by Em Petrova
She issued a feminine sigh of appreciation. “That’s your house?”
“Yes.” His jeans were damn tight too all of a sudden.
He’d always been proud of the home Pa had built for his family. Two stories with a wide porch running the whole length. It was set against a backdrop of field and sky, looking like a postcard. “I never would have been able to find it if I’d been walking.”
He gave a short laugh. “Probably not if you’d kept to the main road. Ain’t much along that road but animals.”
“I figured that out.”
The driveway had a fresh load of gravel on it, so it wasn’t as bumpy as usual. Eventually the main drive would branch into five others. They just needed the wedding rings.
Prince, their old sheep hound, came barreling out of one of the barns and raced alongside the truck. Charlotte leaned out the window, laughing at his antics.
“That’s Prince. You’d never know he’s thirteen. Walks the ranch every day and runs like the wind. We think it keeps him going.”
“Makes sense.”
He glanced at her. She was sleeker than the girls he’d gone out with before. From her hair to her polished toes, she oozed city. But he liked the way she said that. Maybe she had some country girl in her, after all.
As he parked the truck, she started to open her door, but he was there to give her a hand out. She looked up at him in surprise, and he tipped his hat. “My momma taught me manners.” Manners that wouldn’t go far if he didn’t step away, fast.
“So I see. Thank you.” She accepted his hand, and the minute his fingers brushed her skin, heat rocketed through his system. Silky smooth, and she smelled of berries. He wanted her to rub against him.
Prince circled close and woofed.
Hank turned. “It’s all right, boy. Come meet Charlotte.” His legs felt a little wobbly-like. The sensation had nothing to do with the swelling in his jeans—something about the moment made Hank think of what it would be like to bring his bride home.
If he ever found one. He still wasn’t sorry he was missing the wife hunt, though. Finding a curvy woman along the road was more action than he’d had in months. Even if nothing happened, he’d probably have a better story to tell than his brothers.
Prince sniffed her outstretched hand then nudged her fingers. Hank couldn’t blame the dog a bit. He wanted those soft hands all over him too. He shook himself.
“He wants petted, but once you start, be prepared to spend some time on that task. I’ll get your suitcase.”
The walk to the front door raised more visions in him. It might be his overactive imagination and the desire to own that parcel of land, but he wanted to hold her hand. Then crowd into the porch swing with her and talk until the roosters crowed.
If he got lucky, he’d get a taste of her plump lips.
Damn, where were his manners? He wasn’t raised to think of ladies this way. But after so much time alone, he felt like a fox circling a tender, juicy chicken.
He opened the front door. “Momma, I’m home!” He stepped aside for Charlotte to enter. When she glanced at him, he brushed his fingers over his brim as he’d been taught.
“Your plate’s in the oven, keepin’ warm! I’m just watching Jeopardy with your father.”
Amusement stretched Charlotte’s beautiful lips, drawing Hank’s attention to them. Need barreled through him like a bucking bull, and his inner rodeo clown had no control over the wild beast.
“Do we have two plates? I brought someone,” he called, counting the seconds until his mother jumped out of her recliner and hurried into the mudroom.
Five, four, three…
Momma came around the corner, shock written on her features. She covered her chest with a hand reddened from hard work. “Why, Hank, who’s your visitor?”
“This here’s Charlotte. Found her broken down along the road and couldn’t leave her. I hope you don’t mind her staying the night until we figure out what to do with her car.”
“Of course I don’t mind! Poor dear. A shock to break down in the middle of nowhere, I’m sure. Come along to the kitchen. I bet you’re starving. Now just have a seat at the counter there and I’ll fix you a plate. How does a glass of sweet tea sound?”
“Fine, thank you.” Charlotte threw him a look as Momma bustled her into the kitchen and seated her on one of the high stools Hank had built himself. Knowing her round bottom was settled on wood he’d worked with his own hands shouldn’t give him this much pleasure.
“Charlotte, meet Maggie Dalton. I’m going to put your suitcase in one of the rooms.”
Momma flapped a hand as if he was an annoying bug and started plying Charlotte with questions.
On the way out of the room, Hank paused in the doorway, looking over the woman seated in his kitchen. Thighs tucked under the counter, spine straight and curly hair floating like a cloud above her shoulders.
He scuffed his knuckles along his jaw. He was in for a long night.
Chapter Two
Charlotte didn’t realize how hungry she was until she forked the first bite of chicken and gravy into her mouth. Mrs. Dalton watched her while she sipped tea from a Mason jar.
“This is amazing food,” Charlotte said.
“Thank you, dear. It’s one of my boys’ favorite meals.”
“And you have five boys.”
