“Wait, it’s not like that,” Leeann protested. “We’re not—I mean, he’s not—”
“It’s okay, darling.” Zip lowered his voice and offered her a wink. “I know what’s going on.”
“Oh, lay off the charm, will ya, Zip?” Bobby groaned. “I’m hurting like a sonovabitch and you’re flirting?”
“Come on, Ace. Let’s take this outside.” Zip looked around and then back at Leeann. “What’s the fastest way out of here?”
“Through the back entrance, just past the kitchen.” Leeann eased away from the wall. “I’ll show you.”
“Perfect. I parked out back.” Zip glanced at Bobby. “You okay to walk or do I have pull the fireman on ya?”
There was no freaking way he’d be carted out of here on his buddy’s oversize shoulders. “I can make it.”
“No numbness in your lower legs?”
“Hell, no, I can feel everything.” Bobby faced Leeann. The last thing he wanted was for her to witness any more of this fiasco. “Well, thanks for the dance and the interesting conversation. Why don’t you head back to your friends?”
Leeann crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ll never get past the kitchen staff, never mind the alarm at the back door, without me.”
Zip let loose a subdued whistle. “Beautiful and smart. This one’s a keeper.”
Bobby pushed off from the wall and yanked his Stetson low over his brow. “Shut up and walk, Zip.”
“Ladies first.”
Leeann moved in front of them and they followed. From the back it looked like one friend helping out another who’d had a few too many beers. Except each step was like walking on hot coals. Something Bobby had actually done once at a party at the Playboy Mansion. Only this time every step was like a volcanic fire eating at the bottoms of his boot-clad feet.
They entered the back hall where the lighting was brighter, and Bobby fixed his gaze on Leeann. He liked how her hair shined in the overhead lights. The short dark lengths barely brushed against her shoulders. Her T-shirt clung to her tiny waist and emphasized the curve of her hips encased in the skinny jeans she wore.
Leeann had always had the most amazing backside. If anything it had gotten better with age.
Appreciation filled him and he kept his eyes glued to her butt, the sight of those swaying hips making him forget about the pain.
Sort of.
“Mmm, mmm, mmm…”
Bobby tightened his grip on his friend’s hand. “Not one word, Zip.”
“Okay, boss man, whatever you say.”
Leeann stood in front of the double swinging doors that led to the kitchen and waved them past. When they reached the back entrance, she punched in a code and pushed open the heavy metal door.
“Jeez, I guess being a cop comes in handy when needing a security password, huh?” Zip asked as they stepped outside into the parking lot.
Bobby’s gaze crashed with Leeann’s, and he saw a quiet resignation there before she looked away.
“Which car is yours?” she asked.
“We came in the blue pickup over there.” Zip nodded to the left, reaching into his pocket and tossing Leeann the keys. “I wanted to bring the bird, but Ace here axed that idea.”
Leeann hit the button to unlock the doors. “Bird?”
“Forget it.” Bobby shot Zip a warning look. “It’s not important.”
When they reached the truck, Bobby waited until Leeann opened the door, then he grabbed the truck’s inside frame and held on. “I’ve got it from here.”
“You sure, Ace?” Zip asked.
“Yeah.” His gaze flew to Leeann, who stood nearby, then back to his buddy. “Get behind the wheel, okay?”
Zip smiled and gestured to Leeann for the keys, easily catching them before heading for the other side of the truck. “Night, Leeann,” he called out. “And thanks, I couldn’t have gotten Twinkle Toes out of there without your help.”
She returned Zip’s wave, but her eyes remained on Bobby. Was she waiting to see how he got into the truck?
Fine.
Flinging his Stetson inside the cab, Bobby grabbed on to the inside assist handle and hoisted himself, twisting onto the front seat. The move hurt like hell and left him looking like a fool with his feet still hanging outside the truck, but at least he was sitting down.
