The Playboy's Own Miss Prim

by Mindy Neff

  “You won’t get an argument from me. He’s a big bear of a guy with the heart of a lamb.”

  Ethan lifted a brow. “Somehow I don’t think he’d agree with that description.”

  Dora laughed. “Then don’t tell him I said so.”

  “The two of you are close.”

  “Mmm. I spent summers in Texas with him and Grandma. I lived there while I went to Texas U.”

  “What was your major?”

  “Business. With a minor in arts.”

  “And out of that you chose photography?”

  “It’s what suits me. There’s always something new and exciting through the lens of the camera. It captures nuances that most people are too busy to notice. Including me, which is why I use photos as a blueprint for my sketches. It’s what gives me an edge.”

  “And you publish it for all the world to see.”

  “People have to stop and smell the roses sometime. In my case I use baby animals to evoke emotions, often adding a touch of the ridiculous. A cute, candid pose with the right caption can make you laugh out loud or smile softly or even bring you to tears.”

  “Do you write the copy?”

  “No. I only draw the images.”

  “I’d like to see your portfolio sometime.” She grinned. “I’ll be sure to invite you up to see my etchings.”

  The image brought about by that teasing statement made him sweat. Dora’s soft laugh drifting through the headset had him jerking to face her.

  “You’re fun to tease—for a playboy cowboy.”

  “And you’re awfully impertinent—for a preacher’s daughter.”

  “Two for two.”

  “You’re a lousy scorekeeper, legs.”

  “You mean we’re not even? Who’s winning?”

  “I hate to admit it, but I’m sure you are.”

  “Good. I like to win.” And the stakes she was aiming for were precious and very high.

  She felt the plane begin its descent and looked below. Rolling hills, green from summer rains, and dense stands of pines surrounded a small brick house and a narrow private landing strip. The landscape was very different from the prairies of Shotgun Ridge that they’d left behind an hour or so ago.

  “Doesn’t look like an international airport or a mall to me,” she commented.

  Ethan’s deep, masculine laughter caressed her ears through the headset. “Smart and sexy, too.”

  She nearly got sidetracked by the “sexy” remark. He was a man who could hand out flirty lines easily. But with her, he usually backpedaled. And as much as that often frustrated her, it also sparked her femininity. Because she realized that he did indeed find her sexy—even though he didn’t want to.

  The importance of his opinion surprised her. It was something she was going to have to give some thought to. But at the moment she was too busy trying to calculate the braking distance of a streaking airplane on a small runway in the boondocks.

  “Uh, are you actually planning to land down there?”

  “Yep.”

  “Wouldn’t it have been easier just to take the truck to Billings?”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  Being the only girl with four brothers, a question like that was as good as a dare. And Dora rarely resisted a dare. “Just as strong as yours. Aim good and don’t blink.”

  “I’ve got great instincts, legs. Sit back and relax.”

  She deliberately rested her hands in her lap, even though they wanted to fist. She would say one thing for Ethan Callahan. He kept her excitement level at a fever pitch.

  When the wheels had touched ground and they were taxiing toward a man waiting beside an ancient-looking station wagon, Dora spoke again. “You know someone here who has a crib?”

  “It just so happens that Scott and Shelly own a baby store in town. I like to patronize my friends’ businesses whenever possible. Although I never thought I’d have the need for Treechman’s Baby Land.”

  And Dora was hoping his need was only temporary.

  Katie was awake and happy when they climbed out of the plane.

  “Thanks for meeting us, Scott,” Ethan said, surprising Dora when he embraced the other man rather than offering a traditional handshake. They were both similar height, wearing jeans and boots. But where Ethan epitomized the all-American cowboy with his wide-brim Stetson, Scott wore an Idaho State ball cap. “This is Dora and Katie,” he introduced.

  “Pleased to meet you.” Scott wiggled his fingers at Katie. “A little girl. I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “Neither did I,” Ethan said.

