by Anne Carrole
In no time, she’d finished the bacon and cheese omelet, toasted the bread and buttered it, and poured a glass of milk. She’d figure out how to make coffee later. Being a tea drinker, she didn’t have a clue what a good cup of coffee tasted like.
With no tray available, she simply put the salt and pepper shakers under one arm and managed to handle the plate, silverware, napkin, and glass with both hands. College waitress skills came in handy.
“You stay here, Cowboy,” she bid the cat, stretched lazily across the kitchen floor in a dapple of sunlight. She’d already set up Cowboy’s food, water, and litter pan in the mud room near the back door, and he’d made himself right at home.
The door to Chance’s room was open, and he was propped up in bed, cell phone pressed to his ear.
A smile escaped her lips when she noted he’d wrestled on some jeans. He’d left the dresser drawer half open and the crutches lying across the foot of the bed. But he hadn’t covered up his bruised chest. She imagined those ribs weren’t feeling too good right now.
She toed open the door and brought the food forward. In a second, he was off the phone.
“Talking to my trainer. Says within a few weeks, he should have me back on my feet, literally.” A broad smile flashed across his movie-star handsome face, along with a heavy dose of relief.
She knew the doctor had given him a different timetable, but she wasn’t going to press it. At least not today. She’d fill him in on her opinion when the time came.
“Looks good, Libby. But milk? What am I, five?”
“I still don’t know how to make coffee. And I’ll be honest with you—I’m not exactly an experienced cook. But now is as good a time to learn as any. I can’t be eating out at chain restaurants all my life. Not if I’m going to have a family someday.”
He frowned and took up the fork she’d handed him as she placed the plate near him on the bed and the milk on the nightstand so it wouldn’t spill.
“Your guy wants kids, I guess?” he muttered.
Ben had told her he wanted to wait on children until they had the money for a house, and he wanted no more than two due to the cost of raising a child. He’d been quite adamant about that. It had all sounded reasonable at the time. “Yes, eventually.”
“We were going to have four, if I recall.” He took a mouthful of the omelet, but his cool gray eyes stayed focused on her.
“Yes.” She remembered. She also remembered the tingling feeling she always got deep in the pit of her stomach when she’d think about having Chance’s children. Like her body was getting primed and ready. That was then. So why was she feeling all tingly now?
“We haven’t decided on how many.” Ben may want only two, but she hadn’t agreed yet. In her mind it was still an open topic—as open as whether she even should be with Ben, considering her chaotic feelings for Chance.
“What does he do?” Chance was still staring at her, barely blinking.
“He’s a geological engineer, but he also has a master’s in business, so he’s looking to be in management for a drilling company. He’s in a training program at the moment.” Why did it suddenly sound so dull?
“Met him at school?”
She nodded.
“Guess you prefer ties to blue jeans.” He shook his head as if he was disappointed in her. Well, she’d surely disappointed him on so many levels, what was one more.
“There’s nothing wrong with a man in a suit and tie,” she answered, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. “And he hasn’t asked yet. We’re still in the talking stage.”
And clearly she and Ben needed to talk. She might be able to convince Chance she still didn’t have feelings for him, but with every minute she was in his company, it was getting harder to convince herself. And if she did have feelings, how could she lead Ben on, even if Chance didn’t return those feelings? “What about you? I was wondering if I’d find a bunch of buckle bunnies taking care of you.”
For the first time since they’d ventured on this topic, Chance smiled. “I had offers.”
She bet he had. “But?”
“Not exactly the way I want people to see me. Pride, I guess.” His fork scraped the plate clean. He smacked those firm lips of his and took a swig of milk.
“But you don’t mind if I see you like this.”
A trace of a white mustache formed above his upper lip. He looked adorable. She tamped down the urge to wipe it off. No touching him for any reason.
“Actually, I do—just doesn’t seem anything I can do about it.” He swiped a hand across his mouth, erasing the traces of milk.
“Darn right there’s not.”
One corner of his mouth crooked up. “This was pretty good, Libby.”
Warmth spread through her at the compliment, easing a little of the tension she’d been feeling from their personal discussion. She needed to change the subject to a more neutral topic.
“Thank you. This house is beautiful and in a beautiful mountain setting. It’s so homey looking in here. Did you buy all this stuff, the curtains, the bedspreads, the furniture?”
She wondered if a woman had helped him decorate.
“I negotiated most of the existing furniture and decorations into the sale price. The moment I stepped into this house, it felt like home. I never really had a home, not a happy one, anyway. This ranch and the house mean I have a place where I belong.”
Knowing where he came from and what little he’d had, she could just imagine how much it meant to him. That was a part of his life she’d hoped to make better when she’d married him. And instead, she’d made it so much worse.
He grimaced and sucked in a breath.
“Pain?” Instinctively she touched his arm. He was warm and solid, and touching him felt electric. She pulled her hand away.
“Feels like a hundred spears digging into me.” He laid his head back and an errant strand of dark hair curled over his brow, making him look all tousled and sexy. Half naked, his eyes closed, his body still. She resisted the unnerving temptation to touch him again. To stroke him, make him feel better. And hated that here he was in pain, and she was having a lust-filled moment. “Anything I can do?”
