He studied her as she polished off the hot dog, her second. For the life of him, he didn’t know why she disliked the new wardrobe he’d bought her. Sure, the colors were brighter than she usually wore, and everything was a bit snugger than she might have bought for herself, but the woman had a killer body. It was a waste for her to hide it under those tailored suits when she could make so many men happy just looking as she did now. He wished he’d had time to ask around about her before they’d taken off for this exercise in humiliation. He might not have a desk and a desk calendar like his old man, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t every bit as cautious as his father had been. Wes never took a job unless he knew whom he was working with and exactly what it entailed.
Never had until this one, that is. He’d been thinking with the wrong head and Lillian Osborne had played him like a fine violin. He tried to summon up the simmering resentment he’d honed on the flight to Kentucky, but to no avail. He couldn’t be mad at her anymore, not after what Frank Lovejoy had done to her. It was downright cruel to let her come prepared with her high-powered presentation and computer graphics, and then stick her out here. He had to admit, she was taking it a whole lot better than he would in her shoes. She was even starting to get into this camping thing. While he’d built the fire, using the new fire starter Bud had given him, she’d fussed around inside the tent like a housewife, arranging her clothes in one corner and his in another. She’d even plumped up their pillows before tucking them inside the sleeping bag.
She’d been different around him, too. First she’d downed the coffee without complaint, then praised his skill in building the fire. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have said she was being nice to him for a reason.
“You were hungry.” He reached over and wiped a dab of mustard from the corner of her mouth with his finger. “I hope you left room for dessert.”
“Dessert?”
“Yep.” He reached into the sack beside him and pulled out a bag of marshmallows.
“Mindy told me about them. Called them s’mores.”
“I’ve heard of those.”
“Really?” Wes stuck two marshmallows on the hot dog fork. “The way she talked, this is something you only eat when you’re camping.”
“One of my friends in elementary school was a Girl Scout,” Lillian said. “We tried to make them once over my mother’s gas range, but the marshmallow melted onto the burner. When Mom got home, I wound up grounded for a week.”
Wes laughed. He couldn’t imagine the prim and proper Lillian doing anything to get in trouble, let alone something bad enough to get grounded. The smile remained on his face as he toasted a marshmallow until it flamed, then slid it onto a graham cracker, placed a square of a chocolate bar on the melted goo and topped it off with another graham cracker.
“Here.” He gingerly handed the concoction to Lillian. “The first one’s yours.”
She studied it before taking a bite.
“Ahgh!” she squealed. The hot marshmallow scorched her tongue, and she fanned her mouth. She tossed the cracker and its squishy contents on the ground, breathing rapidly through her open mouth as she grabbed her cup of now-cold coffee and took a swallow.
“You didn’t warn me.” She stared at Wes with accusing eyes until the now-familiar guilt stirred in him.
“How was I supposed to know you’d burn your tongue on little kid food?” He tamped down the guilt and summoned up indignation in its place. “Why didn’t you blow on it until it was cool or something?”
“Because you didn’t tell me I was supposed to. You must have done it wrong if a kid like Mindy makes them without causing pain to anyone who eats them.”
“You know, everything in the world isn’t my fault.” Wes chose his words carefully. The last thing he wanted was another fight, but Lillian had a bad habit of never taking the blame for anything, he’d discovered.
“Oh, no, not everything. You’re right. But that is.” She waved a hand toward the cracker confection lying on the ground. “Like the tent and not even knowing about chipmunks. Get you away from neon lights and take-out pizza and you’re as helpless as a baby.”
“You’re no great prize as a woodsman yourself.”
Wes’s hurt pride put him on the offensive. “At least I can split wood and build a fire. Make coffee. I’m willing to try something new, which is more than I can say for you.”
Much to his surprise, Lillian shut up. Her head dropped and for a long moment, there was no sound but the crackle of the burning wood and the soft hooo of an owl in the trees behind them. Lillian began to sob, a tiny sound that barely carried the small distance between them.
Wes’s anger disappeared as quickly as it had risen and unable to stop himself, he covered the few feet between them in three long strides, dropping to one knee on the ground beside her and pulling her head against his chest. He was beginning to feel like a human sponge, absorbing her tears every time she cried.
Except she wasn’t crying. That little sound he’d thought was a sob had been a giggle. She shook against him, little hiccups of laughter escaping, and he moved back, his eyes meeting hers.
“What’s so damned funny?”
“You,” she squeezed out through her laughter. “Me. This whole thing.”
“Camping? Haven’t we covered this ground before?”
“Not camping. This.” She threw her arms up, moving them in a huge circle, as if to encompass their campsite, the woods beyond and everything else around them. “No offense, Wes, but when some seven-year-old kid can not only put up a tent but make campfire desserts better than either of us, we’re a couple of pathetic losers. If my entire future wasn’t riding on this deal, I’d say let’s pack up and get the hell out of here. You have no idea what I’d give for a decent meal and a hot bath right about now.”
Her words stung. “Speak for yourself. I’m no pathetic loser.”
