Love Is All Around

by Rae Davies

  Giving the obnoxious little devil a chuck under her chin, he sauntered over to Patsy’s Jeep.

  “Hurt yourself bad?” Ruthann leaned out the passenger door.

  Shamefaced, he replied, “I told Patsy I’d be fine.” He released Pugnacious, who squirmed into the back seat.

  “I can see that.” Ruthann grinned. “Don’t worry about me. My lips are sealed. It’s about time somebody was a step ahead of my best friend.” Her gaze flitted to his shorts and back up to his face. “My guess is, you’ll do just fine.”

  Will studied his shoe. Now Ruthann had the wrong idea. He hadn’t faked an injury because he wanted time alone with Patsy—except to discuss her father, that is. Mainly, he just needed a ride home. He couldn’t be jogging down the highway dehydrated and dizzy. It was just common sense, and it was easier to let Patsy believe Pugnacious hurt his leg than admit he was out of shape.

  Not that there was any reason to be ashamed; in this heat, only a fool would try to keep running. Anyway, the point was, no matter how physically desirable he found her, Patsy just offered a convenient opportunity to get a ride home, nothing more. He didn’t need complications right now and the more he saw of Patsy, the more complicated she got.

  “Hop in. I’ll ride in back. You won’t even know I’m here.” Ruthann flipped the passenger seat up and crawled in next to Pugnacious.

  o0o

  “You don’t mind if we drop Will off, do you?” Patsy asked Ruthann when she returned from paying.

  “Actually, I was thinking I need to get home. Why don’t you drop me off at my house first?”

  Patsy attempted to catch Ruthann’s gaze in the rearview mirror, but her friend was engrossed in something out the window.

  “You didn’t want to go by and see the new stuff Mom said they got in at the shop?” Patsy glanced at Will, who seemed to be ignoring their conversation. He twisted the lid off his water bottle and shook the few remaining drops onto his bare chest. Desperate, she turned a pleading glance to her friend.

  Still staring out the window, Ruthann shook her head. “I need to lose a few pounds before I buy anything new. Besides, it’s too hot to leave Pugnacious in the car while we shop, and you know that ole biddy Irene won’t let us bring her in.” Ruthann met Patsy’s gaze briefly in the mirror. “We’ll do it later. Just drop me off.”

  Patsy did not want to be alone with Will. She had no idea why she had even offered to give him a ride home—the curse of being raised with good manners. He rubbed one of the water drops into his skin with the pad of his finger. Patsy swallowed hard. She knew she shouldn’t get involved with him, but with his six-foot perspiration-soaked frame pressed into the seat next to her, it was difficult to remember why.

  Even with the distance enforced by bucket seats, the heat of his body filled the space between them. It was like he had some kind of tractor beam that was tugging her toward him. Shifting gears, she leaned his direction. Even sweaty, he smelled good. Better than good.

  She glanced back at Ruthann, who steadfastly kept her gaze focused out the window. You’d think she’d never seen the back streets of Daisy Creek before.

  They pulled in front of the small, white frame house Ruthann shared with her mother. Will hopped out and graciously helped Ruthann from the back. Patsy attempted to ignore the view of his very masculine back.

  “Call me.” Ruthann flashed them a grin before disappearing inside her house.

  Patsy was alone with Will. She could handle it. Concentrate on all his shortcomings: spoiled, juvenile delinquent, stubborn, arrogant, eating casseroles with Jessica. She focused on the last one. If there was one thing Patsy wouldn’t do, it was share with Jessica.

  Stronger, she turned to face him. His chest glistened with sweat, making his muscles all the more obvious, like a body builder oiled up to be judged.

  “You should wear a shirt,” she blurted out.

  “Too hot. Besides, I always run without a shirt. I like the feel of the sun and wind on my skin.” He smiled, creating the tiny crinkles she’d noticed that first time at Gordie’s to form around his eyes. “It feels natural, more basic or something.”

  Yeah, basic. Nothing wrong with the basics. “You hot?” she asked. “You look hot.”

  He grinned. “Thanks.”

