Tight-Fittin′ Jeans
Tight-Fittin' Jeans
Mary Lynn Baxter
MR. MARCHThe Stubborn Cowboy:Garth Dixon had no hankerin' for a wife, but the blond vixen next door had him scheming for a chance at a no-strings fling… . The Southern Beauty: No way was Tiffany Russell giving in to her hot-tempered, secretive neighbor - even if his smoldering good looks set her body on fire! There was no doubt that the latest female to hit Pennington, Utah, was trouble, but Garth never could resist a challenge - especially one in tight jeans.Since the cowgirl from Texas clearly seemed set on ignoring her neighbor, he knew it was up to him to show her the meaning of passion-filled nights… .MAN OF THE MONTH: Could this rough-edged cowboy end up getting roped and tied by love?
“You Know You Want Me,” He Said. (#uf1f59c0a-2f17-58b9-b637-116ffbe2801d)Letter to Reader (#u65272560-7b5d-5749-9dd4-f0b646423f5b)Title Page (#u2324a2ab-a70d-5cd8-8a41-7d7d55bdc310)About the Author (#u3671fdf7-832f-5b5b-9490-bace364cc1dc)Prologue (#ue750cb7e-4afb-5c14-b14b-8622c4c75c6e)Chapter One (#ubc703447-89ec-5cb6-a9d6-b4c63efbc0b2)Chapter Two (#uce0d0c40-ee53-5dff-ad27-d4ccb7d7c026)Chapter Three (#ub07647c7-f317-5417-ab6b-623ac0e3a043)Chapter Four (#ua5d0f8b9-a538-548c-80b5-1e011b509be8)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“You Know You Want Me,” He Said.
“You want me as much as I want you. It’s been that way since that first time I kissed you.”
“This is crazy.”
“I’ll go crazy if I can’t have you.”
Fire raged in his dark, compelling eyes; only, something else was there, as well—a challenge. He was challenging her to deny what he’d said on both counts. She couldn’t, and he knew it.
Besides, he was right. To have sex with him was what she’d wanted, too; only, she hadn’t even realized that until now, until he’d voiced that challenge.
Her gaze dropped. When at last she raised her head, her breathing was coming in short spurts.
“Ready to do something about it?”
“Garth—”
“Come here,” he said, his voice raspy, almost unrecognizable.
Dear Reader,
I know you’ve all been anxiously awaiting the next book from Mary Lynn Baxter—so wait no more. Here it is, the MAN OF THE MONTH, Tight-Fittin Jean’s. Mary Lynn’s books are known for their sexy herpes and sizzling sensuality...and this sure has both! Read and enjoy.
Every little girl dreams of marrying a handsome prince, but most women get to kiss a lot of toads before they find him. Read how three handsome princes find their very own princesses in Leanne Banks’s delightful new miniseries HOW TO CATCH A PRINCESS. The fun begins this month with The Five-Minute Bride.
The other books this month are all so wonderful...you won’t want to miss any of them! If you like humor, don’t miss Maureen Child’s Have Bride, Need Groom. For blazing drama, there’s Sara Orwig’s A Baby for Mommy. Susan Crosby’s Wending Fever provides a touch of dashing suspense. And Judith McWilliams’s Practice Husband is warmly emotional.
There is something for everyone here at Desire! I hope you enjoy each and every one of these love stories.
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
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Tight Fittin’ Jeans
Mary Lynn Baxter
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MARY LYNN BAXTER
sold hundreds of romances before she ever wrote one. The D&B Bookstore, right on the main drag in Lufkin, Texas, is her home as well as the store she owns and manages. She and her husband, Leonard, garden in their spare time. Around five o’clock every evening they can be found picking butter beans on their small farm just outside of town.
Prologue
Would today be the day he had another heart attack? Could be, Garth Dixon told himself, especially when he felt as if a hippo were sitting on his chest. What bothered him the most was wondering when the “big one” was going to hit. He’d already come face-to-face with his mortality, and he hadn’t been impressed, since he was only forty.
Realizing he was using the rickety post on the porch to hold himself upright, he straightened to his full six-foot-two-inch height. Hell, the doctors might think he had one foot in the coffin and the other on a banana peel, but he was determined to prove them wrong.
His ticker would be good as new if he could just survive this godforsaken place. Ah, Pennington, Utah. If anyone had told him he would end up in this small farming and ranching community, holed up in a rustic cabin, nursing a cantankerous heart, he would have laughed.
Well, he wasn’t laughing now, not by a long shot. He wasn’t sure he would be able to laugh again until he was away from here and back in Dallas, in his corporate of fices. Just thinking about that, and all the work he’d been forced to leave behind, caused a tight squeezing around his chest, something he couldn’t allow to happen.
The problem was, he didn’t have anything else to think about. Work was his life. The only thing in front of him now was the sun setting in the west, perhaps the most beautiful sunset he’d ever seen. But then, he wasn’t into sunsets. If that was all he had to look forward to, then he might as well sit on a keg of dynamite and wait for it to blow.
He needed a challenge. He needed something he could sink his teeth into, which was exactly what he could not do. So what did that leave? Learning to be a connoisseur of sunsets? God forbid.
Yet, like it or not, he had to alter his life-style, or else. It was the “or else” that made the sweat suddenly pop out on his skin as if he were a teenager at his first dance. He would do what he had to do; he always had. He’d had to learn to live with the scars on his soul, but it would be a cold day in hell before he lived with them on his heart.
Disgusted with his thoughts, Garth glared at the sunset once more, with reinforced resentment, then tromped back inside the cabin. He was about to plop down on the couch when the phone rang. He stopped in midaction. This was the first time in a week he’d heard that sound.
Garth grimaced, thinking that before he’d been forced into this change of scenery, he’d come to think of the receiver as a permanent part of his body. He wished it was his office calling, but he knew that wouldn’t be the case. Under no circumstances were they to bother him. His family, however, was. a different matter.
“Dixon,” he said, then realized he didn’t recognize the voice on the other end of the line.
Once the conversation had ended, Garth hung up, a bit disconcerted. The caller was a man who owned a nearby ranch, Jeremiah Davis, whom he had run into on several occasions at Irma Quill’s general store.
Garth paused in his thoughts, a smile relaxing his drawn features as his mind switched gears to Irma, who was in a class all her own. In fact, he’d never met anyone like her, except in books and on TV. With her birdlike features and antiquated way of dressing, bonnet and all, she reminded him of a character straight out of “Little House on the Prairie.”
Since he’d been in Pennington, Irma seemed to have taken a liking to him, though he hadn’t encouraged her. Still, when she insisted on loading him down with homemade bread and jam, he hadn’t turned it down; the smell never failed to revive his appetite.
However, it wasn’t Irma he should be thinking about now, but rather, the favor Jeremiah Davis had asked of him. Jeremiah had told him there had been an emergency in his family and asked Garth if he would keep an eye on things while he was away, explaining that he was leaving his daughter behind with a friend.
Garth had consented, though he wasn’t excited about the neighborly deed, as he didn’t particularly want to be neighborly.
Hell, all he wanted was a one-way ticket back to Texas.
One
“You don’t run this department, you know.”
Tiffany Russell eyed her boss, at the same time swallowing a scathing retort. She was well aware that she wasn’t in charge of ladies’ fine apparel, and that was the problem. She knew she should be.
Hazel Mason, unaffectionately known as “Witch Hazel,” might have enough style to make her large, rawboned stature seem elegant, rather than offensive, but that was as far as her assets went. Tiffany held fast to the notion that the woman’s tongue was sharper than her mind. When it came to doing something different, to branching out, Hazel was not interested, period.
Tiffany mellowed her voice as much as she could. “I’m aware of that, Hazel. Still, I can’t see why you object to entering the twentieth century.”
“If that’s meant to be funny, it isn’t.”
“Look,” Tiffany said, pushing a wad of natural blond hair behind her ear, “if we don’t do something soon, the competition is going to continue to kick our butt right into oblivion.”
“And you seriously think your idea of half-naked models parading through the racks serving pineapple is going to up the sales?”
“I do.”
“Well, I don’t.” Hazel’s tone was as cold as her blue eyes. “Even if I agreed with the beach-party idea, which I don’t, that line of swimwear you want to buy is simply too far-out for our ladies.”
“I beg to differ with you,” Tiffany countered, standing firm. “Anyway, how will we know until we try?”
“It’s simply too costly a gamble. And since I have the final word, it’s not going to happen.”
Tiffany literally had to bite her lip to keep from voicing another opinion, one that would most likely get her fired, even though keeping her thoughts to herself went against her grain. She wanted to lash out at this woman, whose face now reminded her of a prune, it was so severely wrinkled in distaste.
She doubted Hazel’s hair had ever been out of that bun, or that she’d ever done anything daring, such as wearing a two-piece bathing suit The idea of her parading naked in front of a man was even more incredible. How she’d ever had two kids was beyond Tiffany. She would bet her favorite Magic Lift Bra that Hazel and her husband made love with the lights out and the covers over their heads.
“Well?”
Tiffany shook her head and stared at her boss. “Well, what?”
“Don’t you have work to do?”
“Right”
A few minutes later, Tiffany was back in the stock-room., staring at the boxes of clothing that had arrived late yesterday afternoon. Ordinarily, she would have torn open the boxes filled with lovely clothes and accessories with vigorous anticipation, thinking of how lucky she was to have Christmas on a daily basis.
But not today. She was still seething from her goround with Witch Hazel. These confrontations were coming far too often. Tiffany loved her work, though she didn’t necessarily love the company she worked for. As a buyer for women’s clothing for Cunningham’s at the Galleria, she had her own ideas of the market and what would sell and what would not
Unfortunately, her boss did not agree with her.
Feeling her frustration and anger rising, Tiffany turned her back on the boxes and made her way into her office, which was nothing but a cubbyhole. But it was hers, and she could be alone there and give in to the emotions churning inside her.
She perched on the edge of her desk and swung her foot. Hell’s bells, maybe she ought to quit. But she wasn’t a quitter. Too, she wasn’t ready to give Hazel the satisfaction of running her off. She couldn’t deny, though, that she was going home every day with a headache.
Suddenly Tiffany’s frown burgeoned into a smile as thoughts of her best friend, Bridget, leaped to mind. At one time, Bridget’s career as an attorney had been in the toilet, or so she had thought. Now she was happily married and living in a small town in Utah.
Tiffany’s smile broadened. She took full responsibility for her friend’s sudden and unorthodox marriage. Why, if she hadn’t insisted Bridget attend that crazy bachelor auction, she wouldn’t have bid on Jeremiah Davis and won him.
Tiffany laughed out loud as she thought back on the moment when Bridgat had lunged out of her chair and yelled, “One thousand dollars!”
Aghast, Tiffany had jerked Bridget back down in her seat. However, the damage had already been done. Bridget had gotten what she paid for, a tall, slow-talking rancher who wasn’t about to let the best thing that had ever happened to him slip through his fingers.
Shaking her head, Tiffany eased off the desk and walked over to where she kept her two-cup coffeemaker. She filled a cup full of French vanilla and sipped; although it soothed her stomach, it did nothing for her clicking mind.
While she envied Bridget many things, her marriage was not one of them. Tiffany had come close to getting married only once; thank God it hadn’t come about. The man had been—and still was—a lush, though she hadn’t realized it. Even at thirty, which years ago would have classified her as an old maid, a ring on her finger wasn’t what she wanted. Her desires leaned more toward life’s amenities: a great job, a nice house, a fancy car and a hefty bank account, and not necessarily in that order, either.
Although she had none of the above at the moment, Tiffany intended to remedy that. Her goal was to eventually have enough money, borrowed or otherwise, to open her own shop, a shop that catered to rich and privileged women. Working at Cunningham’s was merely a stepping-stone.
Tiffany took another generous mouthful of coffee, savoring the taste, only to have it tainted by sudden thoughts of Hazel. She wasn’t sure just how much longer she could take the woman’s abuse, along with her lack of enthusiasm. She had about as much innovative energy as molasses running uphill.
“Grrr,” Tiffany muttered, then drained her cup.
There had to be a way to get through to her boss without jeopardizing her job. At the moment, however, nothing came to mind. She was always walking that fine line between getting ahead and getting canned.
