Lisa Plumley - [Crabtree 02]

by The Scoundrel

  Daniel was bound to find her irresistible in them.

  Not that she cared a whit for that. She was serious.

  Still, Sarah had wrangled with the hot hair tongs yet again, simply to give herself a much-needed boost. Similarly, she’d applied a bit of lavender water and splurged on a pair of fine winter gloves for this occasion. Not because she wanted to look nice for Daniel, she told herself as she hurried through the snow. But merely because she’d…welcomed the practice. Yes, that was most certainly it.

  Thus equipped, she reasoned that she would have her way with Daniel—rather than allowing him to unduly affect her. He absolutely did not need to know that she still thought of him, still dreamed of him…still wished for him.

  Still loved him.

  Snow crunched beneath her shoes as she trod the final steps to his house. A gentle wind stirred the loosened tendrils of her hair. The distant sounds of Morrow Creek going about its business served as background to her thumping heart. If she did not gain entry today, Sarah didn’t know what to try next.

  Daniel surprised her by being there waiting.

  “Well.” He surveyed her from a seated position on the porch steps, his winter coat opened to admit the sunshine. In the gap of its unfastened buttons, his broad chest showed, clad only in a knitted shirt. “You’re looking very fine today.”

  His leisurely perusal gave proof to his words. So did the sinfully appealing grin that followed. It made her want to blush, to giggle, to melt on the spot.

  Instead, Sarah mustered her will. “I’m feeling industrious.” She nodded to the front door. “Shall we go inside?”

  “Not right now.” Daniel tucked his chin, indicating the tabby cat sprawled on his lap. He petted him, his fingers moving in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. “Whiskers is napping. I don’t want to wake him.”

  She must be hearing things. Daniel had never deigned to use the name she and Eli had given the tabby. He’d groused that it had been too silly.

  “Did you just call that cat ‘Whiskers’?”

  A nod. “’Course. Whiskers has had a rough time of it, though. Neither of us has been sleeping very well lately.”

  “Neither have I,” Sarah admitted before she considered it. “I’ve been—”

  At the interest in Daniel’s face, she abruptly shut her mouth. Drat it! The confiding habits of half a lifetime were hard to break. Since she and Daniel had been such longstanding friends, she’d always told him nearly everything…except her feelings for him, of course.

  “I’ve been up late worrying about my work at the schoolhouse,” she prevaricated. It wasn’t too far from the truth. “Trying to dream up ways to convince the school board I’m still capable of doing my job.”

  Daniel’s clear-eyed gaze met hers. “I’ll talk to them.”

  “No. If you’ll just—”

  “I was trying to help. I didn’t mean to stir up trouble for you.”

  His kindness only stirred up more. More trouble, more feelings, more regrets. “Daniel, open the door. Please, let’s don’t drag this out any longer.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Daniel.”

  “Forgive me.”

  His serious look encouraged exactly that. Sarah knew she had to be strong. He did not love her, and that was what mattered most.

  “If you’d kindly cooperate,” she told him, “I could go on with the rest of my life.”

  He shook his head. “No. Can’t do that.”

  He seemed peculiarly blithe about the admission. He went on stroking Whiskers, his cuddling attitude impossible to ignore. If Daniel could learn to love and appreciate that old tomcat, Sarah thought, then surely he could…

  No, she told herself. Be firm.

  Still, she fancied she heard the cat purring beneath his attention. It was a reaction she heartily understood.

  “Why can’t you?” she asked, fighting for strength.

  At this rate, it would take them months to settle this.

  Again Daniel’s gaze roved over her, uncommonly bold and undeniably affecting. “Well, it seems I’m on strike.”

  Sarah could not believe it. “On strike?”

  “Yes.” Pet, pet, went his fingers over Whisker’s fur. “Until you give me a proper demonstration of wifely affection, I won’t be opening that door. Which means you won’t be taking your things from here.”

  She gawked. “‘Wifely affection’?”

  That term sounded awfully familiar. It bore more than a passing resemblance to “husbandly duties.”

  “You know.” He lifted one powerful shoulder in a shrug. “Small tokens of wifely fondness. Like…a kiss.”

