Just for a day. Maybe two.
She wouldn't ask for more. And then—when they dug out—she would go back to being herself.
She didn't dislike being herself. She didn't dislike her father. She just needed a break. A breather. A time-out.
And then, renewed, she would go back to the fray.
And when she got there, she would try to find the perfect man and have those grandchildren her father desired. And when she did, she would pick a suitable man—one her father would approve of.
As much as she might battle with him, deep down she was his daughter. She valued the same things he did—honesty, loyalty, the courage of one's convictions, the determination to do the right thing and the responsibility to accept the consequences of doing the wrong ones.
Her husband, unlike Chad, would value those things, too.
In the end she would do her father proud—in her way—and they would both be happy as clams.
But in the meantime, she was going practice a little carpe diem.
She was going to enjoy these brief days with this wholly unsuitable cowboy God had dropped into her life.
* * *
He couldn't sleep.
Of course he couldn't sleep!
How the hell could he possibly sleep when he'd just found out that the woman he'd kidnapped was Hard-Ass Hamilton's daughter?
Shane lay there on the lumpy couch, a spring stabbing him in the back, and wondered whether if he threw himself down on it hard enough he could impale himself and thus end his miserable life.
The way his luck was running lately it seemed unlikely.
Why couldn't he learn to keep his big mouth shut? Why couldn't he learn to be satisfied with a sane, normal life like other men?
Why did he have to go around kidnapping judges' daughters?
Well, he'd only kidnapped one judge's daughter. So far, he thought gloomily. He was young yet. God only knew how many more he might inadvertently run off with.
He moaned. He twisted. And turned. The spring stabbed him again. It was like sleeping on a bed of nails.
Just punishment, he was sure Mace would have said. Shane didn't want to think what Hard-Ass Hamilton would say.
His only comfort was that he hadn't taken Poppy across any state lines. At least the old man couldn't give him the death penalty.
Though it might be preferable if he did. Hamilton was a past master at discovering a guy's Achilles' heel. He seemed to know exactly how to make a guy miserable. God, did he know! Hard-Ass Hamilton had, with malice and justice aforethought, once managed to make Shane more miserable than he'd ever been in his life.
But he'd been a kid then. Giddy and irresponsible and high on beer. It was depressing to realize that he didn't even have any of those excuses now. Thanks to his age, his thumb and the doc's orders, he'd managed to make a complete and utter ass of himself at age thirty-two stone-cold sober.
He'd kidnapped the wrong girl.
And, worse, he'd tried to seduce her!
He thought about getting up and going to the door of the bedroom and tapping on the door and apologizing, saying he'd made a mistake, that he hadn't intended any of it, and that it was another Judge Hamilton he meant.
But why add lying to his growing multitude of sins? Besides, she'd think he was only doing it because he was afraid of her father.
He was afraid of her father.
He could shut his eyes now and see the bushy-browed judge leaning down from the bench and staring straight at him.
"What you need," he'd said in that ponderous gravelly voice of his, "is to start thinking about the consequences of your actions." Pause. "Don't you, Mr. Nichols?"
"Yes, sir."
"When you do these things, you have to expect your chickens to come home to roost, isn't that right, Mr. Nichols?"
"Yes, sir."
Once the judge found out about this latest escapade, Shane thought with a shudder, the chicken would doubtless be winging its way back.
* * *
Five
« ^ »
It was an aberration. The product of shock.
In the clear light of day, waking up in the cabin's tiny bedroom after the most wonderful night's sleep, Poppy saw last night's temptation for the foolishness it was.
She wasn't going to do anything stupid like go to bed with a man she hardly knew.
Tempting as it was, it would be a mistake to sleep with Shane Nichols just for the sake of having a "new experience."
Making love ought to be just that—making love. She knew that. She accepted it.
But that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy the rest of this unexpected little interlude. It didn't mean she couldn't enjoy getting to know him, exploring the rather amazing attraction she felt for him.
After all, who knew when she might ever get kidnapped by a sexy cowboy again?
"The greatest joy," her mother had told her urgently right before her own death, "is to be open to life. Embrace it. Live every moment."
Good advice, Poppy knew. But most of her life, she didn't have time.
Most of her life Poppy was so busy battling her father's plans for her in order to keep some independence or fending off the men he brought home to meet her, that she couldn't concentrate on enjoying the moment. She always had to keep her guard up and be thinking one step ahead.
She supposed that, even as she embraced the moment, it would be wise to keep her guard up with Shane Nichols. She was relatively certain he wasn't another Chad. But there were other men in the world it wouldn't do to fall in love with.
Rolling stones, for one. Men who were here today, gone tomorrow.
Men like Shane.
So, all right. She would be careful. She would protect her heart. She didn't—wouldn't—have any expectations. Beyond now.
But couldn't she try to enjoy now?
Her father wasn't anywhere near. He didn't even know where she was. He wouldn't be worried about her, either. Not right away. He would just think she'd got cold feet when faced with having to meet his "perfect man."
Let him think it. It was a version of the truth.
A better version than she could have imagined.