Another smile flirted with her lips as thoughts of Bridget resurfaced. It had been only a little over a year since she and Bridget had had that conversation about how low both their lives had sunk.
Of course, Bridget’s hadn’t, not really, since she was from a wealthy family here in Houston, with money of her own, to boot. Tiffany, on the other hand, had nothing to fall back on—no family and no money.
That was why she couldn’t waltz into Hazel’s office and tell her what she could do with her antiquated ideas and this job.
“Yo.”
Tiffany, unaware that her privacy had been invaded, jumped, then whipped around. The intruder was Gretchen Wheeler, one of the salesclerks.
“Sorry,” Gretchen said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t. What’s up?”
Gretchen made a face. “Hazel’s dander.”
“Great.”
“She wants to see you.”
“What else is new?” Tiffany’s mouth curved downward. “I get out of her sight for five minutes and she goes berserk.”
Gretchen gave her a sympathetic look, though she appeared uncomfortable at being the go-between who bore the unhappy message.
“Thanks,” Tiffany finally said, letting Gretchen off the hook. “I’ll see you later.”
Gretchen nodded, then left. Tiffany stood for a moment, contemplating walking into Hazel’s office and telling her what she could do with both her demands and the job; then the phone rang.
Thinking it was the witch adding insult to injury, Tiffany grabbed the receiver and said a curt “Yes.”
“Whoa! Down, girl.”
Tiffany threw back her head and laughed, having recognized the voice right off. “Why, Jeremiah Davis, fancy you calling me.” Then her voice sobered and her stomach lurched, as it dawned on her that something was amiss. First off, Jeremiah was calling, instead of Bridget, and second, it was in the middle of the day. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”
“You’re right.”
Her stomach gave another lurch, and at the same time fear clogged her throat; she couldn’t utter a word. Something must have happened to Bridget or Jeremiah’s six-year-old daughter, Taylor, from his first marriage.
As if Jeremiah had picked up on her fear, he went on, “ices Bridget. She’s been injured in a car accident, but she’s going to be okay.”
Tiffany picked up on the desperate ring to his voice, but she didn’t acknowledge it. “Thank God,” she whispered, sitting down before her knees could give way under her. “Was she alone?”
“Yeah. She slammed into a school bus, which caused damage to her spine and legs.”
“How much damage?” Tiffany hated asking that question, but she had no choice. She might as well know the good, the bad and the ugly now as later.
“She’s partially paralyzed, though the doctor says it’s not permanent.”
“What can I do to help?”
Jeremiah hemmed and hawed, then finally said, “I was wondering if it’s possible for you to take some vacation time and baby-sit Taylor. I can’t leave Bridget, and my aunt’s not able to keep Taylor. She’s had a slight stroke, and...” He hesitated. “I wouldn’t ask, but—”
“I’d be insulted if you hadn’t.” And Tiffany meant it, even though she didn’t have any vacation time left. Maybe all wasn’t lost Maybe this unexpected twist of events was the answer to her problem.
She could resign, then look for another job when she returned from Utah. Although her savings account was far from what she wanted it to be, it wasn’t all that shabby. If she had to, she could dip into that, then replace what she’d used.
“Tiffany?”
“I’m on my way.”
With that, she replaced the receiver, then listened as her heart banged against her rib cage. Even though she was concerned for her friend, she suddenly felt like a prisoner who had just been released from death row.
“Yes, yes, yes!”
She left her office and headed straight for Hazel’s, a bounce in her steps.
Two
Tiffany stood in the small hospital room in Hurricane, where Bridget had been taken following the accident, though Tiffany had yet to talk to her. A lab tech was in the process of drawing blood from Bridget’s arm.
Unable to watch the procedure, Tiffany kept her eyes averted. Needles gave her the willies, especially when they were used to penetrate the skin.
She had contemplated going to the ranch first and dumping her bags. But in her eagerness to see for herself that her friend was not critical, she had rented a car at the airport and come straight here.
Jeremiah had insisted on meeting her flight, but she’d insisted otherwise, pointing out that he needn’t be concerned about her, that he had enough on his plate at the moment. As if he’d realized she was as headstrong as his wife, he’d let out a sigh and given in.
Now, as Tiffany continued to wait, she peered out the window into a park, serene and breathtakingly lovely with cotton wood, pecan and mulberry trees galore. She had forgotten just how beautiful this part of the country was, even in July. When she stepped outside at the airport, she had felt the incredible heat, but it wasn’t that humid, cloying heat that was so much a part of southeast Texas.
Yet she wouldn’t trade Texas for Utah, not in this lifetime, anyway. She had to smile, still unable to comprehend how her socialite friend, Bridget, had managed to adapt so well. Tiffany sighed out loud. She guessed love had brought about that miracle.
Thank God she was immune from that bug biting her, especially if it meant she had to remain in these parts. Tiffany made a face. Oh, Hurricane, which was a fairly nice-size town, was all right. In fact, compared to Pennington, where Bridget and Jeremiah lived, it was a thriving metropolis. Still, there was nothing in either place for her except her dear friend.
Living in the woods, off the land, was not for her. As soon as she had fulfilled her loving obligation, she would be gone, back to the bright lights.
“Tiff, you made it.”
At the sound of Bridget’s voice, Tiffany swung around. She didn’t move, though, until the nurse and lab tech had left. Then she made her way toward the bed. But at the sight of her friend’s pinched features, Tiffany’s forthcoming smile didn’t materialize. Under close scrutiny, Bridget seemed a mere shadow of her former self.
Tiffany. hadn’t seen Bridget since she married Jeremiah, which was a year ago now. Bridget’s short red hair had been vibrant, and her brown eyes had been alive with fire and humor. Both had diminished to a shocking degree.
A chill darted through Tiffany. Had Jeremiah glossed over the situation? Was Bridget’s condition much worse than he’d let on? Tiffany knew that he loved his wife more than life itself and couldn’t contemplate the thought of her being less than whole. Perhaps that thought alone accounted for his inability to face facts.
Tiffany, forcing a smile, stepped closer to the bed. Despite Bridget’s obvious attempt to reciprocate the smile, her mouth was pinched with pain.
“Hi, sweetie,” Tiffany said, leaning closer and brushing Bridget’s warm cheek with her lips.
Bridget grabbed her friend’s hand, tears filling her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was afraid you couldn’t come. Or wouldn’t.”
“Hogwash,” Tiffany responded in a low voice, all the while fighting back her own tears. If she gave in and boo-hooed the way she wanted to, the room would wash away. Besides, now was not the time to let her emotions have free rein. She had to maintain a brave front, for Bridget’s sake. “Nothing short of two broken legs would’ve kept me away.”
“I can believe that. When you make up your mind, you’re the stubbornest, most hardheaded person I know.”
“All I can say is, it takes one to know one.”
They both chuckled then fell silent.
Tiffany was the first to break that silence. “So, where do you go from here?”
“To a specialty hospital in Vegas, where they’re going to put me in traction for heaven only knows how long—several weeks, I imagine.”
“Stretch the old bod, huh? Ouch!”
“I know,” Bridget said in a wan tone. “I can’t tell you how badly I dread it, but I have to get well, and not just for myself, either. There’s Jeremiah and Taylor.”
Tiffany heard the desperation in her friend’s voice, and it broke her heart. “Shh...dvn’t work yourself up into a dither. You’re going to be just fine. And you do want to get well for yourself. Why, you know you’re irreplaceable on the end of that hoe. From what I understand, you’ve developed magic in them there fingers.”
Bridget rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. It would be closer to the truth to say that Jeremiah tolerates my crooked rows and merely turns his head when I mistake plants for weeds and chop them down.”
“Oh, well,” Tiffany said with a grin, “I bet he prefers your other talents to that one, such as your ability to cook a mean Lean Cuisine.”
“If I live to be an old lady leaning on a cane, I’ll never live that one down.”
“You sure won’t.”
“So, how long can you stay?” Bridget asked.
“As long as I’m needed.”
“Thank God. I hate leaving Taylor. She’s upset, and—”
“Hey, she’s going to be just fine. Aunt Tiffany’s going to see to that. We’ll be big buddies before you know it. All you have to do is get well.”
“I feel like such an idiot. If I’d been concentrating on my driving instead of the carnival at Taylor’s play school, then I wouldn’t have had the accident.”
“What exactly happened? I haven’t had a chance to talk to Jeremiah about the details.”
“I was blinded by the sun, and before I knew it, I was looking at the rear of a school bus. In order not to hit it, I veered, then lost control. The next thing I knew I was skidding down an embankment, straight for a tree.”
“God, you’re lucky it didn’t mangle your insides.”
“I credit my seat belt with saving my life.” Bridget paused. “Still, I have a long way to go before I’ll be one hundred percent.” Her voice broke. “I was hoping to get pregnant, and now that’s out of the question.”
“For now, but not forever. Just remember that. Besides, you’re like me. You’re a fighter. In a few months, your curvy bod will be as good as new.”
“Oh, Tiff, you’re so good to me, and for me.” Bridget’s voice cracked again. “I’m so thankful you came, and so is Jeremiah. It’s been terribly hard on him, with the ranch and all.”
“The ranch has nothing to do with it. He’s certifiable because he’s so damn crazy in love with you.”
“I feel the same way about him.” Bridget brushed back a tear. “I know why both he and Taylor are so upset. After all, Jeremiah’s already lost one wife, and Taylor lost her mother.”
“Well, they are not going to lose you.”
“They nearly did.”
“Well, nearly ain’t the real thing.” Tiffany grinned, then changed the subject. “I never thought your marriage would last, you know.”
“No one did, least of all my parents.”
“Well, getting drunk, then, a few hours later, marrying a man you won in an auction, does lead one toward skepticism.”
“It was fate at its beast” Bridget shrugged. “What more can I say?”
“I’d say that pretty well sums it up.”
“So what about you? I didn’t by any chance pull you out of the clutches of any man?”
“Not no, but hell no!”
“Tiff!”
“Don’t ‘Tiff’ me. I’m not interested in ties that bind. I’m only interested in jump-starting my career and making money.”
“So what did this trip do to those plans?”
Tiffany laughed. “It brought relief from the boss from hell.”
“Not as in, you were fired, I hope.”
“I quit, actually.”
“Oh, Tiff, I feel awful.”
“Don’t. I’ve been aching to do it for months. That call from Jeremiah was just the push I needed.”
Bridget laughed. “I can just see you marching into her office.”
“That’s exactly what I did.” Tiffany grinned. “I would have given anything if you could’ve been a fly on the wall and seen the look on Witch Hazel’s face when I told her in a nice way to kiss my you-know-what, that I was outa there.”
“I just hope you didn’t make a mistake.”
“No way.” Tiffany’s grin strengthened. “I don’t anticipate ever being in that position again.”
“You lovable idiot.”
“That’s me,” Tiffany quipped, peering at her watch. “Look, I’d better get going. I’m surprised a nurse hasn’t been in and run me off.”
“As badly as I hate to see you go, Taylor’ll be in from play school soon, and I’d like for you to be there.”
Tiffany leaned over again and kissed her friend on the cheek. “You hang in there, okay? Everything’s going to be just fine.”
Later, as Tiffany walked out into the bright sunlight, she paused and took several deep breaths. Bridget had to be all right. She just had to.
“Hey, squirt, what’ve you been doing? Making mud pies in your ears?”
Taylor giggled, then gazed up at Tiffany. “You’re being silly.”
“I’m being truthful, young lady. I don’t think you’ve had that washcloth anywhere near that part of your body.”
Taylor giggled again, but she made no effort to shift the rag to her head, which Tiffany saw as her first challenge with this precocious six-year-old.
In fact, all the way to the ranch from the hospital, apprehension had gnawed at her. What if she’d bitten off more than she could chew? Hell, what she knew about children could fill a thimble. But since she had no choice, she had to make the best of the situation, no matter what.
Jeremiah and Taylor had both come out to the car to meet her. The first time she had seen the child, with her doelike brown eyes and long, shiny hair, Tiffany had fallen under her spell. Taylor seemed to have bonded with her as well.
Now, two days later, with Jeremiah and Bridget at the hospital in Las Vegas, that love affair was threatened, and all because of mud pies in the ears.
“I couldn’t find Piper Girl,” Taylor was saying.
Tiffany shook her head. “What did you say?”
