Jack turned up his hands. Tell me.
“I’ve got a family, thanks t’Kaley and Tripp McGraw, and reckon their young’uns’ll be m’grandkids, or close enough. But I sleep with that fleabag t’keep me warm and dang if he doesn’t snore. Seems t’me a man might want to think about settlin’ down while he’s still got his teeth and a hope of siring his own herd.”
Jack had to laugh. “A few more like Kat and I’d never live to see grandkids!”
“Oh, yeah, you’re laughing now, but—”
“But I’m not.” Jack quelled his grin. “And I’m sure you’re right. But I fell for a divorce-crazy lady once before, and believe me, once was enough. There’s a time to be serious—and a time when serious will get you seriously damaged. And a wise man knows the difference.”
Whitey shrugged. “Well, I can see you’ve set your mind, so…” He hooked a thumb at the radiator. “Give me a hand horsin’ this thing into place, will you?”
They attached the replacement to the tackle. Jack swung it up above the engine, took two turns around the bumper, then lowered it inch by inch till Whitey said, “Whoa. It’ll take some fiddling from here.”
Jack handed him the rope’s tail end. “Then I’d better run. But about taking your time?”
“Long as Abby keeps on smiling—and you’re footin’ the bills—you take all the rope you need.”
“SO.” MICHELLE PULLED a package from under the cash register. “Four rectangular cookies as big as I could possibly make them. Want to tell me what for?”
Abby smiled and shook her head. “Only when I’m sure I can deliver. Oh, and there’s one thing more I need.” She pointed at the far wall of the café. “Could I borrow that photograph of the cowgirl?” She’d admired it the first time she entered Michelle’s Place, a woman leaning down from her horse to smack a cow with her Stetson.
“The one of Kaley McGraw on roundup?” Michelle nodded. “If you need it, of course.” She threaded her way through the tables crowded with Sunday diners to return with the photo. “Let me carry it to the car for you.”
Out in the parking lot, Michelle asked, “So how goes the paint job?”
“The kitchen’s done and if I say so myself, it came out really well. I’ve invited Maudie Harris over for tea on Tuesday. If she likes the results, I’ll try to persuade her to let me tackle the living room.” In lieu of another two weeks’ rent, Abby was hoping.
“Either you’re a thwarted home decorator at heart, or that bus needs more repairs than you thought.”
“Bit of both.” Abby opened the door to the Subaru. “Whitey’s a doll, but he’s hardly Mr. Speedy Wrench. And he lost a week scrounging the parts.”
“Well, when you think about it, what’s your hurry?” The blonde handed her the photo. “Some people consider summer in the Rockies a vacation.”
“It’s just that a friend’s expecting me in Sedona. I’d planned to be there two weeks ago and building an adobe by now.”
“Life’s what happens while we’re making other plans,” the blonde observed wryly. “And your studly neighbor, he’s behaving himself? Oh ho!” she added as Abby opened her mouth, closed it again—and turned pink.
Abby shrugged. “He’s made a pass or two, but nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“Uh-huh. Whatever you say.” Michelle grinned as she backed away. “Come and tell me a-a-all about it next week, when it’s not so busy around here. And if you need more cookies, Abby, just let me know.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
TURNING OUT of the café parking lot and toward the center of Trueheart, Abby was tempted to drive north. Jack’s building site was somewhere along the far ridge that sheltered the town. It shouldn’t be hard to find, and he’d invited her several times to come and take a tour.
The artist in her longed to see the place. Jack had designed the house with the help of his contractor brother, and Jack had chosen its setting. As any work of art and love, it would be a tangible expression of its builder’s personality, and the more she learned about Jack, the more she wanted to learn. He was such an intriguing mix of gentle and tough. Whimsical, yet decisive. Sensitive in some ways, and utterly oblivious in others. Hopelessly male—and all the more appealing for it.
Which was why the other half of her, the woman half, was dodging all his invitations to admire his work in progress. She ought to be fighting her interest in Jack.
