A Man of her Own

by Jan Scarbrough

  Or marriage or kids.

  “He’s a man, isn’t he?”

  “Sure, but...”

  Amelia gave a self-satisfied little nod. “No ‘buts.’ No man is interested in a ‘relationship’ until you create that interest in him.”

  Sarah’s eyes widened. “I don’t want to be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t want the same thing.”

  “You fail to understand my meaning, dear.” Her aunt’s eyes sparkled, and her fingernails began to tap on the table. “Historically, we women have had a remarkable power, until this women’s lib thing got in the way. We mustn’t forget how to use our God-given talents. From caveman times, men have loved the idea of the chase. The conquest.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Amelia placed a finger on her chin. “Let’s see, to catch Mr. Carlisle, I first made him jealous, and then I made doggone sure he wasn’t able to keep his hands off me.”

  Sarah fought against the skewed image of sweet Mr. Carlisle with his balding head and spectacles panting hotly in the wake of her robust aunt.

  Amelia must have read her mind. “I know what you’re thinking, but even Mr. Carlisle has his moments.”

  “But I can’t do that.” The thought of trapping Lane appalled her. The fact he’d already accused her of such tactics didn’t make it so.

  “Child.” Amelia pursed her lips and shook her head. “Most men don’t know what’s good for them. You’re attracted to him, aren’t you?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “He’s an eligible bachelor, isn’t he?”

  “A confirmed bachelor, but yes.”

  “Then he’s fair game. Get busy and do something about it.”

  “But he’s not interested in me.”

  “He’s helping plan this party, isn’t he?”

  “But that’s because he wants to do something for the charity.”

  “Pshaw! That’s an easy excuse. A man with his success and savvy in the restaurant business doesn’t need to be involved hands-on with this little project.”

  Sarah bit her lower lip, her mind churning. “But I don’t know how to make him interested.”

  Amelia sat back in her chair and favored her with a benign look. “You’ve already done something to spike his interest, and I trust you’re cunning enough to figure out the rest. After all, you share some of my genes.”

  Sarah’s heart began to hammer. Could Amelia be right? Was Lane interested in her? Her aunt was giving her permission to try to change the reluctant toad into the prince of her dreams.

  ***

  Henry drove Amelia into Louisville in the early afternoon, and after a few hours of tedious work opening acceptance cards and sorting through donation checks, Sarah gladly escaped to the barn. There was something comfortable about being in the old barn, among the scents of manure, cedar shavings and the sounds of rustling horses. To Sarah it had an elemental feeling, as if she’d come back to what really mattered in life—the caring for another creature, the joy of hard work, and the pure pleasure of giving love.

  Sarah cross-tied the big, leggy Saddlebred in the stall to get him ready to ride.

  “How’s it going, Harry, old boy?” Sarah stroked his long neck.

  The bay horse carried his head high, almost haughtily. Just like Lane. Sarah smiled at the notion. Funny how her thoughts always trotted along the same path.

  Still smiling, Sarah started to rub the horse with the currycomb, moving round and round, rhythmically, loosening winter hair with slow, circular motions. She was in no hurry. The physical activity eased the tightness that had settled between her shoulder blades. It relaxed her as nothing else did, and started her musing aimlessly until she saw once again in her mind’s eye Lane’s mesmerizing gaze.

  Why did she let his silent stare unnerve her this morning? And why did she remember the night at the bar and the feel of his lips upon hers? Exhilaration spun through her body at the mere recollection of his obvious excitement pushing hard against her bare legs.

  She paused, the currycomb resting against the horse’s withers. Why did her woman’s intuition tell her this man was meant to be her own?

  Suddenly angry at the notion, she hurled the currycomb into the wooden groom box and picked up a hard brush. Now with quick, crisp strokes, she brushed Harry’s brown coat with vigor. It was too early for that kind of thinking on her part. Female intuition, for heaven’s sake? How did she trust a feeling when all reality pointed the other way?

  Her fingers lingered on the horse’s muscular shoulder. But suppose Aunt Amelia was right?