“Depends on what you’re offering,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Just offering help, Chance.” But she felt the blush in her cheeks.
He let out a breath and gave a soft chuckle, as if he enjoyed making her uncomfortable.
“Relax. Once I stop and lay still, it gets better. Apparently it is going to take some time until I get my strength back. I’ll catch some sleep after I hobble to the bathroom.”
“You need help with that?” she said as she gathered up the plate.
His eyes popped wide and his not-too-friendly gaze settled on her. “The day any woman has to help me with the necessities is the day I’ll take a gun and shoot myself.”
“Chance, don’t talk like that.”
“Just emphasizing that cooking and helping out is one thing. Playing nursemaid is a whole different kettle of fish. And no thanks to that kettle.”
“Why?”
“Because it makes me feel old and worthless. It’s depressing enough to sit here unable to do much for myself. But damn it, I’m getting to the bathroom on my own.”
“I’ll just wait then until…until you’re finished so I know you’re okay.”
“You will not. You’ll leave this room and leave me be. My hobbling around isn’t a pretty sight, and it’s not for anyone else’s eyes but mine. So get now. You need to settle in and eat too, I expect.”
She was hungry. “I also really should go to town and get some groceries. You don’t have much more than breakfast fixings in the house.”
He nodded. “That seemed the easiest thing, considering I’d be on my own. If you’re going to town, take some money out of my wallet on the bureau.”
“I’ll pay. My contribution to the pot.” Though how long she could make that contribution before her funds ran out might be another mat
ter. Still, it was only right to offer.
He snorted. “Since you’re going to be working for my hospitality, the least I can do is feed you. More money is in the top drawer if need be.”
She hoped her relief didn’t show on her face. “All right. How about steaks tonight on that grill I spied on your patio?”
She’d never grilled steaks, but how hard could they be?
“Sounds great.”
“I may need some instructions on starting the barbecue though.”
He shook his head as if she was a little girl who needed indulging. “It’s as simple as turning on the stove, Libby.”
“Well good, then.” She rose slowly so as not to jostle him, gathered the silverware onto the empty plates, and with dishes in hand, headed toward the door. She’d come back for the money after she ate.
“Libby.”
She turned around, startled by the serious tone of his voice.
“I don’t know why you’re here or what you hope to get out of this, especially considering our past, but…I suppose I should say thanks.”
Warmth swelled deep inside of her. “You’re welcome. And I’m not expecting anything, really I’m not. Not a blessed thing.”
* * *
Chance watched her sashay out of the room, her denim-clad hips swaying and her cute little backside wiggling, and wondered which hurt most—the pain from his injuries or knowing she was here and not available. She’d been dressed in a simple tank top and denim skirt, but on her it looked like high fashion.
It had been difficult to hear about the man in her life, but he knew he should be relieved. Another huge reason she should be off limits.
Why she still tempted him was as much a wonder as why he’d allowed himself to be fast-talked into letting her stay. Could be those two things were related.
He had to be stronger than that. He had to stop wanting her to care, really care, like for a lifetime, not a hospital stay. Hadn’t he stopped believing she could? Wasn’t five years of treading emotional waters enough?
What he still couldn’t figure out was why she had come. He was sure there were other people she could have stayed with. Like her soon-to-be fiancé. If it wasn’t to start things up again, which he could never let happen no matter how much he wished things were different, why was she here?
Guilt?
Probably.
Or worse, feeling sorry for him.
He needed a dose of reality if he still yearned for the sweet, giving young woman who had shown him what it felt like to be loved, to be valued, to be needed. She didn’t exist. He had to accept that.
But watching her very feminine form walk out of the room was making it hard—in every way. Good thing he was in enough pain to squash his physical reaction. But it didn’t stop the craving.
What he needed was to get laid. But that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. No, there was nothing that was going to save him except sheer willpower and a long memory.
A movement near the door caught his eye. A sleek black feline walked into the room, tail waving.
“Didn’t you get the memo, cat? You’re not welcome in here,” Chance said, more amused than annoyed.
The cat stopped as if he understood what was being said, gave a long look in Chance’s direction, and continued his progress with tail erect. He may have heard, but he wasn’t listening. Just like his frustrating owner.
Chapter 8
After settling into her room, Libby had gone for groceries and came back two hours later loaded down with meal fixings, including, steaks, chops, chicken breasts, and ribs—all food that could be grilled—and a cookbook on barbecuing she’d found in the sale bin near the store’s paperback section.
She was armed and dangerous, she thought as she stowed the food in the nearly empty freezer and sparsely stocked refrigerator. Frozen vegetables at least came with directions, and she could do a baked potato in the microwave.
She’d bought chocolate ice cream—a favorite of Chance’s, if she remembered correctly. And fixings for apple pie, including a frozen piecrust. She’d never picked up the knack of rolling out her own dough despite her mother’s many attempts to teach her.
