The Cowboy and the New Year's Baby (8 page)

“Wait,” Trish said, drawing his gaze. “I’ll come with you, so we can make some arrangements for next week.”

“Whatever.”

As they left, Hardy thought he heard Janet ask, “Satisfied?”

Something told him she wasn’t referring to breakfast. He suspected she wanted to know if her husband thought his scheming had paid off.

“I’d say it’s looking promising,” he told her, confirming Hardy’s guess. “Now come on over here beside me and make me forget about that coffee you’re denying me.”

Hardy chuckled. He turned and caught Trish’s grin. Obviously she had caught the exchange as well.

“He’s something, isn’t he?” she asked.

“He’s a sneaky meddler,” Hardy contradicted, but without any real rancor.

“That’s certainly true enough. I’m sorry about you getting roped into this. If I could have thought of a way out, I would have. I’m sure there are plenty of contractors I could have hired to do whatever work is needed at the store.”

Her eagerness to rid herself of his company annoyed him, especially under the guise of consideration for his feelings. “I’ll survive. I imagine you will, too. In the end, you’ll have your bookstore. Isn’t that what matters?”

“I suppose.” She peered at him intently. “Hardy, do you regret ever suggesting that I stay here? I know you said it impulsively and then I ran with the idea. I’ve always been like that. If something sounds right to me, I do it. I don’t always stop to consider all the ramifications. Just look at how I ended up here in the first place.”

He shrugged. “What I think doesn’t matter now, does it? You’re staying.”

“But you’d rather I go,” she persisted. “Why?”

He had thought that was obvious. “Because of what just happened, for one thing. Harlan’s not the kind to let go once he’s gotten an idea into his head. He’s settled on getting us together, and he won’t rest until he’s accomplished that.”

“We don’t have to go along with it,” she pointed out as if she genuinely believed it was a simple choice. “We’re adults. We both know what we want and what we don’t.”

What Hardy wanted right this minute, more than anything, was to kiss the woman who was staring at him so earnestly, the woman who actually believed they were in control of their own destiny. He wanted to wipe that certainty off her face. He wanted her to tremble in his arms with sensations she couldn’t simply wish away because they were inconvenient.

And because he usually took what he wanted, he stepped closer. Before she could begin to guess what he had on his mind, he dipped his head low and brushed his lips over hers. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, he thought, startled by the depth of his sudden need for more. He cupped a hand behind her head and kissed her again, ignoring her startled gasp, savoring the fact that it enabled him to dip his tongue into the sweetness of her mouth.

With the baby clutched tightly in her arms and trapped awkwardly between them, she swayed toward him. Hardy was pretty sure the earth tilted on its axis, that heaven opened up and welcomed him, when he’d been counting on hell.

It was Laura’s whimpers that finally cut through
the sensations rocketing through him. Clasping Trish’s shoulders to keep her steady, he took a step back and fought for control. She stared up at him, her expression dazed and dreamy. Two red patches appeared in her cheeks.

Then, in the blink of an eye, fury replaced bemusement. “You have one heck of a nerve,” she declared furiously. “Just because you’re doing me a favor, don’t start thinking—”

Hardy cut her off before she could travel too far down that particular path. “I am not doing you a favor,” he reminded her. “I am doing a job that my boss has requested that I do. That’s it.”

“All the more reason not to take advantage of the situation,” she countered. “This is a business relationship. It’s not personal.”

“You call it whatever you like,” he taunted. “Personally, I’m beginning to think the benefits outweigh the salary.”

“I am not part of the deal,” she insisted. “If I have to, I will tell Harlan that it’s not working out and that I don’t want you anywhere near the store. Then he’ll want to know what you did to offend me.” She let the threat trail off.

“And you’ll say I kissed you?” Hardy suggested. “Darlin’, believe me, that will make his day.”

As acceptance of the truth washed over her, she sighed heavily. “I suppose you’re right.”

“So do we try to make this work?”

“We don’t seem to have any choice.” She scowled at him. “No more kisses, though, and that’s final.”

Hardy kept his expression sober and nodded dutifully. “No more kisses,” he echoed, then grinned, “unless you ask real nicely.”

“I won’t ask.”

“We’ll see.”

