by Juliet Burns
Snarling, he grabbed the remote and turned the volume up full blast.
She repressed the urge to seize the remote and chuck it into the pool. Or toss the vacuum at the TV screen.
Mark Malone wasn’t the only one who’d had hardships in life. Surviving the loss of her mother hadn’t been easy. But she certainly hadn’t thrown herself a big pity party.
But she wouldn’t lose her temper again. Come to think of it, now would be the perfect time to actually clean his room. She certainly wasn’t going to ask him about his past this morning! She left the vacuuming unfinished, gathered her cleaning supplies and headed down the hall.
First, she raised the heavy shades that blocked out the bright morning sun from both windows. What a shame to see such a beautiful pine bed so dry and dusty. A good polish with orange oil brought the wood to a glossy shine. She remade the bed and then began dusting the armoire. On top sat a Matchbox car and an old, tattered, wallet-size picture of a little boy, about eight years old. The boy didn’t look like Mark. A brother? A childhood friend? She didn’t know anything about his family. And John had acted extremely suspicious when she’d asked.
She caught a movement from the corner of her eye. Jumping back, her heart banged against her chest when she glanced up and found Mark standing in the doorway, glaring.
“What the hell are you doing with that?”
With a shaky breath, she dropped the picture back on the armoire and casually moved past him to the bed, smoothing the comforter over the clean sheets.
Flexing chest muscles and a flat stomach revealed by low-riding jeans distracted Audrey from his question. Hadn’t his shirt been buttoned before? It was hard to concentrate with his brown chest hair arrowing down to well-defined abs.
“Just dusting.”
He raised one brow in disbelief as he lifted a bottle of beer to his lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he took a long swallow. From her hands smoothing the comforter, his piercing gaze journeyed slowly to her chest, lingered a moment and continued to scorch over her hips and thighs.
Her facade of poise withered under his scrutiny. There was that look she thought she’d imagined last time. The flare of desire in his eyes made her feel like someone else, someone alluring and sexy.
It was awfully hot in here. Maybe she should have turned down the air conditioner. Changing sheets was hard work.
But that didn’t explain the sharp ache between her thighs.
Mark’s gaze shifted to the bed, then back to her. “Gonna help me get it all rumpled again?”
Audrey blinked. The romantic haze cleared from her eyes. She crossed her arms and looked pointedly out the bedroom door. “I thought you wanted to watch TV.”
He smacked his lips together and wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve. “Changed my mind.”
She rolled her eyes and grimaced, biting her tongue to keep her criticism to herself.
“What? Go ahead and say it, Miss High-and-Mighty. I can see you’re dying to give another lecture. You’re on your own personal crippled-cowboy crusade? I suppose you never drink?”
“Not at ten o’clock in the morning!”
His brows drew together and his scowl blackened. He advanced on her, taking another swig from his bottle, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve again. He closed in until she was nose to chest with him, caught between him and the bed. He was so close she could smell the beer on his breath.
Refusing to be chased away, she stood her ground.
He towered over her with a narrow-eyed glare. “You know, you should’ve been a missionary or something. I can see you now. Marching for prohibition with all the other Miss Priss, goody-two-shoes, dried-up, old spinsters!”
Audrey’s stomach heaved, as if someone had socked her. His words echoed in her mind—dried-up, old spinster. It was true. That’s exactly what she was. Refusing to cry, she forgot about holding her temper. “Well, at least I don’t sit around wallowing in self-pity all day!”
He leaned into her and nuzzled her neck. “You know, I kind of like you all riled up. Your eyes spit fire and your….” He stared blatantly at her chest. “I want you, darlin’.”
Oh, God. Her nipples peaked of their own accord, as if straining to rub against his chest. Tiny goose bumps rose as his lips nibbled the sensitive skin of her neck. Even with the smell of beer on his breath, she wanted his arms around her and his lips on hers.
No. This drunk was not the man she’d once thought he was. She pushed against his chest. “Move, and I’ll leave so you can drink yourself into a stupor in peace.”
