The Cowboy and the New Year's Baby (10 page)

Hardy lounged against a pile of two-by-fours and watched her. When he could stand it no longer, he asked, “Mind if I make a suggestion?”

She blinked and stared at him as if she’d just realized he was along. “Sure.”

“Buy the less expensive wood and stain it to get the effect you want. I’m assuming what you’re going for is something warm. You keep gravitating toward the cherry. A few cans of stain and a little work and you’ll have the next best thing.”

Her expression brightened. Before he realized her intention, she threw her arms around him and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek. “You’re a genius! I want the cherry so badly I can taste it, but the cost would really eat into my budget. Do you really think the stain won’t look cheap?”

Hardy couldn’t think at all. That little kiss-and-run gesture of hers had left him reeling. All the hard work he’d done over the weekend to make himself believe that what he felt was nothing more than infatuation was wasted.

“Hardy?”

He swallowed hard. “It’ll look fine,” he assured her. “I’m sure there are samples over there with the stains, so you can get an idea of how it would look.”

“Of course,” she said, and darted off.

He drew in a deep breath and tried to reclaim his
composure before he followed her to the next aisle. She was already holding up little blocks of wood and examining them this way and that. When she caught sight of him, she beamed, and his heart did another of those annoying little flips.

“Look,” she enthused. “It will work, don’t you think? You can’t tell this isn’t really cherry.”

“That’s the idea,” he pointed out. “If it didn’t work, no one would do it.”

She frowned at him. “Okay, smarty. Just order the stain and the wood,” she said, handing him the sheet with their measurements before bounding off.

“Where are you going?”

“To see about renting a sander and polisher to refinish those floors. They’re going to gleam by the time we’re done.”

Hardy seriously doubted that anything short of sandblasting would clean the grime off those floors, but he shrugged and went to order the lumber. By the time he’d finished, Trish was at the checkout counter with her own purchases, which included two huge concrete flower planters.

“What are those for?” he asked.

“On either side of the front door. I’ll fill them with different flowers, depending on the season. They’re going to deliver the potting soil with the lumber.”

Hardy had never been able to see the sense in planting and tending flowers that served no useful purpose. A garden was meant to be productive. All that work ought to result in tomatoes, peppers, corn and beans, at the very least. It was just one more
difference between them. Practicality versus daydreams.

“Do you have a problem with flowers?” she asked, regarding him with amusement.

“Not on principle,” he said. “Besides, you’re the one who’s going to have to take care of them.”

“Exactly,” she said, then wrote a check for the staggering total without even batting an eye.

Even after they were in his truck, Hardy couldn’t shake his unease about the amount of money she was throwing around. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re paying as you go, just so Harlan can’t get at the bills. Are you sure you’re not spending too much on fixing the place up?”

“Absolutely not. It has to have the right atmosphere from the very beginning. You can’t make up for a poor first impression.”

Hardy wondered about that. He and Trish hadn’t exactly gotten off on the right foot, but he’d pretty much forgotten her snippy attitude, attributing it to temporary stress. Now he couldn’t seem to shake the effect of all her good points.

Of course, the same couldn’t be said for her. She’d been holding tight to her first impression of him, probably because it was getting reinforced at every turn.

“Obviously you know what you’re doing,” he said eventually. “What’s next?”

“Are there any antique shops nearby?”

“Probably downtown. That’s the historic district. I seem to recall passing a few in that area.”

“Show me,” she commanded as if he were a tour guide she’d hired for the day.

He scowled at her. “You know, darlin’, you might not have liked being the pampered baby in the family, but you seem to have developed a real fondness for behaving like a princess.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. “Excuse me?”

“The high-and-mighty tone,” he explained.

“You’re the one who asked what I wanted to do next.”

“So I did. Forget it.”

“No. I think we should talk about this. Aren’t you the one who insisted that this whole project was strictly business, that you were doing a job, not a favor?”

He didn’t like where she was heading with this one little bit. “Yes. So?”

“So that makes you my employee for all intents and purposes.”

“And you think that means you get to order me around like some loyal subject?” he demanded, ignoring the fact that he’d told her to do that very thing on Saturday.

“Of course not,” she said, her complexion flushed. She heaved a sigh. “Hardy, sometimes I don’t know what to make of you. I have no idea what you really want.”