  She scowled at the steering wheel.

  “You ever run?” he asked. “You look like you exercise.”

  Glad of the topic change, she answered, “Not unless something’s chasing me.”

  “That happen often?”

  “What?” This conversation was impossible to follow.

  “Something chasing you. Does that happen often? You look like the type that might get chased.”

  What was that supposed to mean? She glanced at him. The heat in his eyes said more than his words. She flushed in response.

  “Are you hot?” he asked. “You look hot.”

  Smart-ass. She was feeling a little hot and uncomfortable. Ignoring his question, she flipped the air conditioning on high. It chugged out warm air. Damn it, she’d meant to get that fixed. Frustrated, she twisted the knob to high; warm air had to be better than no air. Glancing at him, she could see the hundred-degree air flowing from the vents was doing nothing to dry off his chest.

  “You should wear a shirt.”

  “You already mentioned that. Mind if I use this?” He picked up a Mickey Mouse bandanna that sometimes adorned Pugnacious’ neck off the floor.

  “Help yourself.”

  “Thanks.” He balled the blue cloth into his hand and rubbed the glisten of sweat off his chest in slow, mesmerizing circles.

  Damn it all to Disney and back.

  Chapter 10

  “So, how’s the web work going?”

  Web work? What web work? Patsy floundered, unable to mentally lock onto anything except the image of that blue cloth caressing that firm, solid chest. She pulled into the gravel drive that ran next to his house and gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. Deep breath. Oh yeah, web job, the mines.

  “Fine.” Back in control, she turned in her seat to face him. A swirl of chest hair drew her gaze. Fascinating; it was like one of those weird pictures by that Escher guy. The combination of sweat and the circular motion of the bandanna must have created it. Somebody should photograph it, a close up of those coarse dark hairs twirled in a captivating design over that broad expanse of chest. They could sell it and make millions.

  “Patsy?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You want to come in?” Will opened his car door and flung one leg out onto the drive.

  “Oh, no.” She fidgeted with her rabbit’s-foot key ring that hung from the ignition. It was an ugly thing. Dwayne had given it to her for her sixteenth birthday. A gift from her brother was such an unlikely occurrence, she’d been sure it would bring her luck. She was still waiting. Looking back at Will, she replied, “Granny will be looking for me.”

  “Doesn’t she think you’re shopping with Ruthann?”

  Damn, he’d been paying attention. If dishonesty doesn’t work, try evasion. “Besides, you’re probably still getting settled. I don’t want to impose.”

  “No imposition. I’d like to talk to you about something.” He stepped out of the Jeep and stood with the door open.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  Looking down at a patch of dirt that showed through the gravel, he continued, “Your aunt said you know a lot about local history—as much as the woman who runs the county museum. I want to restore things as much as I can.” He peered up at her.

  Et tu, Aunt Tilde? She knew Granny and Mom had been beating the Patsy-is-wonderful drum at the barbecue, but she hadn’t realized Tilde had picked up the sticks too. Still, Will wanted her opinion? That didn’t seem likely. She shot him another disbelieving look.

  He took a deep breath. “Okay, I have a favor to ask.”

  Mr. I-can-do-it-myself wanted a favor? Now that was interesting. Patsy glanced from his sheepish expression to the back sea
t. Pugnacious was probably roasting back there. Except she wasn’t.

  The dog had escaped from the car and now sat on the deep wraparound porch of Will’s house, her back pressed against the wooden screen door, tongue lolling.

  Patsy was tired of fighting with the pug and losing. She had never much enjoyed losing and wasn’t in the mood for it today. Better to give in gracefully, pretend it was her idea all along. She shoved the rabbit’s foot into her pocket and followed Will up the steps. Pugnacious greeted them by raising her hind foot to scratch behind her ear.

  “Let me get the key.” Will bent down and stuck his finger in his shoe.

  Patsy did her best not to notice how short his shorts were or how taut his hamstrings. She did her best, but when the slinky material of his shorts pulled tightly across his butt, she gave up. It wasn’t her day for winning battles. Why fight? It was an awfully nice butt, probably his best feature, and the rest of him wasn’t exactly hurting.

