by Leanne Banks
The woman stood and turned to face him. She walked toward him with lethal determination in her blue eyes.
Was that mascara? he wondered. He stared at her mouth, which was painted what had to be bad-girl red. Michael couldn't speak for a full moment, so he was damn glad it took her that long to arrive in front of him.
“I don't want to hear any stupid remarks from you,” Katie said.
“I think you need to define what you mean as stupid,” he said, tearing his eyes away from her legs.
“Anything,” she retorted. “Anything about my appearance. I don't want to hear how trashy these shoes are, that the mascara makes me look like a slut, and that the skirt is too short and the shirt is too tight. I don't want to hear it.”
“Okay,” he said with a shrug. “I have a question.”
“What?” she returned in a short voice.
“Why the makeover?”
She sighed, then looked back at him. “Because we've been here four days and we're not getting anywhere. Nobody trusts you because you sound and act like you're from Philadelphia. One of us had to do something.”
He shook his head and stifled the urge to whistle. “Well, I'll tell you, Katie, if one of us had to get a makeover, then it's probably best that it was you, because I don't think I would look one-tenth as good in that skirt as you do.”
“Girls, there's no such thing as having too many men on second string…just in case your star hitter starts practicing on another field.”
—SUNNY COLLINS'S WISDOM
Chapter 11
One woman, seventeen men.
Michael nursed his beer in amazement.
In the three bars they'd visited, Katie had danced with seventeen different men. Not that Michael was really counting. He'd just happened to notice.
He had to concede that her new look had loosened tongues. Bartenders talked to her more. The rest of the men's tongues were hanging out of their mouths as they studied various parts of her anatomy. She two-stepped like she'd been born to it, and he wondered how bad her feet were hurting in those sexy, but most likely uncomfortable shoes.
The twangy country tune ended, and she smiled and squeezed her partner's shoulder, then exited the dance floor. “I need a beer,” she said and strutted past him.
No winces, he noticed and was impressed. She walked in those high heels like she'd been doing it since she reached puberty, and he knew damn well she hadn't been, at least during the last month. He narrowed his eyes. More surprises. The woman was full of them.
Michael watched her smile at the bartender and pull out a photo of Wilhemina. When the bartender pulled his eyeballs out of her shirt, he studied the photo and nodded.
Michael did a double-take. He'd shown the same bartender a photo of Wilhemina and the guy had blown him off. The bartender chatted a few more moments, occasionally stealing glances at Katie's breasts, then he poured a beer for her.
Michael waited until the bartender had moved onto another customer, then approached Katie. “You got a lead,” he said.
She took a long sip of beer. “Uh-huh.”
“Amazing what breasts can do,” Michael muttered.
She shot him a dark look, then closed her eyes and took another sip. “Headlights.”
“Headlights?”
“Yes, sir, headlights,” she said, opening her eyes and meeting his gaze. “My mother always said stand up straight and stick out your headlights.”
He couldn't swallow a chuckle. “She sounds like she was a character. Where'd you learn to dance?”
“From her. As soon as I could walk, she was teaching me to two-step.”
“It shows,” he murmured. “I suppose she also instructed you in the art of walking in heels and applying makeup.”
Katie nodded. “Yes, indeedy. My mother believed a woman should use all God-given and retail-enhanced resources to survive. She made sure all of us knew how to dance, walk in heels, and apply makeup. It just would have been nice if she'd also taught us how to balance a checkbook. Who knows,” she said, skimming her finger down the sweaty beer glass, “if she'd known how to balance a checkbook, then maybe she wouldn't have had to rely on her other charms.” She lifted the glass to her tempting mouth, then met his gaze. “Enough about me. You and I need to have a little chat with a man named Chad. Al told me Chad danced the night away with Wilhemina a few nights ago. He also told me that Chad is greatly attracted to wealthy lonely women.”
“Is he here?”
She nodded toward the dance floor. “Working the crowd. Blond, slick guy in the middle of things wearing a black shirt and a rodeo belt I suspect he bought at Wal-Mart.” She tilted her head. “Oops. Song's over. That's my cue,” she said, and turned away from the bar.
