by Tina Leonard
Valentine hadn’t been right for him, and she was the mother of his child. So there was no way that Esme could be the one. With her two kids and her unstable ways she was the worst-case scenario of what could happen if a man didn’t look before he leaped off the cliff of romance.
“You’re staring at me,” she said. “With one eye. And it gives you a remarkably Popeye-ish appearance.”
“You could have said pirate,” he complained.
“Your eye is pretty swollen. I feel Popeye is appropriate.”
“Lovely. Popeye and Poppy sitting in a tree—”
“Oh, good grief.” She stopped the truck. “I think you have a concussion.”
“I swear I do not, madam. I am insulted you would suggest it.”
He thought he heard her say, “What a fruitcake” under her breath. Magnanimously he ignored that.
“So what exactly does the judge think your parents could do better with the children than you do?” he asked.
She sighed, starting to drive again. “Send them to a regular school, give them a one-home environment, all the things children need. I know it’s true, but he simply does not understand that I’ve been caring for my parents for some time. The strain of losing my sister was too much for them. Unless you’ve lost a child, I don’t think you can understand that pain.”
He nodded, thinking about his father. “Actually I do understand a little.” Maverick had never gotten over losing his wife, and as much as Last hated the fact that his father had left them, at least Maverick hadn’t let himself die from grief. Last could remember their father, his skin gray from shock, his gait changed—he shook his head. “The ranch is a great place. You’re doing the right thing. If you think you can handle it.”
“I do,” she said. “Thank you for taking us with you.”
He groaned, trying not to think about Mason and the coronary to come. “Don’t mention it.” But he couldn’t help thinking about the children in the back of the truck. “I wasn’t certain I liked you having them in your act,” he admitted now.
Esme looked at him. “They’re with me all the time. And I teach them, as did other people in the troupe. What was wrong with it?”
“I don’t know. When you sawed Curtis—” he lowered his voice “—you scared me. It seemed almost medieval.”
Stopping the car, she peered into his face. “Are you sure you didn’t get a screw knocked out of you?”
“All my screws are tight,” he replied airily, “but I really did not like it when you made Amelia disappear. That was much too high for a little girl. I was afraid she’d fall.”
“She wears a harness that you can’t see, and there’s a cleverly concealed net below, in case something did go wrong.”
“I knew you’d take all the proper precautions, but still I was afraid,” he admitted. “I don’t know how your circus act is scarier than teaching a child how to rodeo—and we all got busted up at one time or another—and yet it bothered me.”
She blinked. “You sound like the judge.”
He held up a hand. “I don’t mean to. I’m just trying to figure out why it bothered me so much.”
“Perhaps you believed in the magic,” she suggested.
“No,” he said. “I most certainly did not.”
“What is the difference between my act and yours?” she demanded. “All this superstition nonsense?”
“That is a Jefferson fact,” he insisted, “and you’re simply using optical illusions.”
She laughed at him as she pulled up in front of a small cottage-style bungalow. “Home,” she said. “Do I need to help you out of the truck?”
“I’m fine.” Stubbornly he crawled out of the passenger seat. “Though I wonder if your parents have a teeny-weeny bandage I could borrow.”
“For your ribs?”
“Never mind.” Her trouble was that she was so sure of herself. So pigheaded. And, unfortunately, so sexy.
He just had to stop thinking of her that way.
“Come inside,” she said, tucking one of his arms over her shoulder. “My parents will fix you a cup of tea.”
He needed some Jack Daniel’s in that tea, but he refused to inquire as to her parents’ preference for something harder than chamomile. Trying not to groan, he let Esme lead him inside the small house.
It smelled of cinnamon, he realized. Very much like Valentine’s bakery. Suddenly he missed home—he missed his little daughter—and he dreadfully regretted all the actions that had brought him broken to this place in his life.
“Hello?” a kindly elderly woman said to him. “Are you hurt?”
He looked into the gentle blue eyes of a woman who had to be eighty years old. “I think so, ma’am. But I swear, your daughter had nothing to do with it.”
She smiled. “I should think not. Come in and lie down next to Chester.”
He hoped Chester was a very still, very plump pillow, but it turned out to be a large, old yellow dog on the sofa. Across from the sofa was a recliner, and an elderly gentleman raised an arm at Last.
“Don’t mind Chester,” he said. “He won’t mind you.”
Last wouldn’t have minded a pig at this moment. Sinking onto the sofa, he laid his head back, gasping as he stared at the ceiling.
“Where did you find him, dear?” the mother asked the daughter. “Did he take over the lion tamer’s position prematurely?”
“Not exactly,” Esme replied. “Let me get the children out of the truck and put them to bed. We may have to spend the night, Mom.”
“Fine, fine. I have plenty of eggs for breakfast. Young man, do you like bacon?”
“His name is Last, Mom.”
“Last?” She sounded confused, and Last was too tired to explain. “All right. Do you like bacon, Last?”
“I would really like an aspirin, ma’am,” he said, before saying, “Timber!” and crashing face-first into the elderly dog’s pillow.
