“It’s your own fault, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.”
“Damn straight it is, Jesse, but I wanted to do it.”
“Was no call for you to.” Jesse removed his sweat-stained baseball cap, then shoved a hand through a mop of black hair, all the while never taking his gaze off Mitch. “Me and the others coulda cut up that tree in nothin’ flat.”
“You’re right,” Mitch said without further explanation.
Jesse shrugged. “Well, as long as you’re not thinking we can’t do the job.”
“Give it a rest, Jess. You and the boys are doing great. I couldn’t be more pleased. But right now, I’m calling it a day and heading to the shower. I suggest you do the same.”
“Got no problem with that,” Jesse said, grinning.
“Tomorrow’s another big day. The material’s coming for the new greenhouse. If I’m not mistaken, the dirt’s coming, as well.”
“We’ll be ready.”
“See you early thirty, then.”
Jesse nodded, then sauntered off. Mitch couldn’t help but smile as he watched him, thinking the man was going to lose his breeches any second now, they hung so low on his hips.
Mitch merely shook his head, then turned and scouted the area. After seeing that no tools were left scattered about, he trudged toward his quarters.
Home sweet home.
He smiled, though it reeked with cynicism. He did consider the cottage home, despite the fact that it wasn’t much bigger than a popcorn fart, however the hell big that was. That priceless gem had been something his grandmother had said quite often. He’d asked her many times what it meant, but she’d never once told him.
“It means whatever you want it to, sonny boy.”
That explanation hadn’t made sense then any more than it did now, but it made him think with sad affection of his grandmother, who’d practically raised him.
Cramped or not, the cottage was the perfect home for him, consisting of a combination living room, kitchen and dining area. It even had a fireplace, an amenity that he probably wouldn’t use. The rest consisted of a bedroom and adjoining bath. But he didn’t demand much for himself. No unnecessary baggage for him.
He’d dropped that three years ago, when he’d simplified his life.
Thirty minutes later, Mitch was out of the shower and had a beer in his hand. Following a long draw on the cold draft, he set it down while he slipped into a pair of worn jeans, then tromped barefoot into the living room.
Once he was seated, Mitch swung his head toward the kitchen. He was hungry as a bitch wolf with nine sucklings. Yet he was too dog-tired to cook himself anything to eat.
This was when he missed his grandmother and his ex-wife, though he hated to admit the latter. Whenever Wendy had been at home for any length of time, she would cook for him.
He would bet she had cooked for her lover, too.
“Aw, shit,” he muttered, hating it when he thought about her, but hating it more when he talked to himself. Not a good sign.
Mitch polished off the rest of the beer, his gaze once again straying toward the refrigerator. Surely he had a TV dinner he could toss into the microwave.
His thoughts shifted to the big house and the feast that the boss and his daughter were most likely sinking their teeth into about now. Instead of tossing that absurd thought aside, Mitch’s mind homed in on Lindsay, and lingered there.
She had been the reason he’d used the chain saw all day. He had cut a huge oak that had fallen during a storm into fire logs. His intention had been to work out his sexual frustrations so that he wouldn’t think about anything or anybody.
Had it worked? Nope.
He could still remember every word Lindsay had said to him and the way she’d looked at him, her lovely naked eyes a mixture of sadness, curiosity and something else—that same something that he’d felt mirrored in his eyes: instant and liquid desire.
Ah, what a crock. She didn’t want him. She already had a stud to service her—the one he’d seen her with on the porch the other evening. Yet she didn’t look like anyone was making love to her. No one that lovely ought to be that hauntingly sad.
Maybe that was why he couldn’t get her off his mind, why he couldn’t stop savoring everything about her, especially the memory of her shiny, styled hair, those sexy freckles that dusted her nose, those pouty, Kewpie doll lips quirked in doubt, and her tight little butt.
When she’d whipped that butt around, he’d watched her run off, and been reminded of a lithe and classy Thoroughbred. He had stood there long after she’d disappeared, feeling like he’d just been karate-chopped from behind.