“Oh, yes, you are.” He wasn’t prepared for Lillian to hug him and kiss his cheek. “It’s really sweet, the way you’re trying to impress me, but let’s face it. You’re just itching to get your hands on a television remote control about now.”
“A cold beer would be better.” Wes allowed himself the tiny pleasure of imagining himself back home, in his corner booth at Smokey’s, winking at the barmaid as she set another bottle in front of him, vapor still rising from the neck of the newly-opened beer. The television above the bar would be tuned to the sports channel as always, the sound turned off, and Smokey himself would be taking bets on the outcome of whatever game happened to be on.
“So let’s go get one.” Lillian stood up, her knees brushing Wes as she did. “There has to be someplace around here where the hayseeds go. There has to be taxi service or something. Let’s find a place with people and French fries.”
The last thing Wes wanted to do was burst her bubble, but she hadn’t been on his reconnaissance tour earlier in the day.
While she’d been making her contact with civilization, he’d been getting the lie of the land. He broke the news to her as gently as he could.
“There’s no public transportation anywhere near here, Lil. No cabs. No buses. No commuter trains.”
“Well, isn’t there a convenience store or something within walking distance?”
Wes shook his head. “I asked the guy down with that big fifth-wheeler on the way to the bathhouse. He says it’s about three miles to a little country store, and about ten miles to the nearest restaurant. This is a dry county to boot, so the nearest place with beer is about thirty miles away. I asked.”
Lillian sighed. “Let me guess how the rest goes. It’s, what, a thousand miles to a movie theater, a million miles to a shopping mall. Am I in the ballpark here?”
Wes grinned. “Almost. Your buddy Frank planned on us putting in a whole lot of quality time together with no distractions.”
Lillian fell silent and stayed that way. Wes got back into his chair and leaned back, the best he could in a webbed lawn chair, and waited. The sounds of
crickets, bullfrogs and the barely-audible sound of radio music somewhere at the other end of the campground filled the night as they sat there, saying nothing. Wes fussed with the fire, not wanting to say or do the wrong thing again.
He’d studied women with the same intensity that some men learn about business or science, because he knew one wrong move could trap him into the home-and-family thing. He’d watched his friends fall, one after the other, trading in their freedom for a mortgage and a stack of monthly bills. Sure, some of them actually seemed to be happy wearing a yoke, but most of them were just sticking it out, doing the right thing by the woman who’d trapped them. They were the guys who watched the clock as they drank a beer at Smokey’s, living their lives to the beat of someone else’s drum.
He’d never understood how smart guys like that could fall under a woman’s spell until now. He had this nearly irresistible urge to steal a car, pack Lillian into it and start driving until they found a motel with a hot tub and room service. Hell, look at the way he’d spent this afternoon, trying to find clothes she’d look good in. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be the one driving away in a car with “Just married” written on the back window with shoe polish.
Still, he couldn’t stand to see a woman in misery. And Lillian Osborne looked as miserable as she could be, staring into that fire as if it was about to open up and transport her magically back to the busy streets of the motor city.
“So you wanna go to a dance?”
“A dance?” Lillian stared at him in the firelight. “Are you nuts? You’re the one who said we’re miles from civilization. Besides, it has to be at least midnight by now. The only place I’m going is to bed.”
Wes leaned closer to the fire, squinting at the dial of his watch.
“You’re off a little. It’s not quite eight.”
“It’s not even eight o’clock yet?” Lillian stared at him in disbelief. “You have got to be kidding.”
“Yeah, I know. Time flies when you’re having fun, huh?”
“It’s really only eight o’clock?”
“Really. Cross my heart and hope to die.” Wes lined an X across his chest and stood. “Come on. I’m serious about that dance.”
He narrowed the space between them in a few strides, reaching out for her hands and pulling her to her feet. “I saw something on that bulletin board by the ranger station about music at the shelter house tonight. We can walk down, listen for a while, maybe even dance once or twice so Frank’s spies don’t get suspicious. It beats the hell out of sitting here being mosquito bait.”
He started moving before he finished talking, tugging a reluctant Lillian along behind him. He had no intention of telling her the rest of what the announcement said, that free line dance lessons were given at eight and the dance began at eight-thirty. Chances were not only had she never done the electric slide or the achy-breaky, she’d run the other way if he tried to teach them to her. But once they were at the open-sided shelter house, her pride would keep her from fleeing.
He hoped. The same way he hoped she’d loosen up and have a good time, because otherwise it would be very tense night inside that tiny tent.
By the time they reached the next occupied campsite, Lillian had moved up beside him, keeping pace, even letting her small hand still rest inside his much larger one. A breeze wafted her scent over to him, and he felt that old familiar stirring again. This woman was nothing but trouble, yet he wanted her. Man, did he want her.
He was beginning to think the feeling was reciprocated. She’d been giving off mixed signals all day. Maybe it was some sort of weird mating ritual all her own, like the advance and retreat he’d seen an ugly feathered bird do on one of those nature shows Smokey turned the TV to between games. One moment she was staring at him like he was a chunk of fried chicken and she’d just been called to eat, and the next minute, she was glaring at him like slime on her shoe.
