She didn’t truly believe Seth was expecting some sort of sexual quid pro quo for helping with the skunks. If he was, he’d made a big mistake.
But what did she know? If some other halfway stranger had swept her into his arms and kissed the stew out of her like Seth had, she’d have sent him flying with a big red handprint on his cheek.
And possibly found herself facing a stalker who wore a uniform and carried a gun.
She sank onto the front step of her porch and leaned against one of the columns that held it up. The guy had majorly overstepped his boundaries.
Even if it was the best kiss she’d ever experienced in her entire life. Not that she’d kissed that many males, but she hadn’t been a nun either.
It was just a kiss! she reminded herself.
Emma looked across the street. She could see him pacing back and forth, silhouetted against the front window of his house. She went back into her hall, turned off the lights and shut the front door with its big oval pier glass. He wasn’t going to watch her pace up and down or keep track of her by the lights that went on throughout the house, from living room to bedroom. She’d undress in the dark.
Tomorrow when she met him at the co-op—assuming he showed up—she would be completely casual, never mention the kiss and dial them back to square one. Acquaintances. Period. She needed him for the skunks. She definitely did not need him as a male person who raised her blood pressure.
* * *
HE HAD LOST his mind.
In two days this woman had put him in the position of breaking rules he was pledged to adhere to. Not just adhere to, but enforce.
And grabbing her up and kissing her like that? She’d be well within her rights to call the police and have him arrested for assault by an authority figure.
Not that she’d left him much authority. She hadn’t asked him to help her build an outdoor run for the skunks. He’d come up with the idea himself. Now he was committed to a fairly complicated project, one she’d already told him she either couldn’t or wouldn’t participate in.
She’d intimated that she’d sworn off the entire sex for the foreseeable future. As if he had all the time in the world outside his job to play nursemaid to skunks. Why hadn’t she adopted a couple of baby squirrels? Or even a raccoon? He could justify helping her in that case.
Tomorrow morning, he had to meet her as though they’d never shared that blockbuster of a kiss. Casual. Professional. Acquaintances. Neighbors. Nothing more.
He could handle that.
In his dreams.
Then again, what was the use? How long before her fancy, rich lawyer fiancé showed up in a brand-new Mercedes, gave her a big diamond and swept her off to marry him? From her phone conversation with The Jerk—he thought of him in capital letters—the guy was having an affair with a married woman while he was engaged to Emma. Talk about nuts! But with his fortune and social position… No woman would choose Seth Logan over him. If, as Emma said, he was aiming to go into politics at some point, she’d make a smashing senator’s wife. Or governor’s, for that matter.
Seth had enough experience with domestic disputes to know that in almost every case infidelity was not a deal breaker. All too often, women kept going back to the guy who gave them a broken jaw or a broken heart. His mother had gone back to his alcoholic father again and again, offered him support and forgiveness and her belief that he would stay sober. She’d written him off and divorced him only after Sarah was drowned. She couldn’t go on living with Everett, her husband, knowing it was his fault Sarah had died.
She barely took her eyes off Seth in the months following Sarah’s drowning. She knew how deeply he blamed his father. Watching him was as much for Seth’s benefit as her own. She’d continued to look at Seth even when he couldn’t bear to look at himself. She was afraid of what he’d do if his father showed up drunk and maudlin, making excuses, casting blame…
She’d been right to worry. At fourteen Seth was taller, broader and stronger than his father. Besides, his liver was healthy. He doubted dear old Dad’s was. He’d had to avoid the bastard so he wouldn’t put him in the hospital. Or the morgue.
The only thing that saved Everett Logan from his son’s wrath was that Seth hated himself more than he did his father. If he hadn’t been able to hide out in the woods for days at a time, he might well have followed Sarah into the lake.
He couldn’t do that to his mother. So he’d nursed his anger and avoided his father. He could thank his father for forcing him to love the outdoors, not that the old man had intended to point him to his career path. Seth only knew he could breathe in the woods.
Poor Earl. He knew about Seth’s family and how close to the surface Seth’s temper ran when faced with dangerous jackasses like that party boat group. When Seth realized those people on the boat weren’t wearing life jackets, it was touch and go whether he could keep his temper or whether he’d tie the idiot captain to his anchor and toss him overboard.
Thank God he’d had Earl there to help him maintain control. He thought he’d managed to stay calm, but that big woman who’d caught his expression had looked scared.
Maybe the alternative was to force the entire party to stare at pictures of bodies pulled from that lake, the quiet little lake that could kick up whitecaps in a strong wind and upend half the boats in the water.
As he climbed into bed, he was sure he’d lie awake thinking about Emma with The Jerk. In reality he spent the night dreaming of her instead.
And dreaming of inventive ways to barbecue that Trip guy. Slowly.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I WASN’T SURE you’d show up.” Seth opened the driver’s door of Emma’s SUV, then stood back. Sweet of him not to loom over her.
“I said I would.”
“Ever been to the co-op?” he asked. “It’s the farmer’s answer to the big-box hardware stores. Little bit of everything from two-by-fours to horse feed.”
She shook her head.