Michael snagged her hand. “Your cue to do what?”
She gave him a wry smile and batted her eyelashes. “To work my wiles.”
His lips twitched at her facial expression, but as soon as she turned and Michael was treated with the crotch-tightening view of her backside and the sinuous motion of her walk, he felt his temperature rise. He heard a low wolf whistle behind him and felt a quick surge of protectiveness, which confused the hell out of him. The men thought Katie was hot, but he knew she wasn't. Sure she looked hot, but Michael knew she had put a ban on sex. He understood it because although he hadn't banned sex during the last couple of years, it had not been a high priority. He hadn't met anyone who got under his skin and that was fine with him.
He watched Katie smile at the good-looking man. Chad stood straighter and puffed out his chest. She led the man to one of the few available tables on the other side of the dance floor, then glanced up at Michael. She didn't say a word but he knew by her expression that she wanted him in on the discussion. Striding toward the table, he saw her pull out a photograph of Wilhemina.
Chad glanced at it and scowled.
Michael sat across from the two of them. Chad eyed him suspiciously. “Let me get your beer,” Michael offered, taking the sympathetic, commiserating approach. “I understand you met Wilhemina a few nights ago. I hope she didn't give yon any trouble. She can be sweet, but she's not quite—’’
“Right,’’ Chad said with a big nod. “The woman is not quite right. You know I thought that woman had a mental problem. That's the reason you're looking for her, isn't it?”
Katie stared at the man in amazement. Michael gave a wry grin. “You catch on fast, don't you?” He glanced at Katie. “Sharp guy, huh?”
“Amazing,” she said, but Michael knew she meant amazing in a totally different way.
“Katie feels responsible for Wilhemina because they're sisters,” Michael began, spinning the flip side of the story Katie had told the car rental agent.
“Sisters,” Chad echoed in disbelief, his gaze falling over Katie in unabashed appreciation. “You two don't look a thing alike.”
“Different mothers,” Katie said with a smile. “But enough about me. Do you remember if Wilhemina told you about her plans?”
Chad took several long draws from his beer and shrugged. “She mentioned something about wanting to see cowboys, Bandera, maybe go to San Antonio. I made several suggestions when I offered to be her personal driver and escort, but she—”
Katie blinked. “Personal escort?”
“Well, yeah. I've been told I'm nice to have around for a lot of purposes,” he said with a wink. “If you know what I mean.”
“Really?” Katie said.
“Yeah. I knew something was wrong with Wilhemina when I told her she could have had me cheap and she turned me down.”
Michael cleared his throat to cover his chuckle. “I'm surprised she turned down your proposition. Do you know where she was staying?”
“Marriott on King Street. It's just out of the city limits,” Chad said and glanced at Katie, or more precisely Katie's cleavage. “I'd be willing to waive my fee for you.”
Katie sucked in an audible breath and threw Michael a wide-eyed glance. “I don't know what to say. I'm so flattered, but I
'm—”
“With me,” Michael instinctively said, surprising himself as he spoke the words. “She's with me.”
Chad narrowed his eyes skeptically. “Then how come I seen her dancing with a bunch of different guys all night?”
“He can't dance,” Katie said. “And he didn't want me to sit and be bored all night.”
“She can dance with other guys, but she'll be in my bed tonight,” Michael said.
“Hmm,” Chad said, then glanced at Michael. “Well, I'll give you a little advice. With a woman that looks like she does, you better learn to two-step or some other man is going to dance away with her. And I'd be first in line.” Chad stood and tipped his hat to Katie. “Evening, ma'am. Pleasure to meet ya.”
He left and she scowled. “What a slimeball. If Wilhemina turned him down, my hope in her is restored.”
“But this guy was obvious.”
“Probably not in the beginning, not to Wilhemina,” Katie said and met Michael's gaze. “Thanks for your help.”
“What help?”
“When Chad made his generous of waiving his fee.”