  “After you.” Will pushed open the heavy oak entrance door.

  Pugnacious trotted in. With a sigh, Patsy followed.

  The massive curved staircase greeted her. The carved oak newel post was topped by an ornate art glass lamp with blue and white stripes. She’d noticed it when she stopped by with Mrs. Jensen, but it hadn’t seemed like the time to quiz Will on his home’s decor.

  “Is this original?” Patsy tapped the lamp with her fingernail.

  “Yeah, see, it’s actually set into the post.” Will grasped the base and wiggled it, showing it was firmly affixed.

  “It’s beautiful.” Patsy motioned to include the rest of the room. “I’d never been in here before you moved in.” Will didn’t comment so she continued, “I’d always wanted to see it. When I was little, I used to dream of living in a house like this. Seemed like in all the books I read, the girl lived in a grand old Victorian.”

  Will grinned. “It is pretty great, isn’t it?”

  He looked so happy, it made Patsy uncomfortable. It was too personal. Like she was trapped in an elevator with a stranger and didn’t know where to look. She ran her hand down the newel post, tracing the daisies carved on its sides with her finger.

  “I love old things,” she said. The confession surprised her. She’d always thought of herself as neutral when her parents argued over their polar opposite design styles, but suddenly she realized it was true. She did love old things. They were comforting somehow.

  “Me too.” Will placed his hand on the other side of the post. “There’s something about knowing something has history. It gives things a richness new things don’t have. Like maybe whoever owned it before left a little piece of themselves, some kind of energy behind.”

  Surprised, Patsy looked up at him.

  He smiled like he was embarrassed. “You probably think that sounds strange.”

  Patsy shook her head. “No, I just never heard anyone say it like that before. Even Dad and Aunt Tilde, for all that they love antiques, I don’t think they could tell you why.” She walked toward a hall that opened off the foyer.

  “That’s the turret,” he called after her.

  “I thought so.” Patsy spun in a small circle. A turret was magical. Anything was possible in such a space. She couldn’t imagine why they went out of style.

  Will followed behind her, filling the room. She pressed her hands against the wainscoting. “What’s this? Leather?”

  He skimmed the pads of his fingers over the tooled surface. “Strange, isn’t it? Why all the trouble for such a small area?”

  She leaned against the wall and stared upward at the beaded ceiling. “I don’t know. If I had a turret, it’s where I’d spend all my time.”

  He stepped toward her. “Like a princess waiting for her knight?”

  “I gave up on fairy tales a long time ago.”

  “You’re not old enough for it to have been that long ago.” He placed a hand on each side of her head and looked down at her. “Maybe you just need a reminder.”

  A vein at the base of her neck began to pulse. “A reminder of what? Something that was never real to begin with?”

  Will stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “How do you know if something is real or not, if you don’t give it a chance?”

  His gaze was intense. Patsy knew he was going to kiss her, knew she should stop him. She could feel him moving closer, slowly. His breath warmed her cheek. She inhaled. She loved his scent. His bare chest made contact with her breasts through the thin material of her shirt. He kept his eyes open, staring into hers until he slanted his face and pressed his lips against her mouth.

  The kiss was slow, thorough, and torturous, too slow. He wasn’t close enough. Patsy wanted more. She opened her mouth, and his tongue swooped inside. Hers greeted him. As their tongues battled for dominance, she placed her hands on his sides, running them over smooth muscles, reveling in the strength she felt there. Then her thumbs hit the waistband of his shorts.

  His hands were still pressed into the wall beside her head, his mouth still covering hers. His kiss was urgent, but controlled, like he was engaged in a calculated campaign to overwhelm her senses, as if expecting surrender. Patsy resisted. She lived for a good battle. This was no different.

  She made small circles with her thumbs. Should she? The urge to slip her thumbs under the elastic band was becoming an obsession. Why not? She slipped her nails under the material, played with it for a second. The muscles in his back tensed, but he didn’t take his mouth from hers.