  His eyes gleamed at her, richly brown and filled with an I dare you aspect Sarah recognized only too well. That bravado had always been present in Daniel. Only she had never found it directed solely at her.

  Now that it was…

  She heaved a sigh. “Very well.”

  Before she could lose whatever courage she’d mustered, she marched to him. She noted with abstracted dismay that Daniel’s gaze did not so much as dip to her adorable shoes.

  So much for that tactic. This was the last time she’d let her sisters advise her on anything.

  Daniel smelled of soap and man, lounged with a casual disregard of the cold that told of his strength and fortitude. He looked as wondrous as always, clean-shaven and tousle-haired.

  Determined not to care, not to be pulled in by his charm, she put both hands on his shoulders. Leaned over.

  Their kiss was done within moments. A brief pucker, a barely registered contact…a flood of heart-twisting memories. Sarah straightened, regarding him with impatience. Why did he have to make this so difficult between them?

  “There. Now will you let me in?”

  Daniel shook his head. “I meant a proper kiss.”

  “That was a proper kiss.”

  He smiled. “You only think so because you’re still a beginner.”

  She took offense at that. “Is that so? Perhaps if I’d had a proper teacher—”

  His laughter confused her. Still smiling, Daniel gave the cat one last, long stroke, then released it. Whiskers jumped gracefully to the porch rail. He stalked to its end and then headed to the trees beyond, doubtless to pester the squirrels.

  “Your teacher was fine, and your lessons even better.” He rose. “They ended too soon, is all.”

  Oh, they had, her heart agreed. Foolishly.

  “They ended in time for our annulment,” she pointed out. Her throat rasped in protest. “That is soon enough.”

  Seeming unconcerned with that, Daniel came nearer.

  At his approach, she became aware of her heart pattering unevenly in her chest. Her mouth felt dry, her palms damp beneath her gloves. She felt unable to move at all.

  There was something about this new, cat-petting Daniel. Something Sarah certainly hadn’t reckoned for and did not know quite how to deal with.

  He stopped, looking at her with a glance that held much more familiarity, and more compassion, than she’d expected. He leaned his shoulder against the porch post, as easygoing as she’d ever seen him. Yet there was something purposeful in the way he looked at her, too. Something determined.

  With a jolt, she recognized that look. It was the one he’d worn on the occasions when he’d kissed her. It was bold, sensual, compelling. Tempting.

  “I like you in that dress,” he said.

  He made no move closer. Not even to hold her hand.

  Unaccountably, Sarah felt her spirits sag. If her baited comment could not induce Daniel to prove her wrong with a kiss, if her fancy dress and shoes and curly hair could not lure him, then…well, the snow might as well sprout flowers. Both notions seemed equally unlikely. Daniel, giving up?

  She refused to feel disappointed.

  She did not succeed.

  “I can’t come back tomorrow,” she warned. “I’ll be with my students for the spelling bee. Half the town is coming—”

  “Then I guess you’d
better try kissing me again now.”

  “I’m not going to kiss you!”

  “That,” Daniel said, “is what you think.”

  He caught her in his arms, making their bodies press together. Sarah felt the muscles of his shoulders bunch beneath her gloved hands, felt warmth penetrate her skirts where his thighs met hers. Her mind whirled with protests, but the rest of her…oh, the rest of her merely wanted to enjoy this. It felt good. It felt right.

  “Kiss me,” Daniel urged. “I need you to—”

  “Stop talking. You’ll ruin it.”

  Sarah pressed her mouth to his. Instantly, he opened his lips beneath hers, taking all of her in his kiss. His arms tightened around her, squeezing as though he’d never let her go.

  Daniel groaned. She thought she heard an answering sound of pleasure come from her, but she couldn’t be sure. She felt too swept away to reason it out. All she knew was the union of their mouths, the glide of his tongue, the sensation of homecoming that came bundled with Daniel’s kiss.

  This was bliss. This was…wrong.

  She broke off. “You’re trying to confuse me!”

  He blinked. Disappointment crossed his face, then resignation. “Hmm. Is it working?”

