck bed, holding himself a smidgen too far off for her liking. She pushed on his elbows, and he stifled a laugh. Above her head flustered feathers ruffled, reminding them of their audience.
“Holy hell, Lynne, I'm not about to make love to you in the back of my pick-up truck,” he growled, dipping his head to nip at her neck.
She arched her neck, cradling the back of his head. “Why not? I think it's romantic.”
His chuckle vibrated through her, raising goose bumps on her arms. He drew gently on her ear lobe, using the tip of his tongue to toy with the tender flesh.
“If I had a blanket and we were parked down by the lake, and thirty years younger, maybe,” he conceded.
He pulled back and Lynne exhaled slowly, opening her eyes to stare at the blanket of bright white stars speckling the sky. “I've never seen so many stars.”
Bram stiffened then pushed up, extending his arms to hold himself above her. “Pretty far from the bright lights.”
“Thank God.”
Her fervent answer startled them both. She blinked at the sky above, unable to bring herself to look at him. He scooted off the lip of the tailgate and stood, reaching for her hands to pull her up. When she sat up, he brushed her hair back from her face and stared at her solemnly.
“I need to get these chickens unloaded. We can have some of that roast I smelled when we passed through the house.” Abruptly, he released her hands and leaned past her to grab the wires of the cage.
Her head spun. Every scent and sound became an assault on her senses. The scrape of metal on metal brought her crashing back to earth. A gust of cool wind caught the ends of her hair. Stinging whips of rejection made her face burn.
Bram hefted the cage from the truck and she hopped down, swallowing the last vestiges of her pride. “Will they be okay in that?” she asked, nodding to the cage.
He frowned at the crowded confines. “What? Oh. No, they can't stay in here.”
“Where am I going to put them?”
His smile lit the dark night. “Grab the light, city girl, and I'll show you.”
Lynne followed him around the side of the old chicken coop, shining the light on their path and almost running into his back when he came to a halt behind the worn wooden structure.
“There,” he said, nodding to a small patch of weedy grass outlined with rusting wire. He lifted the cage over the low fence and dropped the gate. “They need a little room to move around.”
She stared at the wire enclosure that ran from the back of the chicken house, wondering how she hadn't seen it before. “Will it hold them?”
“Needs some new wire, but I can take care of that. They won't wander off. Don't worry.”
“Famous last words,” she muttered under her breath and his laughter rolled over her in waves.
His fork clattered to his plate, and Bram groaned with satisfaction. She rose from her chair, whisking his plate from the table with the smooth grace of a dancer.
“The roast was incredible. What'd you do to it?”
A smile teased her lips. “A little fresh garlic and a few other seasonings.” She gestured to the plate of sliced golden pound cake and asked, “Room for dessert?”
He leaned back, unabashedly taking the opportunity to sneak a peek as she leaned down to pull a bowl of bright red sliced strawberries and a can of whipped cream from the fridge. His mind skittered way past the prospect of dessert.
He shifted in his chair, trying to ignore the tightening in his groin and blessing the comfort of the loose-fitting pants. His gaze dropped to his lap and he fiddled with t
he ridiculous rooster-printed napkin. At least the stupid thing provided an extra layer of camouflage.
Lynne set the plate and bowl on the table, and he jerked his gaze from his crotch. When she pulled the can of whipped cream from the crook of her arm and placed it in front of him, his mouth watered.
“Looks good,” he rasped.
Her pleased smile made his racing heart slow to a snail's pace and lodge in his throat. He frowned as she whirled, heading for a cabinet. He stared at the crumbly slices of cake. She slid back into her chair, gently depositing a small chipped plate in front of him. “Dig in,” she invited, lifting the cake-laden plate.
The blunt question sprang to his lips. “Why are you here?”