The child repeated her statement
“Who is Piper Girl?”
“My kitty.”
“Ah, I see.”
“She sleeps on the foot of my bed.”
Great. Tiffany hated cats, but she would bite her tongue before admitting that. “So, I wonder where Piper Girl is?”
“In the barn, eating a rat.”
“Swell.”
“Would you go get her and bring her inside?”
“Only if you promise she won’t eat me.”
Taylor threw her a look. “She doesn’t even bite. She’s a sweetie.”
That remained to be seen, Tiffany told herself, then said out loud, “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll get the kitty if you’ll let me get rid of the mud pies.”
“Oh, all right,” Taylor said, handing Tiffany the cloth.
A few minutes later, a powdered-down Taylor was in her bedroom, putting on her pajamas. Tiffany watched her for a minute, then said, “I’ll be right back, hopefully with kitty in tow.”
Garth Dixon tightened the girth, then climbed into the saddle. Although the horse snorted and nodded its head indicating it was ready to go, Garth didn’t nudge the animal into action. He simply sat there lost in thought. He didn’t want to do this chore. He didn’t want to do anything that required an effort, and being neighborly certainly required that.
As it was, he’d put off doing the favor Jeremiah Davis had asked of him to the point that he couldn’t indulge himself any longer. That didn’t mean he had to like it.
But again, if he was going to live in this place, he should work on his attitude, which meant he shouldn’t mind helping someone out, especially a man whose desperation had been clear even on the phone. Garth guessed he would feel the same way if his wife was laid up in the hospital seriously injured.
Well, on second thought... A jerk of his head veered him off the track. Just do the good deed and get it over with, he told himself. It was such a small thing and here he was making a big deal out of it, which was par for the course. These days even getting out of bed was a big deal, not to mention his poor attitude, something he refused to apologize for.
Sighing, Garth finally nudged the horse and moved in sync with its big but graceful body, the pace leisurely as he guided his mount through the wooded, fertile valley toward the Davis ranch.
Though he continued to nurse his sour mood, he couldn’t ignore the beauty and peace that surrounded him. Still, it wasn’t peace he sought He’d already had enough of that to last him a lifetime.
A short time later, Garth ambled onto the Davis property. Having decided to check the barn before heading toward the house, he dismounted and went inside.
After looking around and finding nothing amiss, he breathed a sigh of relief. Once he checked the house, he could get back to his cabin in the woods.
He smiled a bitter smile.
Tiffany was halfway to the barn when she stopped for a moment, noticing, not for the first time, how liberating it felt to be here and away from the evils of her former job. She stared into the distance, taking in the beauty of the fertile valley, including the surrounding rolling hills and distant mountains. Maybe this was the panacea she had needed to get her life back on track, though she would give anything to have been here under different circumstances.
Refusing to dwell on the negative, Tiffany made her way into the barn, ruing the deal she’d made with Taylor. With nightfall fast approaching, the barn gave her the creeps, not to mention having to cart that cat back to the house.
She was about to call out “kitty, kitty” when she saw him. Tiffany’s footsteps faltered at the same time that her heart jumped into her throat. Her initial reaction to seeing a strange man on the premises was to run, to get the hell out of Dodge.
Instead, while his back was to her, she acted on impulse and latched on to the garden shovel that, luckily, was at her fingertips. Then she raised her weapon and brought it down on his skull.
She didn’t know which emotion was more exhilarating—horror or relief—as he dropped to his knees, then fell facedown in the dirt.
Three
Tiffany stared wild-eyed at the hunk of humanity sprawled in front of her. Who was he? And what was he doing on the Davis property? Was he homeless, perhaps looking for a place to sleep? Even though she couldn’t tell much about him, the latter somehow didn’t ring true. From what she could see of him, he wasn’t dressed like a vagrant. He had on a pair of okay-looking jeans, a casual shirt and boots.
He was tall and thin, too thin to suit her taste. That . aside, he could have passed for any Texas cowboy on any given day—only this cowboy wasn’t moving.
Making tiny mewing sounds against the hand she was holding across her mouth, Tiffany backed up, never taking her eyes off him. What had she done? Had she killed him?
OhmyGodohmyGod, she chanted silently, until she backed into the door frame. Then, on legs that seemed to have a will of their own, she turned and tore off toward the house. By the time she reached the back porch, she was so weak and sick to her stomach that she had to catch a post and hold on to it, reaching deep inside herself for a decent breath.
Dear Lord, she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life behind bars, which might be what would happen if she’d actually hit him hard enough to kill him. And she was very much afraid that she had. She’d seen the blood trickling down the side of his head. Her stomach did another flip-flop. and it was all she could do not to give in to the desire to lean over and throw up.
But she couldn’t allow herself that luxury. Regardless of who he was—rapist, thief, or vagrant—she had to get help. As it was, she’d wasted enough time. She crossed to the door and flung it open.
Taylor was sitting on the couch with the TV blaring, laughing at the show she was watching. When she saw Tiffany, she seemed to sense that something was wrong.
“Are you sick?” she asked with childlike bluntness.
Tiffany threw her what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but she knew she’d failed. Taylor looked almost as terrified as she felt herself.
“I have to call 911.”
“We don’t have 911.”
“Damn,” Tiffany muttered. Of course this one-horse community wouldn’t have such a sophisticated system.
“That’s a naughty word. My mommy said you’re not supposed to say it.”
“What?”
“Damn.”
If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Tiffany would have laughed. But the situation was serious, and now was not the time to deal with the issue of whether she’d said something she shouldn’t have.
“Forget I said that, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll have to call the sheriff,” Tiffany said, more to herself than for Taylor’s benefit. Noticing that the number she sought was posted by the phone, she snatched up the receiver and dialed.
Moments later, the terse conversation was behind her, but still she couldn’t seem to move or to think rationally. Only after Taylor jumped off the couch and stared at her as if she had just landed from another planet did she react.
She’d said as little as possible, so as not to frighten the child more than she had to. “It’s going to be all right,” Tiffany said now, in what she prayed was a calm and rational tone.
Taylor’s lower lip trembled. “I want my daddy and mommy.”
“So do I, kiddo, but unfortunately, you’re stuck with me.”
Tears flooded the child’s eyes, and Tiffany felt like an inept idiot. She placed her arms around Taylor’s shoulders and held her close.
She couldn’t believe this was happening. Had she actually whacked another human over the head so hard that she might have taken his life?
No! Now that she was safely in the house, away from the eerie barn, she wouldn’t think like that Surely she hadn’t done that much damage to his head. She didn’t have that much strength. Or did she? Maybe she’d cracked him in just the right place. Again the sick feeling washed over her, and she saw herself being handcuffed, then put in the sheriffs car.
Tiffany swallowed the panic that rose up the back of her throat just as she heard the siren.
Taylor twisted out of her arms and rushed to the window. “Sheriff Wright’s getting out of the car.”
Tiffany didn’t wait for him to knock. She headed for the door herself, Taylor on her heels. “Uh-uh, young lady. You stay put right here.”
Taylor’s face bunched into a frown. “I don’t want to. ”
“Nevertheless, you’re going to.” Then, softening her words, Tiffany added, “As soon as I know what’s going on, I’ll be back.”
Taylor jutted her chin and averted her face. Tiffany hated knowing that the child was upset, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that at the moment. There was enough trauma going on in Taylor’s life without her seeing a man who might be—
Shutting down that thought, Tiffany raced out the door just as the sheriff walked onto the porch. “Howdy, ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat. “I’m Porter Wright.”
It wasn’t that he was tall and lean to the point of gauntness, or that he wore a Fu Manchu mustache, that made her wince inwardly, but rather the smell that surrounded him—as if he’d just stepped in a patty of cow manure.
Unwittingly, she lowered her head, and sure enough, he had. His boots were caked with it. This time it was all Tiffany could do to hold her already queasy stomach in check.
“I’m Tiffany Russell,” she said at last.
“Suppose you take me to where this fellow is.”
“He’s...he’s in the barn.”
“Let’s go have a look-see.”
“Do I have to go with you?”
The sheriff removed his hat and scratched his head. “I don’t suppose so.”
“Never mind, I’ll come. I have to face the music sooner or later.”
Porter Wright gave her a strange look before commenting, “Most likely you’re in the clear, whoever this person is. Folks around here get real nervous when someone invades their privacy. You did the right thing, I’m sure.”
“Taylor, honey, I’ll be right back,” Tiffany called into the house. “You’ll be fine.”
Although it had been only fifteen minutes since the incident, it seemed like an eternity as Tiffany followed Sheriff Wright back to the bam.
He entered first_ Tiffany pulled up short behind him, just inside the door, and clung to the rustic facing for dear life, despite the fact that splinters were digging into her hand.
The man was sitting up and in the process of wiping the blood off his temple. Relief left her feeling even weaker than the earlier bouts of nausea. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. All she could do was stand there gaping at him, all the while praising the Lord that he was alive and she wouldn’t be going to the penitentiary.
The man, however, wasn’t at a loss for words. In fact, the expletives spilling from his lips sent the color rushing back into Tiffany’s face. She felt as if she’d suddenly caught a fever.
“Should L..call an ambulance?” she stammered.
“Hell, no!”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Sheriff Wright said, his features wrinkled in a grin.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” the man snapped, rising fully to his feet, though he was obviously still unsteady, and glaring at the sheriff.
Tiffany felt the urge to race to him and help him, but she knew that wouldn’t be the thing to do. He looked mad enough to chew a barbed-wire fence in two.
“Ms. Tiffany Russell, meet the man you’ve just waylaid,” Wright said. “Jeremiah’s neighbor, Garth Dixon.”
“Oh, no,” Tiffany whispered, but the words were loud enough for both men to hear.
“Oh, yes, Ms. Russell, or whoever the hell you are,” Garth lashed back.
Tiffany took a step forward, a hand outstretched. “Look, Mr. Dixon, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
He cursed again, cutting her off in midsentence. “Like hell you didn’t mean it. You nearly took my damn head off with that shovel.”
Tiffany flung a helpless look at Porter Wright. The sheriff seemed content to stand back and let the two of them go at it, grinning all the while, as if he were enjoying the exchange to the max.
Well, why not? Tiffany thought This incident was probably the most exciting thing that had happened around these parts in a long time. She would have liked nothing better than to knock that grin off Wright’s face, then turn around and knock the smirk off Dixon’s. Instead, she swallowed her own mounting anger and said, “If only you’d come to the house and told me who you were, I wouldn’t—”
“Hell, lady, that doesn’t excuse you, especially since I wasn’t a threat to you.”
“How was I to know that?”
Garth Dixon looked at her as if he wanted to throttle her, which she was sure he did, in retaliation for what she’d done to him.
“Hell, I see I’m wasting my time talking to you. Anyone that dizzy—”
Tiffany was enraged. “I’ll have you know that I’m not—”
“Save it, lady. I’m not interested.”
Instead of barking right back at him the way she wanted to do, Tiffany turned and stomped toward the door. Once there, she had second thoughts, and she whirled around, glaring at him. Who did he think he was? She wouldn’t let him get away with placing all the blame on her shoulders.
She was about to voice that thought when her gut instinct kicked in, telling her that for now she’d best keep her mouth shut, if she wanted to come out the winner here. For one thing, the man was in obvious pain. But more than that, he was livid, livid to the point that she knew her impulsiveness had gained her an enemy, which was too bad.
Garth Dixon was a good-looking man, even if he was a bit too thin. Pure eye candy. Even the red, purplish lump on the side of his head didn’t detract from the dramatics of his chiseled features, his salt-and-pepper hair—more salt than pepper—or the dark blue eyes surrounded by thick black lashes.
Too bad again that she didn’t give a fig if he was handsome or not. Not only was he too old for her—she guessed him to be in his forties—he was a poor sod-buster, which was an even bigger turnoff than his age.
Her grandmother had always told her that she could fall in love with a rich man as easily as a poor one. Tiffany had never forgotten those pearls of wisdom. But then, she didn’t have to worry. She wasn’t about to fall in love with any man, certainly not this one, who continued to look at her through cold, hostile eyes.
“Surely you were aware that Jeremiah asked me to keep an eye on the place while he was gone?” Garth asked at last.
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Well, hell.”
“If it’s an apology you want,” Tiffany said, “then you’ve got it.”
