The Cowboy and the New Year's Baby (12 page)

“Sure. Why not?” he said as if it were of no consequence.

She seemed to be struggling with indecision. “Okay, we could have dinner sometime,” she said at last, then hurriedly amended, “If Laura can come along, of course.”

Hardy fought a grin. “She’s awfully small to be a respectable chaperone,” he pointed out.

“That is not why…” she began, then let her voice trail off. “Okay, yes, I did think having another person along would keep things from getting, you know.”

“Too intense? Too intimate?”

“All of that,” she agreed.

“Darlin’, something tells me things could get intense between the two of us in a room filled with half the town.”

She regarded him glumly. “Yeah, I’m afraid of that, too.”

Hardy would have chuckled, but something told him he ought to be satisfied to count his blessings. Trish finally trusted herself—and him—enough to go out with him. Now why did that make him so blasted nervous?

He had perfected the art of dating by the time he was fourteen. He couldn’t even count high enough to calculate the number of dates he’d been on. Showing a woman a good time was as natural to him as breathing.

But Trish was different. A date with her actually mattered. He didn’t want to blow it, didn’t want to come on too strong. Didn’t want to do anything from which there would be no turning back.

Oh, he was losing it, all right. He was staring straight into something every bit as frightening as the jaws of death and preparing to jump right in. In fact, he was damned eager to jump in, which just proved what happened when a man lost track of the rules that had kept him free. Obviously, before this big date of theirs, he was going to have to brush off
that rule book and take a refresher course or he was going to be in the kind of emotional trouble he’d spent a lifetime avoiding.

Why was she behaving like a lovesick schoolgirl? Trish asked herself for the thousandth time as she dressed for her date with Hardy. She didn’t have his track record with dating, but she’d certainly been to dinner and the movies enough times that the thought shouldn’t have her palms sweating. She was as jittery as a teenager getting ready for a blind date. If she could have, she would have backed out, pleading a headache or anything else she could dream up.

Unfortunately she knew that Hardy would see straight through any excuse she offered. After tonight, though, she’d rarely have to see him again. The work on the store was all but done. Hardy must have worked like a demon the night before to get the shelves finished and the floor polished. She had been astounded when she’d walked in that morning and seen the full effect of all their hard work. Tears had stung her eyes and she’d had to fight the urge to throw her arms around him and give him the resounding kiss he deserved. Fortunately she’d learned that kissing Hardy was seldom an innocent act. Her body always wanted to turn it into something more. She’d settled for giving his hand a quick squeeze, then walking around to do a thorough survey of the all-but-finished store. He’d watched her intently, his expression worried, until she’d finally turned back and beamed at him.

“Oh, Hardy, isn’t it the most beautiful bookstore you’ve ever seen?”

“I can honestly tell you yes,” he said wryly. “Of course, I probably don’t have nearly as much to compare it to as you do. To me it just feels real homey.”

That was precisely the effect she’d been going for, so nothing he could have said would have pleased her more. A sudden vision of this being their home, with a cozy fire blazing, had her turning away as if he might read her thoughts.

If ideas like that were going to be popping into her head, it was a good thing that their time together was drawing to a close, she concluded. What little work was left she could do herself. Tonight was to be a much-deserved celebration of sorts.

And an ending, she added, feeling more depressed than she cared to admit.

She tugged on a pair of wool slacks that she could finally fasten around the middle, then pulled one of her favorite soft-blue sweaters over her head. She added an antique necklace with a scattering of tiny sapphires to dress the outfit up, then studied herself in the mirror. Casual enough, she concluded, and not bad for a woman just shedding the extra pounds she’d added with pregnancy. She was almost back to her old figure again, except for her breasts, which were fuller. She scooped her hair up into a loose arrangement of curls, held in place by little butterfly clips made of sparkling blue jewels.

Finally satisfied, she went downstairs just as the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” she called out to Kelly.

She opened the door, then froze, mouth agape, her breath caught somewhere deep in her throat. Hardy was wearing a Western-style outfit, all in black. If she’d ever hoped for a pure rebel in her life, he personified it.

“You look…” they began in unison, then grinned.

“Gorgeous,” he concluded.

“Very handsome,” she said.