After everything was put away, she acquainted herself with the rest of the house. The beamed-ceiling great room that fronted the house looked like a nice place to curl up with a book. Two saddle-leather couches framed a large fieldstone fireplace, over which hung a big-screen TV. Another leather chair sat by a large, drape-framed window overlooking the corrals. A western patterned rug covered the polished wood floor. It looked a lot more inviting than her father’s den at home. She squinted at the small, framed photo on the fireplace mantel. The picture was of a much younger Chance smiling as he stood hand in hand with an older man. But the older man looked too old to have been Chance’s father.
Off to the left and across the hall from the kitchen was a room with a massive wood desk. Lining the near wall were bookcases filled with all sorts of books—western history, mysteries, spy adventures… She didn’t venture in but stood at the edge of the doorway. There were papers scattered across the desktop, and Libby had no inclination to snoop in Chance’s private business. She decided she’d best get down the hallway and check on Chance before she started supper.
Things were awfully quiet. Not even the sounds of TV or music floated from the room as she moved toward the slightly ajar door and peeked in.
He was still propped against the headboard, his braced ankle resting on two pillows, but his eyes were closed. And despite the draw of his naked chest, an arresting sight even with the colorful bruises, it was the silky black cat draped across his lap that caused her feet to stop and her breath to hitch. The two gorgeous male specimens, sleeping like lazy panthers, brought a smile to her face.
Looked like Cowboy had found a kindred spirit—at least in sleep. She couldn’t help but envy the cat his spot. She’d love to curl up on top of Chance, feel his hard body, press her lips to his skin, and lick.
Her hands touched her warm cheeks. She hadn’t had thoughts like that in…years. Since she’d been with Chance. He’d had a knack for bringing out a wild side. But in reality, she’d been a frightened girl who’d been playing at being a woman.
And now? Maybe what she was doing here was finding out the answer to that question.
Not wanting to wake them, she tiptoed away, back down the hall toward the kitchen. She’d figure out for herself how to get that grill started. Nothing like the present to start down the road to independence.
She was halted by the vibrations of her phone. A glance at the screen showed it was Ben.
Her stomach pitched as she swiped a finger across the answer icon.
“Hi,” she said, trying to sound casual as she entered the kitchen. This was not going to be easy. She hadn’t told Ben where she was going. Or her father. Only Doug knew. How could she explain what she was doing here? Or why she was here—a question she was still trying to answer. And yet she didn’t want to lie.
Ben sounded excited and enthused. He’d gone out to one of the drill sites and had applied some of his geological knowledge.
“Two more weeks,” she acknowledged when he reminded her. What she was going to do after that she didn’t know. Maybe by then Chance wouldn’t need her, though given how much pain he was in, she doubted that. And then who would keep him from doing too much? Who would care for him?
“Nothing’s wrong,” she replied in answer to his question. “But something’s come up.” She took a deep breath. “A friend of mine hurt their foot and has to be laid up for a few weeks. No, you don’t know them. A friend from my high school days. Anyway, I’m going to help out for a bit since I’m not working yet and you’re in Texas.”
He asked if she had given any thought to moving in together when he came back to Gillette.
“I’ve given it some thought. But…” She had to tell him. She owed him that. She took a deep breath. “Ben, I’ve been thinking…about us.”
* * *
&nbs
p; Luckily, Chance’s fancy grill had turned on with the ease of a stove, just like he’d promised. She had slid two steaks covered with onion salt and dipped in olive oil onto the grates and listened to the satisfying sizzle as she turned up the heat.
Heading back to the kitchen for the rest of the dinner, she surveyed the apple pie she’d baked that afternoon. The crust was done to a perfect golden brown. She’d been able to spend some time with her mother learning how to bake. She relished those memories. But it hadn’t been enough time for her to master a flaky pie crust. The frozen pie crust she’d bought at the grocer’s had been the answer.
She placed two potatoes, with fork-poked holes, in the microwave, set the timer, closed the door, and hit the start button before reaching for the bag of premixed salad and emptying it into a bowl. She cut wedges of tomatoes and sliced a cucumber, adding them to the mix. A little oil and balsamic vinegar provided the finishing touch. She stood back to assess, pleased she’d been able to conquer the meal duties.
Well, at least something might go right today.
The phone call with Ben certainly had not gone well. She’d told him she couldn’t move in with him and wasn’t sure when or if she could. The words had been hard to form, but she finally got them out. He’d been caught off guard, and his response was one of disbelief. He’d wanted to know what he’d done, and she had nothing to tell him beyond she’d been having second thoughts. He’d told her she wasn’t thinking straight and promised they’d work it out when he got back.
Maybe she wasn’t thinking straight, but thought had little to do with what she was feeling—or not feeling.
She’d felt like the worst kind of person, having that sort of discussion over the phone. But it wasn’t fair to string Ben along when just the sight of Chance had pushed him out of her thoughts.
Being perfect on paper, she now knew, wasn’t enough.
Ben deserved better. She would face him when he got back. By then she should know whether this was a passing phase or something more, something serious. Doing the right thing—heck, just knowing what was the right thing—wasn’t always easy.