  Of course it is. “Of course it’s not.”

  Daniel did not believe her. She could tell.

  “Fine.” Sarah stepped backward, pretending to be occupied with shaking out her skirts. She cleared her throat, trying to ignore the fluttery feeling in her middle. Then she nodded to the house. “You know what I need from there. If you won’t let me get it myself, then kindly pack it up and have it delivered to my parents’ house, please. I won’t be back here again for more of your shenanigans.”

  He seemed even more puzzled. “But…you love my shenanigans!”

  She always had. Now, sadly, Sarah shook her head. “Not when they cost me this much.”

  Then she picked up her skirts and turned back the way she’d come, leaving a befuddled-looking Daniel to stare after her.

  “Something is wrong.” Daniel flexed his arm, examining the muscle bulging beneath his shirtsleeve. He practiced a smile, aiming it to the mirror behind Jack Murphy’s bar. He ran a hand through his hair, testing it for thickness. “Am I losing my hair again? Maybe that’s it. Have a look.”

  He bent his head toward Marcus.

  The irritating man only guffawed. “Your hair is fine, McCabe. It’s the brain beneath it that needs work.”

  Jack chuckled. “To be sure. Look. You haven’t even touched your whiskey.”

  Daniel grunted. The truth was, he had no appetite for spirits. He only wanted Sarah—wanted her to come back to him. How he’d failed in that pursuit, he didn’t know.

  “Every time I’m with Sarah, something happens,” he explained, needing to reason it out. “It feels as though my heart gets lodged—” he gestured to his throat “—right here and won’t budge. I can barely speak!”

  “That’s what the whiskey is for,” Jack said, reasonably.

  “No. That didn’t work at all.” Daniel winced, recalling a particular ladies’ shoe headed for his groin. “It’s not just that, either. I’ve tried to hide it from Sarah—and I’ve done a damn good job of it, too. But aside from the throat problem, my belly flip-flops like a trout every time I’m with her.”

  “Dyspepsia,” Jack pronounced.

  “Love,” Marcus countered.

  Daniel stared at them both. “This cannot be love. It feels terrible! Yesterday, when Sarah visited me, my palms got sweaty at the sight of her. At the sight of her! Thank God I had Whiskers to hide the—”

  “Whiskers?” His friends shared a glance.

  “The cat. It’s going with Eli back to the States soon, but until then…” Distractedly, Daniel turned his whiskey glass. “Hell. I just like having the cat around. It’s not a crime.”

  The truth was, cuddling Whiskers on his lap made him feel a little less lonesome. He would have worn a dance-hall girl’s feathered headpiece before admitting as much.

  He scowled at Jack and Marcus, to be sure they understood. He wasn’t getting soft. “He’s a good cat.”

  “Oh, we’re sure of that.” Grinning, Marcus held up both hands in apparent surrender. “But about this ‘love’ thing—”

  “It’s not love, damn it! It’s sweaty palms and a churning stomach and a thumping heart. It’s that irritating feeling of having my necktie strung too tight.” Daniel sighed. He examined his reflection again, feeling doubly confused when he appeared as ordinary as ever. “I should see a doctor.”

  Jack squinted. “I think Copeland has the right of it. You’re bad off.” He shuddered. “God help us all.”

  Daniel ignored him. “The worst part is, now I’ve lost my only link to Sarah. She won’t come back now, not even to get her things.” He stared morosely at the crate of feminine fripperies packed at his feet. “I overplayed my hand. Pushed her away. After all this time of us being friends—”

  “’Twas more than friendship,” Marcus insisted.

  “—to see it all ruined this way—”

  “You’re ruined for other women now. Admit it.”

  “Damn it, Copeland!” In frustration, Daniel slapped his hand on the bar. “Shut up. You sound like a moony old spinster. If I’d wanted addle-headed advice, I’d have—”

  “Come here,” Jack said, nodding.

  Marcus agreed.

  Daniel frowned at them both.

  “It’s what you’ve been doing all along,” Jack added.

  This was too much. “I may be dying.” Daniel held his hands to his throat in demonstration of the symptoms he’d described earlier. “But you two—” He shook his head. “The hell with it. Just let me meet my maker in peace.”