“I didn't say anything that wasn't true. You're with me and you'll be in my bed tonight,” he said and felt a strange coil of tension in his gut.
Her gaze still fastened to his, she bit her lower lip. “But not the way Chad thinks.”
“Right,” Michael said, standing and pulling her to her feet. He couldn't resist the urge to tease her. “I wouldn't even make you pay for it.”
She gaped at him.
“Gotcha. Let's get out of here. If we're lucky we can find someone at the Marriott who had a chat with Wilhemina.”
As they wove through the crowded bar; Michael would have had to have been deaf and blind not to notice the leering gazes and suggestive comments men made as Katie passed by. With each step, she seemed to draw into herself. Her face grew taut with vulnerability.
A man with whiskey on his breath bumped between them and put his arm around her shoulder. “Hi, Sugar,” he said in a slurred voice. “I been watching you all night and I gotta tell you I'd really like to bury my bone in your backyard.”
Katie recoiled. Rage swept through Michael and of its own volition, Michael's arm flexed and he punched the man in his face so hard he fell to the floor.
Katie stared at Michael in shock. Michael stared at his bloodied knuckles in shock. He couldn't remember the last time he'd hit another human being. Hearing murmurs of surprise from the crowd, he shook his head and grabbed her elbow. “Let's get out of here,” he said and dragged her out the door to the rental car.
The night air was cooler, but he was still hot with anger and a bunch of other emotions he didn't understand.
“I must really look trashy to inspire that kind of remark,’’ she muttered as she climbed into the car.
Michael slid into his seat, started the engine, and peeled out of the parking lot. “No. You just look hot. You need to consider the source. The guy was drunk. It's pathetic, but that was probably his attempt at flattery.”
She rolled her head back against the headrest. “I want my ugly clothes back. I want my too-tight bun and orthopedic shoes,” she said, knowing her new look was a matter of using feminine resources she'd ignored. Her appearance had helped loosen tongues and given her and Michael a sorely needed lead. She had to concede that her mother's instruction had served her well. Okay, she silently whispered to her mother, thanks. I couldn't have done it without you. Something inside her eased.
“Well, I have to agree that your before look was a lot easier on my knuckles.”
She sat up then and looked at him, full of mixed feelings: She couldn't quite believe he had punched that man who had insulted her. The knowledge did strange things to her heart.
“What?” he asked, stopping at a traffic light.
Her gaze fell to his hand, then traveled back to his face. “How bad does it hurt?”
“The guy had a hard head, but I'll survive.” The light changed and he accelerated.
A couple blocks later, Katie waved her hand at a fastfood joint. “Could you please pull in there?”
He glanced at her in confusion. “Why? Are you hungry or—”
Her mouth tightened with impatience. “Just please pull in the drive-thru. It won't take but a minute.”
Shrugging, he pulled in. When the clerk's voice came over the speaker at the drive-thru, he turned to her.
“A large cup of ice please,’’ she said, digging in her purse for change. “They charge for cups.”
“You don't have to pay for—”
“Just drive through and give him the money,” she said, pressing the coins into his palm.
Michael collected the ice and handed Katie the cup. She pulled off the plastic lid, then positioned the cup on the center console between the seats. “Here, put your fingers in the ice.”
He stared at the cup, then looked at her in surprise. The gesture had been…nice. He'd seen glimmers of compassion, but she'd never extended herself to him. He felt an odd sensation in his gut, not unlike indigestion.
“Hello? Didn't you hear me?” Glowering at him, she tugged at his hand and plunged his fingers into the ice. “It'll keep the swelling down.”
“Thanks,” he said.
She nodded and finally looked at him. “Thank you.”
Her clear, honest gratitude kicked through him like adrenaline. He suspected she didn't give it easily. She wouldn't put herself in a position to need anything. Damn odd combination in a woman. Mouth like a siren, eyes like a child.
A car horn beeped behind them, signaling him to move forward. Damn odd combination in a woman, he thought again as he drove out of the fast-food parking lot.
