The scent of cornbread tickled his nose. Pleasure coursed through him. She cooks. Add another plus for the lady in the knockout jeans. A quick vision of her jean-clad rear end rose sharp in his mind’s eye. Low, hip-hugging jeans that hugged her curves, caressed her every movement took center stage in his brain. From what he’d seen, it’s all she seemed to wear. But Delaney would receive no complaints from him. He liked her in jeans. He’d like her out of them, too.
A ripple moved through his groin and he chastised himself. This would not do. Lusting after her while on guard would only distract him. His intention was to protect her tonight, not seduce her. Desire coiled around his thoughts. Hopefully there would be a time for that little feat later.
Pleasantly full, Delaney rinsed the last dish and poured herself a half glass of wine. The cornbread and leftover fried chicken had definitely hit the spot. Tilting the bottle away from her, she read the label. She had no idea if it was a good year or not, no idea if it was from a good vintage. She relied on Ashley for that. That woman was the closest thing to a connoisseur Delaney had when it came to wine selection, claiming she drank for her heart, to keep the “pipes” clean. Delaney suspected Ashley enjoyed her wine more than for health reasons, but it wasn’t her place to judge.
A loud rap sounded at her door. Panic ripped through her heart. Jerking the wine bottle upright, Delaney snatched her gun. But sizing up the figure through the door glass, she blew out her breath. Large man was fat. Clem and second guy were scrawny. The white shirt cinched it. Pulse pounding, she slid the gun beneath the towel, calming her breath. It was only Nick.
Briefly checking her attire for appropriateness, she decided the loose, heavy weave T-shirt and long cotton pants weren’t overly revealing. She was presentable. Her pulse scattered through her veins, as she wondered what he wanted. Had he seen something? She opened the door quickly. “What’s up?” She looked past him, but it was pitch black. She wouldn’t be able to see a man if was standing ten feet off the porch. She gazed up at him. “Is someone here?”
Nick smiled, openly giving her the once over. “No.” He peered over her head and said, “I smelled cornbread.”
Delaney pulled back, her surprise complete. “Cornbread?”
He gave a sheepish nod. “Didn’t realize how hungry I was until the air filled with the sweet scent of home cooking. My nose doesn’t deceive me, does it? You are baking cornbread, right?”
Cornbread? The man had scared the be-jeepers out of her for cornbread?
“Well, yeah...” she said. “About an hour ago.”
He waggled his thick brow. “Any left?”
Delaney laughed at the easy sparkle dancing in his black eyes.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, feigning offense.
Allowing the humor to loosen the knot in her chest, she shook her head. “My bodyguard is hungry.” She looked up at him and saw that he, too, thought it a bit silly. Sharing the absurdity of the moment, she added, “My first Sir Galahad and what do I get?” She rolled her eyes. “I have to feed him.”
“If you recall”—he cocked his head toward her, with a slight lift to his brow—“this wasn’t a planned assignment.”
“And then he blames me for his penchant for damsels in distress. Go figure!”
Amused by her remark, Nick flashed a dimpled smile. Still dressed as she had left him, it appeared he hadn’t left since their escapade, and deciding there was no harm, she allowed him in. Felicity wasn’t home, and besides, she owed him one. The man with the gun could be outside. Delaney stepped aside and swept a hand for him to enter. “Might as well come in.”
Nick strolled in, arced a glance around the interior, and she wondered what he thought of the humble abode she called home. Exposed beams, rough-hewn log siding, wide plank floors and only the barest of necessities in furniture, it was all she and Felicity needed. The only thing she had updated since moving in was the floor. Unable to tolerate the natural surface of the wood beneath her feet, Delaney had sanded and refinished them herself. Barefoot living was a must in her world.
“Nice little place you have here.” He nodded in approval. “It’s rustic.”
Delaney closed and locked the door behind him. “Rustic is a kind word, wouldn’t you say?”
“It’s nice, really.”
