Not that this had anything to do with love. She’d been infatuated then and she was infatuated now. And it only stood to reason that it would take more than one quick, albeit spectacular, encounter on the sofa to sate years of lust.
She would need at least one more round to do that.
“Are you there?” Duane asked, drawing her back to the matter at hand.
“I’m here.” She stared at the jar she’d pulled from the brown-paper-wrapped box Duane had overnighted her. “Reliable source, huh?”
“Luv4sale.com.”
“Move over Science Digest.”
“It’s one of the top ten Internet sites for sexual enhancement products. This is straight from their edible line of body paints. It jumped out at me because it isn’t one of the usual flavors—strawberry, cherry, chocolate, that sort of thing. It’s not one of their top sellers, and it’s no wonder. I tried it and it leaves an awful aftertaste. Probably the adhesive base they use to make it stick to the body. Anyhow, I know you—you’ll take the initial concept, work your magic and come up with something fabulous.”
“Maybe.”
“Hey, pumpkin pie gets my juices flowing.”
“You’re ruled by your stomach.”
“Isn’t every man?”
She remembered Austin’s sweet-potato comments. Candied sweet potatoes contained sugar and cinnamon and nutmeg, and therefore had a similar flavor to pumpkin pie. “It is different, and that’s what we need.”
“You said it. Now do it so we can land that promotion and move up in the world. No one should have to work in such poor conditions.”
“My lab is state-of-the-art. It has everything.”
“It doesn’t have a hot plate. This going back and forth to heat up my snacks and lunch is killing me.”
“It’s not supposed to have a hot plate. It’s a sterile laboratory.”
Unlike the kitchen, where she sat with its gingham curtains and view of the sunporch filled with plants and a drooling Twinkles. Forget sterile. And professional.
Even so, she sort of liked it.
The minute the notion struck, she forced it aside. It was a far cry from her lab, which she missed with a passion.
“Just go over the test results I sent you from yesterday and put them in quantitative order.”
“Yes, boss,” he muttered before he hung up the phone. “I live to serve.”
Madeline opened the jar, dipped her finger inside and sampled a taste. Ugh. The Internet site definitely needed a heads-up in product development.
But the concept was good. Different. Just what Madeline needed if she wanted to secure her position as chief of research and development and tempt Austin into another round of hot lovemaking tonight.
Not that she had to tempt him. After last night, she felt sure he would be more than ready to pick up where they’d left off. She shoved the jar back into the box and walked to the cupboard. A few minutes later, she’d made a list of ingredients to buy for tonight’s test. She made a quick trek up the stairs and looked in on Uncle Spur, who snored loudly, still sound asleep after his evening at the bowling alley. She changed clothes and dabbed on a little makeup.
Downstairs, she checked on Twinkles who sat, tongue lolling and tail wagging, in front of the portable TV set tuned to Regis and Kelly. She grabbed the watering pitcher and went down the row of plants. A few soil pellets and a George Strait CD later, she finished with her chores and returned to the kitchen for her list.
She swatted at the dog hair that sprinkled her blue T-shirt—daily vacuuming and she still couldn’t get it all—before grabbing her purse and heading off to the Piggly Wiggly.
She smiled as she slid behind the wheel. Last night Austin had finally seen for himself that she was no longer the shy, unattractive, geeky girl she’d been way back when. She was a sexy, attractive, take-charge woman.
And she still wanted him.
At least once more before she packed up her makeshift lab and headed back to the big city and the rest of her life, she would have him.
“JUST CALM DOWN, sweetheart,” Austin ground out as he gripped the two pieces of barbed wire and tried to work them apart and over the cow’s head.
The animal bellowed loud and deep, the sound making his already aching head hurt even more than the hot noonday sun was.
“Hollering isn’t going to do you a bit of good,” he muttered to the animal. “It’ll be over—” he pulled and tugged “—in just a few seconds.” More pulling and tugging and the animal finally scrambled free. One frantic hoof punched Austin in the stomach before he could lean out of the way. The air bolted from his lungs and pain ripped through him.
“Women,” a familiar voice drawled behind him. “Can’t live without them, but nobody in his right mind would ever want to live with them. That’s for damned sure.”
Pain gripped his body for a few breathless seconds before subsiding. He gasped for air and glanced up at the man who sat astride one of Austin’s favorite chestnut mares.
While Austin and his youngest brother Dallas both had the same dark hair as their mother, Houston was the spitting image of their father.
Bick Jericho had been tall, tanned and blond, with whiskey-colored eyes and a killer smile, before he’d gotten himself saddled with a wife and the first of three unwanted children.
But in between the fighting and the drinking, things hadn’t been so bad. There’d been those few precious sober moments when Bick Jericho would pick up his oldest son and plant him on his shoulders and walk around. Austin had felt so tall and proud and loved. Even if only for a few moments.
Houston’s birth had added more pressure. Bick, who’d never been one for responsibility, had felt even more trapped. The arguments had turned into a daily occurrence and the drinking spells had come more often, lasting longer each time.
Dallas had come along a short time later and strained not only the marriage, but their mother’s health. She’d been a diabetic and having a third child had been too much for her. Her kidneys had been pushed to the breaking point and, after seventeen months of dialysis, she’d died.
