by Lori Foster
Great. If he kept her and her husband outside, he could probably get rid of them quicker. “Good idea. Have a seat and I’ll go get some cups.”
Just then, Dani came dashing down the steps. Zack turned, saw her small feet flying, and said softly but sternly, “Slow down.”
She skidded to a halt on the second to the bottom step, gave him a quick, offhand, “Sorry,” and looked up at the woman as she finished approaching. “Hi.”
Wynn’s face lit up with her smile, making those golden eyes glow and the color in her cheeks intensify. “Hello there!” Kneeling down in the doorway, she said, “It’s so good to meet you.” She held out a hand that Dani took with formality. Zack watched in awe. “I hadn’t realized I’d have another female for a neighbor. The Realtor only told me that a single man lived here.”
“I’m Dani. My mom died,” Dani said, “so it’s jus’ me and Dad.”
Given half a chance, Dani would voice anything that came into her mind. Normally he didn’t mind, but this time it rankled.
Her sweater was hiked up in the back and the left leg of her jeans had caught on a cotton sock. Zack smoothed the sweater, tugged the jeans into place, and frowned at her hair. His daughter, bless her heart, had the most impossible baby-fine, flyaway blond hair.
Then he glanced at Wynn again and revised his opinion. Dani had difficult hair, but definitely not the worst.
Softly, probably because she realized Dani had touched on a private topic, Wynn said, “Well, I’m very glad to have you for a neighbor, Dani.” She glanced up at Zack warily. “And your dad, too, of course.”
Zack took his daughter’s hand, not about to leave her alone with a virtual stranger, and said, “Wynn, if you’d like to make yourself comfortable, we’ll get the mugs and be right out.”
Wynn stood again, stretching out that long tall body. Zack’s gaze automatically dropped to her legs, but he quickly pulled it back to her face even as a wave of heat snaked through him. She was married, he thought guiltily, and he had no intention of ogling a neighbor anyway.
Rather than looking put out by his quick, intimate perusal, Wynn smiled. “Sounds good,” she murmured, her eyes warm. She turned back to the porch, giving Zack a back view of those strong shapely legs and tight bottom, and the screen door fell shut behind her.
Dani stared up at him, but he shook his head, indicating she should be quiet for a moment. When they reached the kitchen, he plunked her onto a chair opposite him and took a moment to pull on his shoes. That accomplished, he looked at his daughter. “Juice?”
“Apple.” Dani swung her feet, then tilted her head. “She’s not taller than you.”
“No, not quite,” Zack said, locating a tray beneath the sink and loading it with three mugs, a glass of apple juice and a bowl of cereal for Dani. “It’s close, though. She looked me right in the eye, but she had on thick-soled shoes and I was still barefoot.”
Dani squirmed. “I want my hair in a ponytail like hers.”
He smiled. Maybe a female neighbor, even a very big one with corkscrew hair, wouldn’t be a bad thing. Eloise, Dani’s sitter during Zack’s working hours, was a very kind, gentle and attentive woman. But she was old enough to be Zack’s grandmother, with bluish hair and support hose—not a woman to inspire a young girl.
Zack’s company was mostly limited to Mick and Josh, and though Josh knew everything there was to know about legal-aged females, he knew next to nothing about four-year-olds. Since Mick had married, Dani got to visit with Delilah now and then, and the two of them had really hit it off, which proved to Zack that Dani needed a woman around more often.
For Dani’s sake, he’d decided he needed a wife. But finding someone appropriate was proving to be more difficult than he’d thought, mostly because he had so little time to look.
When he did have time, he didn’t run across any suitable women. A wife would need to be domestic, neat, lovable, and she’d have to understand that his daughter came first. Period.
“A ponytail it is,” Zack said, forcing his mind away from that problem. He stroked his big rough fingers through Dani’s fine hair. “Why don’t you go get your brush and a band, and then come out to the porch?”
“Okay.” She slid off the chair and ran from the room again. His daughter never walked when she could run. She was never quiet when she could talk or laugh, and she always fought naps right up until she ran out of gas and all but collapsed. She exuded constant energy, and she had an imagination that often left him floored.
