Downhome Darlin' & The Best Man Switch

by Victoria Pade

  What would she have done if he’d slipped under the covers with her?

  Kicked him out, probably.

  But it might have been fun trying.

  On the other hand, if he had pushed things he might not be about to see her again. And he would have hated that. Because he hadn’t looked forward to spending time with any one particular woman this much since he was a boy and being with a woman was a novelty.

  So rather than push anything, he was determined to go easy with Abby. Not to scare her away. Get to know her. Let her get to know him before he tried to convince her to try out his mattress again. With him in it.

  The trouble was, just the thought of getting her into his bed was enough to set off a whirlwind of responses inside him. Enough to throw his determinations to behave himself right out the window.

  “But this one’s a lady,” he told the kittens. “That makes her worth a little wooin’.”

  Or maybe a lot of wooing.

  He just didn’t know if he was up to the challenge.

  It had been a long time since he’d denied himself a woman he found attractive. A long time since a woman had denied him.

  And he’d never had one hanging on to the sheets with both fists, looking up at him with wide eyes, the way Abby Stanton had.

  Just the thought made him smile.

  “Turnin’ over a new leaf. Startin’ a new life. Guess that means learnin’ how to treat a new class of woman.”

  It ought to be interesting.

  It was definitely a challenge.

  But it was worth it, he decided.

  She was worth it.

  He could feel it in his bones. And those bones weren’t too often wrong.

  Hunches. Instincts. Whatever a person wanted to call them, so far they’d served him well. Made him a rich man. So he wasn’t likely to ignore them now.

  Especially when they were telling him to go for it with this woman. To reach for that higher standard. That new level of respectability.

  Or maybe it was just one bone in particular that was pointing the way to her....

  Nah. He wanted more than a tumble with her. First, anyway.

  And then, when he did get around to tumbling her?

  Even that would probably be different than what he’d known before.

  “And you three aren’t gonna be here to watch when the time comes—that’s for sure,” he told the kittens.

  Because this was going to be a new experience for him all the way around.

  And he didn’t want anything messing it up.

  ABBY TOOK ONE LAST LOOK in the mirror on the back of her bedroom door. Baggy, pleated-front jeans. White cotton blouse with a covered placket and a collar that reached to her chin. The natural curls of her hair were held back by a denim headband, and her makeup was a bare hint of blush—her usual color—a scant layer of mascara and plain lip gloss.

  No false messages tonight.

  This was the real Abby Stanton.

  When the doorbell rang she headed downstairs, knowing she was alone in the house because Emily and Bree had gone to a friend’s home for the evening.

  Abby paced herself to hide her anxiousness as she descended the steps. From Cal, at any rate, who was standing on the other side of the screen door. But a leisurely descent of the stairs didn’t change the fact that she was eager to see him again. No matter how much talking she’d done to herself all day and through the whole process of getting ready for this moment.

  Yes, she believed this was a one-time thing.

  Yes, she was convinced that when Cal realized what she was really like he wouldn’t want to see her again.

  Yes, she was certain he would be bored to tears with her tonight.

  And yes, that was how she wanted it so whatever was going on between them could end in the next couple of hours.

  But deep down she couldn’t help the bubble of excited anticipation that kept rising up inside her all on its own anyway.

  “Hi,” she said as she unlatched the screen door and pushed it open for him, trying not to notice just how terrific he looked. And smelled. He had on cowboy boots and jeans that were just tight enough. A bright shirt. His face was clean shaved. His wavy, wavy hair was combed carelessly. And he was giving off a faint, heady scent of the aftershave she’d spilled that morning, which definitely smelled better on him than it had on her.

  He returned her greeting and stepped into the entry, ignoring their surroundings to take a good, long, concentrated look at her.

  “No wild woman tonight, huh?” he said with that lopsided grin creeping up one corner of his oh-so-sexy mouth.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. I like this better. A lot better.”

  The funny thing was, he sounded as if he meant it. And Abby felt more pleased than she wanted to be to hear it. Especially since his appreciative gaze stayed on her rather than switching even then to the house, which was usually what happened because the place was an attention grabber all on its own.

  But Cal seemed oblivious to everything but Abby.

  “Shall we go?” she asked, beginning to feel uneasy beneath his study of her.

  He turned on his heels and held the door open for her this time. Abby ducked out in front of him, and he pulled the big door closed behind them as if he were right at home.

  “Where to?” he asked as they went to his car.

  “I think the best place is out by the lake—Palmer Lake. It’s about five miles outside town.”

  She’d given this a lot of thought today, too. Palmer Lake was undoubtedly the spot for sunset watching, since it was away from town and any artificial lights. But it was also fairly secluded, and she’d debated with herself about whether or not it was safe—or wise—to go out there alone with this man she hardly knew.

  In the end she’d decided that if he hadn’t done her any harm the night before, he probably wouldn’t tonight, either, so she’d discarded the concern for safety.