Lacing his fingers beneath his left knee, he grunted through the pain and lifted his leg, dragging his foot inside the cab to save the additional strain on his back.
Then a strong yet feminine grip repeated the movement, lifting his right leg, supporting the knee before setting his foot gently to the truck’s floor.
Bobby froze.
He stared at her hands, resting just above his knee. The warmth of her touch seeped through his jeans. His fingers stretched out for hers, but she jerked her hands away, clenching them together at her waist.
“Ah, I’m sorry…” Leeann waved one hand toward the building. “You know, about the dance.”
“I’m not.”
Her gaze shot to his.
“I enjoyed holding you in my arms again,” he said. “Sort of like coming home.”
Her eyes widened, her mouth dropping open in surprise.
“Let’s do it again,” he ventured, having no idea why he was pushing this. Yes, he did. It had felt good, damn good, to be so close to Leeann again. “Soon?”
Her lips moved into an easy smile. “Bobby, you can’t even stand on your own two feet.”
“At the moment, but when I’m better?”
“We’ll see.”
Zip barked out a laugh he tried to cover with a cough.
Bobby landed a light elbow to his friend’s bicep, but didn’t look away from Leeann. “You know when my mom used to say that, the answer was usually no.”
“But every once in a while the answer was yes.”
She stepped away from the truck, closed the door and offered a quick wave before turning back toward the rear entrance of the bar.
Zip started the engine and flipped on the headlights, but didn’t put the truck into gear until they saw Leeann disappear inside the building. “Man, tell me you’re not going to do something stupid.”
Bobby turned to his friend. “Like what?”
“Like let her go all over again.”
Almost a week after the Blue Creek Saloon incident, Leeann could still feel Bobby’s rough, warm touch on her hands. She clenched and released her fingers a few times, shaking them loose as she ran, her feet eating up miles of blacktop.
“Don’t be silly, it’s just—”
She couldn’t finish her sentence because she didn’t understand why her palms still tingled, as if she’d just laid her hands on him a moment ago.
Impossible because she’d avoided him for the past six days.
She’d cleaned her two-bedroom cottage from top to bottom, visited with her Aunt Ursula to sort out the beauty parlor gossip from the truth when it came to her and Bobby, and took care of his mother’s garden in record time at the crack of dawn two mornings in a row to avoid an accidental encounter.
Worst of all, she’d only gone to the Youth Center after checking to make sure he wasn’t there. Bad, but a necessity. The staff had said Bobby and Dean had stopped by twice during the week to visit with the kids in the after-school program.
Maggie and Racy had finally wrangled her into going to Laramie yesterday afternoon for lunch and shopping, but only after they’d sworn off the topic of Bobby Winslow.
After she’d gone back inside the bar that night, they’d cornered her for an explanation. She’d quickly explained away the rumor that Bobby was drunk, replacing it with the truth of what had happened when they’d danced.
Or tried to dance.
Between her acting like a cardboard cutout and his bad back they were lucky they didn’t end up sprawled in the middle of the dance floor. Then again, the only thing her friends concentrated on was that she’d agreed to dance with her old boyfriend in the first place.
And every morning she ran.
Come rain or shine, Leeann donned her exercise gear, tied on her sneakers and headed out for her daily five miles.
Never in the direction of her pond or Bobby’s house.
Of course, if she really thought about it, Bobby hadn’t tried to see her either.
Was he still embarrassed by what had happened?
So caught up in the emotional upheaval of being near him again, she’d spent the evening lecturing him one minute and fighting off old memories, both good and bad, the next.
When it came to dealing with being held in a man’s arms—his arms—for the first time in years, she’d been so consumed by panic she hadn’t given any thought to his discomfort.
She’d been uncomfortable enough for the both of them. Or so she thought until he had her backed against the wall. He had been seconds away from kissing—
“Ah, miss? Excuse me?”