She was his life.
Wynn and Conan were arguing again when Zack opened the screen door. He stalled, uncertain what to do as Wynn poked the bulky bruiser in the chest and threatened his life.
Ignoring most of her diatribe, Conan said, “Ha!” then flicked her earlobe, hard.
Zack’s mouth fell open, seeing the physical byplay.
Before he could say anything, Wynn lit up like a live wire, clutching at her ear. “That hurt!”
“Well so does your pointy little finger trying to bore holes in my chest.”
“Bull.” She leaned in to him, nose to nose, and deliberately gave him another, harder prod. “You can’t feel anything through that layer of rock and you know it.”
Conan rubbed his chest, opened his mouth to say God-only-knew-what, then noticed Zack. He scowled. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself in front of your neighbors, Wynonna.”
Frozen half in, half out of the door, Zack just stared. Domestic troubles? God, he didn’t want to be involved in this.
Wynn rushed forward and took the tray from him. “Just ignore Conan,” she said, “he’s a bully.”
Conan ran both hands through his blond hair, which Zack noticed wasn’t the least bit frizzy, and growled. His eyes turned red and his face blue. “Wynonna, I swear I’m gonna—”
He reached for her and Zack, without really thinking, stepped between them. The tray in Wynn’s arms wobbled, but she maintained her grip.
“Look,” Zack said, not sure if the woman would need any help or not, “this is none of my business, but—”
Wynn rudely pushed her way around him. “You’re gonna what?” she taunted Conan. “What else can you do?”
Conan reached for her again, and Zack grabbed him. “That’s enough,” he roared.
Zack hadn’t had enough sleep, he was still disturbed by the calls he’d made the night before, and he had no tolerance for petty bickering.
And he absolutely, positively, would not put up with a man hurting a woman, not even a pesky too-big neighbor woman he barely knew and who looked like she could damn well defend herself.
Silence fell. Conan, with one brow raised, stared at Zack’s hand wrapped around his thick wrist. Zack had big hands, but still, his fingers barely touched.
Conan’s gaze shifted to Wynn, and he made a wry face. “A gallant in the making?”
Wynn set the tray down and rushed to put herself between the two men, facing Zack. Her fingers spread wide on his chest, pressing, restraining although he could have easily moved her aside and they both knew it. Wedged between the two of them, she was so close to Zack he felt her breath and the heat of her body. He twitched.
Wynn stared into his face with an expression bordering on wonder, patted him, and then said with quiet sincerity, “Thank you, but Conan would never hurt me, Zack. I promise. He just likes to needle.”
Conan, still caught in Zack’s unrelenting grasp, snorted at that. But he replied easily, “She’s right, you know. I might want to swat her every now and again, but I wouldn’t hurt her.”
Swat her? Zack peered into Wynn’s large golden eyes and imagined all kinds of kinky sexual play between the two of them.
He wasn’t sure if he was disgusted or intrigued, and his indecision on the matter was unacceptable. He frowned, feeling very put upon.
Then Conan continued lazily. “Wynn, however, has never shown any such consideration. She’s been kicking my ass since we were both in diapers.”
Wynn gave
Zack an apologetic nod. “It’s true. Conan is such a big lug, he’s always let me practice up on him.”
Conan tugged on his hand, and Zack, feeling numb and rather foolish, and for some damn reason, relieved, released him.
Brother and sister?
“She’s so big,” Conan continued, “she’s always looked older than her age. When she was in ninth grade, college guys were hitting on her! She needed to know how to fight off the cretins. So I’ve been her personal punching bag for longer than I care to remember.”
Still with her hands pressed to Zack’s chest, Wynn glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Not that he feels it,” she said to her brother, “regardless of how he carries on.” Facing Zack again, she explained, “A steamroller could go over Conan and he’s so thick with muscle he wouldn’t notice.”
Zack inhaled and breathed in the scents of vanilla coffee, fresh blueberry muffins, early morning dew on green grass—and Wynn. She smelled…different. Not sweet. Not exactly spicy. It was more a fresh scent, like a cool fall breeze or the forerunner to a storm. His muscles twitched again.