Wilhemina Smith was one weird lady, Douglas thought as he returned to the house from the barn. He was still shaking his head over her. I refuse to pay you for sex. No one had ever said anything more insane to him in his life. And he couldn't imagine why Wilhemina would say such a thing. Sure, she wasn't the prettiest woman he'd seen, but she had nice-eyes and a shy but ready smile. Doug had never gone for bony women. Wilhemina would probably slap him into next week, but he wouldn't be a man if he hadn't noticed she had a helluva rack.
He opened the front door and she peeked around the corner from the kitchen. “I-uh-fixed a sandwich for you for lunch,” she said. “I don't know much about cooking, but I can put together a sandwich.”
“You didn't have to do that.”
“I know, but you've been very kind to me,” she said, sliding the diamond pendant on her necklace from side to side in a nervous motion that unknowingly drew his attention to her ample cleavage.
Her little display of nerves was both sexy and sweet to Doug. He suspected she had more money than she could spend, but she didn't put on airs.
“What'd you fix?” he asked.
Her lips twitched. “I noticed you didn't have ham, so I fixed deli turkey. What do you want to drink?”
“A beer sounds good,” he said and watched her slight limp as she headed for the refrigerator. “I can get that.” He easily caught up with her and grabbed the door. “Looks like your foot's still bothering you. I should probably take you to a doctor.”
She shook her head forcefully. “Oh, no. I'll be better in no time. It's just a little sore.”
“If you're sure.” Doug grabbed two beers from the fridge. “You fixed yourself a sandwich too, didn't you?”
She nodded. “I was hungry,” she confessed.
“No need to apologize. I don't want you to starve while you're here.”
“I don't think there's any danger of that,” she muttered more to herself than to him.
He sat down at the table and motioned her to sit across from him. “What do you mean by that?”
Her cheeks turned pink. I'm not exactly tiny.”
“From where I sit, you've got a damn good body.”
She gaped at him in surprise. “Excuse me. A damn good body?”
“Yeah. No disrespect in
tended,” he quickly said, remembering her odd comment about paying him for sex.
She shook her head, still wearing a surprised expression. “None taken,” she said. “Did you really mean that?”
“Yeah. Why?”
She bit her lip, clearly self-conscious. “Well, I'm just not tiny.”
“Not all men like their women tiny.”
Her gaze locked with his for a long moment, and he felt a sizzle that reminded him of a branding iron. Her eyes darkened with a hint of sensual mystery, and her gaze wandered over his shoulders. “That's good to know.”
He watched her take a sip of beer and make a slight grimace. “You don't like beer much, do you? You look like you might be more the champagne type.”
“Or tea,” she said. “But it's too hot for hot tea. I'll tell you what I really like,” she said, leaning toward him with a confiding tone.
His gaze dipped to her breasts. Hell, he was a man and it had been a while. He forced his gaze back to her eyes.
“I really like margaritas.”
There was something primed and ready to go about Wilhemina Smith. He got a niggling feeling that she could be trouble, but Doug hadn't dabbled with that kind of trouble in a long time. He wouldn't take advantage of her, but there was nothing wrong with having a little fun. She was clearly of age. “'You're not married, are you?”
Her eyes rounded. “Oh, no.”
“Me neither. I got some tequila.”
Her eyes lit up. “You do?”
“Yeah. It's a little early for margaritas, though. Maybe tonight?”
“That would be nice,” she said with a shy smile. “How long do you think it will take the mechanic to fix my car?”
“Probably at least another day or two, but your foot can heal in the meantime.” He lifted his beer to take a long swallow while he studied Wilhemina. There was something innocent and vulnerable about her that tugged at his conscience. He'd been taught to protect innocence. He shouldn't take advantage of her, he thought and decided that he wouldn't.
Unless she convinced him she wasn't so innocent after all.
Katie wouldn't approve.
Neither would her father.
Wilhemina ducked her head and wallowed in guilt for a moment. Her chest felt tight and heavy, her stomach twisted. She could hear her father rail against her, accusing her of a lack of gratitude. Was she insane to do such a thing? Wilhemina felt like a wicked, terrible, undeserving person. For two moments.