And then they both seemed to run out of words, as if the importance of the evening ahead had finally sunk in.

“You two have a lovely evening,” Kelly said, breaking the silence as she came into the foyer, holding Laura in her arms.

“It’s just dinner and a movie,” Trish insisted.

Hardy said, “We will.” He glanced toward the baby. “Is Laura coming?”

Trish shook her head. “I decided she’d be better off right here. It’s a cold night.”

“Besides, one of these days Trish will move out and take this little darling with her. I want every second alone with her I can get,” Kelly declared.

Trish caught Hardy’s expression, watched it darken at Kelly’s words. He said very little until they were in the truck and underway.

“You planning on moving on, after all?” he asked finally.

“No, of course not,” she said, surprised not only because he’d misinterpreted Kelly’s remark, but because it seemed to bother him. “But I will have to
find my own place one of these days. I can’t impose on Kelly and Jordan forever. We agreed I’d start looking as soon as the store is up and running.”

It sounded to her as if Hardy breathed a sigh of relief.

“You might have to build,” he said, his expression turning thoughtful. “There aren’t a lot of houses available around here. Families tend to stick close. If you decide to buy some land, let me know. I’ll drive you around. I’ve spotted a couple of pieces of property that might suit you.”

“Why haven’t you bought one of them for yourself?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Too much like settling down, I suppose. The bunkhouse suits me.”

See, she told herself. There was absolutely nothing to fear from spending the evening with him. Hardy Jones was not a marrying man. How many times did she have to hear that before she got the message? And why did hearing it once more irritate her so?

“You don’t need your own space?” she asked.

“Not really. The place I grew up never felt much like a home, so I haven’t missed having one of my own. You can’t miss what you never knew. What about you?”

“I suppose I always assumed I’d have a house one day, complete with a white picket fence and a rose garden like the one Janet has at White Pines. I never wanted the sort of huge mansion my folks have. It’s a showplace. In fact, I think the only reason they bought it was because they figured it would
be photographed every time someone wrote about my father.”

She sighed, then confessed, “The only place I ever felt really at home was at the little cottage they had at the beach near Galveston. My mother hated it, so she would send us kids off with the housekeeper for the summer. She and my father would pay us duty visits on weekends. They never arrived before dinnertime on Saturday and they were gone by noon on Sunday. I always laughed whenever she told a reporter about their weekend getaways as if they were some romantic little adventures she cherished.”

“Do they still have that house?”

“Dylan has it now. He bought it from them, and he and my brothers go there every chance they get. I suppose it’s their bachelor pad. They invite me once a year, and I’m sure it takes them a month to clean up before my visit.”

He grinned. “If they’re anything like the bachelors I know, it might take longer.”

A few minutes later they arrived in Garden City. Hardy pulled up in front of an old hotel that had clearly been restored in recent years.

“I hope this is okay. There’s a great little restaurant inside and there’s a dance floor.” He studied her uncertainly. “Sound all right?”

The mention of the dance floor set her pulse to pounding. The prospect of stepping into Hardy’s embrace, of feeling his body pressed against hers rattled her so badly she could do little more than nod.

He grinned. “Good. I’ve heard the band does all the old-fashioned stuff. I can’t promise you I can tell a waltz from a foxtrot, but I should be able to avoid stepping on your toes.”

As they walked through the lobby, Trish’s gaze shot to the registration desk. Of course there would be rooms upstairs. Was that why he had brought her here? Was he expecting something more out of tonight than dinner and dancing? And what about the movie they’d talked about? Maybe he’d been hoping she’d agree to watching one in bed. How many other women had he brought here and seduced? The rat! The louse! She was about to snap out some sarcastic observation when he grinned at her.

“You can forget about dragging me up to one of those rooms,” he taunted.

“Me?” she all but sputtered, radiating indignation.

His grin broadened. “Oh, I know exactly what kind of ideas popped into that head of yours, but I’m not going along with it. I promised you a quiet evening, no pressure, no need for a chaperone. I stick to my word.” He gazed deep into her eyes. “You can count on it.”

Trish should have been relieved, should have rejoiced at the teasing declaration that she was safe with him. So why did she suddenly wish she could drag him straight into an elevator, up to a room and then strip his clothes off?

