Tough Enough to Tango

by Barbara Barrett

  Still asleep, she was buried under the covers, although a sensuous cascade of auburn hair streamed over half her face and fell softly down that long, creamy neck and over her shoulders. One leg uncovered, the glimpse of skin had been enough to make him envision the rest of her nude. He got hard just to watch her sleep.

  It would be so easy to pick up where he left off before he conked out last night. Damn, he wanted to. His body was certainly primed. Underneath that brash exterior was a woman who waited to be awakened, not just this morning but for all the physical pleasure he could give her. He could tell by the way she’d halfway come on to him and then suddenly retreated. All she needed was coaxing and gentle persuasion.

  Normally, he’d be the guy to supply those, but not now. Not while Sullivan’s Creek was in its infancy. Maybe never. Shae didn’t appear to be the kind of woman who could enjoy the moment and move on once the ardor cooled. He didn’t need a woman in his life who demanded commitment. Marriages didn’t fare well in his world.

  Pinpoints of sunshine penetrated the window covering and illuminated the opposite wall. Eventually, they intensified enough to trigger a reaction from Shae’s one exposed eye through the curtain of hair that covered it. She blinked several times, arched her back and flexed her arms.

  She felt wonderful. Sleep had been filled with lovely dreams of…what? She couldn’t recall, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of euphoria that streamed through her.

  Then she remembered. This wasn’t her bed.

  She lay there to give her brain time to recharge. Something about water. Rain. The storm! That was it. She and—oh, God…Ned…stuck here. In the trailer. In this bed!

  Some hidden sense of self-preservation kept her planted in bed rather than shooting from the mattress. She reached down and felt her naked bottom. Good grief. Surely they hadn’t—No, she didn’t think so. A harsh crack of lightning had struck a nearby tree, which made her freak. Ned held her. Comforted her. Kissed her. She’d kissed him back. Like her life depended on it. Then his throat.

  Wake up, Shae. After last night, today promises to be something special. All she had to do was reach over, touch a sleeping Ned and… No one there. Where was he? She hadn’t felt the bed shift.

  She rolled onto her back and sat. A few feet away, Ned leaned against a small chest of drawers snuggled in the corner, the room’s only other piece of furniture. He stared at her, his eyes reflected that unmistakable look every woman instinctively recognized. He was ready—and eager—to play out the scene of the night before.

  “Good morning,” she said. My, her voice was breathy.

  While she debated what else to say, the look disappeared. He came to life, started to collect his things and made a production of folding and refolding the blankets he’d used.

  What was going on? Just a few hours ago, he stroked her bare butt. Now, he couldn’t get away from her fast enough.

  Maybe he was still in pain. “How’s your throat?”

  “Seems fine. Thanks for helping with the throat spray. Really knocked me out. Slept like a baby.” The words poured out almost as fast as the deluge hit the ground the night before.

  He sounded nervous.

  A hard object rammed into her back. The throat spray. “Looking for this?” she asked. She held out the container.

  He shifted around to face her long enough to reply, “Yeah. Thanks.” But as soon as he retrieved the bottle, he hightailed it out of the room so quickly he bumped into the doorjamb. “Ouch! Damn!”

  Irritable, too.

  What had changed since they’d nearly given in to what appeared to be mutual desire several hours earlier?

  First things first—retrieve her clothes, whether they were still wet or not. That task completed, check the conditions outside. Inspect the storm’s damage, although she seriously doubted they’d be able to resume work today. Maybe not even tomorrow.

  Her shirt was barely back on when outside the trailer she heard, “Shae? Ned? You in there?” Dave. Bless his heart. He’d come to rescue them, not only from the storm but from themselves as well.

  ****

  “I can’t believe you two,” Dave grumbled as they drove back to town in the company’s all-terrain vehicle a few minutes later. “You stayed on-site long after I warned you to leave. That storm could’ve turned into a tornado and sent you knocking around in that rattletrap trailer like a bouncing ball.”