  But was it wise to go to a quiet, romantic spot alone with a man who made her blood boil? Who aroused her every sense and left her nerve endings too close to the surface of her skin for her own good? After all, it wasn’t only that she could see how attractive he was. She could feel it. Deep inside. In stirrings that shouldn’t be happening. Particularly for a stranger.

  Yet there she was, wise or unwise, getting into his car, giving directions as he slipped behind the wheel himself and started the engine.

  And if someone had asked her at that moment what had come over her, what had caused her to throw caution to the wind...?

  She didn’t think she could have given a rational answer.

  “How’s the head?” he asked, shooting her a sidelong glance once they were on their way.

  “Mine? Fine. Now.”

  “And the stomach?”

  “Fine. I’m fine,” she answered, a bit uncomfortable at being reminded of her previous evening’s antics.

  “Did your sisters give you a hard time this morning?”

  “They were worried. About last night and tonight.”

  “They didn’t think you should go out with me tonight?”

  “They weren’t too sure about it.” She didn’t mention that they’d been less concerned than she was, though. And instead she used the segue to put the evening into perspective. “I told them this was just a friendly payback. Nothing to think twice about That I’d probably be home by ten.”

  Cal took his eyes off the road long enough to look straight at her. “Is that your curfew?”

  “Curfew? No, I’m too old for a curfew. I just meant that this isn’t really a date or anything. It’s just sort of a welcome to Clangton, one good turn deserves another.”

  “Is that all it is?” he asked, sounding amused that she might think so.

  “What would you call it?”

  “A date. I’ve been callin’ it a date.” His eyes were back on the road, but she could see him grinning devilishly, enjoying the fact that he was thwarting her attempts to put
a mundane spin on this. Then he added, “And if I have anything to say about it, we’re gonna break that curfew.”

  Abby didn’t know how to answer that. Luckily the turnoff for the lake came into view, and she gave more directions instead of addressing his statement, not certain if she should be glad he wanted to spend more time with her or be troubled by it.

  She pointed out the best place to park, deciding to keep the conversation light and impersonal.

  “We used to have woodsies out here as kids—teenagers, really.”

  “Woodsies?”

  “That’s what we called them. We’d build a big bonfire and stand around it drinking beer and soda. Not a lot of excitement in good old Clangton.”

  “Guess we’ll have to make some of our own, then,” he said suggestively as he stopped the engine and got out.

  Was he teasing her with innuendos like that? Again? The way he had this morning? Or was he serious?

  She wasn’t sure.

  But then everything about this man left her unsure. Off balance. On edge. He just wasn’t the kind of guy she’d had any experience with, and she didn’t know how to take him.

  Or maybe it was just that she couldn’t quite believe he was flirting with someone like her. Choke-collar blouse and all.

  He rounded the Corvette to open her door once more, holding out his hand to help her from the low seat.

  Should she take his hand or shouldn’t she?

  It wasn’t as if she needed the help. But would she insult him if she refused? Or look even more prudish than she already did?

  That thought made her decision for her. She might be shy, quiet and provincial, but she wasn’t that much of a prude.

  She slipped her hand into his much bigger one, feeling the smooth calluses there. But the minute she made the contact of her skin against his, she regretted it.

  Not because there was anything wrong with it. But because there wasn’t. In the extreme.

  It was as if an electrical current sprang from that touch to dance up her arm. The man was like a live wire that set off exquisite sensations upon even small contact It made her want to curl her fingers around his hand and ease in close to his side so his elbow brushed her breast. So she could feel the heat of his body. So she could tuck her shoulder under his arm. Maybe lay her head against it...

  As soon as she was out of the car, she pulled her hand out of his and cleared her throat in an attempt to regain some of the internal composure she’d lost with that sensation and those thoughts.

  “That’s the east side of the lake, over where that stand of fir trees is. If we sit in front of them, we’ll be able to look out to the west and get a clear view of the sunset and see it reflected on the water, too. Sort of a double exposure.”

  “Sounds perfect,” he said, going to the trunk of the car and taking a blanket and a picnic basket from it.

  He hoisted the picnic basket and said, “Crackers, cheese, fruit, but no wine. Only some sparkling water and a thermos of coffee. I didn’t think you’d be up to more booze after last night.”

  “You were right.” And she was grateful for the consideration.

  He tucked the blanket under the same arm carrying the wicker basket and closed the trunk with his free hand. “Lead the way,” he said then, and Abby didn’t hesitate, half-afraid he might take her hand again if she waited to walk beside him.

  And half-afraid he wouldn’t.

  They went about a third of the distance around the lake before they were positioned just right. Cal set the basket on the ground while he snapped open the blanket, then he set the basket on one corner and motioned for Abby to sit.

  She did, hugging another corner as if the center of the blanket was too risqué.

  It didn’t matter. Cal still sat close by.

  “So,” she said to break the silence that had followed them from the car. “Have you always been a big sunset watcher or was this just a come-on?”

  “A come-on?” he repeated with a laugh. “That makes me sound so cold and calculating. No, I really am a big sunset watcher. And sunrise, too, if I haven’t had too late a night before. Or if the night before is still goin’ on about then. It’s always been a way of puttin’ some continuity into a life that didn’t have any. Until just lately.”