“Yes, I do. Wasn’t blessed with a daughter, but we hope to make up for that with five daughters-in-law.” She stressed the last words, and for some reason heat climbed Charlotte’s throat.
She wasn’t interested in any guy, let alone one who lived in the boondocks. She needed a little more…civilization. Or did she? Hank was pretty uncivilized and the heated awareness low in her belly said she liked him fine.
If the man riled her sensibilities, the ranch and the hominess of the big house gave her a feeling of calm. The dog running across the field to greet them, Hank walking her to the door. Maybe next time he’d plant a big hand low on her spine.
She refocused on her plate. By the time she’d finished a third of the heaping pile of food, she was bursting at the seams. She pushed back her plate and smiled at Mrs. Dalton. “Thank you. It was delicious.”
“Why, you can’t be full! My boys could eat double that amount.”
She gave a smile. “I’m sure working men require more food than a woman like me.”
Mrs. Dalton had shrewd blue eyes and Charlotte wasn’t fooled by her simple cotton top and skirt. She was as savvy as any Phoenix society mother wearing Prada. Charlotte had encountered a few of those in her lifetime, usually ladies looking to hook Charlotte up with their sons.
That’s how she’d met Stephen.
She rubbed her palms on her thighs, trying to wipe away the sudden dampness.
“What do you for a living, dear?”
“Right now, I’m between jobs. I’m looking for a town to settle in.”
Mrs. Dalton gave a hum. “Vixen has a corner market and a coffee shop. You might find work there.”
“Is there a cheap room to rent there?”
“Well, no. That’s a problem.”
“That and the fact that I don’t have a car that works right now.” She drew a deep breath and caught it—the masculine soap and water scent of her rescuer. She pivoted on the stool to see Hank crossing the kitchen.
He’d abandoned his hat, and his hair lay in thick dark waves against his skull. As her eyes drifted up to it, he lifted his long fingers and ran them through the mass, plowing little furrows.
Her breaths came faster. Being around a gorgeous cowboy like Hank was hard enough. She was thankful his brothers weren’t home.
“Mmm, is that chicken and potatoes I smell, Momma?”
“Yes it is. I’ll get your plate. Take your seat.”
Before he pulled out the stool next to Charlotte, he gave her a polite nod. Once he’d settled his denim-clad behind on the wood, he smiled at her. “I see you’ve tasted Momma’s down-home cooking.”
She p
icked up her fork and nudged a potato. “It was excellent and beats fast food along the interstate.”
“Oh dear. You do need some taking care of,” Momma clucked.
Charlotte bit off a smile. It was doubtful the food she’d just eaten was healthier than fast food. It was saturated with gravy and butter.
Mrs. Dalton placed a heaping dish in front of Hank. He gripped his fork tines down and attacked it like a hungry dog. Charlotte couldn’t keep from staring, but his mother just gave a maternal smile and went about washing up a few dishes.
Hank gave her a crooked smile, and the gravy caught in the corner made him more endearing. Natural. Real. Stephen had been aware of appearances at all times, and he never would have sat down with dirty clothes and messy hair let alone with gravy caught in the corner of his lips.
Using a big cloth napkin, Hank wiped his mouth. Several minutes later, he shoved away his empty plate. He’d finished it in record time. “Thank ya, Momma. It’s my favorite.”
“I know it is, son,” she drawled without turning from the sink.
“Got any pie?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “You boys devoured it all. I might have some oatmeal cookies though.”
Hank leaned back and covered his stomach with a big hand. “Also my favorite.”
She gestured to the crockery cookie jar on the counter. Hank got up and gathered his and Charlotte’s plates.
Stunned by his manners, she wondered if she’d landed herself in some Old West TV show. Men didn’t act this way where she came from.
As he crossed the kitchen, his sexy swagger caught her gaze. As he scraped Charlotte’s into the trash, she grew fixated on his movements. Each muscle was poetry, flexing in ways she’d only seen at the gym. When he dropped the dishes into the sudsy water, he leaned in and kissed his momma on the cheek.
“Favorite dinner and favorite cookies? You might be spoiling me a bit.”
Charlotte couldn’t resist a small smile.
“Well, who else am I going to spoil when my other boys are—” She broke off, and they both looked at Charlotte.
Oh no. She hadn’t worried much about getting into a strange man’s truck because Hank was so genuinely nice and she’d thought him to be a family man. But she didn’t like the way they looked at her.
She climbed off the stool and clasped her hands. “I’m feeling awfully tired. If you don’t mind telling me where to find my room…?”
“You can’t run off until you’ve had one of my cookies, dear,” Mrs. Dalton said.
“Oh, no thank you. I couldn’t eat another bite.”