“Thanks.” Delaney walked around him and into the kitchen where she adjusted the dishtowel so it fully concealed her pistol. She didn’t need Nick all worked up over the fact she intended to take care of things herself tonight. He’d probably dole out some sort of lecture about how it wasn’t safe for a woman to handle a weapon.
As if on cue, he asked, “Are you scared?”
Delaney peeled back the foil and plucked one of the mini loaves from the white plate. Conscious of his gaze on her, she set the bread on a napkin. She certainly didn’t want to feel scared. “Not really,” she replied, and reached for the butter knife.
Storm clouds gathered in his eyes, making them appear both dark and menacing, sending a shiver up her spine. “You need to take that man seriously, you know.”
The bread and paper grew moist within her palm. She swiped a hunk of butter from the dish, slathered it over the top of the loaf and handed it over to him. “I get it. A lot of whackos running around...”
“Dangerous whackos,” he said, and took the bread from her. “Thanks for this.”
“You’re welcome.”
“That’s quite a bit of butter you serve up.”
“Can’t eat cornbread without butter,” she informed him. “Not in these parts, anyway.”
He smiled. “Fine with me. I’m only surprised someone in your fine shape can eat the stuff.”
“Hiking.”
“Works well,” he said, a brazen glance to her lower body. “Where’s Felicity?”
“She’s staying at a friend’s house tonight.”
“Good. She doesn’t need to be exposed to this.”
Her sentiments exactly.
Nick inhaled half the loaf and groaned aloud.
Satisfaction swelled in her breast. It was her own recipe. Using the cornmeal Ashley ground for her from her garden corn, she made the bread once or twice a week.
“This is really good,” he said and plopped the remainder into his mouth.
As he chewed, Delaney took pride in watching him enjoy her food. It gave her a sense of purpose, reward. Felicity raved about her cooking, but it was nice to hear it from a stranger. Her heart skipped a beat. And Nick Harris was a stranger—in her house—eating her food.
“It’s incredibly moist. Sweet, too.”
“It’s my secret. I add pudding to the mix.”
“Pudding?”
She nodded, though if her mother ever saw her put pudding into the cornbread mix, she would not have approved. Susannah Ladd Wilkins did not believe in tinkering with tradition.
“Can I have another?” he asked.
“Sure.” Delaney reached for a separate napkin and fumbled a bit as she placed the golden loaf in the center. “They’re better fresh from the oven,” she said. Smearing another heap of butter over top, she thrust it toward him.
Accepting it, he winked. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that one day.”
Was he flirting with her? Delaney felt a warm flush, probably from the wine in her system. She glanced over the counter. Where was her glass?
“That wine looks good, too.” He hitched his chin toward the counter behind her. “But that will have to wait for another day. No drinking on duty.”
Delaney swallowed back her embarrassment. What did he think of her drinking alone? She collected her glass from the counter, a slight tremble to her grip. “I’m not a drinker.”
“No?”
The could-have-fooled-me look rubbed her the wrong way. “I mean, I rarely drink. Only when Felicity’s not home.”
Nick raised a brow in question.
“Her father was an alcoholic,” Delaney stated bluntly.
The revelation knocked the humor f
rom his face. “Was?”
“Is,” she corrected, growing flustered with the personal nature of the conversation. “I like to keep it away from her. The alcohol.”
Nick nodded that he understood, but Delaney wondered if he could. Did he have experience with an alcoholic? Did he know what it was like to suffer the alcohol-induced outbursts? The scathing tongue? She shoved the memories from her mind and took a swallow of wine. Jack was a thing of the past and Delaney would allow him no power in her life.
When Nick finished the second loaf, awkwardness settled between them. She could feel him looking at her, curiosity swimming in the depths of his dark eyes. Was he thinking about the men, or was his mind delving into a more intimate realm? The realm of man and woman, attraction, desire...