  Sarah frowned. Moving the brush in the wrong direction, she ruffled Harry’s coat. Then with the palm of her hand, she smoothed the hair back into place. Her stomach aching with an unnamed tension, she took a deep breath and leaned her forehead against the gelding’s neck. As she breathed in the smell of horseflesh and felt the warmth radiating from the animal, she closed her eyes.

  Suppose she could make Lane interested in her. Suppose she could make him want her so badly he couldn’t live without her. Sarah drew an uneven breath and pushed back from the horse.

  Was it possible to kiss a toad and change him into a prince?

  Tossing aside the hard brush, Sarah picked up a soft one and continued grooming. Of course, if she believed in happy endings, she’d try to make them come true.

  But how? Amelia said she’d made Mr. Carlisle jealous. Typical feminine tactic. But jealousy usually called for a third party, and right now Sarah could only depend upon herself. Just as she had most of her life.

  Thoughtfully, she chewed her lower lip and placed the soft brush back in the box. She picked up a hoof pick. Lane seemed to like the Sarah he met at the bar. His kiss had told her as much. Yes, maybe the solution was that simple.

  Somehow she needed to unleash that sexy, seductive side of her personality that lay hidden until she donned her skimpy cocktail dress and three-inch heels.

  Lane entered the barn to find Sarah in a stall with the horse he’d seen her riding along the road. Her curvy little backside was displayed quite prominently for him to appreciate.

  What half-witted compulsion had caused him to seek her out? Only hours before, he’d been content to remain unapproachable, thinking that was the way to deal with his unfounded fascination with a girl young enough to be one of his sisters.

  Now all he wanted to do was to be with her, even if it was just to talk. Ignoring her presence hadn’t worked. So against his better judgment, here he was at the barn, giving into his raw impulse and acting like an idiot, ogling her tempting up-turned derrière.

  He stopped dead in his tracks and caught his breath, unable to take his eyes off the alluring image she presented in skin-tight jodhpurs, thin T-shirt and black riding boots that looked like jogging shoes. He didn’t know what she was doing with her back to the stall door bending over the horse’s hoof like she was, but in his opinion, she could do whatever she was doing all day—just as long as he was allowed to watch.

  Then the horse snorted.

  Sarah jerked upright and whipped around, a startled look in her eyes. “What are you staring at?”

  “You.” He couldn’t seem to raise his gaze above the front of her T-shirt.

  She glared. “You didn’t have to sneak up on me.”

  “I didn’t,” he said with a shrug. “I was afraid to make a noise for fear I’d scare the horse. What are you doing?”

  It was a lame explanation, but she bought it.

  “Just picking Harry’s hooves.” She tossed her hair away from her face.

  “What for?”

  Looking at him as if he were a complete dolt, she came to the stall door and dropped the tool she had been using into a box. “To get out dirt and debris.”

  “Of course. I knew that.” He wanted to cross his fingers at the little fib.

  Sarah cast him a suspicious glance and shouldered past, leaving him standing next to the stall. She retreated down the aisle, letting Lane admire the decided sway of h
er hips. He shifted uneasily as his jeans grew snug.

  He’d just enough time to readjust himself before she came back carrying a saddle and bridle.

  “Going riding?”

  “What does it look like?” Shouldering past him one more time, she reentered the stall and settled the saddle on the horse’s back.

  Another dumb question. Another caustic response. Lane’s eyebrows lifted at the sound of her biting tone. Okay, he deserved her sarcasm. He hadn’t treated her very gallantly last night. Heck, he’d been down right rude this morning. But in his mind, it had been a simple matter of self-preservation.

  “Care if I watch?”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Lane liked the efficient way she cinched the saddle and bridled the horse. It reminded him of his efficiency in the kitchen, confident and competent. How had she come to be so comfortable around horses?

  “Move or you’ll get run over.”

  Lane stepped nimbly to the side as she led the massive horse out of the stall. His estimation of her increased ten-fold. To think she had the guts to get on something that huge.