  “Storm came on faster than we estimated,” Ned replied. “Made more sense to hang out in the trailer until the rain stopped than get our cars stuck in the mud. Had no idea we’d be trapped overnight.”

  “Scared the daylights out of me when I couldn’t reach either of you this morning.”

  “Yeah, well, we’d tried to get hold of you last night, but Shae discovered she’d left her cell behind in the tent, and after we lost power, I couldn’t recharge mine.”

  Dave continued to shake his head like a parent who’d bailed his two teenaged kids out of jail. Shae felt about as foolish as one. Sure, she shouldn’t have stayed so long. Her, the one who not only hated storms but usually went to the basement with the first rumble of thunder. But yesterday she’d remained despite the warning signs, because she had to undo the damage Ned had caused when he meddled with the orders.

  Over his shoulder, Dave remarked, “You’re mighty quiet back there, Shae.”

  Before she could reply, Ned interjected with, “She’s feeling guilty for keeping me out here so long in the wind and rain, because my throat acted up again. But it was my own stupid fault. I should’ve known better.”

  Dave shot him a quick glance. “We need to go to the ER?”

  “I’m fine. Shae found my throat spray in time. I don’t remember much after that because I passed out. From fatigue.”

  So that’s why he’d cut into her response. Afraid she’d inadvertently tell Dave how they’d slept in the same bed. Now, informed their night had been no party, Dave would discourage any speculation on the crew’s part as well.

  Had Ned tried to save her reputation? Or his? Or was his self-image so fragile, the thought that anyone, even Dave, might see her as a potential bedmate for Mr. Big Time Entertainer had prompted him to set the record straight?

  Conjecture about Ned’s mood wasn’t worth her time. She sank further into her seat and turned her attention to the question of work resumption. Unpleasant as the delay might be, it was something she could get her mind around, easier than wondering what might have happened between her and Ned. One almost-kiss, one real one, rebuffed on her part, and another one in which she’d been a willing participant until his throat cut things off. A pattern seemed to have emerged. Despite her good intentions and efforts to keep things professional, circumstances continued to tempt them to take things to a different level.

  She’d almost succumbed to those temptations. How much more could she withstand?

  Ned focused on the road ahead as the ATV hurtled over ruts and dodged downed tree branches. Even though he’d chided them for remaining too long and not letting him know their whereabouts, Dave couldn’t have arrived at a better time. Ned didn’t know how much longer he could have continued to give Shae the cold shoulder. She’d looked so hurt and confused when he turned down her friendly overtures. Dave’s presence cut off any potential to change his mind.

  His throat was under control, for now, but he’d give the doctor a call when he returned to Mike’s. Damn! He hadn’t experienced another attack since he’d been taken to the hospital. He’d come to believe the excruciating razor bite was gone. But it was still there. Why hadn’t he healed? Would his throat condition deteriorate further? If it didn’t get better fast, he stood to lose everything—not just his bank account and this development, but his career, too.

  “You awake over there?” Dave’s question cut into Ned’s thoughts.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry. Looks like the fields took quite a beating.”

  Dave scanned the surrounding countryside, returning his eyes to the wheel. “If the water
doesn’t recede fast, the plantings will drown.” He paused, then went on, “I asked whether you’d like the name of my mechanic or if you already have someone who can tow your car back to town.”

  Hadn’t given a thought to his car. His throat. Shae. Finances. Throbbing head. Those were enough to worry about. “Thanks, but Mike Woodley can help me.”

  “Oh. Okay, fine.”

  Shae hadn’t said boo since she’d climbed in the backseat. What was going on with her? He shot a surreptitious glance over his shoulder. Still there. She stared straight ahead, expression unreadable.

  Had she seen how excited she’d gotten his fella? He thought he’d done a pretty good job keeping the tenting of his pants from her view. What did her silence mean? Thus far in his acquaintance with the woman, she hadn’t been reticent to share her opinion whenever and wherever. Did she expect him to make the first move? Can’t allow myself to do that, lady. He didn’t want to hurt her.