He set the bottle on the bedside table and abruptly fell forward, pushing her down with him. Arms straight, he held himself above her, his hands spread flat on the bed. Audrey lay perfectly still, trapped between his strong, flannel-clad arms. His lips parted and hovered just above hers.
“Peace is a pipe dream, baby. I’ll take passion any day.”
Eyes wide, she reined in the urge to grab a hunk of his hair and pull his mouth down to hers. Despite the long hair and heavy stubble, she kept seeing the handsome, smiling hero from that long-ago night at the rodeo.
“Beautiful green eyes,” he mumbled. “Give me a kiss, baby.” Feverishly, his lips covered hers, moving over her mouth, begging for a response.
No need to beg. Audrey ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him back with all that was in her.
He slowly lowered his body, settling onto her chest with a low groan. His tongue slid in, stroking her lips and tongue.
She shivered and couldn’t hide a little moan of pleasure as his lips traveled down her cheek to nuzzle her neck. The evidence of his desire pushed against her thigh, long and hard. He pushed it against her again, and she realized his hand was sliding under her shirt.
She must be insane! A minute ago, he’d called her an old spinster. He only wanted her because he was drunk. She recovered her wits and pushed on his shoulders. “No!”
He rolled away and sat up. “What’s the matter?”
Audrey bolted off the bed and flew to the other side of the room, breathing hard. She didn’t know which feeling was stronger—humiliation or regret. “You don’t even know me.”
Grabbing his beer, he took another swig and ran a hand through his hair. “Hell, what’s knowin’ someone got to do with it? The women who wanted the Lone Cowboy didn’t know me.” He thumped his chest and snarled his famous moniker as if he were speaking of someone else.
Crossing her arms, she dropped her jaw in disbelief. “That doesn’t mean— Oh!” Did he think because she was a fat spinster, she wouldn’t say no?
Mark frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “I get it. The cripple ain’t good enough.”
Is that what he thought? As if that would make a difference if she loved— Don’t go there, girl. “Your injury has nothing to do with—”
“Save it, lady. I know how women are.”
Audrey fumed, wishing she could scream. Why bother arguing with him? “Think what you want. Do what you want. But leave me alone. And I’ll leave you alone, okay?” She spun on her heel, snatched up her cleaning supplies and left the room.
Mark cursed, and pitched his empty bottle on the floor. Now his room was quiet. But he could hear the vacuum whirring out in the den.
Yeah. Alone. That’s what he wanted. Wasn’t it? No one judging him? Or expecting more? Then why did his chest ache when she left? Why had he wanted to reach out and apologize and promise her anything if she’d stay? What the hell was wrong with him?
He straightened his spine. Nothing another beer wouldn’t cure.
Audrey spent the rest of the day grumbling under her breath as she cleaned. She couldn’t stop thinking about how much Mark Malone had changed. Some hero. Maybe the Double M stood for “Mad Malone.” She pictured the headline, with her name underneath.
Madman Malone Massacres Meddling Magazine Journalist. She giggled, delving deep for more alliterative headlines.
Lone Cowboy Loser at Life.
Or how about
: Callous Cowboy Casts Off Comfort— Comfort? Since when did she want to comfort him?
Audrey sighed. Since she’d seen the pain in his eyes.
Ugh! There was a full spittoon under the card table. How disgusting. What the heck was she supposed to do with that? And the carpet? She didn’t want to think about it. She made a mental note to rent a carpet cleaner in Quitman, the closest town to the Double M.
Cleaning this mess was her job, but did they have to spit and smoke and drink in here? Couldn’t they go out to the bunkhouse? She was tempted to discuss it with John. They wanted to sell the place, didn’t they?
But maybe she’d better let it go for now. In just three days, she’d kicked her employer in his bad leg, threatened him with a knife and lectured him about his drinking.
She heaved a frustrated sigh. Besides, she’d be gone in less than a couple of weeks. She could stand anything for that long. Even rude, ex-rodeo stars.