And he was still nursing that same painful feeling, because that last uninhibited gesture had left him with an unwanted ache in his groin—an ache he hadn’t had in a helluva long time.
As badly as he hated to admit it, that ache hadn’t subsided. In fact, he had a hard-on right now, just thinking about her. What was the deal? He was no longer in control of his emotions; that was the deal.
Well, that was just too bad. Lindsay Newman was a no deposit, no return sort of woman. He’d best keep that in mind.
Seven
“Gosh, it’s good to see you.”
Lindsay smiled at her friend Mary Jane. “It’s good to see you, too. It seems like ages.”
Mary Jane’s saucy grin added to the twinkle in her green eyes. “What with you gallivanting around the globe, it’s kind of hard to stay in touch.”
“Pooh,” Lindsay responded good-naturedly, knowing that M.J. wasn’t really jealous. Besides, she had the means to travel, only she was afraid to fly. “And I would hardly call a trip to London globe-trotting.”
Mary Jane flapped a hand. “Well, whatever.”
“So let’s grab a seat before they’re all gone.” Lindsay pointed toward a table in a far corner. “Go for that one.”
This Italian restaurant was her favorite, and she ate here often. Today, however, her favorite waitress wasn’t here, nor was the manager. Both always gave her preferential treatment.
“Whew, I’m glad to be out of the heat!” Mary Jane exclaimed. “Darn, but it’s hot. And muggy.”
Lindsay flicked a strand of red-gold hair out of her eyes and stared at M.J. “It’s supposed to be, my friend. It’s summer.”
“Well, you can have summer. Sometimes I wish I lived in the North Pole.”
Lindsay frowned. “Uh-oh, things must be bad at work. I hear an underlying whine in your tone. Anything I need to know about?”
“Nah, except I’m overworked and my boss is an asshole.”
“Mary Jane!”
She didn’t look the least bit contrite. “Well, he is.”
Lindsay grinned. “Aren’t most men, at some time or other?”
The waitress appeared at the table, and once they had placed their orders and were alone again, Mary Jane shook her bobbed dark blond hair and said, “So tell me what’s going on.”
“You mean with Peter?” Lindsay asked innocently.
Mary Jane almost spat out the sip of water she had just drunk. “Now, why would I ask you about that prick? You know my opinion of him.”
Lindsay’s grin widened. “We’re awful. You know that, don’t you?”
“No, what we are is truthful.”
Lindsay merely shook her head.
“So has your idea gelled yet?” Mary Jane asked, switching the subject.
Lindsay kept a straight face. “Idea?”
“You know what I’m talking about—that certain thing you were going to tell me about. Your secret, if you will.” Mary Jane snapped her fingers. “Duh. Ring a bell?”
“Of course it does, silly. I was just giving you a hard time.”
Although Mary Jane grinned, there was a perplexed look on her face. “My, but you’re full of vinegar today. Whatever’s going on sure suits you. I haven’t seen you this relaxed in a long time.”
“I haven’t been this excited in a long time.”
Before Mary Jan
e could respond, the waitress brought their food, refilled their water glasses and shuffled to the next table.
“Let’s eat first,” Lindsay said. “Then we’ll talk.” She peered at her watch. “Hey, do you have time? It’s later than I thought.”
“No, I don’t have the time.” Mary Jane shrugged. “But screw ’em. I’m not going to be in any hurry. I’ve given that office overtime galore, none of which I’ve been paid for.”
“Atta girl.”
Mary Jane sighed. “What’s it really like to be a lady of leisure?”
“Hell.” Lindsay’s tone was flat.
Mary Jane’s grin fled, and her eyes lost their twinkle. “Oops, you took that personally, and it wasn’t meant that way. I was just teasing.”