  The first skirmish was hers. With her thumbs moving downward, Patsy explored the smooth, soft skin hidden by his shorts. Will’s stomach muscles twitched as she stroked. She edged lower until she encountered another barrier, the wide, flat elastic band of his underwear. Will stilled. She lightly flicked the band with her thumbnail. Again, should she?

  Will moaned and moved his mouth from her lips to her earlobe. Taking the small bit of skin between his teeth, he tugged gently. Loving the sense of power, she caught the elastic on her nail and slowly slid her thumbs between his skin and the final waistband.

  The ping of the ancient doorbell echoed through the house. Patsy jerked her thumbs out of Will’s shorts and her hands away from his body. Will leaned into her further, resting his head on the top of hers. The sound of their breathing seemed to echo through the turret.

  “Maybe they’ll go away.” His voice was thick, his words slow, murmured through heavy breaths. Patsy held hers. He didn’t know this town like she did; whoever was on the other side of that door had already taken note of her car and probably how long she’d been inside. They would be all a-tingle with anticipation, hoping to catch her in the middle of something gossip-worthy, and just about anything was gossip-worthy in Daisy Creek.

  “Patsalee? You in there?”

  Patsy let out her breath. Aunt Tilde had come to call. At least this interloper was friendly, but her family sure had a talent for timing.

  Groaning, Will pushed away from the wall. Patsy cowered in embarrassment. What was she doing? If Aunt Tilde had been a few minutes later, there was no telling in what state she would have found them. Second time in a week, she was almost caught with her pants down—literally. Patsy groaned. She was sure her aunt would read the guilt emblazoned across Patsy’s face.

  Will leaned in and whispered, “She’s still on the porch. It’s not too late to ignore her.”

  Patsy’s only answer was to turn away and study the wainscoting. Cool air replaced his body, as Will strode from the room.

  “Where’s Patsalee? I saw her car in the drive. I was stopping by anyway.” Patsy caught a flash of cerise and lime green as her aunt swirled into the house. “Irv said you were without locomotion, and I found something at a sale in Peabody I thought you’d want to see,” Tilde continued.

  “What’s that you’re wearing, kid? That’s not enough cloth to steep tea in.”

  Patsy knocked her head silently against the wall.

  “I left my surprise out in the van. You scurry on o
ut there and lug it in, but put a shirt on first. The neighbors’ll think we’re up to no good for sure, they see you in nothing but that scrap of cloth.”

  Footsteps sounded up the steps and back down again, followed by the screen door creaking. Patsy peered out one of the windows that circled the turret. Will, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, strode to Tilde’s full-size van, slid open the side door, and began tugging on something in the back.

  “He sure is a fine-looking boy.”

  Patsy jumped.

  “Why you hiding out in here, kid?” Tilde arched one penciled-in eyebrow.

  “I’m not hiding.” Patsy pressed herself against the wainscoting. The feel of tooled leather brought memories of Will’s lips on hers flying back. She flushed.

  “You know a body might think you were up to no good, the way you’re lurking in here.” Tilde rubbed the side of her mouth with one finger. “And, ‘course it doesn’t help matters any that he wasn’t wearing enough cloth to wad a rifle.” She stepped further into the room. “But now, I don’t see any signs that you’re missing any clothes. So I guess it’s okay.” She turned to leave.

  Her aunt was leaving after just a few remarks. Patsy almost crumpled to the floor in relief.

  Tilde turned back. “Don’t get me wrong, kid. I’ve got no problem with a little afternoon delight. I just don’t want to see you get yourself in a fix. You get me?” She raised both brows.

  The birds and the bees from Tilde; could her day get any worse? Patsy swallowed hard and nodded. She should have known Tilde wouldn’t leave that easily.

  “I’m more modern than your mama. As long as everybody involved is in agreement and making the proper preparations, I don’t see any harm in it.” She cackled. “And done right, it can be downright healthy.”

  Would this never end? Patsy willed the floor to open up.

  “But don’t you be forgetting those preparations, you hear?”

  Staring at the shells on her silver sandals, Patsy gave her head a slight nod.