Her grip on the plate wobbled. Her hand dipped. Instantly contrite, he reached for the saucer and deftly removed it from her trembling fingers. Concentrating on selecting a slice, he drew a shallow breath and plunged ahead. “I mean, you didn't have to come down here. If you just want to sell the place, Percy woulda handled everything for you.”
He offered her the plate, but she didn't look up. He waited patiently. She raised her head, the stubborn gleam in her eyes startling him into setting it down on the table between them.
“I ran away from home,” she said, a note of defiance lacing its way through her softly spoken words.
“Why?”
Her hand fluttered in a helpless gesture. “I didn't know why I was there.”
The simple statement perplexed him. “How do you mean?”
“I was...I've been standing still,” she said, lifting her shoulder in a sheepish shrug.
* * *
“How so?”
“I didn't do anything. I stayed in the house, even though it was too big and too empty. I went to the same club.” She folded the garish napkin into a neat rectangle, pressing the creases in with the palm of her hand. “I saw the same people, ate in the same restaurants, served dinners on my wedding china, and pretended nothing had really changed.”
“But everything had,” he said flatly. “I'm sorry.”
Her head jerked up. “Are you?” Lynne sighed. “I'm not.”
“You're not?”
Her breath ruffled her hair. She swiped at a wayward wave, tucking it firmly behind her ear. He stared at his plate, his brow furrowing in confusion. A breathy chuckle captured his attention.
“He'd been cheating on me for years.”
“Oh.”
“Almost our entire marriage, but I didn't realize how long until later.”
“Asshole.”
Her smile bloomed. “Thank you.” She rolled her neck in a slow circle. “I didn't begin to suspect until after our third anniversary, and didn't know for sure until just before the fifth. I had Justin to think about.”
“So you stayed.”
“I don't know how to explain. Things were...not awful.”
“They weren't?”
A self-effacing little laugh told him she'd caught the disbelief in his tone. “He didn't beat me. He wasn't neglectful. He had a hard time keeping it in his scrub pants.”
“You shoulda left him.”
She inclined her head slightly. “Richard adored Justin, and Justin...well, you probably know little boys need their heroes.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I didn't hate him,” she said, raising one hand to cut him off. “And I didn't care enough to leave him.”
“I can't even imagine,” he mumbled.
“I know you can't,” she said. Her fingers brushed lightly over his tensed knuckles. “You loved Susan. Didn't you?”
He heard the hesitance in her voice, but he couldn't lie, not even to spare her feelings. “Yes.”
“You were lucky.”
“Not so lucky,” he grumbled.
“Luckier than a lot of people.”
“I guess so.”
“When she...died,” she began in a soft, throaty voice, “what did you do?”
“Do?”
“Yeah. What was the first decision you made without her?”
Gravel clogged his throat. He stared blindly at the crumbs surrounding his untouched cake. “I got outta bed.”
She grasped his hand, soft skin gliding over his. His fingers began to unfurl from the fist he hadn't realized he'd made. “Good choice.”
Bram looked up, meeting her steady gaze. “Was it?”
“I'm glad you did.”
He nodded, absorbing the simple truth in her words. Silence hummed low and comfortable between them. “What did you do?” he asked at last.
A smile crept onto her features. “A couple of months before he left, Richard gave me a car for my birthday.”
“Nice.”
“I hated that car.”
“Why?”
“It was an old lady car.”
“It was a new car,” he muttered, fixing her with an incredulous stare.
“It wasn't about the car,” she snapped. “Don't you get it? That's how he saw me.” She closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. “Staid, boring, old. The day after he told me he wanted a divorce I traded it in for the car I have now. I figured if he could trade me in for something that suited him, I could trade the stupid car for something more my style.”
His lips twitched. “Were you planning on taking your fancy SUV off-road?”
She gestured to the window. “Already have.” Lynne's smile didn't quite reach her eyes, but when she pulled her hand away to nudge his plate closer, he didn't stop her. “Eat your cake.”