As she snatched empty beer bottles off the floor, she glanced across the foyer to the formal living room, bare except for a wet bar with a half-full wine rack and a pile of trophies and gold belt buckles scattered across the floor. His championship buckles.
Now that her temper was spent, the memory of Mark’s kiss caused a pang of desire. He’d actually kissed her! And called her beautiful. The beer must have blurred his vision. There was no mistaking his aroused state though. He’d admitted that knowing someone had nothing to do with wanting someone. And it must not.
Because she’d wanted him, too.
He was her employer. But the thought of suing for sexual harassment never entered her head. Then again, he hadn’t fired her for pouring his beer down the sink, either.
She cringed thinking about that. And how she’d talked to him. Maybe she’d taken her new “assertive” attitude too far. If he fired her now, she’d never know the whole story. But she just couldn’t stay in this house and watch him drink himself to death.
He’d obviously let the injury ruin his life. She should have mentioned professional help. She knew it was none of her business, but someone had to care enough to—Care?
What are you doing, girl, planning his rehabilitation? Where’s your precious objectivity? You’re a journalist, not a social worker. Get over it!
Unfortunately, that was easier said than done, and hero or not, Mark Malone was more than just a story to her. He always had been and always would be. And this whole business had the potential to ruin her new career.
Four
The next afternoon, as Audrey headed to the bunkhouse carrying neatly folded stacks of laundry, she heard hooting and laughter coming from the barn. Curley, usually at her heels, barked and rushed inside.
Audrey couldn’t resist changing course to check out the commotion. Maybe in this more relaxed atmosphere they’d let something slip about Mark. She had to get to the bottom of this mystery. There must be more to this story than his injury. What could have made him change so much? Had all his endorsement opportunities dried up after the accident?
She followed the sounds back to the far corner of the barn. Dalt twisted and turned on the bucking mechanical bull, while Jim operated the lever.
After a couple of seconds, Dalt flew off and landed on his backside. When he saw Audrey watching, he jumped up, gingerly rubbing his behind. He sauntered over to her with his most charming grin. “Hey, Audrey. You wanna give it a try? I’ll make sure we take it real slow.” Dalt raised his brows, then actually winked—at her! Was he playing a cruel joke?
Someone taunted, “Come on, Pete, show your sack!” Pete leered at her, blew her a kiss and then climbed on the barrel.
“They were just tellin’ him to, uh, to have some, uh, you know, courage,” Dalt explained.
“My dad’s a rodeo man, Dalt. I’m familiar with the expression.”
“So, you gonna be next?” He slipped an arm around her waist, pulled her close and whispered in her ear, “I’ll help you hold on, if you want.”
“Oh, no. I—” A small voice buzzed through her brain, tempting her. Why not? it whispered. You wanted to experience more of life, didn’t you?
“Okay.” She plunked the laundry into Dalt’s unsuspecting arms. “I’ll need a step stool, though.”
A huge grin spread over Dalt’s face. “Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you want. Come on in here and we’ll get you all fixed up.”
Pete jumped off, and before she had time to reconsider her foolishness, she climbed on, coaxed by Dalt in his soothing southern drawl. The barrel began to rock in gentle, rhythmic motions. Audrey clenched her fists tightly around the rope. Her legs hugged the barrel so hard she could feel her thigh muscles straining.
After a few seconds, with Dalt and the other guys cheering her on, the rocking motion sped up. She concentrated on not falling off, matching her body’s wits against the “bull.” A powerful energy surged through her. Her heart pumped faster. This must be what Mark felt when he rode. Excited. Challenged. Unconquerable. She stuck her right arm in the air and laughed.
“Don’t you have dinner to cook?” a deep voice barked.
The shouting and hooting silenced. The barrel stilled. Audrey caught her breath and jerked around to find Mark scowling at her. Her face heated as blood pounded in her temples. She knew her thighs must look even fatter, spread around the barrel. Shame and embarrassment washed over her. Why did he affect her this way?
Dalt stepped over to Mark. “I was keeping her from getting back. It’s my fault.”
Mark glared at her, ignoring Dalt. His breathing was ragged and his blue eyes flashed with heat.