Sheriff Wright shoved himself away from the post where he’d been leaning. “I guess that settles things, then. If Ms. Russell here is willing to apologize, then—”
“I don’t want her apology.” Garth focused his fierce gaze on Tiffany, then spoke directly to her. “All I want is for you to stay the hell away from me.”
With that, he turned and, cutting around her, stalked out of the barn.
“Whew!” Sheriff Wright said, taking off his hat and fanning his face. “I’d say he’s madder than a stirred-up hornet’s nest.”
“He’ll get over it,” Tiffany countered, tight-lipped
“I sure hope so, ma’am. For your sake, that is.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“According to Irma Quill, he’s been real sick, something about a bad heart.”
Tiffany’s own heart took a nosedive as another bout of guilt rose to the surface. “What else do you know about him?”
“Nothing, except he’s apparently about as closemouthed as they come, and he hasn’t been in the community but a few months.”
Tiffany held out her hand. “Thanks for coming, Sheriff. I appreciate it very much.”
“Just doing my job, ma‘am. Come on, I’ll walk you back to the house. I’m sure that young’n’s having a conniption fit”
“You’re right,” Tiffany said, another pang of guilt stabbing her.
A short time later, after explaining to the child what had happened, though without the details, Tiffany sat on the bed beside Taylor, tucking her in for the night.
“I’m so proud of you. You acted like such a big girl.”
“I am a big girl. I’m six years old, going on seven.”
“That’s right, you are.” Tiffany smiled, but the child didn’t. “What’s the matter, honey?”
The child’s gaze didn’t waver. “I’m glad you found my kitty, but my daddy’s going to be real mad, ’cause you hit his friend.”
Four
Garth stumbled into the cabin and onto the couch. Sweat poured off his face like a broken water faucet But the sweat was the least of his worries. His chest felt as if it were going to cave in on him at any second.
He shouldn’t have pushed his horse at such a rapid clip through the woods. He’d been so pissed off over what had just happened that he’d let his temper overrule his sound judgment. Hell, he wasn’t used to taking it easy. Since he could remember, he’d gotten up literally at the crack of dawn, taken a shower, then headed to the office, where he’d drunk a pot of coffee while planning which corporations to take over and which not to.
Now he couldn’t do any of those things, except shower. And on some mornings even that was an effort. If his health and his mood didn’t hurry up and change drastically, then he would just as soon bail out of this life. Movers and shakers like himself weren’t cut out to be ill.
Garth leaned his head back on the couch and placed his hand over his heart. Maybe he should go to the ER. No, that was out. Hospitals were out. Besides, his heart rate had settled, though not exactly back to normal. Not only had anger at being in this situation and this godforsaken place sapped his precious energy, but embar-moment at having been banged on the head by that dizzy blonde had added insult to injury.
“Damn!” he muttered, recalling the instant he’d turned and seen her standing there, knowing beyond a doubt that she was the one who had hit him. She’d had that guilty look written all over her. For a moment he’d fought the urge to grab her shoulders and shake her. But since he’d never put his hands on a woman in that way, the thought had died a natural death.
Still, Garth couldn’t help but remember that even in his dazed state, it hadn’t been Tiffany Russell’s face that caught his attention, but rather the way her butt was made for those tight-fittin’ jeans she had on.
Then, as quickly as that thought had surfaced, it disappeared. He hadn’t come here to get involved with a woman. However, if the circumstances had been different, he would have asked her out, despite the fact that he was sure her looks far outweighed her brainpower. At this juncture in his life, that point didn’t matter. He was only interested in the pleasure, without the permanency.
Yeah, she was a looker, all right, with shoulder-length blond hair worn in a pageboy style, skin that reminded him of rich cream and deep-set green eyes that appeared so innocent. He almost choked on that though
Still, it was the way her well-endowed rear had filled those jeans that seemed branded on his mind. Yet he couldn’t overlook her voice; even though she had given an apology grudgingly, it had come out sounding like silk.
Unfortunately, the woman and her assets didn’t mean a hill of beans to him. Another woman in his life was the last thing he needed or wanted. What he did want was to recover both in body and mind and return to his work a whole man.
Meanwhile, he was still breathing, which he had to think of as a gift and run with. If only he could let go of the notion that he had something to prove, not only to himself but to his stepfather, who had set him up in business. If only...
Determined not to open that can of worms, Garth stood. When the room stopped spinning, he trudged into the kitchen, where he poured himself a glass of orange juice. Frowning, he gulped it down, pretending it was Scotch on the rocks.
“Dream on, Dixon,” he quipped, setting the empty glass on the cabinet. His days of drinking as much booze as he wanted were gone, along with so many of the other pleasures he had enjoyed. He vowed that that would only be temporary.
After his heart healed and he clinched the biggest business deal of his career, which was now on hold, then maybe he would give some thought to getting off that high-profile treadmill, even to semiretiring.
Sure thing, he told himself, knowing that was never going to happen. He wasn’t like the majority of his buddies, who played golf as many hours a day as they could squeeze in and thought that was the ultimate challenge. He didn’t go for that.
What he did go for was getting well, by far the biggest challenge he’d ever faced. Garth’s thoughts suddenly took him back to the time immediately after he’d been released from the hospital.
He’d headed straight for the sanctuary of his office, where he’d sat behind his desk, numb with shock and despair, his head in his hands.
He hadn’t heard his right-hand man, Max Lansing, come in, until Max cleared his throat and said, “What the hell are you doing here? You should be home in bed. ”
Garth had stared at Max for a moment, taking in his stocky, muscled frame, his healthy, ruddy complexion, and felt green with envy. Then, feeling like a coward, he’d turned away.
Max had pressed him. “Well?”
“I couldn’t go home. It’s that simple.”
“So what did the doctor say?”
“In a nutshell, if I don’t slow down and take a few months’ leave of absence, I won’t live to see my fiftieth birthday.”
“That’s a crock of crap. I thought all this modern medical technology could fix anything.”
Garth smirked. “Me too. But I want my ticker fixed as good as new, which apparently no one can do.”
“So what’s next?”
He didn’t answer Max right off. He couldn’t. The words were jammed in his throat. He coughed twice; only then could he speak. “I’m hauling ass.” Bitterness underlined each word.
Max blinked. “Where to?”
“A remote part of Utah.”
This time Max’s jaw dropped. “Utah? You’re kiddin’ me.”
“I wish. My dad left me some land there with a cabin on it.” He paused, another smirk altering his features. “I’ve never even seen it.”
“What about that big deal we have pending? I know the Japanese are known for their patience, but—”
Even though his voice trailed off, Garth heard the panic in it. He couldn’t comfort Max, because he felt the same way. To walk out and leave the corporation that he’d built from the bottom up went against the work ethic that had been drilled into him.
“Deal or no deal, what choice do I have?” he said out loud.
Max sighed. “None.”
“I’m going to have to depend on you more than ever. Are you up to the challenge?”
Max’s face brightened, though his voice remained sober. “I won’t let you down.”
“And I won’t let you down—or this company. When I get back from Dumpsville, I’ll be as good as new. And that’s a promise.”
Jerking his thoughts out of the past, Garth groaned as a shaft of pain shot through his skull. He walked to the window, all the while nursing the lump on the side of his head.
Damn that woman for adding to his physical misery. And double-damn her for having such a cute ass that she was making him mentally miserable, as well.
Desperate to regain control of his wandering mind, he stared out the window, concentrating on the orchard of peach trees loaded with fruit.
It was a damn shame the crop had to go to waste, he thought, just as the phone rang.
“Has something happened that we should know about?”
“Uh, why do you ask that?” Tiffany heard the uneasiness in her own voice, and knew without a doubt that Bridget had picked up on it, too, especially as they were practically able to read each other’s minds.
“Hey, remember who you’re talking to here, okay? You can’t pull the wool over my eyes, so don’t even try.”
“I thought you were supposed to be concentrating on getting well?”
“My body might be in traction, but my mind isn’t So fess up.”
Tiffany sighed. “All right. First, though, tell me how you’re doing.”
“I’m progressing about as well as the doctors predicted. It’s just going to take longer than I wanted.” Bridget paused. “You’re not about to tell me you have to get back to Houston, are you?”
“No, though you might send me packing when I fess up, as you put it. If you don’t, then Jeremiah might.”
“Stopping beating around the bush. I’m about to have a hissy fit, and you know that’s not good for me.”
“I knocked Jeremiah’s friend in the head.” Once she’d blurted out the confession, Tiffany waited for the fireworks. She wasn’t disappointed.
“What?”
“He’s okay, really he is.”
“What on earth—?”
Before Bridget could go on, Tiffany jumped in and told her the entire story. When she finished, a long silence added to her already jangled nerves. Replaying the entire scenario made it seem even more incredible than it already was.
“Oh, Tiff, how could you?” Bridget exclaimed.
“I screwed up. What more can I say?”
“Nothing. It’s just so...bizarre. Well, as long as he isn’t hurt, then don’t worry about it.” Bridget paused, then chuckled.
“What’s so damn funny?”
“You, actually. I can just picture you sneaking up on that poor unsuspecting man and—”
“Okay, okay. Let’s not beat a dead horse. Maybe I won’t have to see him again.”
“I wouldn’t count on that, especially as Jeremiah was serious when he asked him to keep an eye on things around the ranch.”
“Well, let’s put it this way—I’M go out of my way to avoid running into him. Trust me, I’m not at the top of his friend list.”
Bridget chuckled again. “I’m sure you’re not, which is all the more reason why my husband should stop being so stubborn. I’ve tried to tell him he needs to get away from here, go back to the ranch himself and see to things.”
“You can forget that. He’s not about to leave you.”
“I know, and I’m really glad, but still...” Bridget’s voice trailed off before she changed the subject and asked, “How’s Taylor? I—we miss her so much.”
“She’s right here, dancing a jig to talk to you both.”
That conversation between the four of them had taken place two hours ago now. Since then, Tiffany had taken Taylor to a birthday party that was to last the afternoon. Once she returned to the house, she’d done a few chores, though there weren’t many, as Bridget had left everything in immaculate order.
It didn’t seem possible that she had been here only three days. To Tiffany, it seemed like three months, especially now, with nothing but time on her hands.
She had considered going into town, looking up Irma Quill and introducing herself to her. But she’d nixed that idea, since she wasn’t in the best of moods herself, only she didn’t understand why.
Peace in Taylor’s absence should be savored. Although her young charge was no trouble, she was a typical six-year-old. Tiffany wasn’t used to the demands that went along with caring for a child of any age.
Still, Taylor wasn’t at the root of her restlessness. Garth Dixon was the reason she couldn’t settle down. God, how could she have mistaken him for a prowler, or worse? Easy. She was out of her element in these woods—plus, she had a habit of reacting before she thought
Obviously she wouldn’t be able to avoid him completely, which meant...what? Was she trying to convince herself that she should make amends? No way! She hadn’t meant to hurt him. But if his reaction was the barometer by which she would be judged, she’d done it on purpose and without just cause.
Well, that was his problem, not hers. Yet she couldn’t stop thinking that somehow she should at least try to cultivate some goodwill, if for no other reason than so he would be available in case of an emergency.
Tiffany tromped into the kitchen, where she paused. Maybe she should make a cake and take it to him. He had looked as if he could use some calories. Besides, hadn’t the old adage that said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach proved to be true?
While she didn’t give a flip about getting to his heart, she didn’t have anything against satisfying his stomach.
“Then just do it and get it over with,” she said out loud, crossing to the cabinets and opening them until she found a couple of mixing bowls.
An hour later, after having called Taylor at her friend’s house and found out where Garth lived, she put the cake in a plastic container and set off through the woods. By the time she arrived, Tiffany had decided she should be committed, convinced she was the last person he wanted to see.
Still, now that she’d bitten the bullet and come this far, she wasn’t about to chicken out. If he didn’t want to accept the cake, then he could dump it in the trash. At least she’d made the effort.