A male voice interrupted Leeann’s thoughts. She down-shifted into an easy jog, noticing for the first time the silver SUV and white van behind it, moving at a snail’s pace along the road.
“We’re a bit lost. Maybe you can help?” The passenger in the SUV, a man in his late sixties with a trimmed gray beard and startling blue eyes, leaned out the window. “Is this County Road 389?”
Leeann looked around, realizing she’d unknowingly taken the turn that led straight out to Bobby’s place, which was less than a hundred yards away. “Ah, yes, it is.”
The man smiled, triggering a memory. Did she know him? Her training kicked in. Palming her cell phone in her jacket pocket, she proceeded with caution, slowing to a walk but staying a safe distance from the vehicle. “I’m guessing you and the white van are together?”
“Yes. We’re looking for the Winslow place. We stopped at the diner in town and asked for directions, but they were pretty protective of their hometown celebrity.”
A sudden desire to shield Bobby filled her as well.
“My name is Vincent Jameson. We’re in town to do a photo shoot with Bobby Winslow.” The man pulled a leather billfold from his shirt pocket. “I’ll show you my identification if you don’t believe me.”
She believed him, connecting his name with his face. He was a famed photographer she’d worked with once many years ago. He obviously didn’t recognize her, but Leeann wasn’t surprised. She’d only been one of many models he must’ve worked with over the years and her looks had changed dramatically since New York. “No, that won’t be necessary.”
A familiar blue pickup came over the hill in the opposite direction and slowed to a stop when it reached them. “Hey, Leeann!” Dean leaned out the driver’s-side window. “Let me guess? You found the people I was sent to look for.”
The vehicles pulled to the side of the road and quick introductions were made. Then Dean made a U-turn, pulled up alongside her and called through the open passenger-side window, “Come on, hop in.”
“Oh, no, I’m just out for a jog. I think I’ll get back to it.”
“And miss the chance to see Ace playing the part of a fashion model? You could give him a pointer or two.”
She swallowed hard. “You know about my former career?”
Dean grinned. “Are you kidding? I still got my copies of Sports Illustrated, Swimsuit Editions 2003 and 2004. I think my favorite was the all-American bikini.”
Her face heated with a hot blush. “Well, that was a long time ago and I don’t want to get in the way.”
“Don’t you want to see how he’s doing?” Dean’s voice turned serious. “Your town isn’t exactly a thriving metropolis, yet still you two have managed to stay clear of one another.”
“He’s avoiding me?”
“As much as you’re avoiding him.”
Uncertainty filled her. She hadn’t been back to a photo shoot of any type since that night six years ago. It had taken a long time before she could face the simple flash from a digital camera without flinching or resurrecting memories of a time she wanted to keep firmly in her past.
“How is he doing?” she finally asked.
Dean’s grin returned. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?”
Chapter Seven
“Okay, everyone, let’s break for a few minutes.” Lowering his camera, the photographer rose from his crouched position. “This just isn’t working.”
Leeann couldn’t agree more.
Dressed in a black tuxedo, tie hanging loose around his neck and a starched white shirt halfway unbuttoned, a whisper of stubble on his jaw and a drink in one hand, Bobby looked like he was doing just fine.
More than fine.
At least on the outside.
On the inside, however, she suspected he was fed up. He slumped in the corner of his leather couch looking sexily disheveled and casually shameless. But even with a blonde in a skintight dress sporting a neckline that plunged practically to her waist draped over his lap, he looked bored.
Not exactly the image needed to match the rough cut of the commercial they’d viewed less than an hour ago.
Leeann had been impressed with the imagery and the story that meshed a nineteenth-century cowboy waiting for his lady to return with a modern man doing the same, and yes, Bobby looked amazing on the film, but something wasn’t working.
Her professional experience told her it was the model.
Windy—her real name, the girl had excitedly declared—was beautiful, but too young. Even with the couture gown and the magic of hairstyling and makeup she still looked barely out of her teens. Not the kind of woman a suave, debonair man would be waiting for.