  Scott raised his brows and glanced at Dora. Instead of helping Ethan out of the corner he’d obviously backed himself into, she passed Katie into his arms.

  Katie experienced a moment of uncertainty, then true to her sunny disposition she adapted and immediately grabbed for Ethan’s hat.

  “It’s a long story,” he said to Scott, wrestling with Katie over possession of the hat. “Do I need to get Katie’s chair thing out of the plane?”

  “Car seat,” Dora and Scott said in unison.

  “Same thing.”

  “Actually, it’s not,” Scott corrected. “Being in the business, I can tell you there are an extensive variety of ‘chair things.”’

  “Then you’re about to become a very happy man. I’m prepared to do some major damage to my credit card. Do I need the seat or not?”

  “Not. I’ve got Jeremy’s in the wagon. And about that credit card. You know Shelly’s going to object.” Scott led the way to the old white station wagon. “She doesn’t charge retail to family.”

  “I’m a persuasive man. We’ll overcome her objections.”

  “I’ll be adding my own objections, Ethan,” he said quietly, stopping to look Ethan right in the eye, his gaze moving slowly between Katie’s features and Ethan’s. “I owe you.”

  “Cut it out and let’s get this show on the road.”

  Dora wanted to know what the undercurrents were here. There was a genuine fondness between the men, and Scott had called them family. The layers of Ethan Callahan were getting deeper by the minute. She wondered if anyone really knew this man.

  And she told herself her own desire to know him was strictly for Katie’s benefit.

  Chapter Five

  “What did Scott mean when he said he owed you?” Dora couldn’t believe they’d gotten all this stuff in the airplane. Back at the ranch, they were wading amidst boxes and bags.

  True to his word, Ethan had indeed spent a small fortune. And as much as she admired the pretty things, it also worried her that he’d gone to such extremes.

  She didn’t want him to settle in for the long haul. She only expected that she and Katie would be temporary here. The hand-carved crib, clothes, diapers, toys and accessories indicated otherwise.

  To beat back the panic, she reminded herself that Ethan simply didn’t do anything in half measures. When it was time to leave, she wouldn’t be doing so with empty arms. By then he’d be convinced that being a father was way too limiting for his lifestyle.

  “He doesn’t owe me.”

  “Perhaps you feel that way, but he and Shelly seem to think otherwise.”

  Ethan shrugged, uncomfortable. “Scott’s a genius with wood. Just look at this crib. He makes them—all of them. I saw his talent and helped him get started in business.”

  “He called you family?”

  “We’re not really.” He gazed down at Katie, lost in thought. That part of his life held so much ugliness that he hated to remember, much less talk about it.

  “I know you’re adopted,” she said. “If you’d rather not talk about it, I understand.”

  He glanced at her. He rarely thought of Fred Callahan as an adoptive father. To him Fred was his parent, first, last and always. And suddenly the pain of missing him was keen.

  “How is it you know so much about me?”

  “I don’t know that much. Just bits and pieces of what Ozzie told my dad.”<
br />
  “The curse of a small town.”

  “Or a blessing. These people love you.”

  And that was something he would never forget. He sighed and picked up the boxes, stacking the rest of their purchases neatly in the corner so no one would trip. “Let’s finish this in the morning,” he said softly so as not to wake the baby.

  She nodded and followed him out of the room when he switched off the light. Grant and Clay were watching a sitcom, so Ethan bypassed the entertainment room and went into the kitchen, all the while highly attuned to the small woman walking beside him. She was such an enigma, all sass and self-confidence and contradiction. She had the savvy worldly teachings of her grandparents and the moral, spiritual, simple teachings of her parents. The two made for a very special blend. She appeared to know exactly who she was and where she was going.

  She was a people person, a toucher, a whirlwind who left him breathless. Two minutes after he’d introduced her to Scott and Shelly she’d acted as if they’d been best friends for years, fussing over Shelly’s pregnancy and cooing over their other two small boys. She’d talked babies and retail with Shelly and woodworking and marketing with Scott. And her interest was absolutely genuine.