Just because he crashed my fantasy…
Precisely because she couldn’t forget the feel of his arms around her, holding her as she came. Even though, for the first time in months, she’d felt…safe, there in his arms. Almost cherished.
She’d had such a long, dry, lonely spell these past six months or more; there was no doubt it had made her dangerously vulnerable. But only the most foolish of women would take a perfectly normal afterglow for more than it was. Mistake it for some kind of meaningful connection, an emotion with promise and future.
The last thing I need is to develop a crush on a divorced divorce lawyer! Who’s dated every single woman in Durango and found not one he’d commit to? Even if she wanted him, which she did not, what chance would plain vanilla Abby Lake have if Jack was that choosy?
And to reach for him, and then fail?
Yes, that was just what she needed right now, another installment of heartache!
This is the year you stand on your own, she reminded herself—and turned south up Magpie, then left on Haley’s Comet Street. Some other time, when she felt stronger and braver—and superbly self-sufficient—she’d tour Jack’s new house.
But not today.
ALL THAT AFTERNOON Abby worked on her idea for Michelle’s cookies. She botched her first two attempts to simplify the design, yet keep enough texture and detail. But the third effort looked promising. Regretfully she put it aside as Kat clattered up the back steps.
“What are we cooking today?”
Supper was lentil soup and grilled-cheese sandwiches, which the two families ate at their respective dinner tables, despite Jack’s invitation and Kat’s pleadings. Much as she would’ve enjoyed sharing another meal, Abby was sure it was a mistake to socialize every night. No use starting pleasant rituals that would soon be undone.
Or would be undone if Whitey ever completed his job. He’d left early on Sunday, saying he’d promised his widowed sister help with a leaky bathtub faucet. So the bus’s new radiator was in place, but it wasn’t hooked up.
What happens if Maudie Harris won’t accept more painting for rent? Abby worried on Monday morning while she completed her first successful cookie. At this rate, the bus wouldn’t be drivable for another two weeks. If she had to fork out two more weeks of rent money…
Cross that bridge if and when, she warned herself. Meantime, she should take advantage of her splendid isolation. Jack had decided to take Monday off, since he had no appointments scheduled, so he and his half-size construction crew were busy across town. She’d deliver this cookie to Michelle, then spend the rest of the day working on her children’s book. She thought about an illustration of DC, lost and hungry, rummaging through a garbage can behind the café. In fact, she should bring her drawing pad along to Michelle’s, make some preliminary sketches.
When she walked into the café, she found Michelle hanging up the phone. At the sight of her, the blonde made a face.
“Problems?” Abby paused with a hand on the door. “Maybe I should come back some other time.”
“Just Trueheart-type problems. Hearing all the gossip in town and wondering if it’s smarter to keep my mouth shut or pass it on.” Michelle nodded at the box Abby held. “Is that for me?”
“It’s just a possibility.” Shyness overtook Abby as it always did when it was time to show her work. “Something to jazz up your cookies?” She lifted the lid and removed a protective tissue.
Michelle clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, my gosh!”
Maybe she didn’t like it? Abby hurried to explain. “Your cookies are sepia-colored, like the
background of antique photographs. So I thought you might be able to come up with a dark-brown icing or glaze for the figures, which would make them look like a daguerrotype. The glaze would have to be pretty thin….”
Michelle shook her head in wonder. “This is marvelous! How did you do this?”
So she did like it. Abby laughed with pleasure. “Well, this, I’m afraid, is brown paint, just to show you my idea. As for the process, I made a stencil based on your photograph of Kaley McGraw. You’d place it over a cookie, then you’d dab in your icing to make the picture, and let it harden.”
Michelle’s gaze swung around the café. “Could you do other pictures?”
“That was the idea,” Abby said. “You’ve got some beauties here. They look like photos of the old Wild West. That cowboy swinging his lariat, that one would work.”
“Kaley’s husband, Tripp. And what about this one of Rafe Montana, riding point on the herd?”
“An easy one, since it has less detail.”