There wasn’t a woman on earth he couldn’t make want him if he put his mind to it. A little charm, an innocent caress or two, a careless wink. He’d have her right where he wanted her in forty-eight hours. Maybe less.

Then what? he wondered as she went stalking off toward her car, her back ramrod straight, her shoulders squared with singed pride. Would a few more kisses satisfy him? Was that the goal? Or did he want her in his bed, just like all the others who’d come so easily? Thinking of Trish as nothing more than another notch on his bedpost turned his stomach sour. She didn’t deserve that. Laura’s mother deserved better.

There was just one trouble with that. He didn’t have better to give.

U
nable to control her exuberance, Trish twirled around in the middle of her new store, then clapped her hands in delight.

The property was hers as of this morning, and it was going to be fantastic. She could envision every bookcase, made of a warm wood that would give the room a cozy feel when the fireplace was lit. Two comfortable chairs for reading were arranged in front of it. The chairs would be covered in a bright chintz and deep enough to snuggle into. An antique table in the same wood as the shelves would sit between the chairs, with porcelain teacups and a silver teapot that was always filled. Maybe she’d even learn to bake scones. And there would be fresh flowers in a small crystal vase.

Of course, there would be books, jamming the shelves, invitingly displayed on more antique tables, stacked high near the cash register for impulse sales. And while the atmosphere would be deliberately old-fashioned, there would be a state-of-the-art computer for tracking everything, including all the special orders and catalogue and Internet sales she anticipated.

Right now, however, the space looked more like a nightmare than her dream store. Willetta apparently hadn’t done a thorough cleaning since the fifties. Maybe longer. The last paint job had been haphazard at best, doing nothing to conceal patches or fine cracks in the plaster. The floors, which had been a lovely oak once, had been dulled to near-black by years of wax and dirt building up. It was even more decrepit than the building she’d rented in Houston, and that had been a dump.

If it hadn’t been her nature to be optimistic, Trish might have been appalled by the work that faced her. Instead, she drew in a deep breath and headed to the store for cleaning supplies.

She had virtually the whole weekend ahead of her. Kelly was looking after Laura and had promised to do so again after church on Sunday. Trish planned to make a lot of progress over the weekend so that the real work could get under way the instant Hardy showed up on Monday. The sooner he was finished and out of her hair, the better. That kiss had told her quite clearly just how dangerous a mix it would be for the two of them to be in the same room for long.

Therefore it was with no particular pleasure that
she spotted Hardy leaning against the side of his pickup in front of her store as she returned from her shopping. Struggling with her bags, she frowned at him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to help.”

“You’re not scheduled to start work until Monday.”

“You’re here, aren’t you? There’s work to be done, right?” he said, taking the bags from her before she could utter a protest.

“But—”

He sighed and faced her. “Trish, I am not going to throw you down on the floor and ravish you. Get that picture right out of your head.”

Of course, as soon as he said it, that was all she could see. Heat stirred low in her belly as she imagined herself flat on the floor with Hardy’s body on top of hers, with him buried inside her. Obviously her hormones didn’t have the sense of a gnat.

“I was not worried about that,” she insisted, unlocking the door and preceding him inside.

He surveyed her with a skeptical expression. “If you say so. Now what do you want done first?”

She wanted him to go.

But not nearly as much as she wanted him to stay, she concluded with regret. They could do the work together in half the time that it would take her alone. And having company always made work seem easier. It was just that his company promised to leave her feeling every bit as rattled and unsettled as that kiss they’d shared.

Just as she accepted that, she saw him heading for the door. “You’re leaving?” she asked, fearing that her lack of a warm reception had finally daunted him.

He grinned. “No, darlin’, Don’t go getting your hopes up. I don’t scare off that easily. I’m going to get my radio out of the truck. We can’t work without music.”

She stared at him. “We can’t?”

“Well, I suppose we could, but this will be better. There’s a six-pack of beer in there for me and some sodas for you. And a bag of chips, a couple of sandwiches, apples, brownies. I’m not entirely certain, but there may be a pig in there ready to go on the barbeque.”

She was stunned. “Hardy, we’re not having a party.”

“Tell that to Kelly. She packed it all.”

