Men Made in America Mega-Bundle

by Gayle Wilson, Marie Ferrarella, Jennifer Greene, Annette Broadrick, Judith Arnold, Rita Herron, Anne Stuart, Diana Palmer, Elizabeth Bevarly, Patricia Rosemoor, Emilie Richards

“But I do, George…although, without knowing if you were part of that group with Case…” Kansas hesitated again. Another hook thrown out, big ocean, and Pax knew damn well she couldn’t have a clue what she was fishing for.

  “Well, I gotta say, I wasn’t that close. Never got that big involved like your brother is. Man, that religious stuff gets real complicated, just not my thing. But I’m cool with what they were doing. To each their own karma, you know?”

  Pax kept an ear open, listening to every sliver of information she weaned out of her prey. He hadn’t been positive what Case was involved in. But he’d guessed. And the logical calculator in the back of his mind was punching buttons, adding up every obscure clue Mr. Beefcake let slip, hoping some answers would emerge about whatever action needed to be taken about Case.

  What needed to be done about Kansas seemed a more complicated problem.

  Pax glanced around. A curtain of beads separated the coffee shop from the otherworld bookstore. The whole place was dark on the inside, with lung-choking incense creating more smoke than the smokers. A bearded kid was mumbling poetry in the far corner. Love charms were for sale behind the counter, as were tapes of Gregorian chants and crystals promising to boost one’s connection with one’s deep inner spirit. No one in the store was over twenty-five, with the exception of Kansas and him. Pax had no doubt about his own maturity.

  Hers was a real iffy question.

  She kept batting her lashes at Tiger. She didn’t have any lashes to bat, except those short skinny reddish ones. She kept leaning forward, so the fabric of her damn skimpy dress pressed tight against her chest. She didn’t have any chest to toot. The whispery voice and I’m-so-helpless big eyes was a routine she shouldn’t have been able to sell at the circus. George was as turned on as a buck in rutting season.

  And dammit, so was he. Pax gulped down a swallow of cappuccino, hoping for a jolt of reality, wishing to hell he had a dictionary to define her. She was trying to get information, and from a stranger who clearly didn’t want to talk with her initially. He understood that. Never mind if he wanted to button up that damn dress and cover the rest of her throat with a big, thick scarf. It wasn’t her using her sexy, skinny body as a distraction to get information that bothered him. At least not much.

  It was her.

  Sometimes everyone had to walk into tough situations, tangle with the unfamiliar and handle problems that could not be anticipated or prepared for. But when a man was at a disadvantage, he put his chin up and straightened his shoulders. Pax had learned the rules of surviving when he was knee high—you showed strength. You never showed weakness. Revealing your underbelly to a stranger gave someone else the power to hurt you.

  Kansas was not only parading her weaknesses, but she was also showing them off. Deliberately. Flaunting to that overgrown beefcake that she was helpless and alone…hell, it was enough to give Pax an ulcer, and he’d always had an unruffably calm, easygoing nature. They were gonna be lucky if they escaped this place without George making a pass. And yeah, he was there. No harm was going to come to her—nobody was gonna lay a finger on her—but damn the dimwit woman. What if he hadn’t been there? Could she really blindly, blithely invite this kind of trouble when she was loose on her own?

  “George,” she said sometime later, “you’ve been such an enormous sweetie.”

  Pax doubted that George had ever been called a sweetie in his lifetime—even by his mother—and the brawny lad blushed straight through his rag tail whiskers. He also followed them to the door, as faithful as a puppy that was begging to be taken home.

  Once both men were standing, though, it wasn’t hard to exert some take-charge control in the situation. George was muscle-bound, but Pax was six foot two and hard fit from a physical lifestyle. George was a boy. Pax was a man. A little tactful eye contact effectively communicated those messages. George didn’t follow them any farther than the door.

  A hot, desert wind was blowing from the west when they stepped outside. Sand blurred the air, softening the sharp edges on all the man-made structures, dusting man’s harsh colors. Kansas pelted for the truck, as if the wind would bite her, and climbed in.