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Mary Lynn Baxter
MR. MARCHThe Stubborn Cowboy:Garth Dixon had no hankerin' for a wife, but the blond vixen next door had him scheming for a chance at a no-strings fling… . The Southern Beauty: No way was Tiffany Russell giving in to her hot-tempered, secretive neighbor - even if his smoldering good looks set her body on fire! There was no doubt that the latest female to hit Pennington, Utah, was trouble, but Garth never could resist a challenge - especially one in tight jeans.Since the cowgirl from Texas clearly seemed set on ignoring her neighbor, he knew it was up to him to show her the meaning of passion-filled nights… .MAN OF THE MONTH: Could this rough-edged cowboy end up getting roped and tied by love?
“You Know You Want Me,” He Said. (#uf1f59c0a-2f17-58b9-b637-116ffbe2801d)Letter to Reader (#u65272560-7b5d-5749-9dd4-f0b646423f5b)Title Page (#u2324a2ab-a70d-5cd8-8a41-7d7d55bdc310)About the Author (#u3671fdf7-832f-5b5b-9490-bace364cc1dc)Prologue (#ue750cb7e-4afb-5c14-b14b-8622c4c75c6e)Chapter One (#ubc703447-89ec-5cb6-a9d6-b4c63efbc0b2)Chapter Two (#uce0d0c40-ee53-5dff-ad27-d4ccb7d7c026)Chapter Three (#ub07647c7-f317-5417-ab6b-623ac0e3a043)Chapter Four (#ua5d0f8b9-a538-548c-80b5-1e011b509be8)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“You Know You Want Me,” He Said.
“You want me as much as I want you. It’s been that way since that first time I kissed you.”
“This is crazy.”
“I’ll go crazy if I can’t have you.”
Fire raged in his dark, compelling eyes; only, something else was there, as well—a challenge. He was challenging her to deny what he’d said on both counts. She couldn’t, and he knew it.
Besides, he was right. To have sex with him was what she’d wanted, too; only, she hadn’t even realized that until now, until he’d voiced that challenge.
Her gaze dropped. When at last she raised her head, her breathing was coming in short spurts.
“Ready to do something about it?”
“Garth—”
“Come here,” he said, his voice raspy, almost unrecognizable.
Dear Reader,
I know you’ve all been anxiously awaiting the next book from Mary Lynn Baxter—so wait no more. Here it is, the MAN OF THE MONTH, Tight-Fittin Jean’s. Mary Lynn’s books are known for their sexy herpes and sizzling sensuality...and this sure has both! Read and enjoy.
Every little girl dreams of marrying a handsome prince, but most women get to kiss a lot of toads before they find him. Read how three handsome princes find their very own princesses in Leanne Banks’s delightful new miniseries HOW TO CATCH A PRINCESS. The fun begins this month with The Five-Minute Bride.
The other books this month are all so wonderful...you won’t want to miss any of them! If you like humor, don’t miss Maureen Child’s Have Bride, Need Groom. For blazing drama, there’s Sara Orwig’s A Baby for Mommy. Susan Crosby’s Wending Fever provides a touch of dashing suspense. And Judith McWilliams’s Practice Husband is warmly emotional.
There is something for everyone here at Desire! I hope you enjoy each and every one of these love stories.
Senior Editor
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Tight Fittin’ Jeans
Mary Lynn Baxter
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MARY LYNN BAXTER
sold hundreds of romances before she ever wrote one. The D&B Bookstore, right on the main drag in Lufkin, Texas, is her home as well as the store she owns and manages. She and her husband, Leonard, garden in their spare time. Around five o’clock every evening they can be found picking butter beans on their small farm just outside of town.
Prologue
Would today be the day he had another heart attack? Could be, Garth Dixon told himself, especially when he felt as if a hippo were sitting on his chest. What bothered him the most was wondering when the “big one” was going to hit. He’d already come face-to-face with his mortality, and he hadn’t been impressed, since he was only forty.
Realizing he was using the rickety post on the porch to hold himself upright, he straightened to his full six-foot-two-inch height. Hell, the doctors might think he had one foot in the coffin and the other on a banana peel, but he was determined to prove them wrong.
His ticker would be good as new if he could just survive this godforsaken place. Ah, Pennington, Utah. If anyone had told him he would end up in this small farming and ranching community, holed up in a rustic cabin, nursing a cantankerous heart, he would have laughed.
Well, he wasn’t laughing now, not by a long shot. He wasn’t sure he would be able to laugh again until he was away from here and back in Dallas, in his corporate of fices. Just thinking about that, and all the work he’d been forced to leave behind, caused a tight squeezing around his chest, something he couldn’t allow to happen.
The problem was, he didn’t have anything else to think about. Work was his life. The only thing in front of him now was the sun setting in the west, perhaps the most beautiful sunset he’d ever seen. But then, he wasn’t into sunsets. If that was all he had to look forward to, then he might as well sit on a keg of dynamite and wait for it to blow.
He needed a challenge. He needed something he could sink his teeth into, which was exactly what he could not do. So what did that leave? Learning to be a connoisseur of sunsets? God forbid.
Yet, like it or not, he had to alter his life-style, or else. It was the “or else” that made the sweat suddenly pop out on his skin as if he were a teenager at his first dance. He would do what he had to do; he always had. He’d had to learn to live with the scars on his soul, but it would be a cold day in hell before he lived with them on his heart.
Disgusted with his thoughts, Garth glared at the sunset once more, with reinforced resentment, then tromped back inside the cabin. He was about to plop down on the couch when the phone rang. He stopped in midaction. This was the first time in a week he’d heard that sound.
Garth grimaced, thinking that before he’d been forced into this change of scenery, he’d come to think of the receiver as a permanent part of his body. He wished it was his office calling, but he knew that wouldn’t be the case. Under no circumstances were they to bother him. His family, however, was. a different matter.
“Dixon,” he said, then realized he didn’t recognize the voice on the other end of the line.
Once the conversation had ended, Garth hung up, a bit disconcerted. The caller was a man who owned a nearby ranch, Jeremiah Davis, whom he had run into on several occasions at Irma Quill’s general store.
Garth paused in his thoughts, a smile relaxing his drawn features as his mind switched gears to Irma, who was in a class all her own. In fact, he’d never met anyone like her, except in books and on TV. With her birdlike features and antiquated way of dressing, bonnet and all, she reminded him of a character straight out of “Little House on the Prairie.”
Since he’d been in Pennington, Irma seemed to have taken a liking to him, though he hadn’t encouraged her. Still, when she insisted on loading him down with homemade bread and jam, he hadn’t turned it down; the smell never failed to revive his appetite.
However, it wasn’t Irma he should be thinking about now, but rather, the favor Jeremiah Davis had asked of him. Jeremiah had told him there had been an emergency in his family and asked Garth if he would keep an eye on things while he was away, explaining that he was leaving his daughter behind with a friend.
Garth had consented, though he wasn’t excited about the neighborly deed, as he didn’t particularly want to be neighborly.
Hell, all he wanted was a one-way ticket back to Texas.
One
“You don’t run this department, you know.”
Tiffany Russell eyed her boss, at the same time swallowing a scathing retort. She was well aware that she wasn’t in charge of ladies’ fine apparel, and that was the problem. She knew she should be.
Hazel Mason, unaffectionately known as “Witch Hazel,” might have enough style to make her large, rawboned stature seem elegant, rather than offensive, but that was as far as her assets went. Tiffany held fast to the notion that the woman’s tongue was sharper than her mind. When it came to doing something different, to branching out, Hazel was not interested, period.
Tiffany mellowed her voice as much as she could. “I’m aware of that, Hazel. Still, I can’t see why you object to entering the twentieth century.”
“If that’s meant to be funny, it isn’t.”
“Look,” Tiffany said, pushing a wad of natural blond hair behind her ear, “if we don’t do something soon, the competition is going to continue to kick our butt right into oblivion.”
“And you seriously think your idea of half-naked models parading through the racks serving pineapple is going to up the sales?”
“I do.”
“Well, I don’t.” Hazel’s tone was as cold as her blue eyes. “Even if I agreed with the beach-party idea, which I don’t, that line of swimwear you want to buy is simply too far-out for our ladies.”
“I beg to differ with you,” Tiffany countered, standing firm. “Anyway, how will we know until we try?”
“It’s simply too costly a gamble. And since I have the final word, it’s not going to happen.”
Tiffany literally had to bite her lip to keep from voicing another opinion, one that would most likely get her fired, even though keeping her thoughts to herself went against her grain. She wanted to lash out at this woman, whose face now reminded her of a prune, it was so severely wrinkled in distaste.
She doubted Hazel’s hair had ever been out of that bun, or that she’d ever done anything daring, such as wearing a two-piece bathing suit The idea of her parading naked in front of a man was even more incredible. How she’d ever had two kids was beyond Tiffany. She would bet her favorite Magic Lift Bra that Hazel and her husband made love with the lights out and the covers over their heads.
“Well?”
Tiffany shook her head and stared at her boss. “Well, what?”
“Don’t you have work to do?”
“Right”
A few minutes later, Tiffany was back in the stock-room., staring at the boxes of clothing that had arrived late yesterday afternoon. Ordinarily, she would have torn open the boxes filled with lovely clothes and accessories with vigorous anticipation, thinking of how lucky she was to have Christmas on a daily basis.
But not today. She was still seething from her goround with Witch Hazel. These confrontations were coming far too often. Tiffany loved her work, though she didn’t necessarily love the company she worked for. As a buyer for women’s clothing for Cunningham’s at the Galleria, she had her own ideas of the market and what would sell and what would not
Unfortunately, her boss did not agree with her.
Feeling her frustration and anger rising, Tiffany turned her back on the boxes and made her way into her office, which was nothing but a cubbyhole. But it was hers, and she could be alone there and give in to the emotions churning inside her.
She perched on the edge of her desk and swung her foot. Hell’s bells, maybe she ought to quit. But she wasn’t a quitter. Too, she wasn’t ready to give Hazel the satisfaction of running her off. She couldn’t deny, though, that she was going home every day with a headache.
Suddenly Tiffany’s frown burgeoned into a smile as thoughts of her best friend, Bridget, leaped to mind. At one time, Bridget’s career as an attorney had been in the toilet, or so she had thought. Now she was happily married and living in a small town in Utah.
Tiffany’s smile broadened. She took full responsibility for her friend’s sudden and unorthodox marriage. Why, if she hadn’t insisted Bridget attend that crazy bachelor auction, she wouldn’t have bid on Jeremiah Davis and won him.
Tiffany laughed out loud as she thought back on the moment when Bridgat had lunged out of her chair and yelled, “One thousand dollars!”
Aghast, Tiffany had jerked Bridget back down in her seat. However, the damage had already been done. Bridget had gotten what she paid for, a tall, slow-talking rancher who wasn’t about to let the best thing that had ever happened to him slip through his fingers.
Shaking her head, Tiffany eased off the desk and walked over to where she kept her two-cup coffeemaker. She filled a cup full of French vanilla and sipped; although it soothed her stomach, it did nothing for her clicking mind.
While she envied Bridget many things, her marriage was not one of them. Tiffany had come close to getting married only once; thank God it hadn’t come about. The man had been—and still was—a lush, though she hadn’t realized it. Even at thirty, which years ago would have classified her as an old maid, a ring on her finger wasn’t what she wanted. Her desires leaned more toward life’s amenities: a great job, a nice house, a fancy car and a hefty bank account, and not necessarily in that order, either.
Although she had none of the above at the moment, Tiffany intended to remedy that. Her goal was to eventually have enough money, borrowed or otherwise, to open her own shop, a shop that catered to rich and privileged women. Working at Cunningham’s was merely a stepping-stone.
Tiffany took another generous mouthful of coffee, savoring the taste, only to have it tainted by sudden thoughts of Hazel. She wasn’t sure just how much longer she could take the woman’s abuse, along with her lack of enthusiasm. She had about as much innovative energy as molasses running uphill.
“Grrr,” Tiffany muttered, then drained her cup.
There had to be a way to get through to her boss without jeopardizing her job. At the moment, however, nothing came to mind. She was always walking that fine line between getting ahead and getting canned.
Another smile flirted with her lips as thoughts of Bridget resurfaced. It had been only a little over a year since she and Bridget had had that conversation about how low both their lives had sunk.
Of course, Bridget’s hadn’t, not really, since she was from a wealthy family here in Houston, with money of her own, to boot. Tiffany, on the other hand, had nothing to fall back on—no family and no money.
That was why she couldn’t waltz into Hazel’s office and tell her what she could do with her antiquated ideas and this job.