She stared at him blankly. “Kelly? When?”

“When I stopped by the house to see what you were up to. She told me you’d come into town. She sounded as if you’d gone off to work in a coal mine in some godforsaken land where no human had ever gone before. Before I knew it, I was carting bags of provisions out to the truck. She seemed to think we’ll perish from hunger.”

Trish stared as he carted in a card table, two folding chairs and grocery bags every bit as bulging as he’d described.

“Maybe she was anticipating a blizzard,” she joked weakly.

Or maybe she’d merely been hoping for one, a
doozy of a storm that would leave Trish trapped here with Hardy for a day or two. She peered into the bags and caught a whiff of the just-baked brownies, clearly still warm from the oven. Unable to resist, she snatched one from the package, then offered them to Hardy.

“Not just yet,” he said. “Why don’t you have a seat, enjoy your brownie and start bossing me around?”

With regret, she put her brownie aside and wiped her fingers on a napkin. “No, no, I’ll get started, too.”

He clasped her shoulders, nudged her toward a chair, then handed the chocolate square back to her. “Come on, boss lady, bark out some orders. You know you want to. There’s not a woman alive who doesn’t get a thrill from having a man at her beck and call.”

“You’ll do anything I want you to?” she asked speculatively.

His eyes widened. “Now that certainly sounds promising. What did you have in mind?”

“Nothing like that,” she protested, guessing the wicked direction his thoughts had taken.

“Too bad. For a minute there, my heart almost stopped.”

She regarded him with resignation. “You can’t really help it, can you?”

“What?”

“Flirting.”

“Why would I want to stop?” he asked. “It keeps things interesting.”

“But it’s all a game to you. Are you ever serious about anything?”

“Not if I can help it. We only get one shot at living. I figure it ought to be fun.” He regarded her curiously. “What about you?”

She tried to think back to the last time she’d had fun without giving a thought to the consequences. “Fun has its place, I suppose.”

He studied her thoughtfully. “How many times have you laughed today?”

The question threw her. “I have no idea. Why?”

“Because sharing laughter is almost as good as sex.” He moved closer and touched a finger to the corner of her eyes. “When you laugh, when your eyes light up, I think I can see into your soul.”

She shuddered as if his touch had been far more intimate. But it was his words, his unexpectedly poetic turn of phrase, not his touch, that stirred her deep inside where she’d vowed never again to let any man reach, especially not a glib charmer like Hardy.

A smile tugged at his lips. “I surprised you, didn’t I? You figured me for a rough-and-tumble cowboy with nothing on his mind besides a quick roll in the hay.”

“Of course not,” she denied heatedly, because he was too close to the truth.

“Liar.”

She didn’t even try to defend herself. She just picked up a broom and turned away. She felt his hands on her shoulders, felt herself being turned un
til she faced him. His gaze settled on her gently, seriously.

“Trish, I’m going to warn you one time and one time only, don’t underestimate me. I flirt because I enjoy it. I laugh because it’s better than the alternative. But just when you think you know me, I guarantee, I’ll surprise you.”

She met his gaze evenly, felt another stirring of the heat that scared her and said quietly, “You already have.”

He gave a little nod of satisfaction, then reached for the broom she held. “Then I suppose that’s enough surprises for one morning.” He winked at her. “I have to parcel them out or you’ll start taking them for granted.”

No, Trish thought, as he went to work. She had a feeling that after today she would never take anything about Hardy Jones for granted ever again.

Hardy had done his share of odd jobs over the years. He’d worked for a wide variety of bosses, some downright mean, some kind and patient, some demanding. But he’d never before worked for one who smelled of exotic spices and worked alongside him with nonstop chatter.

It seemed Trish was finally accepting his presence. Her nervous conversation, which didn’t seem to require any response from him, suggested she might not be entirely comfortable with him yet, but she was clearly determined to make the best of it. He kept trying to get her to take it easy, reminding her that she’d just had a baby, that she needed to
rest, to eat a decent lunch. She sat only when he sat, ate only when he ate.

Which meant that not very much got done. Hardy took more breaks than the best union contract in the country called for. He skipped the beer and drank milk, just to set a good example. He snacked on apples when he wanted chips. He claimed exhaustion and sat, when every fiber of his being cried out to get the job done.