And so for now, she resolved, she would enjoy this moment—and this man.
* * *
"Good morning!"
The cheerful female voice rocked Shane out of a fitful sleep. He squinted into the morning light, saw the bright smiling face of Poppy Hamilton looking down at him and groaned.
It had taken him hours to finally fall asleep, and when at last he had, his dreams had been filled with rampaging judges, wide-eyed, dark-haired, drop-dead gorgeous women. And chickens.
He'd told himself it was something he ate.
Now he remembered it was something he'd done.
Deliberately he shut his eyes again. "Whuz good about it?"
"Well, for one thing," Poppy said brightly, "it's still snowing."
She sounded so happy, he had to open his eyes to see if he was dreaming. He couldn't believe she was as pleased as she sounded. But apparently she was, for she was smiling and humming as she pushed back the curtains to the kitchen window and let the soft silvery morning light into the room.
Confused, Shane struggled halfway up, squinting as he tried to focus on what was beyond the frosted pane. What he saw was white. All white. Snow white—and plenty of it.
But he was still surprised she was happy about it. He looked at her suspiciously. Had her father shown up while he was sleeping? Was the judge going to give him his comeuppance now without benefit of trial—where no one would find his body until spring?
He looked at her warily. "How come you're humming?"
"I'm happy."
"Why?"
"You mean besides getting to spend who knows how many days stranded in a tiny log cabin with you?" She smiled at him.
Shane didn't want her smiling at him. Her smile played havoc with the little good sense he had.
"Besides that," he muttered.
; She shrugged amiably and kept right on smiling. "I like snow. And I've discovered I like being stranded in the snow. It's a very … freeing … experience."
"You're nuts."
"Probably." But she sounded happy about that, too. She turned away and began scavenging through the cupboards, setting packages on the counter as she did so. "Would you prefer dehydrated scrambled eggs or beef Stroganoff or the remains of the chili?"
As a last meal none of them sounded very appealing.
"I don't care," he said dully.
"Ah, not a morning person? Never mind." She turned back to the foil bags, and picked one. "Let's have the eggs." And, beginning to hum once more, she set about fixing them. "And there's some biscuit mix. Good."
Shane sat where he was. He tried to make his mind work in a calm orderly fashion. He tried to tell himself that things weren't as bad as they seemed, that at any minute the sun would shine, the snow would melt and he could return the judge's daughter, whom he had kidnapped and who was presently humming and smiling and fixing him breakfast.
Yeah, right.
So much for thinking straight.
And anyway, he was distracted by watching her. Despite her parentage, Poppy Hamilton was still the most attractive woman he'd ever seen. And even when his mind knew better, his body didn't.
He liked curvy women, and the sight of her hips when she bent to get a frying pan out of the cupboard made his hands itch to learn their shape.
Yeah, that's right, compound your sins, he told himself. See what the judge thinks of that. He knotted his hands into fists to make them behave and cleared his mind of all such thoughts. It didn't work. He could still see her. He could still hear her humming.
"You always this cheery?" he grumbled.
"Not always. But I had a wonderful night's sleep."
"Lucky you." Shane didn't know which had kept him awake more—the sofa or his memories of the judge.
"I take it you didn't?"
He flexed the taut muscles of his shoulders, trying to get the kinks out. "Not quite. You know what they say—no rest for the weary."
She lifted a brow. "I thought that was wicked?"
"That, too, obviously." He paused, then said awkwardly. "You're, um, being a very good sport about this."
Poppy dumped the egg powder into a bowl. "I told you, I'm enjoying it."
"Why? Because it's—" what had she called it? "—freeing?"
She nodded as she measured out the water and added it to the eggs. "No responsibilities. No demands. Just here and now. And you."
Shane gulped. He scrabbled for his shirt and dragged it on as if it could protect him from the intensity of her gaze. "You aren't going to … get in trouble for missing the wedding?"
"Less than if Milly had missed it," she said cheerfully.
Too true.
Shane finished buttoning his shirt one-handed. "I don't need any eggs," he said. "I'll go out and start shoveling again."
"Won't do any good. It's still snowing too hard. Why not just relax and enjoy it?"
He looked at her. Didn't she realize?
"Come on," she said. "Sit down and eat. After, I'll wash, you dry and, if you're still that desperate to go shovel, I'll go with you."
She made biscuits, too, while he was taking a shower. They ate the eggs, and she found a jar of jam for the biscuits. But she couldn't get the cap off. Shane didn't know, given that he only had one good hand to work with, if he could, either.
But finally he did by anchoring the jar between his knees and twisting with his right hand.
"Hooray!" Poppy cheered. She beamed at him.
Pleased with his one tiny accomplishment, he grinned back, and felt that electric connection arc between them again. "I'll take my biscuits with me," he said. "It's time I got to shoveling."
The snow was falling almost as hard now as it had been the night before. Poppy wouldn't let him go alone. So they bundled up and Shane wrapped the biscuits in a sack and tucked them into his pocket and, together, they set off.
It took almost half an hour to get to the truck. When they got there he found that all last night's work had gone for naught. The snow was drifted back even higher and now reached above the truck sides to the camper top.