“That’s right, Chester, you take good care of him,” Last heard Esme’s father say before he finally gave up to the sleep that wanted to claim him. He had to. He’d fallen into the circus of hell, and clearly there would be no rescue or safety net for this cowboy.
ESME STARED DOWN at Last, not quite sure what to do with him. Her parents had gone to bed. The children were tucked in. Chester had given up the sofa to the flailing cowboy. She folded her arms, wondering why Last was so dead set against seeing a doctor. She was pretty certain he needed one, the big goon.
Bending down to get close to his face, she touched his forehead. “That’s what you get for trying to save everything, you big silly.”
He didn’t move. Poppy studied his face, glad to be able to do it when he wasn’t piercing her with those watchful eyes of his. “Maybe you have a record,” she said, moving his hair away from his face. “That would be one reason you wouldn’t want to be seen. Which would also make you bad for me. Worse than you already are.”
A steel hand reached out, grabbing her wrist. “I have no record,” Last said. “I am very good for you, and you should be grateful.”
To her shock, he pulled her on top of him. She was so surprised she stared down at him, an inch from his face.
“Now let’s see who’s bad for whom,” he said, kissing her deeply, his hands framing her face as he held her captive. Over and over he kissed her, his lips firm and demanding and so practiced that she gave herself over to the wonderful feeling of being kissed by this stranger who didn’t wear fur or a too-tall hat. His hands sneaked down to her bottom, slipping into the pockets of the clam diggers she wore, holding her tightly against him.
“I think you’re bad for me,” he said. “I’m certain of it.”
“I think you’re worse,” she told him, holding his face so that she could kiss him some more. Good heavens, a woman should be kissed like this at least once a week! It was more than magic; she felt sprinkles and stardust and all the accoutrements of the fairy-tale land she’d spoken of but never experienced.
“I
may be worse, but your kisses make me feel better than an aspirin.” He rolled her beneath him. “Make me feel even better.”
He was making her feel more than she ever had, so Poppy complied, winding her arms around him as he lay full-length against her. There was hardness against her from top to bottom and something much more in the middle, making her eyes water from the pleasure of knowing that this man wanted her that way.
“We’re bad for each other,” he reminded her.
“I know,” she replied.
“I like it,” he said.
“I’m certain I do, too.” She desperately wanted to pull his pants off and check out the rest of him, though his mouth was quite a wonderful place to start.
“I keep telling myself that I should have learned my lesson by now.”
“Pfft,” Poppy said. “You talk a big game, but I’m not listening.”
“That’s your problem.” He sneaked a hand inside her shirt, caressing her stomach. “I find your truculence annoying. And somehow stimulating.”
“I find your cockiness disturbing. And somehow attractive.”
“Aren’t we a pair then?” Lazily he ran a hand to the small of her back.
She hummed in pleasure—until common sense tried to reassert itself. “Now that I think about it, how do I know you’re even who you say you are? I should stay right here with my parents.”
“You should,” Last agreed. “But this is a very small house for two growing children. Your parents seem a bit tired to take on two grandchildren and a daughter who should have been out of the nest a long time ago.” He clucked at her. “You would be a burden.”
“You are an ass,” she replied. “I give my parents money to live on. They are not burdened by me.”
“Glad to hear that you’re responsible.” Last bit her neck, gently cupping her fanny at the same time. “Guess you just have to prove it to the judge.”
“That’s where you come in.”
“And what do I get out of the matter?”
“Nothing,” she said, “because you have hero tendencies. Saving small, blubbery things from being beached by life.”
He pushed against her, making her quite aware of his desire for her. “I do not want to save you. I’m only taking you with me because of your children. I’ve always liked children. Twenty women came to our ranch one day and one of them—Annabelle—had a little baby. I saw that adorable baby and I knew right then and there that Malfunction Junction needed lots of children. And I was right. My job there is done, as my brothers have populated our ranch so that now even Christmases without our mother or our father are happy occasions.”
“And you even have your own child.”
“Yes,” he said softly, “but she was a surprise. You and yours I have taken on willingly.”
Her breath caught. “Why?”
“You said it yourself. Small, blubbery things,” he said, nipping at her lips. “Helpless and cute.”
“I am not helpless,” Poppy said. “Only in poor circumstances.”
“Still, you need me.”
“You are a male chauvinist.” She got off the sofa. “But a convincing kisser. You almost made me like you.”
He laughed softly, his gaze unconvinced by her fib. “And you don’t now?”
She crossed her arms. “No. I think you are delusional. By dawn’s light, I will forget that you are a macho opportunist and give you a ride home.”
“Give me a ride home?” His gaze watched her lazily.
“Yes. With your injuries, the only way you’re getting home is by airplane or with someone driving you. Speaking of your condition, I do believe you are using passion to get your mind off your pain. In no way are you fit enough to drive yourself to Texas, you faker.”
“So you’re saying you’re doing me a favor.”