  “How can you breathe in this dust?” she muttered as she yanked on the seat belt, and then said, “Oh, God, Pax. He scared me half to death. There’s some kind of religious cult around here, isn’t there? That was what he was talking about? In a thousand years, I’d never have guessed my brother could be involved in something like that.”

  “You don’t know that he is, for sure.” Pax turned the key in the ignition, but his eyes honed on her. Damned if she wasn’t Kansas again. Gone was the silly batting eyelashes business and the waif-vulnerable expression. She dragged a hand through her hair, making it stand up in spikes…and for reasons he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—understand, hormones soared through his blood in a zinging rush of desire.

  He remembered what happened last night when he’d given in to the impulse to kiss her. And ordered his eyes on the road.

  “No, I don’t know for sure,” she admitted, “but that’s increasingly what it sounds like. And now I’m remembering all those books on alternative religions at the house. The books, the strange pictures, all the clutter Case has around. And the people in that store. They’re just babies, for pete’s sake. Kids.”

  “George,” Pax informed her, “was no kid.”

  Kansas waved off that opinion with a hand gesture. “I don’t care if he was a teenager or in his twenties. He was still a kid. No experience in life, no judgment.”

  “Kansas,” Pax tried again, his tone as tactful as he could make it, “he was old enough to have sex on his mind—and big enough to give you a seriously hard time if he’d made a pass.”

  “For heaven’s sakes, that was never going to happen. He must have noticed that I was at least five years older than him.”

  Pax sighed. Heavily.

  “Anyway, George has nothing to do with anything,” Kansas said fretfully, and dragged a wild hand through her hair again. “The point is this ‘group’ he kept referring to. Do you know who this group is? Or specifically what kind of religion he was eluding to?”

  “There’ve been rumors about a cult,” Pax said carefully, “but no one knows anything for positive. All kids look for places to hang out. Originally the group that took up at that book store were clean-cut and as straight as arrows—nothing in physical appearance like George. Like most kids, they were looking for a cause. The initial group was big on the environment, natural foods, conservation—and moaning about everything this generation has done to muck up the environment.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound so weird. And I can easily believe that kind of thing would interest Case.”

  Pax nodded, but he was still careful about choosing his words. “I think it’s pretty natural that kids, coming from that attitude, would be drawn to some of the early Native American religions and beliefs. There are some strong ideals in the old ways. Compelling, idealistic beliefs. Our Native people were a lot smarter about the earth than whites and other races ever were.”

  “But…?” Kansas prodded him.

  “But ideas like mysticism and shamans and psychic experiences can sound real romantic to a kid, especially if they’re taken out of context and he’s only being presented with one part of the picture. A lot of grounds for potential trouble there. Misinterpretation. It’s real easy to end up down a side road that’s a long, long way from the original highway of ideas you started out with.”

  “What are they up to? What are you trying to tell me?”

  “I’m not trying to tell you anything. Case was taken with that crowd. That’s the only real fact I know.”

  “Facts!” Kansas said disparagingly, as if anything so logical were beyond all relevance. “Well, I’m going to find out more. That’s for sure. I’m going to find my brother, and I’m going to get to the bottom of this, and I don’t care what I have to do—”

  “Kansas…” Pax had to interrupt her. Alarm bells were s
hooting acid to his stomach. All it took was a vision of a pint-size redhead playing vigilante all on her lonesome. “Don’t you dare go off on your own.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Aw, hell. He never meant that to sound like an order. “I just meant…if you want to look for your brother, I’ll help you. I know the area, the people, the places, which you can’t possibly be familiar. It would take you forever if you tried to do it alone.”

  “It would,” she agreed, and then said softly, “thanks. It’s a huge relief to know I can count on you.”

  Counting on him, Pax thought grimly, had nothing to do with it. There was a saying in the Southwest. Bien sabe el diablo a quien se le aparece. The devil will take advantage of anyone he can intimidate—or in more prosaic terms—the more vulnerable in life were always going to be prey.

  In principle, it wasn’t his responsibility to protect Kansas. But there simply was no one else in any conceivable position to volunteer for the job.