"It's impossible," Poppy said. "Truly."
But Shane tried. He had to try. It was better than being inside that matchbox-size cabin with her. Listening to her hum. Watching her move. Seeing her smile at him.
Aching. Wishing.
He was outside in the cold. In the snow. Nothing could happen out here. And nothing did happen until he had to stop, exhausted. Then he turned around to see her helping him.
She had cleared off the truck once more and was now scooping snow away from the door with her hands. She was trying to help, but was actually getting more in her hair and on her eyelashes than anywhere else.
When her eyes met his, she laughed. It was the same wonderful laugh he could remember from the night at The Barrel, and it sent a shaft of desire right through him.
"This is insane!" she said as the wind whipped more snow in her face. "Why are we doing this?" She laughed again and tossed her head. Her hair brushed his cheek.
"Because…" his voice caught in his throat.
"Because?"
"Because if we don't, I might do this." And he dropped the shovel and hauled her into his arms and kissed her.
He couldn't help himself. He'd been tempted too long. His desire was too strong. His will was too weak. His mind too feeble.
Nothing made sense anymore—except kissing Poppy.
She was sweet.
She was gentle.
She was like one of her flowers—delicate and yielding—as gradually her lips softened and parted and she opened her mouth to him, welcomed him in.
She didn't seize or plunder or demand like other girls he'd known, determined to show him how eager she was, how desperately ready she was to share herself with him.
She didn't insist.
But she didn't resist, either.
And thank God for that, because Shane needed this kiss like he never remembered needing anything in his life.
He tried to tell himself it was because he'd been without a woman so long, that any woman's lips would have excited him the way Poppy's did, that the sense of connectedness, of rightness that he felt when his lips were touching hers wasn't unusual at all.
But he wasn't capable of that much rational thought in a lifetime, let alone when his hormones were singing the "Hallelujah Chorus" and his body had a good start on a Sousa march.
He loved the feel of her mouth beneath his. After his initial desperation, he relaxed, letting nature take its course. And when it did, her lips parted and her breath mingled with his. He couldn't help his tongue finding hers, tasting hers. He couldn't stop the gentle probing, couldn't fight the equally tender touch of her tongue tangling with his in return.
It made him ache with wanting more of her. It made him tremble with needing all of her. All of her!
His body pressed closer, fitted itself to hers, despite the bulk of their clothing. And it felt right. It did.
Their mouths seemed made for each other's. Their bodies, too, seemed somehow to fit. Her hair blew around them. The snow melted on them. Neither one of them noticed.
Poppy was kissing him with as much fervor as he was kissing her.
And that, perhaps, was what woke him up. It scared him—the intensity of her response. It was pure and undiluted. There was no artifice. No teasing. No playing games.
Poppy wasn't dallying with him.
He didn't dare daily with her.
And that was when he finally managed to stumble back and break off the kiss.
Shaking, he wiped a hand down his face. It was freezing, and he was sweating. His heart was hammering. Poppy looked stunned.
"I'm sorry," Shane said hoarsely. "I shouldn't have… I didn't mean… I never—"
But whatever he tried to say only seemed to make her look worse. Her expres
sion went from stunned to stricken.
She turned and scrabbled up the side of the ditch, then onto the road. Floundering through the snow, she began to run.
He cursed under his breath and began to run after her. He slipped, fell, caught himself on his bad hand and winced. Then he stumbled to his feet again and lurched after her.
"Poppy! Poppy, damn it! Wait!"
She had a head start now. He could barely see her through the wind-whipped snow. His heart was slamming against the wall of his chest. His blood pounded in his ears as he tripped and staggered through the drifts. "Poppy!"
He was gasping by the time he finally caught up with her.
She didn't stop. Didn't look at him.
He grabbed her arm and jerked her around. "Don't run off like that! Don't ever run off like that! You could get lost! You could die out here alone!"
"Why would you care?" she said crossly, wrenching her arm out of his grasp and turning to continue plowing through the snow.
"You're my responsibility. You—"
"I absolve you of all responsibility." She still didn't look at him.
He stumbled alongside her, still gulping air. "You … can't."
Her steps hesitated. "Can't? Why not?"
"Code of … ethics. Not the way it's done. Kidnapee is always … kidnapper's responsibility."
She stopped then and looked at him closely. They were close together again. Very close. Too close. He took a step back. But he let a grin touch his mouth and he never took his eyes off hers.
Poppy shook her head. Her shoulders slumped. A faint, weary smile touched her lips. "You are crazy. You know that?"
"I know." Oh, God, did he ever!
They kept looking at each other still. All the desire was still there. He could see it in her eyes. He could feel it inside him. But he couldn't let it happen. And not just because of the judge, either.
He could hurt this woman. He could see it in her eyes. But he wouldn't. He would never knowingly hurt anyone. Especially her.
He shook his head. "No," he said softly.
The light dimmed in Poppy's eyes. She looked away. She started to move again, but she wasn't running now, just plodding steadily.
The Cowboy Steals a Lady Page 6