“What made you decide you wanted to run a bookstore?” he asked as they sat side by side on the floor, sipping milk and eating the last of the brownies, their backs pressed against the wall.

“I always loved to read,” she said. “I could lose myself in a book, go anywhere I wanted to go, be somebody daring and adventurous.”

He thought of her taking off and heading far from home when she was about to have a baby. That seemed pretty daring and adventurous to him. “You didn’t think of yourself as adventurous?”

She laughed. “Hardly. My father and my brothers got to have all the adventures. From the moment I was born, as the youngest child, the only girl, I was put on a pedestal and pampered. I hated it. I wanted to do what my brothers did. No, not exactly what they did,” she corrected. “I didn’t especially want to play football or get my nose broken in a fistfight, but I wanted the freedom they had. Do you know that I never came home from a date
not
to find my father sitting up waiting for me when I came in?”

“A lot of fathers wait up for their daughters,” Hardy said, not understanding the problem. He’d
been caught in a compromising kiss more times than he cared to recall, but it hadn’t been the humiliating end of the world she was making it out to be. “Isn’t it some sort of tradition?”

“But I was in my twenties,” she said ruefully. “It was embarrassing. I tried to move out and get my own place, but he and my mother were so horrified I finally caved in and stayed home.”

“How on earth did you ever manage to get—” He cut himself off before he could say it.

Trish slid a glance his way. “How did I get pregnant?”

He nodded.

“With Jack it was different, because he was the man my father had chosen for me. The apron strings were loosened. Everybody assumed that no harm could possibly come to me when I was with Jack. I’m sure they were stunned when they realized just how wrong they were. Then again, the thinking went, what did it matter? After all, we were going to be married, weren’t we? When I put an end to that fantasy, that’s when the trouble started.”

“Surely by now you’ve made your point,” he suggested.

“I doubt it. The Delacourts are stubborn to a fault. My father more so than any of us. Even if I’m gone for years, he’ll probably keep Jack dangling on a string just in case I change my mind.”

Hardy studied her expression. She was serious. “What does that say about him?”

“That he’s a weak man,” she said readily. “That
he wants what my father’s holding just out of reach more than he cares about his self-respect.”

“The man’s a fool.”

“Which one?”

“Both, now that you mention it. Your father for not trusting your instincts and Jack for not having any gumption. I’d have told your father what he could do a long time ago,” he declared, then captured her gaze. “And I would never have let you get away.”

He realized even as he said the words that a part of him didn’t want to let her go even after knowing her so briefly, even without sleeping with her. At the same time he also knew that he would eventually let her go—would send her away, in fact—because that was what he did. He was every bit as much a fool as Jack Grainger.

Because he didn’t like the direction his thoughts had taken, he stood up and grabbed sandpaper and spackle and went to work on smoothing and patching the walls. The country music station played songs that echoed his mood, love-gone-wrong tunes that seemed to mirror the way his future was laid out.

In the past he’d heard the sad words, sung along with them, in fact, but he hadn’t related to them because he’d never lost a woman he loved. Now he was faced with the prospect of losing a woman he’d never even given himself a chance to love. Regrets, something he rarely indulged in, taunted him.

He glanced over and caught Trish trying to mimic his actions. She had climbed onto one of the folding
chairs and was reaching high to sand a sloppy patch job. The movement lifted her breasts and pulled her sweater loose from her jeans, displaying a sliver of bare skin. His mouth went dry at the sight.

Then she rose on tiptoe, and the unstable chair wobbled beneath her, throwing her off balance. Barely in the nick of time he realized that she was about to topple off. Thankful for his lightning-quick reflexes, he caught her in midair and pulled her tight against his chest.

“Oh, dear,” she murmured, as her gaze clashed with his.

He saw the precise second when fright gave way to an awareness that their bodies were pressed intimately together. He felt her skin heat, felt his own temperature soar. He could feel her breasts heaving with each startled gasp of breath she took.

Bad idea, he told himself firmly, but he couldn’t seem to make himself release her. She felt too good, fit too perfectly against him. And he couldn’t resist holding her just a little longer to see precisely what she would do after the initial shock of her near fall wore off.