  They had the audacity to laugh. They’d probably dance on his grave someday soon, too. The sons of bitches.

  Too bad they were all he had.

  “How can I have failed? With a woman?” Daniel stared at them, feeling forlorn and confused. “I thought I could persuade Sarah to come back to me. Something is wrong, plain as that.”

  Maybe his charm had broken somehow. He’d never thought he’d see the day, but there was no denying the evidence.

  “Fine.” Marcus stifled his amusement. “Tell me this. Why do you want Sarah to come back?”

  Daniel was wise to that trick, though. He knew Marcus wanted to hear something mush-hearted and sappy, something that would prove his point. Something like she should come back because I love her. But Daniel knew better.

  “I’m not talking about this anymore,” he said.

  He dropped a coin on the bar, then hefted the box of Sarah’s belongings. It felt heavier than it had a right to.

  “I’ll take that.” Marcus held out his arms.

  “The hell you will.” Daniel cradled it. “I’ll carry it myself.”

  “You’ve been hauling that box around,” Jack reminded him with a pointed look, “ever since last night.”

  That was true. Daniel had packed it shortly after Sarah had left him on his front porch. Then, he’d been fired up with indignation…and the aftereffects of that churning gut, those sweaty palms, that choking, heart-in-the-throat sensation. He’d hardly known what he’d been doing.

  “So?” he demanded.

  “So I’ll save you the trouble of delivering it.” Marcus offered him a damnably sympathetic look, along with a second hand-it-over gesture. “I’ll see Sarah at the schoolhouse later for the spelling bee. I can give it to her then.”

  “No. I’m supposed to take it to the Crabtrees’.”

  Not that he had moved so much as a step in that direction over the past day and a half.

  “Be reasonable,” Marcus said. “In the state you’re in, you’re liable to confront Sarah and demand to know if she finds your muscles too puny—”

  “Or your hair too thin,” Jack contributed.

  “Or your smile too wide. Just save everyone the trouble,” Marcus urged, “and give me the box.” />
  Daniel didn’t want to. It was his only link to Sarah.

  Mulishly, he held on to it. “I’m not giving her up.”

  Jack and Marcus gawked at each other, then at him.

  “What’s the matter with you two?” Daniel demanded irritably. “You’re grinning like loons.”

  From Marcus: “You said, ‘I’m not giving her up.’”

  Daniel stopped. He could scarcely breathe. “You’re hearing things. Not giving it up, I said.”

  “‘Her up,’” Jack insisted. He elbowed Marcus. “Her. Sarah. Daniel’s not giving her up.”

  They gave him a jointly expectant look. They seemed fit to wait on him all day, with the patience of two men who would leave him to go toes-up over love—or deny its very existence to the last. Exactly as he had done till now.

  That was when it finally struck Daniel.

  He loved Sarah. Loved her! Only his love had seemed so near to friendship, had masqueraded so well beneath comfort and laughter, that he hadn’t recognized it.

  Amazed at his own daftness, he turned over the notion in his mind. Yes. It fit. Remarkably, it fit exactly.

  “You don’t kiss your friends,” Daniel marveled.

  “Hell, no!” Jack held up his hands to ward him off.

  Marcus did, too. “Sorry, McCabe. Molly’s prettier.”

  Unbelievably, Daniel laughed. “Not that way,” he continued, remembering all the times he’d fallen, head over boots, near swooning while kissing Sarah. He should have been warning himself of that danger—arming himself with smelling salts instead of worrying over her supposed delicacy. “You don’t kiss your friends that often. Nor do you enjoy it that much.”

  “I wouldn’t enjoy it at all,” Jack warned. “Back away.”

  “Keep your ‘often’ to yourself,” Marcus ordered.

  But Daniel only looked at their appalled faces and grinned. Miraculously, relief spread all through him. He was not dying. Marcus had the right of it.

  He loved Sarah. And he was on the verge of losing her forever.

  “This stays here.” With sudden decisiveness, Daniel shoved the box over the bar to Jack. “I’ll be back for it.”