“Ooo-kay. Cookies. Milk. Girl, it’s brainstorming time. I think you’ve just raised this enterprise to its next level!”
HALF AN HOUR LATER, they were giddy with cookies and ideas. Abby pushed her chair back from the table. “No, get that thing away from me! I can’t eat another bite.”
Michelle put the plate aside. “Okay. And I suppose I’d better get moving on supper. But I’ll start experimenting with glazes tomorrow morning, and by Wednesday at the latest, I should have something for us to try.”
“No hurry. I’m supposed to be working on a children’s book.” But was it possible that this idea could be spun into a cookie company, as Michelle was insisting? Or that Abby could be part of such a business? Most likely, this was simply an overdose of good company and powdered sugar. By morning, it would seem one more pie-in-the-sky idea, more charming than practical. Abby stood. “Give me a call whenever you’re ready.”
“Will do.” Michelle’s enthusiasm seemed to be waning as she walked Abby to the door.
So they’d gotten entirely carried away, Abby concluded. Too bad. For just a minute there, she’d pictured herself happily designing cookies, then the packaging for the cookies, plus ads to market their product on the Internet, while Michelle handled the culinary end of the business. “Well, see you later.”
The blonde crossed her arms and tapped a toe restlessly. “Abby? That phone call when you first came in? That was my friend Kaley calling. I wasn’t sure I should say anything, but…”
JACK SLICED ANOTHER STUD to length, shoved the whirling radial sawblade to its backstop, then glanced aside at the sound of an approaching vehicle. His own Subaru with Abby at the wheel came bucketing up the hill. He grinned and switched off the tool.
“About time you showed up for a tour!” he greeted her as she stepped from the car.
No answering smile. As she stalked to meet him, her brows were pulled together, her jaw set. Her eyes flashed cold green fire.
Uh-oh.
She came to a halt when her forefinger jabbed his bare, sweaty chest. “You!”
He caught her wrist and gave her a puzzled smile. “Hey, what did I do?” Her pulse was rushing like a river in snowmelt.
“You… You…!” Despairing of a word sufficiently vile to describe him, she tossed her head, glanced around. “Where are the kids?”
“Gone to Hansen’s to buy us lunch.” It had been voted upon and decided unanimously that today the carpenters needed to split a half gallon of ice cream and eat a large bag each of potato chips, for lunch. Lucky for him she hadn’t caught them in the midst of that! “Look, Abby, what’s wrong?”
“Did you—or did you not—tell Whitey to work as slowly as possible on my bus?”
Hoo-boy. When attacked by a woman on the warpath, the best tactics were stall, deny and distract. “How could you think I’d do that?” And whatever happened to the bachelor’s first commandment: thou shalt not squeal?
“Whitey told somebody named Tripp McGraw that you asked him to work slow. Tripp told Kaley…”
Thanks, McGraw. But the rancher was newly, hopelessly, head-over-heels married. No doubt he’d told her in bed.
“Kaley told Michelle and Michelle told me. Why would you do such a thing?”
“Because…” Kelton’s third Rule of Life covered this situation. Let your actions speak for you. Pulling Abby’s wrist around his back, he caught the nape of her neck with his other hand as she stumbled against him—and dropped a kiss on her astonished mouth.
He savored the silky dampness inside her soft lips, then plunged inward. Heat, a hint of sugar, then after an instant of rigid immobility, came her quivering response; his eyes drifted shut. Woman, what you do to me!
She growled, tore her mouth away and bared her teeth. “Back off!”
“You asked.” He let her go, raised his hands palm outward—peace—retreated a step.
“I can’t believe you’d have the nerve, the sheer, unspeakable gall, to do that!”
“You can’t?” He gave her his best sheepish smile, but Abby wasn’t buying any. Have you looked at yourself lately? Even spitting mad, she was adorable. “Then you don’t know me well and that was the whole point. We need some time to get to know each other.” He dared to brush a stray lock off her brow. “To enjoy each other.”
She smacked his hand aside. “I thought I’d made it very clear—more than clear—that I wasn’t looking for any sort of…of male companionship.”