Austin had been only five at the time, but he could still remember the day they’d buried her. He’d stood there, flanked by his two younger brothers—Houston barely three and Dallas only a year and a half—and watched the casket disappear into the ground. He hadn’t cried. He’d been afraid of scaring his two younger brothers who were holding so tightly to his hands. But he’d wanted to.
He’d wanted to cry because, despite that she’d been a far from perfect mother, he’d still loved her. Just as he’d loved his father.
Frequent drinking spells turned into a way of life. His dad had gone straight home, climbed into a bottle and never climbed back out.
Austin hadn’t just lost his mother that awful day. He’d lost both parents—however imperfect—and the memory had haunted him every day thereafter.
For his brothers it had been different. They’d been so young that neither remembered very much about their life before. Or their mother. Or the semidecent man their father had been during his sober moments.
Austin eyed his younger brother. “It’s been four days since the happy occasion. I would have figured you long gone by now.”
“I don’t have to be in Vegas for another two weeks. I figured I would stick around for Miss Marshalyn’s party. No need in making another trip back. Thought I’d give you a hand out here in the meantime.” He grinned. “You sure as hell look like you could use it. Never thought I’d see the day when a woman brought my oldest brother to his knees.”
“You’re a real comedian.” Austin fingered his bruised middle and determined he’d suffered no broken ribs, then hauled himself to his feet.
“I’m even better with cows than I am at telling jokes, so this is definitely your lucky day.”
Austin yanked off his gloves and shoved them into his hip pocket. “If that were the case, you’d be offering to stick around permanently by taking the hundred acres next door.
”
Houston shook his head. “I’ve got a bull with my name on it waiting at the PBR finals. Not to mention a dozen or so women ready to scream my name in the heat of the moment and walk away the morning after.”
“Sounds awful lonely to me.”
“I like things the way they are just fine. Besides, I’m not half as attached to the land as you are. Now if she’d offered the house, that would be another story.”
“Really?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s no never mind because she didn’t. So can you use the help or not?”
Austin grinned. “I’ve got three fences down on the far west corner, and a nail gun with your name on it.” His expression grew serious. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you’re welcome to stay out at my place.”
“And be that much closer to Miss Marshalyn?” Houston shook his head. “That woman’s driving me nuts, not to mention ruining my social life. She actually announced to her choir group that I came back to town to find a wife. Since then I’ve had at least a half dozen women knocking on my door over at the inn. Not the walk-away kind of women, either. These are the ones determined to stick around the morning after, and every day from then on. I’ve even got one in particular following me around town.”
“So now the truth comes out. You aren’t so interested in helping out as you are in hiding out.”
Houston gave him a level stare. “Actually, I’m interested in both. You’ve got a pretty nice setup here. I’m real proud of you, bro.”
“Thanks.” He glanced around before meeting Houston’s gaze again. “And about Miss Marshalyn. Cut her some slack. She’s just worried about you.”
“I’m a grown man now.”
“You’re a single grown man.”
He grinned. “And I’m staying that way.” He gathered the reins and steered the horse around. “I’ll head back in, pick up the supplies from the barn and get started on the fence.”
Austin nodded and watched his brother ride off before he limped over to his own horse and retrieved the liniment from his saddlebags. Gathering his strength, he turned toward the wounded cow. She’d quieted down, easing the pounding in his temples.
He stepped toward her, his approach as easy as his voice. “Look, I haven’t had more than an hour’s sleep. I’m tired and hurting and I’ve had just about enough.” Of the cow, that is.
He hadn’t had nearly enough of sexy-as-hell Maddie Hale, which was the cause of his headache and his lack of sleep. He was the king of one-night stands, as in one night. That night was now over, but damned if he didn’t want another.
A realization that confused the hell out of him. One night had always been just fine with him.
But now…he wanted more, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.
He knew what he wasn’t going to do about it.
He wasn’t having sex with her again. He’d made a lot of mistakes in his life, but he had the gut feeling that that would be his biggest. Better to curb his appetite before he really developed a taste for her, because, like it or not, Maddie was strictly temporary with her big-city job and her big-city life and her big-city ideas.
He may have seen glimpses of the shy, uncertain girl he’d once known, but she’d definitely changed. She wasn’t the marrying kind.
Not anymore.
9
MADELINE HAD SEEN many things in her lifetime. After all, she was a worldly woman who lived in a major metropolis. Not much could shock her.
Except walking into her hometown Piggly Wiggly—the size of most convenience stores in Dallas—and smelling the scent of cinnamon rolls baking in a nearby oven.
An oven?
“Things just haven’t been the same since they expanded with a bakery,” Camille Skeeter told her. The old woman had been picking up some lemons—Skeeter’s had many things but fresh produce wasn’t part of the inventory—when she’d spotted Madeline and waved her over. “But the folks in town were desperate.” A cough punctuated the sentence and she shook her head. “I hope this lemon tea works for my danged old croup. I’ve got an appointment with the doctor first thing Monday, but I’d hate to spend the rest of the week in misery. Ben’s got a dinner over at the new nursing home on Friday night and I was hoping to go with him.” Another cough and she cleared her throat.