“Yo.”
Tiffany, unaware that her privacy had been invaded, jumped, then whipped around. The intruder was Gretchen Wheeler, one of the salesclerks.
“Sorry,” Gretchen said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t. What’s up?”
Gretchen made a face. “Hazel’s dander.”
“Great.”
“She wants to see you.”
“What else is new?” Tiffany’s mouth curved downward. “I get out of her sight for five minutes and she goes berserk.”
Gretchen gave her a sympathetic look, though she appeared uncomfortable at being the go-between who bore the unhappy message.
“Thanks,” Tiffany finally said, letting Gretchen off the hook. “I’ll see you later.”
Gretchen nodded, then left. Tiffany stood for a moment, contemplating walking into Hazel’s office and telling her what she could do with both her demands and the job; then the phone rang.
Thinking it was the witch adding insult to injury, Tiffany grabbed the receiver and said a curt “Yes.”
“Whoa! Down, girl.”
Tiffany threw back her head and laughed, having recognized the voice right off. “Why, Jeremiah Davis, fancy you calling me.” Then her voice sobered and her stomach lurched, as it dawned on her that something was amiss. First off, Jeremiah was calling, instead of Bridget, and second, it was in the middle of the day. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”
“You’re right.”
Her stomach gave another lurch, and at the same time fear clogged her throat; she couldn’t utter a word. Something must have happened to Bridget or Jeremiah’s six-year-old daughter, Taylor, from his first marriage.
As if Jeremiah had picked up on her fear, he went on, “ices Bridget. She’s been injured in a car accident, but she’s going to be okay.”
Tiffany picked up on the desperate ring to his voice, but she didn’t acknowledge it. “Thank God,” she whispered, sitting down before her knees could give way under her. “Was she alone?”
“Yeah. She slammed into a school bus, which caused damage to her spine and legs.”
“How much damage?” Tiffany hated asking that question, but she had no choice. She might as well know the good, the bad and the ugly now as later.
“She’s partially paralyzed, though the doctor says it’s not permanent.”
“What can I do to help?”
Jeremiah hemmed and hawed, then finally said, “I was wondering if it’s possible for you to take some vacation time and baby-sit Taylor. I can’t leave Bridget, and my aunt’s not able to keep Taylor. She’s had a slight stroke, and...” He hesitated. “I wouldn’t ask, but—”
“I’d be insulted if you hadn’t.” And Tiffany meant it, even though she didn’t have any vacation time left. Maybe all wasn’t lost Maybe this unexpected twist of events was the answer to her problem.
She could resign, then look for another job when she returned from Utah. Although her savings account was far from what she wanted it to be, it wasn’t all that shabby. If she had to, she could dip into that, then replace what she’d used.
“Tiffany?”
“I’m on my way.”
With that, she replaced the receiver, then listened as her heart banged against her rib cage. Even though she was concerned for her friend, she suddenly felt like a prisoner who had just been released from death row.
“Yes, yes, yes!”
She left her office and headed straight for Hazel’s, a bounce in her steps.
Two
Tiffany stood in the small hospital room in Hurricane, where Bridget had been taken following the accident, though Tiffany had yet to talk to her. A lab tech was in the process of drawing blood from Bridget’s arm.
Unable to watch the procedure, Tiffany kept her eyes averted. Needles gave her the willies, especially when they were used to penetrate the skin.
She had contemplated going to the ranch first and dumping her bags. But in her eagerness to see for herself that her friend was not critical, she had rented a car at the airport and come straight here.
Jeremiah had insisted on meeting her flight, but she’d insisted otherwise, pointing out that he needn’t be concerned about her, that he had enough on his plate at the moment. As if he’d realized she was as headstrong as his wife, he’d let out a sigh and given in.
Now, as Tiffany continued to wait, she peered out the window into a park, serene and breathtakingly lovely with cotton wood, pecan and mulberry trees galore. She had forgotten just how beautiful this part of the country was, even in July. When she stepped outside at the airport, she had felt the incredible heat, but it wasn’t that humid, cloying heat that was so much a part of southeast Texas.
Yet she wouldn’t trade Texas for Utah, not in this lifetime, anyway. She had to smile, still unable to comprehend how her socialite friend, Bridget, had managed to adapt so well. Tiffany sighed out loud. She guessed love had brought about that miracle.
Thank God she was immune from that bug biting her, especially if it meant she had to remain in these parts. Tiffany made a face. Oh, Hurricane, which was a fairly nice-size town, was all right. In fact, compared to Pennington, where Bridget and Jeremiah lived, it was a thriving metropolis. Still, there was nothing in either place for her except her dear friend.
Living in the woods, off the land, was not for her. As soon as she had fulfilled her loving obligation, she would be gone, back to the bright lights.
“Tiff, you made it.”
At the sound of Bridget’s voice, Tiffany swung around. She didn’t move, though, until the nurse and lab tech had left. Then she made her way toward the bed. But at the sight of her friend’s pinched features, Tiffany’s forthcoming smile didn’t materialize. Under close scrutiny, Bridget seemed a mere shadow of her former self.
Tiffany. hadn’t seen Bridget since she married Jeremiah, which was a year ago now. Bridget’s short red hair had been vibrant, and her brown eyes had been alive with fire and humor. Both had diminished to a shocking degree.
A chill darted through Tiffany. Had Jeremiah glossed over the situation? Was Bridget’s condition much worse than he’d let on? Tiffany knew that he loved his wife more than life itself and couldn’t contemplate the thought of her being less than whole. Perhaps that thought alone accounted for his inability to face facts.
Tiffany, forcing a smile, stepped closer to the bed. Despite Bridget’s obvious attempt to reciprocate the smile, her mouth was pinched with pain.
“Hi, sweetie,” Tiffany said, leaning closer and brushing Bridget’s warm cheek with her lips.
Bridget grabbed her friend’s hand, tears filling her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was afraid you couldn’t come. Or wouldn’t.”
“Hogwash,” Tiffany responded in a low voice, all the while fighting back her own tears. If she gave in and boo-hooed the way she wanted to, the room would wash away. Besides, now was not the time to let her emotions have free rein. She had to maintain a brave front, for Bridget’s sake. “Nothing short of two broken legs would’ve kept me away.”
“I can believe that. When you make up your mind, you’re the stubbornest, most hardheaded person I know.”
“All I can say is, it takes one to know one.”
They both chuckled then fell silent.
Tiffany was the first to break that silence. “So, where do you go from here?”
“To a specialty hospital in Vegas, where they’re going to put me in traction for heaven only knows how long—several weeks, I imagine.”
“Stretch the old bod, huh? Ouch!”
“I know,” Bridget said in a wan tone. “I can’t tell you how badly I dread it, but I have to get well, and not just for myself, either. There’s Jeremiah and Taylor.”
Tiffany heard the desperation in her friend’s voice, and it broke her heart. “Shh...dvn’t work yourself up into a dither. You’re going to be just fine. And you do want to get well for yourself. Why, you know you’re irreplaceable on the end of that hoe. From what I understand, you’ve developed magic in them there fingers.”
Bridget rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. It would be closer to the truth to say that Jeremiah tolerates my crooked rows and merely turns his head when I mistake plants for weeds and chop them down.”
“Oh, well,” Tiffany said with a grin, “I bet he prefers your other talents to that one, such as your ability to cook a mean Lean Cuisine.”
“If I live to be an old lady leaning on a cane, I’ll never live that one down.”
“You sure won’t.”
“So, how long can you stay?” Bridget asked.
“As long as I’m needed.”
“Thank God. I hate leaving Taylor. She’s upset, and—”
“Hey, she’s going to be just fine. Aunt Tiffany’s going to see to that. We’ll be big buddies before you know it. All you have to do is get well.”
“I feel like such an idiot. If I’d been concentrating on my driving instead of the carnival at Taylor’s play school, then I wouldn’t have had the accident.”
“What exactly happened? I haven’t had a chance to talk to Jeremiah about the details.”
“I was blinded by the sun, and before I knew it, I was looking at the rear of a school bus. In order not to hit it, I veered, then lost control. The next thing I knew I was skidding down an embankment, straight for a tree.”
“God, you’re lucky it didn’t mangle your insides.”
“I credit my seat belt with saving my life.” Bridget paused. “Still, I have a long way to go before I’ll be one hundred percent.” Her voice broke. “I was hoping to get pregnant, and now that’s out of the question.”
“For now, but not forever. Just remember that. Besides, you’re like me. You’re a fighter. In a few months, your curvy bod will be as good as new.”
“Oh, Tiff, you’re so good to me, and for me.” Bridget’s voice cracked again. “I’m so thankful you came, and so is Jeremiah. It’s been terribly hard on him, with the ranch and all.”
“The ranch has nothing to do with it. He’s certifiable because he’s so damn crazy in love with you.”
“I feel the same way about him.” Bridget brushed back a tear. “I know why both he and Taylor are so upset. After all, Jeremiah’s already lost one wife, and Taylor lost her mother.”
“Well, they are not going to lose you.”
“They nearly did.”
“Well, nearly ain’t the real thing.” Tiffany grinned, then changed the subject. “I never thought your marriage would last, you know.”
“No one did, least of all my parents.”
“Well, getting drunk, then, a few hours later, marrying a man you won in an auction, does lead one toward skepticism.”
“It was fate at its beast” Bridget shrugged. “What more can I say?”
“I’d say that pretty well sums it up.”
“So what about you? I didn’t by any chance pull you out of the clutches of any man?”
“Not no, but hell no!”
“Tiff!”
“Don’t ‘Tiff’ me. I’m not interested in ties that bind. I’m only interested in jump-starting my career and making money.”
“So what did this trip do to those plans?”
Tiffany laughed. “It brought relief from the boss from hell.”
“Not as in, you were fired, I hope.”
“I quit, actually.”
“Oh, Tiff, I feel awful.”
“Don’t. I’ve been aching to do it for months. That call from Jeremiah was just the push I needed.”
Bridget laughed. “I can just see you marching into her office.”
“That’s exactly what I did.” Tiffany grinned. “I would have given anything if you could’ve been a fly on the wall and seen the look on Witch Hazel’s face when I told her in a nice way to kiss my you-know-what, that I was outa there.”
“I just hope you didn’t make a mistake.”
“No way.” Tiffany’s grin strengthened. “I don’t anticipate ever being in that position again.”
“You lovable idiot.”
“That’s me,” Tiffany quipped, peering at her watch. “Look, I’d better get going. I’m surprised a nurse hasn’t been in and run me off.”
“As badly as I hate to see you go, Taylor’ll be in from play school soon, and I’d like for you to be there.”
Tiffany leaned over again and kissed her friend on the cheek. “You hang in there, okay? Everything’s going to be just fine.”
Later, as Tiffany walked out into the bright sunlight, she paused and took several deep breaths. Bridget had to be all right. She just had to.
“Hey, squirt, what’ve you been doing? Making mud pies in your ears?”
Taylor giggled, then gazed up at Tiffany. “You’re being silly.”
“I’m being truthful, young lady. I don’t think you’ve had that washcloth anywhere near that part of your body.”
Taylor giggled again, but she made no effort to shift the rag to her head, which Tiffany saw as her first challenge with this precocious six-year-old.
In fact, all the way to the ranch from the hospital, apprehension had gnawed at her. What if she’d bitten off more than she could chew? Hell, what she knew about children could fill a thimble. But since she had no choice, she had to make the best of the situation, no matter what.
Jeremiah and Taylor had both come out to the car to meet her. The first time she had seen the child, with her doelike brown eyes and long, shiny hair, Tiffany had fallen under her spell. Taylor seemed to have bonded with her as well.
Now, two days later, with Jeremiah and Bridget at the hospital in Las Vegas, that love affair was threatened, and all because of mud pies in the ears.
“I couldn’t find Piper Girl,” Taylor was saying.
Tiffany shook her head. “What did you say?”
The child repeated her statement
“Who is Piper Girl?”
“My kitty.”
“Ah, I see.”
“She sleeps on the foot of my bed.”
Great. Tiffany hated cats, but she would bite her tongue before admitting that. “So, I wonder where Piper Girl is?”
“In the barn, eating a rat.”
“Swell.”
“Would you go get her and bring her inside?”
“Only if you promise she won’t eat me.”