  Yet despite her actions and her looks, there was still an innocence about her. An innocence that scared him right down to his bones.

  She made him yearn when he’d had no idea he was actually yearning.

  With a practiced eye he glanced around the gleaming kitchen, folded a dish towel and put it away in the drawer before opening the refrigerator.

  “Want a beer?” He stopped, mentally slapped a palm to his head. “Dumb question. Let’s see, there’s lemonade and juice.”

  “I wish you’d stop doing that.”

  “What?”

  “Treating me like a preacher’s daughter.”

  “Well, if the shoe fits, darlin’…”

  “Even if it does, I’m Dora Watkins. Just me. A woman like anybody else.”

  He begged to differ, but kept silent.

  “And I’ve nothing against alcohol except that I don’t like the taste. Especially beer. So I’ll pass solely on the recommendation of my taste buds and opt for hot tea. I’ll make it,” she added when he grabbed the teakettle and began filling it with water.

  “No, you sit. I think I can handle it.”

  She shrugged and did as he asked, for which he was fairly grateful. The woman could make a mess boiling water. It made him cringe just to watch her pouring juice in a bottle for Katie—a sticky ring left on the counter from the cap, a dribble of juice here, a splash of water there. And the concept of using a dishrag to tidy up appeared to simply escape her.

  With the tea bag steeping in a cup of water, he brought it and his beer to the table and sat, leaving only the light on over the stove for illumination. A soft breeze blew the curtains, bringing with it the sound of horses settling and the noisy, three-phase song of a mockingbird. It was times like this, when the day of hard work was done and the land was quiet, that he felt a keen sense of accomplishment, of peace. Normally.

  Granted, it had been a day of hard work—just not the kind he was used to. Traveling and shopping with a baby was enough to wear out even the strongest of men. As for peace, Dora and Katie had pretty much shattered that.

  Funny thing, though, he couldn’t seem to work up enough steam to mind. Must be the tiredness.

  “My brothers and I lived on the Treechman’s farm for a while,” he blurted out, as though there hadn’t been a lull in their conversation. “Scott was a little boy, but age didn’t mean much to Bernie Treechman. If you could put one foot in front of the other and lift a stick, you were old enough and capable enough to work.”

  “They were your foster family?”

  “Mmm,” he murmured, watching as she set the soggy tea bag on a napkin. Before the wetness could seep to the edges of the paper, he scooped it up and deposited it in the trash.

  “Thank you,” Dora said absently.

  “Welcome.” He sat again and stretched his legs under the table, crossed his ankles and took a sip of beer. It was an indolent pose, but his insides were anything but relaxed. “Clay was five, Grant was six, and I was eight when our mom dropped us off at County Services in Idaho. We’d been traveling from Chicago with a boyfriend of hers. I don’t even know where we were headed. I just remember that they fought the whole way, then one morning we were ushered into a building, put in a room with hard chairs and sat there holding hands quietly for an hour while our mom gave us away like stray mutts.”

  “Oh, Ethan.” Her hand streaked out to cover his. “How awful for you.”

  He automatically pulled back, not wanting her pity. Then he realized that Dora’s pity—for the children he and his brothers had been and for the situation—didn’t diminish him in any way.

  “Yeah, it was pretty heinous. The social worker’s name was Mrs. Lovell. I still remember her. She had short red hair with a wide streak of gray that swooped over her forehead like the curl on the top of a soft ice cream cone. And she had a kind voice. I begged her to let me take care of the boys, told her I was plenty old enough.” An owl screeched, sending a chill down his spine. “She just cupped my face and gave it a gentle squeeze. Her hand smelled like ketchup. Weird that I remember that.”

  “Not really. With trauma, people usually either block it or remember it in vivid detail.”