Hearing her confusion, it was his turn to sigh. “Sometimes I’m not sure myself.”

He gazed into eyes the same shade of blue as the brilliant winter sky. “Except for this,” he mur
mured, bending his head to capture her lips beneath his.

Oblivious to their surroundings, oblivious to everything except the feel of satin under his mouth, he threw himself into the kiss.

He didn’t touch her, didn’t put a hand on her, but the swirl of heat from the kiss alone was enough to melt steel. His blood roared through his veins. His heart pounded. The mysterious, exotic scent of her teased his senses. He sank into the kiss, dragging her with him until they were both unsteady, both all but gasping for breath.

Her eyes were wide with shock when he finally pulled back. Her lips were swollen with the look of a mouth that had just been thoroughly, devastatingly devoured.

“Oh, sweet heaven,” she whispered, touching her trembling fingers to her lips as if she couldn’t quite believe how they had betrayed her.

“This isn’t supposed to…it can’t be…”

Hardy grinned at her incoherence. “Darlin’, I know you’re quite a talker, but I don’t think you can talk this away. Words aren’t going to change anything. And I don’t think
supposed to
has anything to do with it.”

Her gaze narrowed. He caught the quick rise of temper.

“Are you pleased with yourself because you managed to get a physical reaction out of me?” she demanded.

That was one way of putting how he felt, Hardy supposed, but he sensed that he’d be smarter to deny
it. “I enjoyed kissing you, there’s no question about that,” he said carefully. “You going to deny you enjoyed it?”

She looked as if she wanted to, looked as if the denial were on the tip of her tongue, but she was too innately honest to pull off the lie.

“Okay, it was a great kiss.”

“Just like the last one,” he suggested.

She scowled. “Don’t push it. The point is, a kiss is just a momentary phenomenon. In our case it also represents a lapse in judgment.”

Hardy couldn’t help it. He chuckled. “You are so cute when you get all prim and earnest.”

Practically trembling with rage, she stared at him. “This is not a game, Hardy Jones. I will not be another notch on your bedpost. If that’s what you’ve got in mind, you can take your little innuendoes and your flirting and your help and go straight to hell.”

She flounced off before he could snap his mouth closed. She was two blocks away before he caught up with her. He’d figured it would take at least that long for her to cool down and listen to reason.

When he fell into step beside her, he noted that her color was still high, her mood still precarious. He opted for silence. Maybe after another block or two, he’d think of something to say to soothe her ruffled feathers.

“That’s not what this is about,” he finally said quietly.

She kept her gaze straight ahead and remained stoically silent.

“To tell you the honest truth, I’m not sure what
it’s about,” he admitted. “I’ve broken every single one of my rules where you’re concerned.”

She finally stole a glance at him. “Oh?”

“You’re vulnerable and innocent,” he began.

“I’m an unwed mother,” she pointed out. “Hardly innocent.”

“A technicality,” he insisted. “In my book you’re innocent. And you have a daughter, who could be hurt if we don’t play by the rules.”

She regarded him with confusion. “Whose rules are we talking about now? Yours?”

“No, society’s.”

“I had no idea you even knew what those were.”

“Oh, I know. I just prefer to ignore most of them.” He met her gaze. “I can’t with you. You come from a good family. You have permanence and happily ever after written all over you. I’m a ranch hand who doesn’t think much farther ahead than tomorrow. I’m all about living in the moment. We’re not suited.”

To his chagrin, she nodded. “I agree.”

“Then why can’t I keep my hands off you?” he asked, genuinely perplexed. “Why can’t I get you out of my head? Usually I steer so far away from women like you, we’re practically not even in the same state.”

“Probably because you know we’d be a disaster, which makes me forbidden. People always want what they can’t have, what’s bad for them. It’s just a totally irrational fascination, one we just have to try harder to nip in the bud.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” she said with confidence. “So now that that’s clear, we can just settle down and be friends. Deal?”

“Friends,” Hardy echoed dutifully. He didn’t even need the impact of that last kiss to tell him that they had a snowball’s chance in hell of pulling that off.