  “So, I guess you’ve come to apologize?” Sarah threw the question over her shoulder.

  He followed her and the horse down the aisle. “For what?”

  “For treating me like the plague.” She turned to face him, her hand on the bridle near the horse’s mouth. “Look, we have to work together. We should at least be civil to one another.”

  Civility. That was the answer to his problem. Treat her well. Be polite. Just don’t let his guard down or his emotions show. That should be easy enough for him to do. That’s how he’d coped for most of his life. Never letting his mother see his heartache because she wasn’t strong enough to be the parent he and his siblings needed, never allowing his kid brother and sisters see how much he worried about them and how he doubted his ability to care for them. Always fearing failure.

  Yes, it would be easy to maintain a civil relationship with Sarah Colby, the kind of relationship appropriate for colleagues.

  “I agree.”

  “You do?”

  “Certainly.”

  She gave him a charming smile before continuing down the aisle. Lane’s heart slammed against his ribs. He sure could handle being civil if it meant more smiles like that.

  “How long have you been riding?”

  “All of my life.” Sarah halted at the open door and turned toward the horse.

  That answer hadn’t told him much. “You seem to know what you’re doing.”

  She glanced back at him. “I should hope so.” Then she tightened the buckle under the saddle flap.

  Frustrated, wishing he knew how to draw her out, Lane watched as she pulled the stirrup down the leather strap with a loud pop.

  She turned to him, slowly drawing on black leather gloves, her gaze sliding over him. “I could use a leg-up.”

  “What?”

  “You know, a boost into the saddle.”

  “Certainly.”

  She flicked another gaze his way, and he caught that teasing look in her eyes, that flirtatious, come-on look from the bar. It unsettled him, causing an abrupt burning in his chest.

  Determined to remain “civil,” he stepped nearer. She faced the horse with the reins fisted into her left hand and her right hand on the back of the saddle. He smelled her clean, floral scent. A warm sensation simmered within as Sarah placed her left boot into the stirrup and balance on a shapely right leg.

  “Well, I’m waiting.” She expected him to do something.

  Gathering his nerve, Lane stepped closer until he was nearly flush with her back. For one rash moment, he envisioned placing his hands on her shoulders and moving up to touch her tempting little behind with his legs, his thighs, his need. He pictured pushing aside her thick hair and nuzzling her neck with his lips. The images almost rocked him back on his feet. Fighting for control, he grasped Sarah’s slender booted ankle.

  “One, two, three.”

  He lifted her up. Light and lissome, she pulled herself into the saddle. It happened fast and before he knew it, she sat upright on the horse, sticking her boots into the stirrups, and gathering the reins. Lane stepped back. Empty-handed. An observer once more.

  Sarah looked down at him from the back of the big animal. He turned his eyes up to meet her gaze. Their looks connected and held. Each one searched the other’s face for unspoken answers.

  “Thanks a lot.” A tempting smile played on her lips.

  “No problem.”

  Her gaze lingered on him, stroking him almost longingly and rekindling his desire. Then she pressed her legs into the sides of the horse and made a clucking sound. The animal moved forward out of the stable.

  Lane watched her ride into the sunshine. He continued to stand in the half-light inside the barn. His hands fisted. For the first time since his mother’s death, he experienced a deep sadness. What was that raw ache he felt?

  He and Sarah were acquaintances thrown together to help plan a charity event. He could afford nothing more than civility, and he’d known that when he’d sought her out.

  Opening his fingers, Lane turned away. Where Sarah Colby was concerned he suddenly wished he didn’t have to be so civil.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The morning after the ride, Sarah stood in front of her dresser mirror. Lane had seemed stunned after giving her a simple leg-up. Maybe Aunt Amelia was right. Maybe he was interested in her—just a little bit.

  A cold knot of indecision lay in her belly. Was it time to test Amelia’s man-catching theory? She’d tested Tracy’s toad-kissing one that night at the bar. Maybe she should try Amelia’s theory.