Delaney hadn’t played that game in a very long time, but she could recognize the signs. Men around town made advances, sniffed around like hound dogs for cues she was willing to engage with them. A few had been interesting, but none memorable, none worthy of her time. She was committed to Felicity. Whatever her daughter needed, she would have. They were a team, a unit. They were a family. Delaney regretted that her marriage hadn’t work out, because it meant Felicity had to grow up without a father, without a man in the house to demonstrate what real male love looked like, how it treated a woman. How it respected a woman.
Morton Parker had filled in like the ace father he was, his boys stellar examples of how young men should behave. In fact, Delaney trusted Felicity with Travis and Troy without question. She only wished Felicity had her own father, all to herself. A man to guide her, to love her. But Jack wasn’t that man.
Nick crumpled the napkin in hand. “Guess I’d better be heading out.”
“You’re leaving?” she asked, and blushed at the self-assured pleasure moving into his expression. She plunked the wine down. “I mean, it’s okay if you want to, I’m fine on my own.” Delaney fortified her diaphragm and added solidly, “I can handle things on my own, is what I meant to say.”
“I’m sure you can,” he replied, the sardonic gleam returning to his eyes. He scratched the back of his head and made a half-grimace. “But how about I hang around as backup?”
“Whatever,” she replied casually, replacing the foil over the bread plate. She didn’t’ want him to think she wanted him here. On second thought, she paused. “Would you like the last piece to go?”
A sweeping smile overtook his features, landing square in his dimples. “I’d rather come back for it later.”
Delaney hastily sealed the foil back in place, tamping back a quick flight of nerves. A quiet noise hit the rear of her cabin. Her heart stopped. Nick whipped his head toward her bedroom, pressed a finger to his lips. His gaze became a heat-seeking missile, scanning the back wall. Her heart thudded like a locomotive. Was someone trying to get in?
Chapter Thirteen
As he pulled his gun from his waistband, Nick was surprised to see Delaney pull one out from beneath a plaid kitchen towel. Maybe she was more frightened than she let on. Smart woman.
Nick motioned for her to stay put. She shook her head vigorously, but he held up a stiff finger and pointed it at her. One minute, you wait here.
When she took a step toward him, he thrust her a hardened glare. Back off. The last thing he wanted to do was explain a bullet wound to her daughter, Felicity.
Delaney became still. She lowered the gun to her side. Satisfied she got the message, Nick moved softly in the direction of the noise that had come from the back room. He paused at the open doorway. Must be her bedroom. Jeans were piled in a basket in the corner, a dresser backed against the wall beside him. Next to it, a door sat ajar, presumably her bathroom. Fleeting images of Delaney naked in the shower zipped through his mind, but he squelched them. He edged along the wall, restraining his reaction to the perfumed scent lingering in the air. On the far side, there was a curtained window. Whoever was out there had the advantage. They could see in, but he couldn’t see out.
Nick could feel Delaney standing by the door. Turning to her, he whispered, “Turn out the lights.”
She disappeared and the living room went dark. Within seconds, he noted the drift of floral fragrance as she tiptoed up beside him. Her hand came to rest on his upper arm. “Did you see anything?” she whispered.
Although he couldn’t see her, he could hear her breathing by his side. The hand on his arm assaulted his focus. Images of her T-shirted torso, her lean legs in the thin cotton pants flooded his mind. It was the steel pistol against his thigh that disconcerted him. “No,” he managed. He scanned the blackness, but could see almost nothing. The cabin seemed to be embedded within the mountain itself, the window a wedge between a wall of wood and a wall of earth. Access to her room would be difficult from this angle. Not impossible, but difficult.
The soft pads of her fingers pressed into him. “What is it?”
“I don’t know yet.” He turned from the window. “Do you have a back door?”
“No.” She slid her hand to his elbow.
“I didn’t see anything outside,” he said. The hard line of the gun in her hand was less than reassuring. He noted she left the gun hot. Last thing he needed was for her to misfire in the dark and hit him. “You wait here. I’ll go check it out.”
“Wait—” Delaney clutched at him. “I’ll come with you.”
“Scared?”
“No.”
Nick chuckled softly.
“I can’t see you,” she said, then snapped, “And I’d hate to shoot you by accident after all your help.”