“Okay, time to back off,” Leeann whispered to herself, moving away from the crowded scene laid out in Bobby’s formal living room. “Your opinion doesn’t mean a thing here.”
“I’d like to hear it anyway.”
She turned and found Bobby standing behind her.
Close behind her.
Backing up, she moved toward the section of his home he’d already declared off-limits. Thanks to her tour last week, she knew this area housed his office and the master bedroom.
Despite that, she took a few more steps past an imaginary do-not-cross line. He followed, of course, staying within her personal space. Her habitual instinct to put distance between them didn’t arise. The closeness wasn’t bothering her as much as she thought it should.
Or was it because it was Bobby?
Pulling in a deep breath, her head filled with the same sharp and woodsy masculine scent she remembered from being in his arms last week. She wasn’t a fragrance kind of girl, but he did smell good. Must be those men’s bath care products he was promoting.
“Look, I’m just an uninvited visitor—”
He took another step toward her, the toes of his polished dress cowboy boots bumping against her running shoes. “Didn’t I tell you I was happy you were here?”
Yes, he had, not hiding his surprise when he’d walked out on his front porch and saw her climb down from the truck Dean had parked in the circular drive. But other than exchanging quick hellos, they hadn’t had a chance to talk as the crew unloaded their vans and the photographer’s assistant had sent Bobby off to change his clothes.
Leeann had stayed clear of the controlled chaos, but enjoyed watching his living room transformed into a photo shoot, as the lighting was set up with reflective softbox umbrellas, backdrop panels raised and furniture moved.
For a moment she’d felt jarring fear, her heart tapping out a rapid beat that she accepted as a reaction to the past, but then Dean had appeared at her side.
He’d kept her busy answering his questions, some serious and some humorous. The more time passed, the more she found herself flooded with good memories from her years spent in this industry, instead of that one last terrible one. She’d been damn good at her job and she was proud of all she’d accomplished. Her therapist had always tried to get her to concentrate on the good stuff instead of those few hours that ended it all for her.
For the first time she wa
s able to do just that.
“Come on, Lee. I’d really like to know what you think.” Bobby drew her attention back to his original question as he waved a hand toward the set. “This was once your world. Even I’ve done enough of these things to realize that something is just…off.”
Being proud of her past was one thing, sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong was another. Jeez, hadn’t she done enough of that with Bobby since he’d shown up back in town?
“It’s not my place.”
“Does your friend have something she’d like to share with us?” Vincent Jameson joined them. “This whole shoot was a rush job ordered by an executive from the product company. My assistant didn’t have time to do a thorough sketch out, so I’m willing to listen to anything.”
Leeann shook her head, wishing she’d kept the ball cap she’d been wearing on, instead of leaving it in the truck. “No, I really don’t—”
“Hey, I know you.” The photographer cut her off. “Don’t I? You look really familiar.”
Her smile felt forced, but it was the best she could do. “I’m Leeann Harris. We worked together a few times when I was with Elite.”
“Of course!” Vincent snapped his fingers. “I remember now, the long hair. Almost to your waist, right?”
Hands grabbing her, struggling to get free. Trying to run, the biting sting of her flowing hair yanking her backward to the floor, spindly fingers twisted in its length, holding her captive—
“Lee?”
She jerked away from Bobby’s touch and blinked hard, bringing his and the photographer’s puzzled expressions into focus. “Y-yes, I’m sorry, that’s me. I used to—yes, I did have long hair back then.”
“Yeah, it was so long it took you a while to get all the Bora Bora sand out of it after we shot for the swimsuit issue one year. I can understand why you finally cut it short. You’re retired now?” Vincent asked.
Leeann tried to take a fortifying breath, but Bobby’s gaze was so intent as he studied her it made her even more nervous. “Yes, I left the business about s-six years ago.”
Welcome Home, Bobby Winslow Page 8