“Hey, Seth,” a voice from the shadowy depths of the store said. “And who’s this pretty lady?” The man who came to meet them wasn’t quite as tall as Seth but outweighed him by a factor of two or possibly three. Somewhere under the thick layers of fat could be glimpsed layers of muscle. He wore actual bib overalls that stuck out in front.
“Hey, hon.” He engulfed her hand in a rough sunburned paw as gently as though he was holding a butterfly. “Seth giving you the grand tour of our fair city?”
His grin was broad, gleaming, but with something of a mountain lion behind it. A man who could handle himself, Emma thought, and probably Seth, as well.
“Shoot, you’re the biggest tourist attraction we got,” Seth said. “Emma French, meet the mayor of Williamston, Sonny Prather. Sonny, this is Emma French. She’s Miss Martha’s niece. She just moved in across the street from me.”
“And you figured you’d introduce her to old Sonny. ’Cause you gonna need to buy out the store to get that place all fixed up after the last people. Friendly enough folks, but didn’t do much to take care of the place that I could see.”
“I’m afraid I can’t afford to buy more than a tiny piece of all this,” Emma said and waved a hand at the shelves around her.
“Sure you can. We gonna open an account for you like everybody else in the county. That way, you can send your contractor in to buy whatever you need.”
“As for the contractor, you’re looking at him,” Seth said. “This morning, all we need is stuff to build an outdoor run. Emma here is thinking about bringing her dog up from Memphis to stay. He’s a city dog.”
Emma gaped at Seth. She now knew that he could lie like a rug. Good information for the future. She had to admit, however, that he’d sounded plausible. And not a word about skunks either.
“Lord, yes. Miss Emma, you got to have a kennel for a city dog around here ’less you want him running off after the c
oyotes or getting hisself snakebit.” He turned to Seth. “You know what you want, or you want me to work it out for you? Is it a large dog?” he asked Emma.
“Uh…”
Seth stepped in. “Large enough. Long as we’re building, might as well do a decent job of it.”
“You got you a new dog yet, Seth?” Sonny asked over his shoulder as he walked off down the store and through a wide doorway at the back. “Know you miss Rambler. He was a good ol’ dog.”
A fine epitaph, Emma thought. Interesting that Sonny knew the particulars about Seth’s dog. But then he probably knew the names of the dogs and horses owned by all his customers. Maybe sheep and goats, too. Certainly bulls. Possibly even cats, although she doubted it. Men tended to ignore felines, but from where she stood, she could see a pair of yellow tabbies curled up in a ray of sunshine beside the front door. No doubt if she mentioned them, Sonny would blush and tell her they were good ratters.
“Barbara’s looking out for a rescue for me,” Seth said as he followed Sonny. Emma trailed along in their wake, feeling like a third wheel.
The same thing had happened when she first started working for Nathan Savage. Once a prospective older client sat down at their conference table, turned to her and said, “Get coffee.”
Not even a “please.” She didn’t hit him, but that was because Nathan intervened, explained that Emma was one of their top marketing executives and thus did not act as a waitress. The man never so much as looked at her throughout the meeting. But then he signed a contract for more money than anyone had expected. Guilt, probably. That worked. After she’d engineered the launch of his metal-roofing company with more media coverage than he’d expected for such a specialized top-of-the-line niche product, he became a friend. Who would work with him now that she no longer worked for Nathan?
She glanced over at Seth and Sonny. They weren’t cutting her out. They’d simply forgotten she was there. She left them to it.
By the time they’d worked out everything that would be needed for the so-called kennel, she had accumulated a wicker basket full of little cans of cat food, a bag of dry food and several small cat toys.
Sonny said, “Thought it was a big dog.”
“We’ve seen a couple of feral cats around,” Seth said. “If they have kittens, Emma may domesticate a few to keep down the mice.”
Saved again. She looked at the length of the invoice Sonny held and groaned. She might have to borrow money from her father, after all, if she didn’t get a job soon. When she reached for her credit card, however, Sonny waved her away.
“Don’t you know the old saying about farmers, hon? A farmer’s solvent one day a year.” He grinned up at Seth. “Tell her.”
Seth shrugged. “From the afternoon of the day he sells his crop until the next morning when he buys his seed.”
“The rest of the time, everybody keeps paying on their accounts,” Sonny said. “You gonna move up here, you got to do like everybody else.”
“Don’t I have to fill out some paperwork? Give you a credit card?”
“Shoot, I know where to find you if I need to. And Seth can track you down, can’t you?” He flashed that smile at Seth. “Not that you’ll be considered a native, except through Miss Martha. Have to live here a minimum of three generations for that. Now, since Seth has to go to work, and you don’t have a pickup, my boys’ll be up late this afternoon to deliver your stuff.”
“But where?”
“Sonny and I worked it out,” Seth told her.
“Got the perfect place up under that big water oak. Plenty of shade, good drainage, close to the house. Sonny, you can put the tools and concrete bags on the front porch.”
“Shouldn’t they be locked up?” Tools? Emma thought. Shades of enormous hammers and four-inch nails! And concrete? What were they building, the Brooklyn Bridge?