Damn, but this day was not going at all as planned.
And he could only blame one very big, and somehow very appealing, woman. A woman who was not only his neighbor, but still touching him, still looking at him with a mixture of tenderness, humor, and…hunger.
He’d known tall women, hell, Mick’s wife Delilah was tall. But he’d never known such a…sturdy woman. Her open hands on his chest were nearly as large as his own. Her shoulders were broad, her bones long. Unlike Delilah, Wynn wasn’t delicate.
But she was sexy.
He needed some sleep to be able to deal with the likes of her. And he needed more time.
And most of all, he needed sex, because he knew when he started getting turned on by a loud, pushy amazon, it had been far, far too long.
2
GATHERING HIS scattered wits, Zack looked at both Wynn and Conan, then stepped out of Wynn’s reach. “I see,” he said, for lack of anything better. His brain was all but empty of responses. This had not been a memorable morning.
Wynn fought off a smile, at his expense. “I do appreciate your consideration for my welfare, though.”
The way she said it made him feel ten times more foolish. He could see why Conan thought she needed a good swat. At the moment, he wasn’t totally averse to the idea himself.
Conan saved the awkward moment by pouring the coffee. The rich aroma of vanilla intensified, but Zack could still smell her. She’d been working and her skin was hot, dewy with her exertions.
He growled low in his throat, hating his basic response to her.
Thankfully unaware of the source of his disgruntlement, Conan said, “Sit down, Zack. You look like we’ve wrung you out already. And I have to tell you, it’s only going to get worse.”
How in the hell can it get worse? Zack accepted the coffee and seated himself in a padded chair. Conan sat across from him, Wynn on the settee. Mustering a tone of bland inquiry, Zack asked, “How so?” while eyeing the golden brown muffin, bursting with ripe blueberries, which Conan passed his way.
Nodding to his sister, who had reverted back to frowning, Conan explained, “Mom and Dad are moving. They needed somewhere to stay for two weeks and since Wynn just got this place, I convinced them she was a better choice than me.” He flashed a wide, unapologetic grin.
Wynn huffed. “Not that I don’t love my parents, but when you meet them you’ll understand why I’m considering wringing Conan’s neck.”
Zack didn’t want to meet her parents. He hadn’t even wanted to meet her. With any luck, from here on out he’d successfully avoid the Lane clan altogether.
“But hey,” Conan said, and punched Zack in the shoulder, nearly making him spill the distasteful coffee. “I like it that you wanted to protect her. Knowing she’ll have a neighbor looking out for her makes me feel better about her living alone.”
Conan had fists like sledgehammers, and not enough sense to temper his blows. The muscle in Zack’s shoulder leaped in pain. He refused to show any weakness by rubbing it.
And he refused to become Wynn’s protector, though God knew with a smart and loud mouth like hers, she’d likely need a battalion to shield her from retaliation. But before he could find words to express his thoughts, Dani appeared. She hesitated, showing unaccustomed shyness, her soft-bristled brush clutched in one hand, the other on the screen door.
Setting aside his coffee, Zack held out his hand and she skipped to him. He put her on his knee and began brushing her silky hair. “Dani, Conan is Wynn’s brother.”
Dani leaned close to his ear and whispered loudly enough for the birds in the trees to hear, “What do I call ’em?”
Wynn answered for him. “Well neighbors can’t very well stand on formality, now can they? So, if you don’t mind us calling you Dani, you can just call us Wynn and Conan. Deal?”
Dani twisted, stuck out her hand, and said, “Deal.”
Conan laughed and enfolded the diminutive fingers with his massive paw. Muscles flexed and rolled along his arm, yet Zack couldn’t help but notice that he was very gentle.
After Wynn shook Dani’s hand, too, Dani stated, “Your hair looks funny.”
“Dani.” Her habit of speaking her mind was often humorous, but this wasn’t one of those times.
She blinked at her father uncertainly. “It doesn’t?”
It did, so what could he say? He settled on, “You know better than to be rude.”