  Kansas fell silent on the drive, trying to absorb the disturbing information she’d picked up about her brother and strategize what she could do about it. Until Pax pulled in her driveway, though, she hadn’t realized that he’d fallen into a pensive silence, too.

  Without a word, he climbed out of the Explorer and strode around to her side of the truck. Broad daylight, Kansas mused, yet Pax still considered it automatic to open a woman’s door and walk her to the house.

  Personally she’d always been thrilled chivalry was dead, because every man she knew with a protective streak had never really been protective. They’d been possessive. Maybe they didn’t know the difference, but Kansas was slowly picking up the unique idea that Pax did. The strong protected those who were less strong. It seemed to be the code he lived by—a code of honor, rather than an excuse to make rules or control someone else. In fact, Pax seemed to have one heck of a time—a complete inability—to feel less than responsible for someone who needed help.

  Which aroused interesting questions, she thought, about who was in Pax’s corner. If anyone was now. If anyone ever had been. When he needed help.

  He fell into step beside her, at least until she stopped to fumble in the dark cave of her purse. Days before, she’d found a spare house key in a kitchen drawer, but there had to be fifty things in her purse—all of them serious essentials of life. But they sure made finding a tiny key tricky.

  When she eventually came up with it, she caught his grin—a patient, tolerant male half grin—that should have exasperated her and instead, sent an immediate blast of awareness hurling through her bloodstream. Pax was damn near irresistible when he relaxed. And when his eyes met hers, she knew he hadn’t forgotten those wickedly forbidden kisses from the night before.

  She hadn’t, either. Although she’d tried to.

  “Well, I need to find a way to thank you for helping me this afternoon, and I’m thinking dinner. You’d be risking your life, mind you, and certainly your stomach. But I did have a chance to shop for a few groceries this morning, so I could rustle up something for both of us if your courage level is high.”

  He chuckled, but his head was shaking before she finished the invitation. “No, I can’t, but thanks.”

  “Well, damn,” she said smoothly, “I should have thought…you probably have a woman friend. I’d really feel badly if I was creating any problems because of your spending time with me…”

  “I’m not attached right now and you’re not creating a problem. I just have some work I have to do this evening.”

  Thankfully some men didn’t realize when a woman was prying, Kansas thought. So he was alone. And not that she hadn’t already guessed that, but forcing herself to behave would have been a lot easier without that confirmation. She’d never have poached on a fellow sister’s territory. “Well, if you’re busy we can talk another time. I was just hoping you might have some ideas on what I could do next about Case. He mentioned that girl named Serena in his letters. If I could figure out her last name and track her down—”

  “I’ll do that—see if I can find out her last name. And if I find out anything, I’ll give you a call.”

  “Okay. Well then…I think I’ll spend the evening diving into some of the books and papers Case has laying around. Somehow I have to get a better understanding of…yeeikes!” Kansas had barely taken a step when she spotted a creature in the shadow of the porch.

  Her response time in any emergency had al ways been clockably fast. She galloped back ward, lost a sandal, spun around and determined spit-quick that her rental car was practically a mile away on the other side of the driveway. His Explorer was right there. Faster than she could hyperventilate, she yanked open the passenger side and dived inside.

  “What on earth—?”

  She motioned with a scarlet-tipped finger nail—from the nice, safe confines of his truck. “I hate to tell you this, but I’m not getting out of here. Possibly not for the rest of the night. Possibly not for the rest of my life. Holy spit, is there no end to the horrible, terrifying creatures you have around here? My God, that thing is making me squirm from the inside out. I can’t even look at him.”

  Pax swiveled around and immediately noticed the shiny skinned, sharply colored creature sunning in her doorway. He rolled his eyes. “Kansas, it’s just a gecko. A two-banded gecko. Nothing more than a lizard, and not in any way poisonous. It won’t hurt a soul. In fact, all it does is eat a pile of nasty insects that you probably wouldn’t appreciate around anyway. He’s a good guy. A friend.”

  “Pax. Read my lips. I’m not going near that thing, and he and I are not going to be friends. Not now, not in fifty years. Not ever.”