Because he had cleverly planted the idea in her head, she realized, frowning at him. No wonder he was so successful with women. Every one of them
probably thought the seduction had been their idea. Well, she knew better, and now that she did, she would be on guard.

In fact, she had a few clever moves of her own. She knew how to drive a man crazy, and no one she knew deserved it more than Hardy. Dinner was going to be lovely, she was sure. But the dancing was going to be downright fascinating.

H
ardy knew he hadn’t mistaken the panic in Trish’s eyes when she’d spotted the registration desk and realized the implications of the fact that they were in a hotel. She’d jumped to an instantaneous conclusion that he’d brought her here to seduce her. That she thought so little of him irked him. At the same time, he’d thoroughly enjoyed teasing her about the wicked direction of her thoughts. She had been completely flustered when she realized that he’d read her mind and turned her conclusions topsy-turvy.

Of course, now she seemed dead set on making him pay. Every time he asked her to dance, she made darned sure that she fit herself so snugly against him that every muscle in his body went rigid.
Then she’d toss an innocent look over her shoulder and sashay back to the table as if she had nothing more on her mind than another bite of salad. Meantime, he was so aroused, he ached.

They’d just returned to the table after their third slow dance, when he deliberately captured her gaze and held it. The muscles in her throat worked, and she seemed to be having difficulty breathing.

“Having fun?” he inquired lightly.

“Sure,” she said, her voice choked.

The music slowed again. He held out his hand. “Care for another dance?”

“Umm, not right now,” she murmured. “The salad will get…” Her voice trailed off as if she realized the absurdity of what she’d been about to say.

“Cold?” he supplied. “Hot?”

“Soggy,” she said emphatically.

“Nothing I hate more than a soggy salad,” he agreed. “We’ll wait till you’re finished then.”

She toyed with the lettuce for the better part of fifteen minutes before finally eating the last little bite with obvious reluctance. She finished just in time for another slow tune.

“Ah, perfect timing,” Hardy enthused. He stood up before she could make another excuse.

This time, as if she’d sensed that his patience with her game had worn thin, she tried to remain a discreet distance away from him, but Hardy urged her in close, until their bodies were pressed intimately together once more. He was aroused before they took the second spin around the floor. In fact, there was so much heat being generated between them,
the chef could have cooked their meals right there on the dance floor.

He gazed down into Trish’s eyes and noted that her expression had shifted from alarm to something vaguely dreamy. Instinctively she snuggled a little closer.

Check and checkmate, he thought with a hint of desperation. If they weren’t careful, this game was going to get wildly out of hand. And he was going to be cursing himself for that vow he’d made not to haul her upstairs to one of the rooms.

Back at the table, he glanced at his watch. If they rushed, they could still make that movie. A darkened movie theater suddenly seemed a whole lot safer and more sensible than a dance floor, unless he intended to spend the rest of the evening being physically tormented. A good action movie, that was what they needed. That way if their blood roared, if would be from the adrenaline pumping through them, not lust.

“What do you say we get out of here?” he asked before the subject of dessert could come up.

Her startled blue eyes met his. “Now?”

“We’ve been here longer than I realized. If we’re going to make that movie, we’d better hurry.”

“We don’t have to go to a movie.”

“Yes, we do,” he said urgently.

Suddenly a knowing grin spread across her face. “Oh, really? Why is that?”

“Just because.”

“Because you’re scared? Because you don’t trust yourself with me, after all those assurances that nothing was going to get out of hand?”

He regarded her solemnly. “Okay, darlin’, we have a choice here. We can stay here and tempt fate or we can go to a movie the way we planned, share some popcorn and drive home.”

“Those are the only choices?”

“That’s the way I see it.”

“I vote we tempt fate.”

He blinked and stared. “Excuse me.”

“You heard me.”

“Trish, do you have any idea what you’re suggesting?”

“I’m not naive,” she assured him. “But I also trust you not to do anything I don’t want you to do.”

Hardy all but groaned. He hated having a woman announce that she trusted him. It tossed all the responsibility for keeping a tight rein on their hormones back into his lap. He scowled at her.