Ignoring his spoon, the strawberries, and even the can of whipped cream, he broke off a hunk of cake and popped the bite into his mouth. Instead of melting on his tongue, it disintegrated, coating his mouth with dry, powdery crumbs.
Sadly, he wasn't fast enough at hiding his grimace, and he couldn't work up enough moisture to force the morsel down his throat.
Lynne's eyes widened then narrowed in confusion. “Bad?”
He shook his head, afraid to speak for fear he'd spew crumbs in her face. His teeth and tongue worked furiously. He swallowed as hard as he could, forcing the cake down his parched throat. “It's good.” He punctuated his statement with a dry cough.
She glared at the traitorous cake. “I don't understand. I followed the recipe Anna gave me.”
She pinched a piece from the slice on his plate. The minute the cake touched her tongue, her eyes widened in shock. She grabbed her neatly folded napkin and promptly spit the crumbs out. “What did I do wrong?”
“It's okay,” he said quickly.
“It's vile.”
Bram chuckled, grabbing her wrist as she shot from her chair. “Don't.”
“But I followed the recipe. You liked her cake.”
He gave her wrist a tug and scooted his chair from the table, urging her down into his lap. When she relented, he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his cheek to her back, unable to stop the rolls of laughter rumbling from his belly.
“Stop laughing at me,” she hissed, struggling against his restraint.
The laugh slowed to a chortle, and he tightened his hold on her. “Better stop wiggling,” he warned.
“I would've been better off having you bring that store-bought cake from your house.”
He grinned once he caught sight of the pout swelling her lower lip. “I tossed it.”
“You tossed a whole cake?”
“Tried a piece last night after I got home. Tasted like yours,” he said, nodding to the plate.
She twisted around to peer at him. “But the pot roast was good, right?”
“Better than good.”
“You're not lying?” When he shook his head she huffed. “Well, at least you liked dinner.”
Bram lifted one hand to smooth her hair back from her face. “I like you.”
Her face softened. “You do?”
He plucked a plump slice of fruit from the bowl, looking up at her through his lashes while he offered the berry to her. Her lips parted. He caught a flash of pink tong
ue as she accepted the morsel, and his breath hitched. He watched her chew, mesmerized by the play of her full, moist lips. “I like you an awful lot.”
“I like you an awful lot, too.”
He threaded his hand into her hair and pulled her down. Her tempting mouth hovered millimeters from his. “I'm awful happy to hear that,” he murmured and closed the distance between them.
Location, location, location.
Never in the history of the world has a man ever been more obsessed with location. She tried to glare at him, but the sight of the bare strip of skin above his waistband proved too alluring. Bram jerked his polo shirt down, smoothing his hand over the wrinkles she'd made when she pulled the tails free and bunched the fabric up over his stomach.
So what if the ends of my hair are in the bowl of strawberries?
He offered his hand, and for one mutinous moment, she considered scrambling off the table without his gallant assistance. The can of whipped cream fell to the floor with a clank, and she tamped down her impatience. His fingers closed around hers. She gained her feet and kept going, using the momentum to pull him along behind her.
She was halfway through the living room before she realized he put up no resistance. A smile twitched her lips. The bedroom door stood wide open, and she paused on the threshold.
“Better?” she asked, raising a challenging eyebrow.
“Much.”
He pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her so her toes barely skimmed the floor. A giggle sprang loose as he started toward the bed. She clung to his broad shoulders, winding her legs around his. They fell onto the faded quilt in a tangle of limbs and a tumble of laughter.
His mouth found hers again. He swallowed her mirth and gave her a healthy dose of ardor in return. She reclaimed the warm, satin-smooth skin of his back. The buttons on her top strained as she arched into the hand cupping her breast. His tongue was wet velvet, and the rough tips of his fingers made her itch. Every delicious inch of his hard body pressed into hers. She stretched like a cat, rubbing sinuously against him. He whispered her name in a voice drenched in awe and thick with need.