“Absolutely,” she said stiffly. “And I’ll thank you not to forget it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He put his cowboy hat back on, grinning at her. She hated his know-it-all attitude. And his sure sexiness. Pursing her lips, she left the room, her heart and mind racing with so many emotions she had never before experienced that she didn’t know where to start to sort them out.
But she knew one thing for certain: she had to think of two little orphans before she thought of her own wayward heart. Curtis and Amelia were in a fragile, delicate situation. If the judge didn’t feel that Poppy was suitable for caring for them, he would give those rights to her parents. As Last had noted, her parents were frail and elderly. Heaven forbid something should happen to them, but if it did, what would become of the children?
It would not do for her to become involved in a relationship now with a man who had no desire for his own family. He already had a complicated family and he had a phobia about acquiring more commitments in his life.
She actually understood his feelings. Before her sister’s death, she had always thought she would follow her own guiltless path of exploration.
Now the idea of taking that path felt almost self-centered. She should have helped her sister more when Beryl was alive. After her husband had left, to disappear for good, Poppy had figured Beryl’s life had probably improved. Her husband had been shiftless, never keeping a job for very long. Beryl had fallen for him in college, believing that he would make something of himself.
What he’d made of himself—and of their family, too—had been a mess. The children had seen things children should never see: fights and anger and deliberate misunderstandings. Fortunately they hadn’t seen him in at least three years.
Poppy shook her head. They were such good kids. This time they would have someone who stood by them and who thought of them first. She would raise them the way Beryl would have wanted, and she vowed not to allow herself to be swept away by her own desires.
It was a mistake too many women—and men, as Last had so honestly admitted—made.
And, as he’d said, they were completely wrong for each other.
She would take him to this ranch he called Malfunction Junction—such an odd name for a home—and then she would determine whether it was a suitable place for children.
If it was, she would apply to become a teacher in one of the public schools. That way, she could build a reputation that was solid.
She would not kiss him again.
By morning, he would forget that it had ever happened, his injuries paining him as they must.
She shouldn’t have kissed him at all.
This was the case, despite the children. Last was a rogue, though a sweet one, and undeniably aware of his appeal. He was a bachelor to his core, she thought with a touch of disgust as she pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of loose pajama bottoms. “Which suits this bachelorette just fine. Be a bachelor all you like.” Crawling into her bed, she sighed, enjoying the comfort she’d felt there since childhood.
“Excuse me.”
She shrieked.
Last stood inside her doorway.
“Yes?” she asked, jerking the covers to her chin.
He grinned, clearly aware of her discomfort. “So prim and proper.”
She raised her chin haughtily. “Thank you.”
“I just want you to know that I don’t mind being one of your many protective admirers. Maybe you’ll accept a marriage proposal yet, but it can never be from me.”
Jumping out of bed, she quickly pulled on a robe.
“Nice,” he said, “though the circus costume is better.”
“You must be feeling quite a bit better if you’re prowling the halls. Though you’re still suffering from a swollen ego,” she said. “And you’ve been quite clear on all marital matters. As if I care.”
He nodded, and suddenly the smile was gone. His eyes turned dark. “I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he said. “That’s what I came in here to say. I make a sincere promise not to do it again.”
Lovely. A man with more conscience than she possessed—and probably the strength to back it up. “Fine,” she said. “I’m not e
xactly heartbroken, but I appreciate your burst of consideration.”
Nodding, he left.
“Butthead!” she murmured.
“I heard that,” he said, poking his head back into the room. “But I don’t mind since I know you’re under duress. Does your mother know you have such a potty mouth?”
She closed the door in his face and got back in bed. “As if I would fall for such an eighteenth-century throwback as Last Jefferson!”
Last did kiss like a dream. But he was definitely not the man for her little family.
“Butthead!” she muttered into her pillow, feeling quite satisfied that this time her admonishment had gone unheard by the cocky cowboy.
Chapter Four
Four days later Last was feeling better. He had survived several days in a truck with two kids and a very quiet woman. His body pain was mostly gone, but he had noticed a distinct and annoying side effect: mental pain.
Esme’s withdrawal was bothering him. A lot.
He wanted to see her smile, hear her laugh. See her sparkle. Out of her natural conditions—and alone with him—he realized she simply did not feel like smiling.
Which was very odd, because women tended to smile a lot around him.
One more unsmiling face greeted him as he pulled up to Malfunction Junction. “Guests?” Mason asked.
“For a while.” Last helped the tired kids from the truck. Esme got out and introduced herself to Mason as Poppy.
Pacified for the moment by Esme’s beauty and charm, Mason managed a smile. The children ran off to look at the pond out back, and seeing Mason’s uncompromising expression, Esme quietly excused herself and followed her children.
Brother glared at brother. Mason shook his head. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I don’t really know, to be honest,” Last said.
“You were supposed to be on a sabbatical, not a family-finding mission.”
Last sighed. “I know. Funny how I didn’t get much sabbating done.”
“Well, I can see the appeal, but—”