  If good for nothing else, the weather delay would send them in different directions. Even if there had been a spark in the air, it would fizzle after a day or two.

  They should have exchanged jokes and reminiscences of their night as they waited out the storm, but neither he nor apparently Shae wanted to go there. The only place he wanted to go at the moment was to a hot shower. Better yet, a cold one.

  Two hours later, shaved, showered, and checked in with his doctor, Ned was ready to return to the countryside to reclaim his car. The front gate intercom buzzed just as he and Mike were about to go out the door.

  “This is Zoe Johansen from the Verdant Prairie Bank. I’m here to see Ned Collier. I understand he’s staying with you.”

  Ned shook his head no, but Mike either didn’t see him or refused to. “Yes, he’s staying here. What’s this about?”

  “I’ve been assigned to work with Mr. Collier on his housing project. I’d like to discuss it with him in person.”

  Ned swished his hands in front of him, like a referee calling no touchdown.

  Mike ignored Ned’s signals. “We were just about to leave. We can give you five minutes.”

  “I, uh, okay.”

  Mike released the intercom button and flipped the switch that opened the front gate. “Company,” he announced. “You’ve got about sixty seconds to tell me what this is about.”

  Ned’s stomach plunged. How had she tracked him down? Ten more minutes and he could have eluded the woman yet again and kept Mike unaware of the state of his finances. Had to think fast to discourage Mike from joining them. “She’s with the bank. She’s been helping me work out the details for the next phase of the project. You know, make sure the cash flow is there when needed.”

  “Great! I want to hear this, too.”

  “Well, uh, yeah, sure.” Then inspiration struck. “I think you should meet her. You probably have a lot in common.”

  “What d’ya mean?”

  “Okay, call me Cupid, but—” He deliberately let his sentence trail off and hoped Mike would pick it up from there.

  “Not you, too? Your mom has been hinting I should meet her new artist. You know, the one whose showing you conned me into attending?”

  That was news. “No kidding?” He didn’t give himself time to wonder why his mother had now aimed her arrows at Mike instead of him. For once, a break. “An artist and a banker. Not bad. Form and function.” Whatever that meant. Sounded good.

  Mike hitched his shoulders. “I don’t need your mother, you, or anyone to arrange my social life. I can still find a date on my own whenever I want.” He headed for the back of the house. “You’re on your own with the woman. I’m going to enjoy a muffin. In the kitchen.”

  Mike disappeared just as the doorbell rang. Ned beat the housekeeper to answer it. “Ms. Johansen. Nice to see you again. Come in.” He glanced at his watch. “But like my friend said, he and I were on our way out, so we’ll have to keep this short.”

  He led Johansen, an attractive blonde in her late twenties, to the library. After he closed the door, he stepped around the massive desk but didn’t sit. He gestured to one of the two leather club chairs that faced the desk.

  As soon as she was seated, she pulled a folder from her oversized purse. “Since our time is limited, I’ll be succinct. The bank is concerned about your equity stake. When you arranged financing with us several months ago, your assets and projected revenue were in excellent shape, which was the only reason the financing was approved. We’ve since learned you’ve cancelled all your personal engagements for the next several months, which will affect your projected income.”

  They were on to him. The prospect he’d dreaded and reason why he’d ignored this woman’s messages had finally tracked him down. “I’m still quite solvent, although my assets have, uh, altered somewhat since my throat problems forced me to curtail my singing gigs.” He massaged his throat column slightly to drive home the point. “However, I have various film scores to work on as well as my own compositions.”

  “We’re aware of your throat problems, Mr. Collier, and we certainly hope this is just a temporary condition. But with the decline of your projected revenue, we want to assure your equity stake remains viable.”

  Ned leaned into the desk. “My payment schedule from these other, uh, sources, is somewhat different than my concert intake, which included up-front money. These are all as-completed ventures. They will show up soon.”