Taylor threw her a look. “She doesn’t even bite. She’s a sweetie.”
That remained to be seen, Tiffany told herself, then said out loud, “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll get the kitty if you’ll let me get rid of the mud pies.”
“Oh, all right,” Taylor said, handing Tiffany the cloth.
A few minutes later, a powdered-down Taylor was in her bedroom, putting on her pajamas. Tiffany watched her for a minute, then said, “I’ll be right back, hopefully with kitty in tow.”
Garth Dixon tightened the girth, then climbed into the saddle. Although the horse snorted and nodded its head indicating it was ready to go, Garth didn’t nudge the animal into action. He simply sat there lost in thought. He didn’t want to do this chore. He didn’t want to do anything that required an effort, and being neighborly certainly required that.
As it was, he’d put off doing the favor Jeremiah Davis had asked of him to the point that he couldn’t indulge himself any longer. That didn’t mean he had to like it.
But again, if he was going to live in this place, he should work on his attitude, which meant he shouldn’t mind helping someone out, especially a man whose desperation had been clear even on the phone. Garth guessed he would feel the same way if his wife was laid up in the hospital seriously injured.
Well, on second thought... A jerk of his head veered him off the track. Just do the good deed and get it over with, he told himself. It was such a small thing and here he was making a big deal out of it, which was par for the course. These days even getting out of bed was a big deal, not to mention his poor attitude, something he refused to apologize for.
Sighing, Garth finally nudged the horse and moved in sync with its big but graceful body, the pace leisurely as he guided his mount through the wooded, fertile valley toward the Davis ranch.
Though he continued to nurse his sour mood, he couldn’t ignore the beauty and peace that surrounded him. Still, it wasn’t peace he sought He’d already had enough of that to last him a lifetime.
A short time later, Garth ambled onto the Davis property. Having decided to check the barn before heading toward the house, he dismounted and went inside.
After looking around and finding nothing amiss, he breathed a sigh of relief. Once he checked the house, he could get back to his cabin in the woods.
He smiled a bitter smile.
Tiffany was halfway to the barn when she stopped for a moment, noticing, not for the first time, how liberating it felt to be here and away from the evils of her former job. She stared into the distance, taking in the beauty of the fertile valley, including the surrounding rolling hills and distant mountains. Maybe this was the panacea she had needed to get her life back on track, though she would give anything to have been here under different circumstances.
Refusing to dwell on the negative, Tiffany made her way into the barn, ruing the deal she’d made with Taylor. With nightfall fast approaching, the barn gave her the creeps, not to mention having to cart that cat back to the house.
She was about to call out “kitty, kitty” when she saw him. Tiffany’s footsteps faltered at the same time that her heart jumped into her throat. Her initial reaction to seeing a strange man on the premises was to run, to get the hell out of Dodge.
Instead, while his back was to her, she acted on impulse and latched on to the garden shovel that, luckily, was at her fingertips. Then she raised her weapon and brought it down on his skull.
She didn’t know which emotion was more exhilarating—horror or relief—as he dropped to his knees, then fell facedown in the dirt.
Three
Tiffany stared wild-eyed at the hunk of humanity sprawled in front of her. Who was he? And what was he doing on the Davis property? Was he homeless, perhaps looking for a place to sleep? Even though she couldn’t tell much about him, the latter somehow didn’t ring true. From what she could see of him, he wasn’t dressed like a vagrant. He had on a pair of okay-looking jeans, a casual shirt and boots.
He was tall and thin, too thin to suit her taste. That . aside, he could have passed for any Texas cowboy on any given day—only this cowboy wasn’t moving.
Making tiny mewing sounds against the hand she was holding across her mouth, Tiffany backed up, never taking her eyes off him. What had she done? Had she killed him?
OhmyGodohmyGod, she chanted silently, until she backed into the door frame. Then, on legs that seemed to have a will of their own, she turned and tore off toward the house. By the time she reached the back porch, she was so weak and sick to her stomach that she had to catch a post and hold on to it, reaching deep inside herself for a decent breath.
Dear Lord, she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life behind bars, which might be what would happen if she’d actually hit him hard enough to kill him. And she was very much afraid that she had. She’d seen the blood trickling down the side of his head. Her stomach did another flip-flop. and it was all she could do not to give in to the desire to lean over and throw up.
But she couldn’t allow herself that luxury. Regardless of who he was—rapist, thief, or vagrant—she had to get help. As it was, she’d wasted enough time. She crossed to the door and flung it open.
Taylor was sitting on the couch with the TV blaring, laughing at the show she was watching. When she saw Tiffany, she seemed to sense that something was wrong.
“Are you sick?” she asked with childlike bluntness.
Tiffany threw her what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but she knew she’d failed. Taylor looked almost as terrified as she felt herself.
“I have to call 911.”
“We don’t have 911.”
“Damn,” Tiffany muttered. Of course this one-horse community wouldn’t have such a sophisticated system.
“That’s a naughty word. My mommy said you’re not supposed to say it.”
“What?”
“Damn.”
If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Tiffany would have laughed. But the situation was serious, and now was not the time to deal with the issue of whether she’d said something she shouldn’t have.
“Forget I said that, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll have to call the sheriff,” Tiffany said, more to herself than for Taylor’s benefit. Noticing that the number she sought was posted by the phone, she snatched up the receiver and dialed.
Moments later, the terse conversation was behind her, but still she couldn’t seem to move or to think rationally. Only after Taylor jumped off the couch and stared at her as if she had just landed from another planet did she react.
She’d said as little as possible, so as not to frighten the child more than she had to. “It’s going to be all right,” Tiffany said now, in what she prayed was a calm and rational tone.
Taylor’s lower lip trembled. “I want my daddy and mommy.”
“So do I, kiddo, but unfortunately, you’re stuck with me.”
Tears flooded the child’s eyes, and Tiffany felt like an inept idiot. She placed her arms around Taylor’s shoulders and held her close.
She couldn’t believe this was happening. Had she actually whacked another human over the head so hard that she might have taken his life?
No! Now that she was safely in the house, away from the eerie barn, she wouldn’t think like that Surely she hadn’t done that much damage to his head. She didn’t have that much strength. Or did she? Maybe she’d cracked him in just the right place. Again the sick feeling washed over her, and she saw herself being handcuffed, then put in the sheriffs car.
Tiffany swallowed the panic that rose up the back of her throat just as she heard the siren.
Taylor twisted out of her arms and rushed to the window. “Sheriff Wright’s getting out of the car.”
Tiffany didn’t wait for him to knock. She headed for the door herself, Taylor on her heels. “Uh-uh, young lady. You stay put right here.”
Taylor’s face bunched into a frown. “I don’t want to. ”
“Nevertheless, you’re going to.” Then, softening her words, Tiffany added, “As soon as I know what’s going on, I’ll be back.”
Taylor jutted her chin and averted her face. Tiffany hated knowing that the child was upset, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that at the moment. There was enough trauma going on in Taylor’s life without her seeing a man who might be—
Shutting down that thought, Tiffany raced out the door just as the sheriff walked onto the porch. “Howdy, ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat. “I’m Porter Wright.”
It wasn’t that he was tall and lean to the point of gauntness, or that he wore a Fu Manchu mustache, that made her wince inwardly, but rather the smell that surrounded him—as if he’d just stepped in a patty of cow manure.
Unwittingly, she lowered her head, and sure enough, he had. His boots were caked with it. This time it was all Tiffany could do to hold her already queasy stomach in check.
“I’m Tiffany Russell,” she said at last.
“Suppose you take me to where this fellow is.”
“He’s...he’s in the barn.”
“Let’s go have a look-see.”
“Do I have to go with you?”
The sheriff removed his hat and scratched his head. “I don’t suppose so.”
“Never mind, I’ll come. I have to face the music sooner or later.”
Porter Wright gave her a strange look before commenting, “Most likely you’re in the clear, whoever this person is. Folks around here get real nervous when someone invades their privacy. You did the right thing, I’m sure.”
“Taylor, honey, I’ll be right back,” Tiffany called into the house. “You’ll be fine.”
Although it had been only fifteen minutes since the incident, it seemed like an eternity as Tiffany followed Sheriff Wright back to the bam.
He entered first_ Tiffany pulled up short behind him, just inside the door, and clung to the rustic facing for dear life, despite the fact that splinters were digging into her hand.
The man was sitting up and in the process of wiping the blood off his temple. Relief left her feeling even weaker than the earlier bouts of nausea. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. All she could do was stand there gaping at him, all the while praising the Lord that he was alive and she wouldn’t be going to the penitentiary.
The man, however, wasn’t at a loss for words. In fact, the expletives spilling from his lips sent the color rushing back into Tiffany’s face. She felt as if she’d suddenly caught a fever.
“Should L..call an ambulance?” she stammered.
“Hell, no!”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Sheriff Wright said, his features wrinkled in a grin.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” the man snapped, rising fully to his feet, though he was obviously still unsteady, and glaring at the sheriff.
Tiffany felt the urge to race to him and help him, but she knew that wouldn’t be the thing to do. He looked mad enough to chew a barbed-wire fence in two.
“Ms. Tiffany Russell, meet the man you’ve just waylaid,” Wright said. “Jeremiah’s neighbor, Garth Dixon.”
“Oh, no,” Tiffany whispered, but the words were loud enough for both men to hear.
“Oh, yes, Ms. Russell, or whoever the hell you are,” Garth lashed back.
Tiffany took a step forward, a hand outstretched. “Look, Mr. Dixon, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
He cursed again, cutting her off in midsentence. “Like hell you didn’t mean it. You nearly took my damn head off with that shovel.”
Tiffany flung a helpless look at Porter Wright. The sheriff seemed content to stand back and let the two of them go at it, grinning all the while, as if he were enjoying the exchange to the max.
Well, why not? Tiffany thought This incident was probably the most exciting thing that had happened around these parts in a long time. She would have liked nothing better than to knock that grin off Wright’s face, then turn around and knock the smirk off Dixon’s. Instead, she swallowed her own mounting anger and said, “If only you’d come to the house and told me who you were, I wouldn’t—”
“Hell, lady, that doesn’t excuse you, especially since I wasn’t a threat to you.”
“How was I to know that?”
Garth Dixon looked at her as if he wanted to throttle her, which she was sure he did, in retaliation for what she’d done to him.
“Hell, I see I’m wasting my time talking to you. Anyone that dizzy—”
Tiffany was enraged. “I’ll have you know that I’m not—”
“Save it, lady. I’m not interested.”
Instead of barking right back at him the way she wanted to do, Tiffany turned and stomped toward the door. Once there, she had second thoughts, and she whirled around, glaring at him. Who did he think he was? She wouldn’t let him get away with placing all the blame on her shoulders.
She was about to voice that thought when her gut instinct kicked in, telling her that for now she’d best keep her mouth shut, if she wanted to come out the winner here. For one thing, the man was in obvious pain. But more than that, he was livid, livid to the point that she knew her impulsiveness had gained her an enemy, which was too bad.
Garth Dixon was a good-looking man, even if he was a bit too thin. Pure eye candy. Even the red, purplish lump on the side of his head didn’t detract from the dramatics of his chiseled features, his salt-and-pepper hair—more salt than pepper—or the dark blue eyes surrounded by thick black lashes.
Too bad again that she didn’t give a fig if he was handsome or not. Not only was he too old for her—she guessed him to be in his forties—he was a poor sod-buster, which was an even bigger turnoff than his age.
Her grandmother had always told her that she could fall in love with a rich man as easily as a poor one. Tiffany had never forgotten those pearls of wisdom. But then, she didn’t have to worry. She wasn’t about to fall in love with any man, certainly not this one, who continued to look at her through cold, hostile eyes.
“Surely you were aware that Jeremiah asked me to keep an eye on the place while he was gone?” Garth asked at last.
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Well, hell.”
“If it’s an apology you want,” Tiffany said, “then you’ve got it.”
Sheriff Wright shoved himself away from the post where he’d been leaning. “I guess that settles things, then. If Ms. Russell here is willing to apologize, then—”
“I don’t want her apology.” Garth focused his fierce gaze on Tiffany, then spoke directly to her. “All I want is for you to stay the hell away from me.”
With that, he turned and, cutting around her, stalked out of the barn.