Lindsay forced herself to lighten up. “I know that. You don’t have a malicious bone in your body.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, but not toward you, anyway.” Mary Jane paused. “Am I missing something here? I mean—”
“It’s me, M.J. I guess I’m beginning to see a side of me that I don’t like.”
“Why, that’s ridiculous. Good Lord, after what you’ve been through, I think you’ve accomplished a miracle just to get up every morning.”
“Some days I still think I have a long way to go.”
“Don’t you dare get down on yourself,” Mary Jane warned fiercely. “Why, just a minute ago you seemed on top of the world.”
Lindsay’s mouth turned down. “Well, that’s a bit of an overstatement, but I really do have something on the burner that I’m excited about.”
“So let’s hear it.”
Lindsay told her about her plan for battered women and their children.
When she finished, Mary Jane’s face was glowing. “I think that’s great.” Mary Jane paused again, her face losing its animation. “Uh, have you told your daddy?”
“Yep.”
“Not good, huh?”
Lindsay gave a sarcastic laugh. “You got it.”
“Now why am I not surprised?”
“I won’t bore you or humiliate myself by repeating his reasons for not backing me. But the bottom line is that he had a conniption.”
“I bet a more apt description is that he was frothing at the mouth.”
Lindsay grinned, in spite of the fact that her stomach was clenched in knots. “You’re right, he was.”
“So are you going to scrap it?”
Lindsay could hear the disappointment in Mary Jane’s tone, which strengthened her resolve not to let her friend down. But most of all, not to let herself down. “No, I’m not.”
“Praise the Lord!” Mary Jane exclaimed.
“Shush,” Lindsay whispered, looking around to see if anyone had heard M.J.
“Ah, you worry too much about what other people think. But you come by that honestly. That’s Cooper’s modus operandi.”
“And Tim’s.”
“Like father, like son. What can I say?”
“So will you help me?” Lindsay asked. “If this idea comes to fruition, I’m going to need lots of volunteers.” Her features sobered. “Actually, I’m going to need a lot of everything.”
“What do you mean, if?”
Lindsay’s eyes clouded. “You know how hard it is for me to buck Daddy.”
“Dammit, Lindsay, he’s dominated you long enough.”
“I know. But I’ve spent so many years pleasing him that it’s hard to stop now.”
“But now is the time to stop. This idea is great. When you talk about it, your face lights up, which is something I haven’t seen since you—” Mary Jane broke off, then added, “Never mind about that.”
“I know you’re right.” Lindsay took a deep breath. “It’s just that I wanted Daddy’s approval, as well as his help.”
“I’ll jump aboard, that’s for sure. What about Tim? Do you think he’d help?”
“Are you kidding? He’s got too many problems of his own to care about anyone else.”
Mary Jane’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything.
“For months I’ve had all these ideas dancing around in my head like sugarplums. Now I’m ready to put them on the computer and get officially organized.”
“Do you think Cooper’ll try and sabotage the project?”
Lindsay sipped on the cup of fresh coffee the waitress had just poured, all the while staring at Mary Jane over the rim, a pensive look on her face.
“He might.”
“Well, you can’t let him, you hear?”
“All he wants is for me to marry Peter, live in the big house and have babies.”
Mary Jane harrumphed. “God, what a miserable existence.”
“I agree.”
“If I had to wake up and see Peter’s head on the pillow next to mine, I’d puke.”
Lindsay grinned. “As always, you’re the best tonic I could ever hope to have.”
“You go, girl. Don’t let Daddy shift your gears. You take this project and run with it.”
“Just pray I don’t chicken out,” Lindsay said, Cooper’s scandalized face popping to the forefront of her mind.
“You won’t,” Mary Jane said with airy confidence. “I’m not going to let you.” She peered at her watch. “Oops! Gotta go or I’ll be pounding the pavement looking for a new job.” She grinned as she gave Lindsay a hug. “I’m counting on you to hang tough.”
Later that same afternoon, Lindsay was trying to do just that, only to find her self-confidence in jeopardy, especially after she came home and turned on the computer. To raise money, to round up volunteers—to co-ordinate a project of such magnitude—suddenly seemed overwhelming.