Well, two could play at that game. He stopped abruptly just as the lights of the shelter house came into view and said, “Now remember, everyone here thinks we’re married.”
“I know.”
“They think we’re happy newlyweds.”
“I know,” Lillian said again, her voice strained with impatience.
“So you ought to look like one.” He tipped her face upward, bending down to capture her lips with his. She didn’t hesitate this time, but rose to her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Whoa.” He took a deep breath, almost a gulp. “That should convince anyone.”
Lillian reached up and traced the line of his jaw. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Well, yeah but…”
“You know, Wes Hatfield, you can be a difficult man sometimes.”
She allowed herself the luxury of resting against him, the comfort of hearing his heart beat steadily against her ear. Then she pulled away, took a deep breath and said, “I think they’re getting ready to start.”
She pretended not to notice when Wes reached out to take her hand again, keeping a small distance between them instead. The last thing she needed now was physical contact with him. Even the touch of his fingers intertwined with hers made her want to kiss him again. To do more than kiss him. To do all the things that she could tell he wanted to do, too. Her boot caught as she stepped up onto the concrete floor of the shelter house, and she would have fallen if Wes hadn’t been there to catch her. The quick, protective motion also happened to put her intimately close to him, and her hormones switched back into high gear again as he put a hand at the small of her back to lead her across the building.
“How long did you say this thing lasted?” she asked.
Wes chuckled as they found a place at the end of a line of dancers. Music blared from a stereo at the front of the building, and a stout man in a plaid western shirt shouted, “This here’s a real easy dance. You all just follow me.”
Lillian quickly caught on to the steps, not so much from natural ability as in self-defense. Wes had taken the end spot, putting her next to a middle-aged woman of considerable girth who was far less light on her feet than she believed. Muttering to herself, Lillian followed the pattern, forgetting about everything except staying out of harm’s way.
She stepped and slid and stomped to the country tune, quickly catching on and almost regretting it when the music stopped.
“Hey, you’re doing great.” Wes threw the compliment at her as another song rang out into the night. This time, though, the line broke apart, and the dancers separated into couples. She found herself loosely clasped in Wes’s arms while the instructor guided them through a basic two-step.
Of all the things she’d thought she and Wes might be doing tonight, dancing wasn’t one of them. Yet she realized now that it was exactly what they should be doing. She was aware that Wes wasn’t her Mr. Right, just Mr. Right Now, and a tiny little voice inside her screamed to be careful.
She’d never in a million years have imagined that she’d ever dance a two-step with a sexy stranger on a concrete floor in some backwoods state park. Or that she’d like it. Just the way she liked his kisses. No man had ever made her feel the way Wes did, and frankly, it scared her half to death. At twenty-eight, she ought to have felt the same pull before, harbored this same sort of lust, had some sort of red-hot affair that soared like a roman candle and burned out just as fast. But the most she’d felt from any man’s caresses before was a little glow of pleasure, not the wild throbbing of desire that Wes inspired in her.
“Hey, babe, the music ended.” Wes’s teasing voice brought her back to the here and now, and the curious glances coming their way. Everyone else had gone to the sidelines, since the lessons were over and the dance about to begin. Lillian felt her cheeks warm as Wes led her to a wooden bench at the far end of the shelter house.
He sat and pulled her down beside him, content to watch the others as they took to the dance floor. Their dance instructor had given up his place to a three-piece band, and the strains of a bluegrass tune ran
g out into the night as Wes and Lillian listened.
“What’s happening here?” Wes’s voice was low, barely audible over the banjo and guitar.
“It’s a dance.”
“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about us.”
Lillian looked into his face. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, yes, you do.” Wes’s dark eyes locked onto her blue ones. “I don’t play games, Lil. There’s something between us, something powerful and real, and I figure it’s got to be driving you as crazy as it is me.”
Lillian opened her mouth to lie, to tell him not to read too much into a few kisses, but she couldn’t do it. He was right. He was honest, painfully so at times, so she had to be honest, too.
“Whatever it is, a lot of it comes from being here.” She chose her words carefully. “I’ve had to put all my energy into building my business for a long time now, and I’ve done it by letting everything else go. I can’t remember the last time I even had dinner with a guy, let alone do anything more.”
She stopped, struggling for the right words, hoping he’d understand what she meant even if she didn’t say it right. She took a deep breath. “Don’t read too much into my reaction to you. I’ve been…deprived…for a while. You’ve woken up something inside me that’s been sleeping for a long, long time.”
Wes leaned close to her. Close enough that she could see the tiny frown between his eyes, close enough to feel his warm breath as he said, “Save the pretty speeches, Lil. This attraction of ours is more than just availability, no matter how much you deny it. What I want to know is what you intend to do about it when we climb into that tent tonight.”
Lillian tried to speak but she couldn’t. His nearness to her, the scent of wood smoke and Wes that she inhaled with every breath, the racing of her pulse as he stared at her, waiting for her answer, had rendered her incapable of rational thought. She took a deep breath, reached out to touch his face and heard the sweet, piping voice of an angel sent to save Lillian from herself.
Unforgettable Heroes Boxed Set Page 44