“Whew!” Sheriff Wright said, taking off his hat and fanning his face. “I’d say he’s madder than a stirred-up hornet’s nest.”
“He’ll get over it,” Tiffany countered, tight-lipped
“I sure hope so, ma’am. For your sake, that is.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“According to Irma Quill, he’s been real sick, something about a bad heart.”
Tiffany’s own heart took a nosedive as another bout of guilt rose to the surface. “What else do you know about him?”
“Nothing, except he’s apparently about as closemouthed as they come, and he hasn’t been in the community but a few months.”
Tiffany held out her hand. “Thanks for coming, Sheriff. I appreciate it very much.”
“Just doing my job, ma‘am. Come on, I’ll walk you back to the house. I’m sure that young’n’s having a conniption fit”
“You’re right,” Tiffany said, another pang of guilt stabbing her.
A short time later, after explaining to the child what had happened, though without the details, Tiffany sat on the bed beside Taylor, tucking her in for the night.
“I’m so proud of you. You acted like such a big girl.”
“I am a big girl. I’m six years old, going on seven.”
“That’s right, you are.” Tiffany smiled, but the child didn’t. “What’s the matter, honey?”
The child’s gaze didn’t waver. “I’m glad you found my kitty, but my daddy’s going to be real mad, ’cause you hit his friend.”
Four
Garth stumbled into the cabin and onto the couch. Sweat poured off his face like a broken water faucet But the sweat was the least of his worries. His chest felt as if it were going to cave in on him at any second.
He shouldn’t have pushed his horse at such a rapid clip through the woods. He’d been so pissed off over what had just happened that he’d let his temper overrule his sound judgment. Hell, he wasn’t used to taking it easy. Since he could remember, he’d gotten up literally at the crack of dawn, taken a shower, then headed to the office, where he’d drunk a pot of coffee while planning which corporations to take over and which not to.
Now he couldn’t do any of those things, except shower. And on some mornings even that was an effort. If his health and his mood didn’t hurry up and change drastically, then he would just as soon bail out of this life. Movers and shakers like himself weren’t cut out to be ill.
Garth leaned his head back on the couch and placed his hand over his heart. Maybe he should go to the ER. No, that was out. Hospitals were out. Besides, his heart rate had settled, though not exactly back to normal. Not only had anger at being in this situation and this godforsaken place sapped his precious energy, but embar-moment at having been banged on the head by that dizzy blonde had added insult to injury.
“Damn!” he muttered, recalling the instant he’d turned and seen her standing there, knowing beyond a doubt that she was the one who had hit him. She’d had that guilty look written all over her. For a moment he’d fought the urge to grab her shoulders and shake her. But since he’d never put his hands on a woman in that way, the thought had died a natural death.
Still, Garth couldn’t help but remember that even in his dazed state, it hadn’t been Tiffany Russell’s face that caught his attention, but rather the way her butt was made for those tight-fittin’ jeans she had on.
Then, as quickly as that thought had surfaced, it disappeared. He hadn’t come here to get involved with a woman. However, if the circumstances had been different, he would have asked her out, despite the fact that he was sure her looks far outweighed her brainpower. At this juncture in his life, that point didn’t matter. He was only interested in the pleasure, without the permanency.
Yeah, she was a looker, all right, with shoulder-length blond hair worn in a pageboy style, skin that reminded him of rich cream and deep-set green eyes that appeared so innocent. He almost choked on that though
Still, it was the way her well-endowed rear had filled those jeans that seemed branded on his mind. Yet he couldn’t overlook her voice; even though she had given an apology grudgingly, it had come out sounding like silk.
Unfortunately, the woman and her assets didn’t mean a hill of beans to him. Another woman in his life was the last thing he needed or wanted. What he did want was to recover both in body and mind and return to his work a whole man.
Meanwhile, he was still breathing, which he had to think of as a gift and run with. If only he could let go of the notion that he had something to prove, not only to himself but to his stepfather, who had set him up in business. If only...
Determined not to open that can of worms, Garth stood. When the room stopped spinning, he trudged into the kitchen, where he poured himself a glass of orange juice. Frowning, he gulped it down, pretending it was Scotch on the rocks.
“Dream on, Dixon,” he quipped, setting the empty glass on the cabinet. His days of drinking as much booze as he wanted were gone, along with so many of the other pleasures he had enjoyed. He vowed that that would only be temporary.
After his heart healed and he clinched the biggest business deal of his career, which was now on hold, then maybe he would give some thought to getting off that high-profile treadmill, even to semiretiring.
Sure thing, he told himself, knowing that was never going to happen. He wasn’t like the majority of his buddies, who played golf as many hours a day as they could squeeze in and thought that was the ultimate challenge. He didn’t go for that.
What he did go for was getting well, by far the biggest challenge he’d ever faced. Garth’s thoughts suddenly took him back to the time immediately after he’d been released from the hospital.
He’d headed straight for the sanctuary of his office, where he’d sat behind his desk, numb with shock and despair, his head in his hands.
He hadn’t heard his right-hand man, Max Lansing, come in, until Max cleared his throat and said, “What the hell are you doing here? You should be home in bed. ”
Garth had stared at Max for a moment, taking in his stocky, muscled frame, his healthy, ruddy complexion, and felt green with envy. Then, feeling like a coward, he’d turned away.
Max had pressed him. “Well?”
“I couldn’t go home. It’s that simple.”
“So what did the doctor say?”
“In a nutshell, if I don’t slow down and take a few months’ leave of absence, I won’t live to see my fiftieth birthday.”
“That’s a crock of crap. I thought all this modern medical technology could fix anything.”
Garth smirked. “Me too. But I want my ticker fixed as good as new, which apparently no one can do.”
“So what’s next?”
He didn’t answer Max right off. He couldn’t. The words were jammed in his throat. He coughed twice; only then could he speak. “I’m hauling ass.” Bitterness underlined each word.
Max blinked. “Where to?”
“A remote part of Utah.”
This time Max’s jaw dropped. “Utah? You’re kiddin’ me.”
“I wish. My dad left me some land there with a cabin on it.” He paused, another smirk altering his features. “I’ve never even seen it.”
“What about that big deal we have pending? I know the Japanese are known for their patience, but—”
Even though his voice trailed off, Garth heard the panic in it. He couldn’t comfort Max, because he felt the same way. To walk out and leave the corporation that he’d built from the bottom up went against the work ethic that had been drilled into him.
“Deal or no deal, what choice do I have?” he said out loud.
Max sighed. “None.”
“I’m going to have to depend on you more than ever. Are you up to the challenge?”
Max’s face brightened, though his voice remained sober. “I won’t let you down.”
“And I won’t let you down—or this company. When I get back from Dumpsville, I’ll be as good as new. And that’s a promise.”
Jerking his thoughts out of the past, Garth groaned as a shaft of pain shot through his skull. He walked to the window, all the while nursing the lump on the side of his head.
Damn that woman for adding to his physical misery. And double-damn her for having such a cute ass that she was making him mentally miserable, as well.
Desperate to regain control of his wandering mind, he stared out the window, concentrating on the orchard of peach trees loaded with fruit.
It was a damn shame the crop had to go to waste, he thought, just as the phone rang.
“Has something happened that we should know about?”
“Uh, why do you ask that?” Tiffany heard the uneasiness in her own voice, and knew without a doubt that Bridget had picked up on it, too, especially as they were practically able to read each other’s minds.
“Hey, remember who you’re talking to here, okay? You can’t pull the wool over my eyes, so don’t even try.”
“I thought you were supposed to be concentrating on getting well?”
“My body might be in traction, but my mind isn’t So fess up.”
Tiffany sighed. “All right. First, though, tell me how you’re doing.”
“I’m progressing about as well as the doctors predicted. It’s just going to take longer than I wanted.” Bridget paused. “You’re not about to tell me you have to get back to Houston, are you?”
“No, though you might send me packing when I fess up, as you put it. If you don’t, then Jeremiah might.”
“Stopping beating around the bush. I’m about to have a hissy fit, and you know that’s not good for me.”
“I knocked Jeremiah’s friend in the head.” Once she’d blurted out the confession, Tiffany waited for the fireworks. She wasn’t disappointed.
“What?”
“He’s okay, really he is.”
“What on earth—?”
Before Bridget could go on, Tiffany jumped in and told her the entire story. When she finished, a long silence added to her already jangled nerves. Replaying the entire scenario made it seem even more incredible than it already was.
“Oh, Tiff, how could you?” Bridget exclaimed.
“I screwed up. What more can I say?”
“Nothing. It’s just so...bizarre. Well, as long as he isn’t hurt, then don’t worry about it.” Bridget paused, then chuckled.
“What’s so damn funny?”
“You, actually. I can just picture you sneaking up on that poor unsuspecting man and—”
“Okay, okay. Let’s not beat a dead horse. Maybe I won’t have to see him again.”
“I wouldn’t count on that, especially as Jeremiah was serious when he asked him to keep an eye on things around the ranch.”
“Well, let’s put it this way—I’M go out of my way to avoid running into him. Trust me, I’m not at the top of his friend list.”
Bridget chuckled again. “I’m sure you’re not, which is all the more reason why my husband should stop being so stubborn. I’ve tried to tell him he needs to get away from here, go back to the ranch himself and see to things.”
“You can forget that. He’s not about to leave you.”
“I know, and I’m really glad, but still...” Bridget’s voice trailed off before she changed the subject and asked, “How’s Taylor? I—we miss her so much.”
“She’s right here, dancing a jig to talk to you both.”
That conversation between the four of them had taken place two hours ago now. Since then, Tiffany had taken Taylor to a birthday party that was to last the afternoon. Once she returned to the house, she’d done a few chores, though there weren’t many, as Bridget had left everything in immaculate order.
It didn’t seem possible that she had been here only three days. To Tiffany, it seemed like three months, especially now, with nothing but time on her hands.
She had considered going into town, looking up Irma Quill and introducing herself to her. But she’d nixed that idea, since she wasn’t in the best of moods herself, only she didn’t understand why.
Peace in Taylor’s absence should be savored. Although her young charge was no trouble, she was a typical six-year-old. Tiffany wasn’t used to the demands that went along with caring for a child of any age.
Still, Taylor wasn’t at the root of her restlessness. Garth Dixon was the reason she couldn’t settle down. God, how could she have mistaken him for a prowler, or worse? Easy. She was out of her element in these woods—plus, she had a habit of reacting before she thought
Obviously she wouldn’t be able to avoid him completely, which meant...what? Was she trying to convince herself that she should make amends? No way! She hadn’t meant to hurt him. But if his reaction was the barometer by which she would be judged, she’d done it on purpose and without just cause.
Well, that was his problem, not hers. Yet she couldn’t stop thinking that somehow she should at least try to cultivate some goodwill, if for no other reason than so he would be available in case of an emergency.
Tiffany tromped into the kitchen, where she paused. Maybe she should make a cake and take it to him. He had looked as if he could use some calories. Besides, hadn’t the old adage that said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach proved to be true?
While she didn’t give a flip about getting to his heart, she didn’t have anything against satisfying his stomach.
“Then just do it and get it over with,” she said out loud, crossing to the cabinets and opening them until she found a couple of mixing bowls.
An hour later, after having called Taylor at her friend’s house and found out where Garth lived, she put the cake in a plastic container and set off through the woods. By the time she arrived, Tiffany had decided she should be committed, convinced she was the last person he wanted to see.
Still, now that she’d bitten the bullet and come this far, she wasn’t about to chicken out. If he didn’t want to accept the cake, then he could dump it in the trash. At least she’d made the effort.
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Mary Baxter
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: MR. MARCHThe Stubborn Cowboy:Garth Dixon had no hankerin′ for a wife, but the blond vixen next door had him scheming for a chance at a no-strings fling… . The Southern Beauty: No way was Tiffany Russell giving in to her hot-tempered, secretive neighbor – even if his smoldering good looks set her body on fire! There was no doubt that the latest female to hit Pennington, Utah, was trouble, but Garth never could resist a challenge – especially one in tight jeans.Since the cowgirl from Texas clearly seemed set on ignoring her neighbor, he knew it was up to him to show her the meaning of passion-filled nights… .MAN OF THE MONTH: Could this rough-edged cowboy end up getting roped and tied by love?