F
riendship should have suited Trish just fine. It was what she had asked for, wasn’t it? And Hardy was throwing himself into the role with total dedication. He hadn’t so much as glanced straight into her eyes, much less uttered a teasing remark to her for the past two weeks.

He also went to great lengths to avoid touching her. If he handed her something, he released it practically before she could get a grip on it, just to ensure that their fingers didn’t brush. He was prompt, cheerful and helpful. She couldn’t fault him for that. The store was taking shape a whole lot faster than she’d anticipated. In fact, she suspected he couldn’t finish the job fast enough.

So why was she so disgruntled at the end of every
day? Why did she feel as if she’d lost something precious?

Because she was a ninny, that’s why. Friendship was what she’d asked for. Friendship was what she’d gotten. If she wasn’t satisfied, then it was her own fault.

She glanced over at Hardy who’d stripped off his shirt to display a devastatingly muscular back and shoulders that a body builder would have envied. He was bent over a sawhorse, cutting through a piece of lumber for the last set of shelves. Staring at his gleaming flesh, at the bunching of his muscles, her mouth went dry. His tush wasn’t bad, either, she concluded when she shifted her gaze in that direction.

Sweet heaven, what was happening to her? She was turning into some sort of sex-crazed female. Maybe it was all the hormonal ups and downs her body had been through lately. She seized on that explanation like a lifeline. That had to be it. It couldn’t possibly be personal when they had decided, very clearly, very plainly, that friendship was all that was in the cards for the two of them.

“Trish?”

She snapped back to reality and met his gaze. Was she mistaken or was there a wicked, knowing twinkle in his eyes? Had he guessed what she was thinking?

“Yes,” she snapped more tersely than he deserved. She was instantly riddled with guilt, but she bit back the urge to apologize. She’d been doing that too much the past few days, making excuses every
time her temper flared, trying to dismiss with nonsense the erratic behavior that could only be explained honestly by admitting to pure sexual frustration. Which of course she had no intention of admitting to, ever.

“You okay?” he asked, studying her intently.

That was another thing that drove her crazy. He was so blasted thoughtful, so unrelentingly considerate. He always seemed to know when she was tired, when she needed a break, when something was on her mind. Just the way a friend would, she thought sourly.

“I’m fine,” she said, trying for a more even-tempered tone. “Just distracted.”

“Let’s take a break,” he said at once, regarding her worriedly. “I could use a milkshake. How about you?”

“A milkshake sounds good.” Anything that would get him out of the store for a few minutes so she could gather her wits.

“Come with me. You can visit with Sharon Lynn for a bit. She asks about you every time I go into Dolan’s to get something. She’s complaining that you’re right next door and you never drop by.”

There was a good reason for that, Trish thought. Sharon Lynn was a direct pipeline to the rest of the family. The less Trish saw of her, especially in Hardy’s company, the better.

“Not this time,” she said. “I have things to do.”

“What things?” he asked, deliberately testing her.

“Things,” she declared more emphatically.

He chuckled. “Darlin’, you’re going to have to be more specific than that or Sharon Lynn will think you don’t like her.”

“I like her just fine. And you don’t have to tell her that I’m doing
things,
just that I’m busy.”

Hardy’s gaze narrowed. “I think I’m beginning to figure out the problem. You don’t want her to see us together. Is that it?”

“Of course not.”

“Oh, I think it is. Because if she sees us together, she’ll draw all sorts of wild conclusions, report them straight back to Harlan or the others and,
bam,
we’ll be right back where we started.”

Trish sighed at his perceptiveness. “Bingo.” Why did the man have to have so many admirable traits? Why did he have to be perceptive, of all things? Men were usually clueless. When she’d thought of him as nothing more than a handsome, sexy scoundrel, they’d both been better off.

He tucked a finger under her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. Her skin tingled, even from such a simple touch, and Hardy looked as if he’d been singed. Still, he gazed at her evenly, his expression serious.

“Surely we can behave for fifteen minutes,” he teased. “I won’t kiss you senseless in front of her, the way I do at least ten times a day in here, when we’re all alone. I will keep my hands to myself. She won’t suspect a thing.”

Trish chuckled despite herself. “Okay, I suppose we don’t have to give her anything to report back to the army of meddlers. In fact, it might be good
if we’re seen out in public doing absolutely nothing romantic or personal.”