You and me both. Placing his hand over hers, Nick gingerly removed her hand from his arm. “Thanks, but I won’t be long.”
Working from memory, he crossed the room in the inky blackness—which was easy—a route which fortunately was short and straight. As he rounded her bedroom door, the front porch light came into view. Once again, Nick instructed Delaney to stay put while he checked outside. Snaking along the wall, he kept an eye on the front door, toggling between it and the small window to the left. If someone was lying in wait outside, Nick needed to maintain an element of surprise. As he neared the door, he watched for signs of movement. Through the etched glass, the light shone white. Unlikely anyone would stand out there exposed, but he wasn’t taking any chances. The man he met on the trail had already proven his boldness. Nick slid his hand to the door knob. Slowly, silently, he turned it. He raised his gun to eye level and poised his finger on the trigger. Easing the door open, he peered out through the slice of opening. Something moved. His grip tightened. His breathing stopped.
Down the trail, Nick spotted a dark figure running. He was almost positive it was a man. Slipping outside, he stole quickly across the porch. Through the screen, he sharpened his focus, but the swath of light wasn’t enough for him to see with any clarity.
But he didn’t have to. Someone had been here. Nick detected the scent of tobacco in the air. He turned and stopped suddenly at the sight of Delaney standing in the open doorway. “What are you doing?”
“Did you see someone?” she whispered.
Standing only feet behind him, she was an easy shot, should someone decide to take one. So was he. Nick tucked his weapon back into the waistband of his jeans and strode over to her. “Didn’t I tell you to wait?”
“I’m not waiting in there like a sitting duck,” she said, reaching for his arm again. She peered down the trail that led to Ernie’s cabin. “Did you see someone?”
Nick’s instinct was to lie, set her mind at ease. The protector in him wanted her to remain calm. But the man in him liked the way she grabbed hold of him for protection. “Someone was here.”
Her expression registered the hit. “You saw him?”
Nick caught another whiff of floral and fruit and thought it might be her shampoo. “Yes,” he said, glancing over her hair. Pulled up into a loosely tied bun, strands of creamy blonde fell into a frame about her face. It accentuated her dark brows, eyes black as coal within the dim light. N
ick could see her unease catch fire as she imagined the man lurking outside in the darkness. “He’s gone,” he reassured.
She clutched at him. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. “Went down the trail.”
Her eyes flicked down the trail, then back to him. “How can you be sure he won’t come back?”
“I can’t. Which is why I’m staying.”
Delaney returned a look that nearly undid him. The tough girl had shades of vulnerability. “It’ll be okay.” He cast a glance around the porch and cupped his hand over hers. “The good news is, you only have one way in or out. I’ll park myself here so you can rest easy. No one will get by me tonight.”
“All night?” she uttered.
“All night.” He took her by the hand and led her back into the cabin.
Delaney paused at the door, her slender hand softly pulling from his. “But where will you sleep?”
He smiled down at her. “Now what kind of body guard would that make me if I slept on the job?”
Delaney realized her error and faltered, “I—I…” She glanced about her porch, the furnishing limited to a couple of rickety rocking chairs and a wobbly wood table. “There’s not even a place to sit, really.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I’ve spent time in worse.”
A wounded look entered her eyes, her very beautiful, very vulnerable, very alluring eyes. He noted that the dim lighting softened everything about her. “I only meant that I’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” she said hesitantly, as though debating her next move.
“I could use a glass of water, if you can spare it.”
Delaney shook her head , as if to clear it. “Of course,” she said.
Nick followed her to the kitchen, his attention divided between the gun in her hand and the lengths of hair falling about her neck and shoulders. She flipped on the light, but froze, her hand on the switch. “Is that okay?”
He gave a confident nod. “He’s gone. You keep the curtains closed and you’ll be fine.” Nick watched the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the faded T-shirt as she inhaled deeply to calm herself. “Your daughter already handing out the university gear?” he asked, indicating the white emblem on the front of her orange shirt.
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