“If you trust me, then believe this, we need to go to a movie. Right now,” he added for emphasis. He beckoned for the waiter and started tossing bills on the table.

“No dessert?” the waiter asked.

“I guess not,” Trish said with apparent regret.

“We have someplace we need to be,” Hardy said, as if he owed the man an explanation.

He hustled Trish out of the restaurant, through the hotel lobby and into the car, before he forgot his good intentions.

Trish glanced over at him, eyes sparkling with mirth. “I guess this means you don’t trust yourself.”

“You’ve got that right.”

She reached over and covered his hand on the steering wheel. “Hardy,” she said softly.

He went absolutely still at her touch. “What?”

“I knew all along I could trust you.”

He faced her and sighed. “Why? How?” he asked, perplexed by her conviction.

“Because I know the kind of man you are.”

“I’m a womanizer,” he reminded her emphatically. He was pretty sure there was a hint of desperation in his tone, as if he were trying to remind himself of that, as well as her.

“You’re kind—”

“A playboy,” he interrupted, since she obviously hadn’t gotten the message.

“And decent,” she continued.

“A rogue,” he added for good measure.

“And thoughtful.”

He tried again. “I’m like Jack the jerk.”

She scowled at him. “You are nothing like Jack the jerk,” she insisted. “Nothing!”

Puzzled by her vehemence, he stared. “You’re the one who made the comparison, after hearing my romantic rap sheet from practically everybody in town.”

“That was before I knew you,” she said dismissively.

“What exactly are you saying here?”

“Just what I said earlier, I trust you. I trust you not to play games with me. I trust you not to toy with my feelings. I trust you to be honest with me.”

She was regarding him with such utter sincerity that Hardy had no choice but to believe her. On
some level he was absolutely humbled by her declaration. On another level, it scared him spitless. It was the kind of fervent statement that a man had to live up to. He wasn’t one bit sure he could.

How could he be honest, when he didn’t understand his own feelings? How could he not play games, when playing games was all he’d ever done?

He met Trish’s gaze, saw the warmth in her eyes—the trust—and wondered what he’d ever done to deserve it. He also knew he would turn himself inside out before he would ever knowingly do anything to let her down.

Trish spent the rest of the week thinking about her date with Hardy. He had lived up to every one of her expectations. He had been thoughtful, sensitive and sexier than any man had a right to be. He had also been a perfect gentleman, giving her no more than a perfunctory, chaste kiss when he’d dropped her back at Kelly’s after the movie. Every wildly rampant hormone in her body had protested the slight. She had anticipated another one of those mind-numbing, sizzling kisses. Apparently all that talk of trust had cooled his ardor.

Which was just as well, she assured herself, throwing herself into unpacking the boxes of books that had arrived at the store that morning. It was exactly what she had wanted, a pleasant evening with no pressure.

So why did she still feel thoroughly frustrated and cranky days later? Maybe it was because she hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of Hardy since that
night. Maybe it was because despite all her claims to the contrary, she had enjoyed his attention, had basked in the flirting and the sexual tension that sizzled between them whenever they were in the same room.

She heard the bell over the front door ring and glanced up from the stack of books she’d been sorting. Harlan Adams filled the doorway.

“You and that boy turned this place into something real special,” he declared approvingly. “Mind if I come in and take a peek around?”

She grinned because he was already inside and actively poking around when he asked.

“It is your building. I suppose you’re entitled to a sneak peek,” she told him.

She watched warily as he moved slowly around the store, taking in everything. He paused by a table of bestsellers, studied the jackets of several books, then nodded approvingly.

“Good selection.”

“Thank you.”

“You have anything in here by Louis L’Amour?”

“I’ve ordered everything I could. They’re in one of these boxes I haven’t unpacked yet.”

“Good. There’s nothing like a Western to relax a man at the end of a long day. Pick out a handful for me and send ’em on out to the ranch.”

“What if I pick ones you’ve already read?”

“Probably will,” he told her. “I think I’ve read most of them at one time or another. Still enjoy reading them. It’s like visiting with old friends. You get together over the years, tell the same old tales,
laugh at the same jokes, but there’s something satisfying in the repetition and in the sharing.”