“I’ll even let you pay for your own shake, so no one will think it’s a date.”

“Fine. I’ll get my purse.” She glanced at him worriedly. “You are going to put on your shirt, aren’t you?”

He shot her a look of pure innocence. “Me being half-naked doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“Of course not,” she lied, perfectly well aware that he’d deliberately chosen the word
naked
just to rattle her. She refused to let him see that she was suddenly awash in images of him without a stitch of clothing from head to toe. Keeping her voice cool, she said, “But you’ll freeze if you step outside like that, and besides, I’m pretty sure Dolan’s has a shirt-and-shoes policy.”

Good, sound, rational reasoning, she thought. Hardy laughed.

“Then by all means, let me grab my shirt,” he said, his eyes twinkling with unabashed amusement.

Five minutes later they strolled next door. At two-thirty, the lunch counter was deserted. Sharon Lynn was scrubbing the grill. She brightened when she saw them.

“Oh, am I glad to see you,” she said. “I can take a break. I hate this job. It’s one of those necessary evils I can’t seem to make myself foist off on the part-time help. Are you here for food, sundaes, what?”

“Milkshakes,” Hardy told her. “Thick, chocolate for me.”

“Make that two,” Trish said.

“How’s the work coming on the store?” Sharon Lynn asked as she put double scoops of chocolate ice cream and milk into the metal container and attached it to the machine that would stir it into an old-fashioned, thick, frothy shake.

“The shelves should be done this week. I’m expecting my book order on Monday. I figure I’ll be open by the first of March,” Trish told her. “I thought I’d have some sort of grand opening party.”

“Let me do the food,” Sharon Lynn volunteered. “I can fix things other than burgers and fries. I’d love to do it. There are days when I’d kill to be able to make pretty little hors d’oeuvres.”

“Work up a menu and a price list and you’re on,” Trish said.

“No price list,” Sharon Lynn said. “The Adams family will pitch in. It will be our grand-opening present.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Trish argued.

Sharon Lynn exchanged a look with Hardy. “Tell her,” she commanded.

“It won’t do you any good to argue,” he said. “They’re a stubborn bunch.”

Trish heaved a sigh. “So I’ve noticed.”

Sharon Lynn beamed. “Good. That’s settled. I will let you okay the menu, though, in case there’s anything you absolutely hate. Do you want Tex-Mex? Something more formal?”

“I’ll trust your judgment. Whatever will bring the most people out.”

“This time of year, when winter boredom has set
in, you could get them out for chips and dip,” Hardy said.

“I think I can do better than that,” Sharon Lynn said, grabbing a pad of paper, a pen and moving out from behind the counter to sit beside Trish. “Okay, let’s decide on a theme. How about English tea? Doesn’t that sound perfect for a bookstore? You could do it on a Sunday afternoon.”

“I love it,” Trish said, enchanted. “That’s exactly the sort of atmosphere I want to create.”

“Tea?” Hardy echoed disdainfully. “Itty-bitty sandwiches? We’re talking cowboys here, ladies. Big appetites.”

“He has a point,” Sharon Lynn said.

“Then we’ll have lots of itty-bitty sandwiches,” Trish said. “And scones and cakes.”

Hardy’s expression brightened. “Cakes? Personally I like chocolate with fudge icing.”

“Petits fours,” Trish informed him, enjoying the way his expression fell. “Itty-bitty individual cakes,” she added for emphasis.

“Girl food,” he declared, dismissing it.

“Women buy more books than men,” she pointed out. “Why shouldn’t I cater to their tastes?”

“Yoo-hoo,” Sharon Lynn said, waving a hand between them. “Remember me?”

They stared at her as if they’d forgotten her existence. Trish barely restrained a moan. This was exactly what she’d hoped to avoid. She and Hardy had been so busy arguing with each other, Sharon Lynn might as well have been on the moon. And
Sharon Lynn knew it, too. The knowing sparkle in her eyes was proof of it.

“I think we can update the tea idea a bit to satisfy the male appetites,” she told Trish. “I’ll make a more substantial filling for some of the sandwiches, maybe some little ham biscuits or even miniature barbeque buns.”

“Better,” Hardy agreed.

Trish scowled at him. “I’m so delighted you approve.”