Far from insulted, Wynn laughed out loud and shook her head so more corkscrew curls sprang wild. “It feels funny, too. Wanna see?”
Dani looked at Zack for permission, and he could only shrug. Never in his life had he known a woman who behaved as she did, so how was he supposed to know how to deal with her?
Dani reached out, nearly falling off Zack’s knee, and put her fingertips to the bouncing curls. She gave a tentative stroke, and then another. Her brow furrowed in concentration. “It’s soft.” And then to Zack, “Feel it, Daddy.”
Zack nearly choked. “Uh, no, Dani…”
Conan must have had a wicked streak, because he taunted, “Ah, go ahead, Zack. Wynonna won’t mind.”
“Wynonna will loosen your jaw if you don’t stop calling me Wynnona!”
Dani laughed. Zack was a little bemused to realize his daughter recognized the lack of threat in their repartee while he’d been alarmed by it.
“My name’s Daniella, but no one calls me that. ’Cept Dad sometimes when he’s mad.”
Wynn gave a theatrical gasp. “Your father gets mad at you?” she teased, holding one hand to her chest. “Whatever for? Why, you’re such a little angel.”
Dani shrugged. “Not all the time. Sometimes I get into mis…mis…”
“Mischief,” Zack supplied, “and don’t make me sound like an ogre to our new neighbors.”
She beamed at him. “He’s the best dad in the whole world.”
“Much better.” Zack smiled and kissed her soft plump cheek. “She has her moments, and if angels can be rowdy and rambunctious, then the description does fit.”
Conan laughed, but Wynn gave him another of those tender, intent looks. He frowned and turned away.
“You don’t really fight with Conan,” Dani told Wynn, as if Wynn might not be aware of that fact herself.
“I would never take a chance on hurting him,” Wynn boasted. Then, pretending to share a confidence, she added, “Besides, he’s my brother and I love him.”
Dani sat back against her father’s chest and crossed her arms. “I want a brother.”
Zack choked.
Conan handed him a napkin, again staving off the awkward moment. “If you want to hear the real joke about Wynn’s hair,” Conan said, “then you should know that our father is a coiffeur.”
“What’s that?” Dani asked.
“A coiffeur,” Wynn explained, “is just another word for a hairdresser.”
Again and again, they took h
im by surprise, Zack thought. “That’s…interesting,” he remarked, and gulped down more of the awful vanilla coffee.
Wynn chuckled. “The fact that I won’t let him touch my hair makes him crazy. Which is why I won’t let him touch it, of course. Every time he sees me, he wails like he’s in pain.”
“And when she says wails, she means wails.” Conan sipped his own coffee before setting the cup aside. “My dad is likely to be the only flaming heterosexual you’ll ever meet.”
Zack stared. Flaming heterosexual? Did these two know any normal or mundane conversational tidbits? Couldn’t they go on about the weather or something? Together, they were the strangest people he’d ever met so he had no doubt the parents had to be beyond odd as well. He kept silent.
His daughter did not.
“Does that mean hairdresser, too?” Dani asked.
Wynn quickly swallowed her bite of muffin. “No, Dani, that means he likes to dress in silk and lots of gold chains and he has this enormous diamond earring.”
Oh Lord, Zack thought, and wished he could escape.
“Our mother, on the other hand, is the original hippie. She’s into all things natural and doesn’t wear any jewelry at all except for a plain wedding band.”
“But,” Conan interjected, casting a sly look at Wynn, “she loves my father enough to let him keep her hair trimmed.”
“Daddy would have a heart attack if I asked him to do my hair now. You know that. Besides, he likes to have something to gripe at me about.”
“Does your mom’s hair look like yours?” Zack heard himself ask, curious despite himself.
“Heavens no! I got my hair from some long-deceased ancestor.”
Conan leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. “And believe me, we’re all beyond grateful that he is long deceased.”
Wynn shoved at him. “My father’s hair is brown and sleek, and my mother’s hair is blond like Conan’s, but longer—all the way to her waist.”
Dreading the answer, Zack asked, “When are they supposed to join you?”