  “We appreciate these assurances, but they don’t represent solid proof of your continuing financial health. The bank needs to see a considerable influx of income by the end of the month or we will be forced to call in your loan.”

  “The end of the month? That’s not much more than two weeks away!”

  In response, she removed a sealed envelope from her purse and handed it to him. “This is a courtesy copy of the document you will receive by messenger later today. It states the conditions I just mentioned.” She rose, placed the strap of her purse over her shoulder, and started to leave. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, Mr. Collier. I’ve tried to contact you several times, because I hoped we could work out alternate arrangements.”

  Ned cut her off at the door. “Alternate arrangements. That’s a great idea. Surely there’s still time to discuss some other option? I can’t believe the bank would do this to one of the town’s more prominent citizens. I’m a hometown boy who’s made good. I’m even building my own home here. Surely the bank wants to avoid the bad publicity that would be generated if I am forced to declare bankruptcy?”

  She drew in her lips, paused, as if his threat made her rethink the bank’s actions. But then she said, “Actually, you’re the one who can’t afford such publicity, Mr. Collier. We tried to warn you about the volatility of the housing market and the unconventional nature of your financing, especially since you’ve never been a developer. That’s why we built such strict provisions into your loan agreement.”

  He gripped the door handle. “Isn’t there anything I can do to dissuade you?”

  She stared at his hand until he removed it. “Find more money.” She looked around the room. “This is a lovely home. I understand it’s owned by Mr. Woodley or his family. You might start here.” She took off for the front door before he could rebut her suggestion.

  Damn! Why hadn’t he returned her calls? It was never a good idea to ignore one’s problems, a lesson he learned too late years ago when he refused to see how his first fiancée had usurped the leadership of his band.

  Too late now. Zoe Johansen and the bank have written you off. Say good-bye to Option One. Other than going to Mike, which he still resisted, that left only one more option. He needed a backer.

  ****

  “What did that banker really want?” Mike asked as they made their way to the project site ten minutes later.

  Ned pulled at a button on his polo shirt. “Gave her an update on the project. Told her excavation was underway until the weather intervened.”

  “C’mon, Ned. When a banker shows up at your door, it�
�s not for a chat about foundations. What aren’t you telling me? Not like you.”

  This was his chance. All he had to do was open up and tell Mike about the corner he’d painted himself into, and his money problems would disappear.

  Before Ned relented, though, Mike said, “It’s no disgrace to admit you weren’t cut out to be a financial genius. That’s why you’ve got me.”

  “I’ve told you before, I have to be totally in charge of this project to make sure Grandpa Jake’s dream comes true exactly like he imagined it.”

  “I know all that,” Mike said. “But if you’ve got problems with the bank or can’t understand your financial picture, you could at least let me check things over for you.”

  “Do you realize how patronizing you sound?”

  “Patronizing? Since when did you get so sensitive about anything I say?”

  “Since you’ve treated me like an imbecile.”

  Mike’s palm hit the top of the steering wheel. “I just want to help, man.”

  “You want to help? Then do this for me. I need to make a quick trip to the coast. Just overnight. I want to be back in town by the time we resume digging. Could you fly me out and back?”

  Mike raised a brow. “Guess so. What’s up? Surely you’re not singing again? I’m not going to enable you to totally wreck your voice.”

  Mike claimed he didn’t want his own family. Too bad. He made such a good parent, albeit an authoritarian one. But Ned kept his tone casual, non-defensive. “No singing. Even with my thick head, I learned my lesson. Have some unfinished business to attend to.”

  “I thought I dealt with all your business.”

  Ned thought fast, tried to manufacture a business deal Mike wouldn’t usually handle. His house. He flinched mentally as he considered what he was about to propose. But with that Johansen woman on his tail, he needed to liquidate as many of his assets as he could as fast as he could. The effort wouldn’t meet the bank’s deadline, but it would demonstrate good faith. “I want to sell my house in Brentwood.”