“Nobody’ll bother ’em,” Sonny said. “Now, Seth, when you gonna bring your riding lawn mower and your four-wheeler down for a checkup? You already need to be mowing that little place you got.”
Emma waved at them and started out of the store.
“Hey, sweet thing, wait up!” Sonny said. “We’re right glad you moved in. Don’t you worry. Anything you need, we’ll fix you up.”
“I’ll come by after work,” Seth said to her retreating back.
She climbed into her SUV. It was nearly nine o’clock. She’d had one cup of coffee, and she was absolutely starving. Two hours to go before she had to feed the skunks. Must be someplace around here she could get some breakfast. Someplace where she could be a stranger and not the absolute most worthless out-of-her-element female in this universe. She considered she had a fairly good skill set. For the city. Out here she didn’t understand the language, much less the customs.
It definitely was another universe. Oh, the endearments were the same as in town. She never minded being called “sugar” or “honey” or “sweet thing.” There was a wide gap between sexual harassment like the casual hand on her rear end—which she recognized instantly and took care of even faster—and the complimentary appellations from good ol’ boys of a certain age.
But it was all too obvious that she didn’t belong here. Sonny was right. She’d be a stranger for the next three generations, if it was possible to live that long.
She could make an attempt to slide into the culture, but it would never work. She knew where she belonged, and it wasn’t in Williamston. And definitely not across the street from Seth Logan.
* * *
“WHOO-EE!” SONNY SAID. He hooked his thumbs into his tarpaulin-size overalls and grinned at Seth. “Yum, yum! She lives right across the street from you?”
“Put your eyes back in your head, Mr. Mayor, before I blacken both of them for you.”
“Now, Seth, I didn’t mean a thing by it. I’m a happily married man. Besides, Nadine would tear my head off at the shoulders if I so much as looked at another woman. And no way would I give up Nadine’s beaten biscuits for a roll in the hay with somebody else. But you—” he pointed at Seth “—are no longer a married man and that—” he pointed to Emma’s SUV as it pulled out of the parking lot “—is therefore fair game.”
Seth didn’t feel like discussing Emma as though she were a side of beef with a man who looked as though he could eat one at a single sitting. “She’s in a committed relationship.” He very nearly bit his tongue. Committed relationship? Not if Emma stuck to her guns after that phone call last night, not to mention her response to that wholly inappropriate kiss he’d planted on her.
Still, she’d been clear that living in Aunt Martha’s house was a stopgap measure for a woman who was intended for mansions and French wine. All he knew about French wine was that he couldn’t afford it. Mansions? Out of the question.
“I’m late for work,” he said. “Thanks, Sonny.”
“No thanks needed.” Sonny clapped Seth on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. “You get that kennel up, and then you pay some attention to that young lady.”
Seth decided to stop by the café and pick up a couple of egg sandwiches and a large coffee. When he was close to the turn for the parking lot, however, he saw Emma’s SUV already there with no one in it. Darn! If he went inside now, she really would think he was stalking her. He drove by and stopped at the drive-in. The food wasn’t half as good as at the café, but the coffee was hot and the sausage biscuits sufficiently greasy. He should’ve felt good about this morning. Instead, he felt as though he was in way over his head, and not just with the construction.
* * *
THE MINUTE EMMA walked into the café, conversation stopped and every eye swiveled to stare at her. Oh, great. Apparently a stranger was sufficiently rare to count as a treat. She put on her coolest expression, noted the sign at the cash register that said, “Y’all seat yourself,” looked around and spotted Barbara, the vet, waving at her. She pasted on a
smile and walked over.
“Join me, please,” Barbara said.
Emma couldn’t very well refuse. Besides, not only did she like Barbara, but the vet was a conduit to Seth Logan. Emma needed somebody to clue her in on the man. She couldn’t figure him out at all. He obviously had the education and the cultural skills to move up whatever career ladder he chose. Yet here he was, catching poachers and checking fishing licenses—or she supposed that was what he did. He didn’t seem to be lazy, not if he planned to help her build the kennel.
“The café’s about the only decent restaurant in Williamston,” Barbara said.
The waitress laid a menu on the table and, without asking, set down a mug of coffee. “You want cream?” It came out like an accusation.
Emma shook her head. “No, thanks. Just a couple of poached eggs, bacon and wheat toast, please.”
“Huh. We don’t do much egg poaching. Hard or soft?”
“Uh, medium?”
“Grits or hash browns?”
“No thank you.”
“Velma,” Barbara said, “this is Emma French. She’s Miss Martha’s niece and has moved into her old house.”
Emma felt her ears redden. She was certain everyone in the place had heard Barbara’s introduction. She might as well be wearing a sign on her back that said “outsider.”
“Nice to see somebody fixing up that place,” a man in a business suit said from the next table. “Welcome to Williamston.” He swung his chair around and held out his hand. “Doug Eldridge.”
“How do you do?”
“He’s the local doctor,” Barbara said.
“Yeah. Barbara heals the animals. I try to heal the humans. She’s better at her job than I am at mine. At least to hear her tell it. But if you need me, I’m in the book. And unless you want to drive to Memphis, I’m your best bet.”
Harlequin Superromance May 2018 Box Set Page 33