“Regular cake, too,” he said, ignoring her and appealing directly to Sharon Lynn. “Sliced thick, with lots of frosting.”

“I hate to say it,” Sharon Lynn said, “but knowing the men in my family, they’d go along with Hardy on this one.”

Trish recognized when she was beat. “Okay, regular cake, then.”

“What about beer?” Hardy asked.

“Not on your life,” Trish declared. “Champagne, maybe. Sharon Lynn, what do you think?”

“Let’s stick with tea. It will be Sunday afternoon. We’d better do both hot tea and iced, though. I can’t see these clumsy men balancing little tea cups in their hands while they shovel cake into their mouths. The phrase
bull in a china shop
comes to mind.”

“Hey,” Hardy protested. “Men are not clumsy.”

“I still think we’d better not risk Granddaddy Harlan’s best porcelain, which I intend to borrow for the occasion. He’s the only one who has enough for a huge crowd.” She made another note on her
paper, then turned back to Trish. “What about invitations?”

“Since you two seem to be caught up in party planning, I think I’ll go back next door and get some work done,” Hardy said.

To Trish’s discomfort, he gave her shoulder a quick, friendly squeeze before he left. Naturally Sharon Lynn caught the affectionate gesture. No doubt her imagination would run wild.

“You two seem to be getting along well,” she observed, her gaze fixed on Trish’s face.

“Well enough,” Trish said. “About the invitations—”

Sharon Lynn cut her off, her expression alight with curiosity. “What have you two been doing all day long over there?”

“Working,” Trish said, not even trying to hide her impatience. “What else?”

“Besides that?”

“Nothing,” Trish declared very firmly. “There’s a lot of work to be done.”

“Nothing?” Sharon Lynn regarded her with a mix of disbelief and disappointment. “I thought for sure by now…” Her voice trailed off.

Trish shrugged. “Sorry. Now about those invitations, how many do you think I should have printed?”

She finally managed to drag Sharon Lynn’s attention back to the task at hand. By the time she left an hour later, they had worked out most of the details for the grand-opening party. She was also pretty
sure she had managed to squelch any speculation that she and Hardy were a hot item.

As she opened the front door of her store, she heard voices from the storeroom. Male voices. One, of course, was Hardy’s. The other was…She listened more intently, recognized the familiar lazy drawl and almost turned around and dashed right straight back out of the building. Before she could, Hardy came in, caught sight of her and called out.

“Hey, Trish, look who’s here.”

Her stomach knotted as her oldest brother followed Hardy into the room.

“Dylan, what are you doing here?” she demanded tightly. “How did you find me?”

A grin spread across his face, despite the lack of welcome. “I’m a private detective, Sis. Finding people is what I do.”

“Well, go find somebody else. I don’t want to be found,” she said, stubbornly refusing to walk into his embrace.

Dylan was as close to a rebel as any male in the Delacourt family had been allowed to get. Disgustingly handsome and fully aware of it, he’d left a trail of broken hearts in his wake until he’d met his wife and she’d turned around and left
him
with one, taking their son right along with her. Dylan had balked at going into the oil business. After listening to his father rant and rave for months, he’d gone right ahead with his own plans for his life. He, of all of her brothers, should have understood why she’d needed to get out. Obviously he didn’t because
he was here, probably intent on dragging her home again.

His expression softened. “I haven’t told Dad where you are,” he said quietly. “This is just between us.”

Hope spread through her. “You swear it?”

“Cross my heart.”

Then she did fly into his embrace. “I’ve missed you, Dylan. I would have called you, but I didn’t want you to get caught between Dad and me.”

“When have I ever been scared to take a bunch of garbage from Dad?” he scoffed.

“I didn’t want you to because of me.” She turned to Hardy. “Have you met?”

“We’ve met,” Hardy said.

“For a minute I thought he was going to take me on, until he realized I was your brother and not Jack the jerk.” He gestured at the work they’d accomplished. “I like it. It’s going to be even better than the store in Houston.”

She nodded. “I think so, too.”

“Look, why don’t you two go on?” Hardy suggested. “I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do. I’ll finish and lock up here.”

“Only if you’ll join us for dinner,” Dylan said. “Is there someplace close we can go?”