  “Sometimes I wish I could block it, but I guess I’m destined to be a detail man.” He ran his finger down the condensation on the beer bottle. “Mrs. Lovell wore huge glasses, the kind in the plastic frames that were too big for her face, but I could still see her eyes, the compassion and the pity. And the excitement when she came to us a couple days later and told us about the Treechmans and the ranch they ran outside of town. She said they wanted to take all of us. Together. I hugged her. God, I was scared, but she told me it would be so great because they had horses and lots of room for little boys to roam.”

  Ignoring his signals for distance, Dora abandoned her tea and scooted her chair closer. He drew his legs in, but her knees still bumped his, making it hard to concentrate. Especially with the earnest expression on her face and the crisp, wildflower smell of her perfume.

  She placed both her palms on his thighs and he swallowed hard.

  “You weren’t allowed to roam, though, were you?” she asked softly.

  He tried not to think of her touch and focused instead on the story. “No. The Treechmans didn’t want three little boys to add to their family. They wanted free labor. At first I told Grant and Clay to keep an open mind, to hope for the best. Ranching was hard work and long hours and naturally required the whole family to pitch in. But this was different. We were treated worse than dogs in the kennel.”

  “But Clay was only five!” Appalled, she shook her head, her blond hair swishing across her shoulder. “And you and Grant were six and eight. That’s horrible.”

  “That was life.”

  “No,” she said resolutely. “It was not. What about Scott? Was he an only child?”

  “Yes, thank God. He was Grant’s age, but he looked a lot younger. He was sick a lot. So they didn’t make him do the physical work, but old man Treechman had a mean tongue in his head and he used it on the kid at every opportunity.”

  “How long were you there?”

  “Almost a year.”

  “What about Social Services? Mrs. Lovell? Didn’t she come out and check on you?”

  “Sure.”

  “And you didn’t say anything?”

  He shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  “She’d have taken us back, and the chances of us staying together weren’t good.”

  “Oh, Ethan, listening to this story just makes my heart break, but at the same time I want to know the whole thing.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I just do. So go on.”

  He smiled at her fierce expression, her unapologetic curiosity. If it had been anyone
else, he would have changed the subject. For some reason talking to Dora was like confession—cleansing.

  He ran his hand down his face. How could he think up an analogy like that when his body was practically humming from the touch of her warm palms on his thighs?

  He scooted back in his chair, chugged a swallow of beer. “I tried to help Clay and Grant with their chores as much as possible, but it wasn’t always easy because Treechman would separate us. Then one day Fred Callahan showed up to buy horses. And he bought us, too.”

  “He…?”

  Ethan nodded. “Bought us.”

  “Oh. Well…how wonderful. And how scary.”

  “It was. Fred Callahan was a giant of a man, both in stature and in heart. He was firm but kind and filled with love. He fought for us and enlisted the help of the whole town in order to adopt us. He gave us his name and taught us all about horses and family and love.”

  “What a wonderful man. You must miss him.”

  “Very much.”

  “What about his wife?”

  “He never married.”

  “Never?”

  “Nope. Was a bachelor all his life and perfectly happy that way.”

  “Ah, so that’s where you get your carefree ways.”

  “He was the one man I admired above all others. If I could be just a fraction of the man he was, I’d be happy. So now I guess you know more about me than almost anybody else does.”

  “I appreciate you telling me.”

  “I thought you should know why accepting Katie came so easily to me. With my background I’d never turn my back on a child. Dad would come right up out of his grave and get me if I did.”

  “Is it just duty, then? Your acceptance of Katie?” she asked.

  “No. Maybe in the first five minutes or so. But not now. I look at that little girl, and I’m awed that she actually came from a part of me.”

  Dora’s hopes plummeted when he said touching things like that. As much as she admired his honor and genuine sense of responsibility, she could feel her own dreams slipping through her fingers.

  “But what about a family life?”

  “You mean marriage?” He shook his head. “Not interested. My mom was married three times and lived with several others before she finally dumped us. Not a great recommendation for the institution if you ask me.”