Trish wished she had old friends to share things with. She’d lost touch with most of the women she’d known in Houston. Her brothers had been her best friends, and she was cut off from all of them except Dylan.

“You’re a very wise man, Mr. Adams.”

“Harlan, girl. I keep telling you nobody around here thinks of me as anything else.”

“I feel I should be more respectful,” she told him.

“That’s because your folks raised you right. Okay, then, call me Grandpa Harlan, like the rest of your generation. Will that give me the respect you figure I should have?”

Trish was deeply touched by the offer. “If you’re sure.”

“I am. As far as I’m concerned, you’re one of the family.”

“Thank you.”

He moved to one of the chairs in front of the fire and sank into it with an appreciative sigh. “You sure you knew what you were doing when you brought these chairs in here?” he asked. “Seems to me like folks might take such a liking to them, they’d just stay the day.”

“That’s fine with me. I like the company.”

He regarded her intently. “I hear you and Hardy went out the other night,” he said, broaching the subject so casually Trish almost missed the speculative glint in his eyes.

“Yes. Dinner and a movie.”

“How did that go?”

“We had a lovely time. He’s a very nice man.”

“Poppycock!” Harlan declared. “The man’s a rogue. Needs to settle down. You need a daddy for that little girl of yours and a man to look after you. Seems like a perfect match to me.”

Trish’s hackles rose. “I do not need a man to look after me,” she said fiercely, then added, “sir.”

He chuckled. “Guess that respect for your elders just about flew out the window for a second there, didn’t it?”

“Well, with all due respect, I think you have it all wrong. Hardy and I are just friends.”

“If that’s the truth, then it’s a pity,” he said, studying her. “Can you swear to me it’s the truth?”

“I don’t see why I should have to.”

He slapped his knee at that. “Whooee! That’s just what I was hoping to hear. Means you can’t say it with a straight face.”

The last vestiges of Trish’s determination to treat Harlan Adams with total respect flew out the window. Her gaze narrowed. “It’s true what they say about you, Grandpa Harlan. You’re a meddler.”

“I am indeed. And proud of it. You look around Los Piños and you won’t have a bit of trouble spotting some of my success stories. Haven’t had a failure yet.” He peered at her intently. “You smart enough to understand the implications of that?”

She chuckled, despite herself. “In other words, I should listen closely to what you say and take your advice, because you are very seldom wrong.”

“Good girl. But you’ve got it just a little wrong. I am
never
wrong.” He stood up. “Best be going now. I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

Impulsively Trish crossed the room and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thank you for caring, even if I have no intention of listening to a word you say.”

He gave her a look of pure regret. “You’ll learn. You’re not the first to tell me to bug off, and undoubtedly, you won’t be the last.” He winked at her. “But in the end, I’m always right.”

Trish was suddenly struck by the terrifying sensation that he very well might be right about her and Hardy, too. A part of her even wanted him to be.

But another part had lived through the disaster with Jack Grainger and couldn’t help making the very comparisons that she’d denied so vehemently to Hardy just the other night. What if she was wrong? What if Hardy turned out to be exactly like the man who had betrayed her? Could she take that kind of a risk with her heart again?

Hardy tossed the fancy invitation down on his bunk without even opening it. He knew what it was for. Trish had invited him to the grand opening of her store, and he was pretty much duty bound to accept. Too many people would jump to all sorts of ridiculous conclusions if he failed to show up.

He supposed he could take a date and put all the matchmaking nonsense to rest once and for all. But he knew he couldn’t do it. Not only wasn’t there a single woman he even wanted to spend the after
noon with, but he knew it would hurt Trish if he showed up with a woman on his arm. It would be tantamount to admitting that her first impression of him had been the right one.

That was why when Sunday afternoon rolled around, he took a shower, dressed with extra care and drove into town for this shindig Trish and Sharon Lynn had planned. After all, how much trouble could he possibly get into at a bookstore opening? He doubted he’d have a single minute alone with the hostess, not so much as a second for stealing a kiss that might push him over the edge and shatter his New Year’s resolution.

Hardy thought back to that night just a couple of months back when he’d been so confident that he could make it through another year as a bachelor. After all, he’d gone through most of the last thirty years on his own. He’d never once been tempted to change that.