  “Now, come on. You’re not that scared. In fact, you’d have a tough time convincing me that you’re half the sissy that you let on—”

  “I am, too! I am a total sissy, a Class A prizewinning coward, a card-carrying gutless wimp. I told you. I need a rescuer. I need a hero. I need a piggyback ride into the house.”

  “We won’t,” he said dryly, “need to go that far.” He stalked to the porch, bent down and gently shooed the lizard away. The gecko appeared to have no major fear of humans, nor was he in all that much of a hurry to budge. Eventually, though, the prehistoric monster was coaxed into disappearing in the shadows of the bushes. “It’s safe to come out now,” Pax said wryly.

  “So you say. What if it comes right back?”

  “Kansas, get your fanny out of that truck and quit trying to sell me bologna. I saw how you handled the tarantula the other night.”

  “I was scared witless of that tarantula,” she informed him.

  “Yeah. I saw.” He crooked his finger at her.

  Well, shoot. There didn’t seem to be a big range of alternative choices, especially considering that she could hardly take root in his truck. After taking a long, cautious look at the bushes, she slowly pulled the door latch and climbed out. “I’m warning you. If that monster steps back up on the porch, I’m gonna shriek loud enough for the mounties to hear me. And I’m talking the mounties in Manitoba.”

  “Actually I think I should have made you take a closer look at him. If you’re going to wander around in the country much, you’d better be able to identify which critters are poisonous and which ones are harmless.”

  “It’d have taken you and the marines to make me take a closer look at him. And I don’t have to worry about which ones are poisonous. I plan on running—fast—from all of them.” She reached his side and peered up. “Okay, I admit it, I’m impressed. You handle flaky women well.”

  “You’re not flaky.”

  True, Kansas thought, but how unnerving to find a man who realized that. Most men defined courage on their own masculine terms. Personally she’d never seen a purpose in conquering her terror of creepy crawly critters. So snakes and spiders gave her the screaming meemies. So what? Kansas had nothing to prove to anyone, and the stuff that was tough to handle in life—pain, grief, loneliness—had no relationship to her behavior around lizar
ds.

  Still, she mused, most men freaked out near a little dramatic display of emotion. Not Pax. He was wearing cowboy boots today, she noticed. Sexy cowboy boots. His jeans didn’t hug his lanky long legs, but they cuffed his small, flat behind. Evocatively. His expression was evocative, too. Evocatively neutral—no hint of humor, no hint of exasperation, no hint that he was feeling anything at all. He was damn good at that.

  At the moment, his hands were on his hips. Waiting, patiently, for her to put the house key into the lock and go inside, so he could take off.

  “You’re sure I can’t talk you into dinner?”

  “I’m sure.”

  She pushed the key into the door, then turned back. “I still owe you a thank-you for taking me around this afternoon.”

  “You’re welcome. No sweat.”

  Men. They understood so little. “I think it’s a huge sweat.” She firmly corrected him. “I’m imposing on your time. You have absolutely no reason to help me. Maybe I’m worried to death about my brother, but he’s my brother, no relationship to you and no reason you should feel obligated to give a damn.”

  “I’m not doing anything that’s causing any hardship. When I’ve got a few free hours, I’m more than willing to help. Not worth making a big deal over.”

  There now. She caught an expression. Wariness. Even the teensiest glint of alarm in his eyes. She had the fleeting perception that he’d rather take cyanide than a thank-you. Pax was comfortable with trouble, but a little appreciation seemed to knock him for six.

  Heaven knew why that perception spurred a sudden impulse. He was so damn tall in those cowboy boots that she had to tilt up on tiptoe…and wrap her palm around his neck to make him bend his head down. Possibly because he had no advance tip what she intended, he never stiffened or pulled back.

  She had no advance tip what she intended to do, either…until her lips touched his. It was just a promise of a kiss, more whisper than substance, and over faster than a lady could say “behave yourself.” Yet her mouth stayed hovering an inch from his. She felt the sudden tension in his body, saw a swallow shoot down to his Adam’s apple, and she understood he was uncomfortable.