“I seem to recall a recent incident that might lead a man to think…” he said, raising one brow.
“No one asked you to barge into my private life!”
“Nope. But I’m glad I did. And when you wrapped your legs around me and moaned, you seemed sort of…pleased.”
“O-oh, you conceited, smug, son of a—” She spun away from him, folded her arms and marched away along the edge of the foundation, shaking her head. “You bastard. You lawyer!”
“Ouch!” he protested, following behind. Abby turned up the west side of the house and cornered herself in its first jog to the north. Before she could escape, Jack dropped a hand to either side of her and gripped the stud plate. “As an officer of the court, I suppose I should tell you, Abby, that it’s no crime to lie in my bed at night, wondering what you’d do if I kissed you…here.” He laid a kiss in the velvety spot below her left ear.
She shuddered and squirmed around, glaring up at him, the warning plain in her eyes. You’re playing with fire, buddy!
Didn’t he know it. “Now what is a crime is the way you bite that bottom lip when you’re worried. Or the sound of your voice, like a tiger kitten’s purr.” There, he’d won just the hint of a smile, which faded immediately to a frown. Keep talking, Kelton.
“The way you walk ought to be illegal.” He lowered his head until he could feel the heat of her face against his lips. “And when you moan? Abby, you could get arrested for moaning like that, but if you’re going to do it, why not do it with me?”
She planted her hands against him, apparently to push him away, then didn’t. “I told you, I don’t want a relationship.”
“Who’s talking relationshi—ooof!” he grunted as she shoved him, hard, under the ribs.
He rocked on his heels, then recovered. “I’m talking a fling, woman. You’re absolutely right—you don’t need, don’t want, shouldn’t start a relationship when you’re in the midst of the Divorce Crazies, but a fling is precisely what you need.”
“With you?” Her voice dripped contempt.
“Darn right. Your pride’s bruised and battered. You’ve been tossed when you least expected it. But sooner or later you’ve got to get back on the horse that threw you—well, on some horse—and ride. And here I am at your service, the perfect lady’s mount. Good mouth, terrific gaits, astounding endurance. What more do you need?”
She blew out a huffing breath, ran her fingers up through her cloud of hair and shook her head at him. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“Tell me,” he c
oaxed, clenching his hands so he wouldn’t reach out for her. Why was he using words to persuade, when with one more kiss they’d burst into flames?
“I need lots more—or I need nothing at all. Right now, I’m in a mood for nothing. Zip. Nada. So back off, Kelton!”
He backed. Followed at a respectful distance as she stalked on, inspecting his foundation with a blind scowl. Coming around to the north side, she glanced toward the top of the ridge, then headed that way, up through the gnarled old trees. He caught up with her and walked alongside. “This used to be an apple orchard,” he told her. “You should’ve seen it last spring when the trees blossomed.”
She snarled something wordless and marched on, head down.
Till they reached the top of the ridge. Abby lifted her chin and stared to the north, her breath coming slower and deeper the way his always did when he saw the mountains. “Drew wouldn’t let me build up here, said we’d freeze to death in the winter. But you’ll see the peaks from my bedroom.” Come share them with me.
Except by the time the house was inhabitable late next summer, she’d be long gone, even if they’d had their fling.
No if, he told himself, batting that shadow aside. It had to happen. They had to happen.
“Lovely,” she half whispered.
Eyes on her profile, he could only agree.
“Look,” she said, still facing the mountains. “I would like to be friends with you. God knows I need a friend.”
Jack grimaced. Just a friend, was what she meant. “And we are. Never doubt it. But as your friend, Abby, I strongly advise you to have a fling with me.”
“Yeah, right.” She spun and started down toward the house. “You’re a cad and a self-serving creep if that’s all you want!”
“Hey!” He caught her wrist and stopped short, hauling her around. “Easy on the insults, pal. A nice, sexy fling is all it’s safe to want—to have—if you don’t know your own mind and, Abby, you don’t.”
Kelton's Rules (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 17