Audrey wriggled off the barrel, conscious of his gaze following her every move. Her awkward dismount couldn’t be helped, but she was determined not to be intimidated.
She strode up to him and smelled the beer on his breath. He had some nerve acting as if she was shirking her duties! “Dinner, Mr. Malone, is warming in the oven. I was just about to call everyone in to eat. But you smell like you already drank yours!” She picked up the laundry Dalt had deposited on a hay bale and stalked off toward the house.
All the men except Dalt hurried for the bunkhouse, leaving Mark to stare after her retreating figure.
And what a figure it was. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to wring her neck or throw her on the ground, strip her naked and take her right there in the yard. She wouldn’t give him the time of day, yet here she was, flirting with every cowhand in sight.
“You’re making a big mistake, Malone.”
Mark glanced at Dalt. “What the hell do you know about it?”
Dalt put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “When you want a woman, you sweet-talk her, you don’t growl at her.”
Mark narrowed his eyes, warning him with a look.
Dalt shrugged and walked away.
Was Audrey sleeping with Dalt? He’d only been here a few weeks, but according to the guys at the poker table, his exploits with women were legendary. Why would Audrey be immune?
Except, all week he’d watched her smile and hum while she cleaned. He’d seen her sneak leftovers to Curley, and even hug John. Stupid to feel a spark of envy toward John. She’d seemed so innocent. She’d transformed the house from a dark, gloomy wreck to a warm, glowing haven. As if all was right with the world.
He wanted that feeling. He wanted her to smile at him as she had that morning in the kitchen.
He wanted her.
“Are you sure you won’t come with us?” Ruth asked Audrey one more time. It was Friday night, and all the hands were going into Quitman for dancing.
“I’m sure. I don’t know how you do it. I’m exhausted. Besides, I’ve got a good book I want to finish.” Audrey loved to dance, but it’d been a long time since she’d been to a club. And in the past, she always ended up standing around watching everyone else dance.
Ruth hesitated, leaning against the door frame with her arms folded. “A bit of advice, girl to girl.” She turned and waved at Dalt to go on, then looked back at Audrey. “Stay away
from—”
“You know, I was just kidding about saving myself for Mark,” Audrey cut her off.
A crease appeared between Ruth’s brows.
Audrey cringed. She’d just made a monumental idiot of herself.
Pushing off the door frame, Ruth finger-combed her bangs back and put on her tan cowboy hat. “I was talking about Pete. He’s slime. Don’t let him get you alone.”
Audrey’s skin chilled. “Why do you say that? Did he hurt you?”
“Hah!” Ruth laughed. “Don’t worry about me. Pete won’t bother me anymore. Just wanted to warn you while we had a minute alone. Be careful.”
With a sick stomach, Audrey nodded and waved her off. Was Pete really dangerous? She went to the kitchen and opened a window, breathing deeply to calm her shaken nerves. A cool breeze carried the sweet smell of grass, pine and wildflowers. The fresh air soothed her.
She turned on the radio while she washed the dinner dishes. As she dried the last pot, one of her favorite songs came on. The words always made her a little misty-eyed, but it had a perfect two-step beat. She cranked up the volume and danced around the kitchen.
How her heart ached to have a man who loved her so much he’d do anything just to see her smile. The way her sister, Claire, had with her husband, Danny. Someone to dance with and hold at night. They’d have a few babies and grow old together.
She remembered the beautiful smile Mark had flashed that long-ago night at Cowtown Coliseum. He never smiled now. It was as if that smile had vanished with his rodeo career. What would it take to make him smile again?
Mark heard the music and found himself drawn to the kitchen. He thought Audrey had gone dancing with everyone else. But here she was, dancing around the kitchen, adorable in her jeans and bare feet. Her blond ponytail swayed back and forth, and her arms were held out, embracing a phantom partner.
Damn his useless leg! He couldn’t even take her in his arms and whirl her around the floor. Why hadn’t she gone with everyone else tonight? Even as he thought the question, he stepped closer to her.