Madeline followed the smell of cinnamon to a small counter at the rear of the store. Stacks of clear plastic containers holding freshly baked cinnamon rolls covered the top. Beyond stood a large silver oven and a preparation table. A man worked diligently to box more rolls. “They’re actually baking back there.”
“More like reheating. We haven’t had any homemade baked goods in this town since your folks closed up shop and moved to the Coast. Except for Marshalyn. But since her eyesight’s fading, she hasn’t had much business. She’s got folks running scared.” At Madeline’s questioning glance, Camille added, “For Norman Crater’s retirement party over at the Elks Lodge, his wife ordered a double-chocolate-fudge layer cake with dark fudge filling.”
Madeline’s stomach grumbled at the thought and Camille smiled.
“Exactly. There isn’t a person alive can resist all that chocolate. But Marshalyn mixed up her baking chocolate with her stress relief—the chocolate chewable kind that works in twenty-four hours—and the Elks had to have one of their bathrooms completely redone after that. Folks started to make do with the Piggly Wiggly stuff after that, but they still complained and so the manager, that nice Mr. Connally, responded to customer demand. He put in an oven and started heating up frozen stuff. The rolls are good for about the first ten minutes. Then they cool and you can taste the staleness.”
Despite Camille’s warning about the boxed goodies, Madeline was lured by the smell. After she said goodbye to the woman and promised to drop by some new lotion samples, she bought a dozen. She tore off a bite as soon as she walked out of the store.
Yep, Camille had been right.
No melting in your mouth. No watering taste buds. No craving for more. That’s what her daddy’s homemade chocolate éclairs, along with the rest of his offerings, had done for the town of Cadillac.
She wasn’t sure if it was the strange sense of loneliness that stole through her or her craving for a homemade blueberry muffin, or maybe a little of both. But instead of heading back to her car, she walked the half block to her parents’ old shop.
Most of the windows had been boarded up from the inside. A For Sale sign hung on the front door, the contact a local real-estate investment company who’d bought the place from her parents because of its prime commercial location. There’d been rumors of a diner opening up, but the buyer hadn’t been able to get a loan approved and so the place still stood, waiting for a new owner, the ovens cold and silent inside.
It was so unlike the place she remembered, filled with lots of noise and sweet smells and warmth. Her favorite place where she’d learned her father’s secret recipe for everything from cream puffs to blueberry muffins.
She could remember those Saturday nights when she and Sharon would strap on aprons and help her father prepare for the Sunday-morning rush. They would mix up dough, laugh and bake and sample goodies late into the night. It hadn’t been the typical Saturday night, but it had always been fun. A wave of nostalgia rolled through her and she had the sudden urge to pull the For Sale sign from the window.
Crazy.
Madeline wouldn’t be caught dead purchasing the run-down bakeshop. She didn’t go near a kitchen anymore—not for baking purposes anyhow—much less a jelly doughnut or an apple fritter or a blueberry muffin.
Sure, she indulged with the occasional Oreo, but it was a purely creative necessity. A new craving she’d developed after she’d left her old life behind. But the craving didn’t control her. She controlled it. When she wasn’t in the lab, she walked the straight and narrow road of self-control, far removed from the frumpy, muffin-baking, overweight girl who’d once considered continuing the family business.
&
nbsp; She needed noise and buildings and life.
Already she was feeling nervous and anxious and caged in. The sudden trembling in her hands proved as much.
“Hey, there, Maddie!” a woman’s familiar voice called to her from across the street and drew her attention from the haunting images.
Madeline turned to see Eden Hallsey Weston standing in front of the Pink Cadillac, the bar and grill situated directly across from her parents’ shop.
At one time, the petite blonde had been quite the wild child. But since marrying Brady Weston, ex-captain of the football team and the All-American cowboy who headed his family’s boot-making business, she’d traded her bad-girl ways for domestic bliss. Instead of short shorts and a tank top, she wore white capri pants and a baseball jersey that read Go Weston Wranglers! She had her arms overloaded with a pair of matching blond-haired, blue-eyed toddler boys.
Adjusting the boys in her arms, she glanced both ways before crossing the street and approaching Madeline.
“I saw you at Cheryl Louise’s wedding, but I didn’t really get a chance to catch up. How have you been doing? You look so good!”
“Thanks. So do you.” Despite her obvious load, she was as pretty as ever. But even more than pretty, Eden looked happy.
The woman beamed. “It’s hectic with these two underfoot, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Brady and I like the whole parent thing so much we’re working on number three.” She shook her head. “Can you believe it? Me? A wife and a mother?”
“I bet you’re great at both.”
“I don’t know about that, but I love being both. Go figure. So what about you? You have anybody special right now?”
The question stirred an image of Austin Jericho with his shirt pushed up and his fingers twined in her hair and his dark eyes glittering down at her while she suckled him.
“I’m too busy for a serious relationship.”
“That’s right,” Eden said. “You’re a big-time scientist with that cosmetics company. That must be very exciting.”
The Sex Solution Page 12