  Knowing Lane and an assistant had arrived early, Sarah took her time getting ready. She showered, liberally dousing herself afterwards with freesia body splash. Now what to wear? She couldn’t very well put on that skimpy cocktail dress. Did she have something else just as enticing?

  Removing several blouses from her closet, she spread them on her bed, studying her choices.

  Boring, simply boring.

  Within her limited college wardrobe, she’d never find the right clothes to knock the socks off Lane. But a little challenge like that wouldn’t put her off. After all, she faced a much bigger one if she captured his heart.

  Her lips twitched. Lane had gaped at her when she wore skin-tight jodhpurs. By squeezing into her tightest jeans, she would easily replicate his torture.

  The man also seemed interested in her chest area. She’d caught his eyes drifting to the front of her blouse once too often. Sarah chuckled wickedly and picked up the red silk tank top she usually wore under a suit coat. She whirled around to the mirror and lifted it in front of her.

  Turning this way and that, she considered the scanty top. Why not? It was worth a try. And of course, she couldn’t possibly wear a bra. Oh, no! It just wouldn’t be proper for a lady to display her bra straps under the thin spaghetti straps of the tank top.

  Priceless. Simply priceless.

  If nothing else, letting go of her inhibitions again might be fun.

  Sarah flicked the front clasp of her bra. Sliding the straps from her shoulders, she tossed the proper beige garment onto her bed. Next, she slipped on the tank top and pulled it down over the swell of her breasts.

  Not bad. She stood quietly before the mirror looking at her reflection in a new way.

  What would Lane do when he saw her in the tank top? It barely covered what it needed to cover. Suddenly warm, Sarah lifted her hands to catch the mass of hair off the nape of her neck. It hardly helped. She flushed, aware of herself and her body. This new awareness was tingling and exiting.

  Yesterday, the afternoon sun had beaten down upon her head as she’d ridden away from the barn. But it hadn’t been the sun to overheat her skin, burning with its intensity. No, it had been Lane Williams—his hot gaze upon her even hotter face, his strong hands touching her ankle, the very scent and nearness of him.

  She’d smoldered with a stran
ge, exciting desire. Only a slow gallop along the road, the wind hitting her face, had diluted the fire of her raging hormones.

  Loosening her grip on her hair, Sarah let the mahogany waves fall around her face. She stared at her reflection for a moment, liking the notion of leaving her hair down. It gave her a sultry appearance. Just what she needed. Sarah picked up her brush and with slow strokes, ran the soft bristles through her hair.

  The game she was about to play was as old as time. She didn’t want to think about its outcome. The practical side of her personality continued to nag. Suppose she drove Lane so crazy that he wanted her physically? But suppose he didn’t want her badly enough to marry her? What would she do then?

  No, she wouldn’t think about any negative possibilities. She was Pollyanna playing a Scarlet O’Hara role. She’d perform her part of the script and hope that when the curtain fell, they’d both live happily ever after.

  ***

  Lane stopped dead in his tracks. Sarah’s head was buried in the refrigerator, giving him a spectacular view of her blue-jean-clad backside. Pulse leaped in his veins. His hands, holding a tray of cream cheese-filled strawberry tarts, shook as he gawked at her rounded tush. Dear God, what was she wearing today?

  Drawing a ragged breath, he thrust the tray of confections into the hands of his young assistant whose mouth was literally hanging open. Anger flared.

  “John, freeze these. Now!”

  Lane turned to see Sarah back away from the refrigerator. When she pivoted to face him, clutching a bowl of strawberries in her hands, his own mouth dropped open several inches. He snapped it shut, his gaze darting from the bowl to the meager tank top she wore.

  He forced himself to move his gaze higher, just in time to catch her provocative stare gliding over him like an invitation. He gulped, unable to stir from the counter that thankfully separated them.

  “What are you up to?” The tone of his voice sounded gruff even to his own ears.

  Sarah’s head tilted to one side. Whorls of dark hair fell over an eye. “Do you mind if I finish off the strawberries?”