Nonetheless, she had no intention of throwing in the towel until she had at least tried. Her game plan was to officially start the ball rolling in the morning. First she would talk to two very influential people whom she not only considered friends but who had the financial means to help fund the project. Next on her agenda was to approach the local junior college, which she hoped would become part of the triad that included the women’s shelter and her proposed facility.
Her palms turned sweaty as her faltering self-confidence soared into full-blown panic. What if she couldn’t do it? What if she failed?
Simple. Daddy would win.
Everything inside Lindsay cringed at such a thought. She pushed her chair back from the computer screen and rubbed her eyes. It was at times like this, when she was tired and discouraged, that she tended to think about her mother—missing her, reflecting on what her life might have been had Emily Newman lived.
More than that, Lindsay wondered if her own troubled past would always overshadow and undermine her future. Was she emotionally able to tackle such a task? Would she crash and burn again?
Like mother, like daughter?
Suddenly her eyes drifted toward her mother’s cedar chest, positioned at the foot of her bed. Every so often she opened it and fingered Emily’s personal items. The only item she hadn’t touched was the stack of letters from her mother’s best friend, who was also deceased.
Someday she planned to read them, hoping to better understand the woman she had called Mother.
Feeling her dissatisfaction and restlessness reach a dangerous level, Lindsay jumped up, changed into her workout clothes and bounded downstairs.
“I’m going to run,” she told Dolly, who was in the kitchen making a peach cobbler.
Dolly sniffed. “When you finish, I expect you back for a bowl of cobbler and ice cream.”
“I just might do that.”
“Huh!” Dolly snorted. “You best stop telling stories, child. The Lord’s gonna get you for sure.”
Lindsay’s only response was to plant a kiss on Dolly’s chubby cheek.
“It’s still too hot for you to be out there.”
“Love you,” Lindsay called over her shoulder.
Dolly’s satisfied grunt followed her out the door, where she instantly froze. Dear Lord, not again. Mitch Rawlins, along with his crew,
was working the huge flower beds next to the porch.
When he saw her, his eyes locked on her, and for a long moment, blue met brown. Lindsay swallowed, but it was hard. The saliva inside her mouth seemed to have dried up, leaving it feeling like she’d been munching on cotton.
“Afternoon,” he said in his low, gravelly drawl. “We’re gonna have to stop meeting like this, you know.”
Lindsay stood transfixed, unable to take her eyes off his sweat-glistened chest. “Uh, right,” she finally managed to get out, mortified by her obvious confusion.
But he shouldn’t be so enticing, sweat and all. Every time she saw him, her body responded, becoming more pliant with a need that was threatening to careen out of control. On top of that, she felt torn by her mind’s resolve not to get involved at any cost.
“Going for another run?”
“It’s good for the old mind,” she said inanely.
He almost grinned. “Don’t you think it’s a bit hot?”
“You sound like Dolly.”
He frowned.
“Our housekeeper.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Their eyes met again for another long awkward moment in the ensuing silence. “Do you ever exercise?”
“All day, every day.”
She flushed. “I don’t mean that. I mean jog, like me.”
“Nope.”
“You ought to try it some time.”
She had no idea what made those idiotic words pop out of her mouth. But when she was around him, she seemed to become someone else, someone totally out of character.
“Is that an invitation?”
Her heart drummed in her ears while she licked her lower lip. She saw his gaze settle there and linger. “What if it is?” she finally said, her voice coming out on a husky note.
Suddenly his features changed, turning hard, almost brutal.
“Count me out. As you can see, I don’t have the time or inclination to entertain a bored rich girl who has nothing worthwhile to do.”
Lindsay sucked in her breath against his frontal attack and held it, her mind reeling. Just who did he think he was?
“You go to hell,” she said through clenched teeth, then swung her back to him and, as before, took off running.
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