  He didn’t seem eager to expand on that because he changed the subject to ask what she wanted to drink as he unloaded the food. He poured sparkling water into two wine goblets and set a plate laden with fruit, cheese and crackers on the closed basket lid within easy reach. Then he stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles, leaned back—braced on his elbows—and stared at the horizon.

  “This is a great spot.”

  Abby looked at him as he watched the sky, studying his sculpted profile and wondering—much the way her sisters had—who he really was, where he’d come from, what made him tick.

  He glanced at her and nodded in the direction of mountains, which were only beginning to be outlined in butter-yellow, persimmon-pink and orange the color of a Creamsicle.

  “You’re missin’ it,” he warned before turning back.

  It wasn’t easy to tear her gaze away from him, but she forced herself to. Although she could still see him from the corner of her eye, and in truth watching him as he seemed to lose himself in the view of the setting sun was as intriguing as nature’s display itself.

  There was something elemental about the man. Primitive and naturally sensual. It went along with his apparent lack of awareness of his own impact on her. It seemed to say that he took for granted his appeal and had no problem stepping outside himself to revel in something like a sunset. And maybe being with her to watch it.

  “You know, some of the best colors come from the reflection of the sun’s rays through layers of pollution,” he said. “I guess that’s the good side of a bad thing. But I always wonder what it looked like back when there wasn’t junk in the air. If it was spectacular on its own or just a fading glow that no one paid much mind to. Me, I always stop whatever I’m doin’, wherever I am, to watch because you just never know what you might see.”

  “My favorites are when the sun looks like a fireball,” Abby offered.

  “Does that mean you’re a card-carryin’ sunset watcher, too?”

  “No, I can’t say that. I just notice an occasional, exceptional one.”

  “Then you don’t know what you’re missin’ because even the unexceptional ones have a way of bringin’ a peace and calming to the end of the day. I’m not big on stoppin’ to smell the flowers, but a sunset, now, that’s somethin’ else.”

  They finished to watch in companionable silence, and although she’d never thought of it in his terms before, she came to agree with him. There was something very peaceful, very calming in the spectacle. It helped her relax about being with him.

  And then, when the sun’s rays disappeared completely and the sky held its last vestige of light before it gave over to the first stars and a nearly full moon, Cal let out a sigh of satisfaction and popped a grape into his mouth.

  “Why didn’t your life have continuity?” she asked to start conversation up again, referring to what he’d said earlier.

  He shrugged a single broad shoulder, angled her way and sat up Indian fashion to face her. “My daddy couldn’t grow roots no matter how hard he tried,” he said simply before sampling some of the cheese slices on the dish.

  “What did he do for a living?”

  “You name it, he did it. Trained horses, black-smithed, rodeoed, was a ranch hand, crop picker, crop duster, barn raiser, and a plain, all-round cowboy. Just never in one place for too long.”

  “How come?”

  “He said he had a restless spirit. Myself, I think it was a way to try outrunnin’ responsibilities, but what do I know?”

  “Did he outrun his responsibilities?”

  “Not for the most part. No way he could draggin’ seven kids along with him.”

  “Seven kids? You have six brothers and sisters?”


  “Five brothers and one sister.”

  “Wow. I thought four kids was a big family.”

  “Yours?”

  “Mmm. There’s me, Emily, Bree and our brother, Lucas.”

  “Parents still livin’?”

  “South of Denver. They got tired of small-town life. My dad is semiretired, doing some consulting work there and they travel a lot. What about your folks?”

  “My mother died givin’ birth to baby number seven—Kate. My dad passed on about three years ago—he was kicked in the head by a mule.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too. He was a good ol’ boy, that’s for sure. Wanderin’ ways and all.”

  “So you didn’t have a home base growing up?”

  “No home base. No home. We lived in an old silver-bullet Airstream trailer we pulled behind the truck. Except when a job came with livin’ quarters or on rare occasions when we’d stay in a motel or a huntin’ camp or something like that. And we did a lot of campin’ out.”

  “Did you go to school?”

  “Sure. More of ’em than I could count. Most years we didn’t finish in the same one we’d started in. One year we changed schools five different times.”

  “That must have been awful.”

  He grinned at her. “Don’t go feelin’ sorry for me, Abby Abby Stanton. I’m not complainin’, just answerin’ your questions. With seven kids there was always a bunch of us in a particular school for company. And there wasn’t a time when any one of us went without someone to play with or hang out with. Plus we did a lot of readin’—the old man was big on books. We did just fine. Every single one of us even went to college.”

  “And sunsets and sunrises give you a sense of continuity.”

  “No matter where we were, it was the same sun comin’ up and goin’ down. I liked the thought of that. It helped make it so it didn’t matter that sometimes I wasn’t sure where we were.”

  “Didn’t you get tired of traveling?”

  “Not till just lately.”

  “So you even lived that kind of life after you were on your own?”

  “Yep. We all have, actually, shootin’ off in every direction you can think of.”