The expression in Hank’s eyes was understanding. “I’ll show you to your room.”
“There’s no need. I can find it if you tell me where it is.”
He bit into big, thick oatmeal cookie. From here, Charlotte could smell the cinnamon and it made her rethink her decision not to have one.
“Room’s at the top of the stairs, first door on the left.”
Mrs. Dalton turned from the sink, hands dripping. “You put her in your room?”
Charlotte’s face scorched.
Hank rubbed a hand through his hair. “Well, it’s the cleanest. Don’t worry. I changed the sheets. I’ll sleep in Cash and Beck’s room.”
“You’re right. Who knows what’s in your brothers’ rooms. Especially Witt and Kade’s. You might find a wild animal in there and end up sleeping with horse tack.” Mrs. Dalton crossed the kitchen so quickly she might have been on wheels. “Now you go on up and get settled. I’ll bring you some milk and cookies later.”
“And I’ll get Pa and bring your car home. I’ll take a look at the transmission first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you.” Her head was spinning. All of this was so far out of her reality, she had no response. A woman who brought comfort food to a stranger in bed? A man who gave up his room and changed the sheets for her?
“I’ll show you to the bedroom before I head out.” Hank went before her, a stack of cookies he was gnawing on in hand. As he led the way upstairs, it was impossible not to stare at his hard butt. The corner of one pocket had a ragged hole, as if a screwdriver had poked out.
His big boots clomped on the oak treads, and she wondered that Mrs. Dalton didn’t bend his ear for wearing boots in the house. She was probably resigned to it, living with six men.
When they reached the top of the stairs, Hank pushed open a door. Charlotte’s palms started sweating again. She was going into the bedroom of a man she hardly knew.
Her parents would call her stupid, and she couldn’t argue. Stephen would—Well, who gave a damn what that asshole thought?
Hank waited for her to pass inside, tipping an invisible brim. She looked around his room. Spare and tidy, with only a bed, nightstand and desk. The bed was covered in what looked to be a freshly unfolded blue quilt. It was still creased. Charlotte might feel creeped out to sleep in a stranger’s bed, but it was a lot cleaner than some of the motels she’d stayed at lately.
“This is nice. Thank you.”
“No one will disturb you here. There’s a lock, see? Just in case you’re feeling weird about sleeping in a strange house.” He fingered the doorknob.
Relief flooded her veins. “I appreciate you taking me in. Your mother mentioned Vixen? Is that the town you were talking about?”
“Yup. Nothing there for you but a good cup of coffee if you want. But none of that gourmet coffee. We’re plain folk in these parts. You can get a hell of a blueberry muffin there, but don’t tell my mother that. She expects her boys to believe she makes the best of everything.” He dropped a wink. Slow and lazy, but it sent her heart racing.
For a minute, she couldn’t find anything to say. He was adorable and nice.
His eyes glinted, and she turned away. “Thanks for bringing my suitcase upstairs.” He’d set it at the foot of the bed. Next to it was a pair of his boots.
“Oh, let me get these out of your way.” In one long stride he reached the bed and bent over, giving her a perfect view of chiseled buns and long back. He moved the boots to a spot under the desk and straightened.
She pretended her sandals were very interesting and she hadn’t been ogling him. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t a flirtatious person by nature, and she was fresh from a horrible relationship. The puckered skin on her hip was proof that she should stay away from men.
Except Hank didn’t seem like someone she could dislike.
“I’ll set the clock so I can get up early and help you with the car.”
“No need. I’ll make a parts list by morning and we’ll figure out where to go from there.”
“Wait—what do you mean a parts list? I thought we’d call around and find a garage.”
“Yeah, but a garage and towing would be pricey. I can fix it.” Damn, his confidence was sexy.
“But…” She must look like a fool with her mouth hanging open.
“Let’s find out the damage first, okay? You can’t do anything right now anyhow, so why don’t you focus on a good night’s sleep?” He went to the door and paused. “Oh, you didn’t get to use our house phone. It’s at the bottom of the stairs. And bathroom’s right next door.”
The way he pointed a long index finger made shivers of awareness ripple down her spine. “Thanks.”
He vanished through the door, leaving her alone. She sank to the edge of the mattress, which was surprisingly comfortable. She threw herself back and slung an arm over her eyes. She didn’t have anybody to call, and no one knew she was here. Maybe she should leave some kind of trail in case things turned bad.
Hating her inner cynic, she went downstairs and called her parents’ landline, knowing they’d never pick up. They used their cells for everything, but they did check messages.
Charlotte ran back downstairs and glanced around the space. No one was in the room, and she figured Mrs. Dalton had returned to relaxing and Hank’s father had gone with him to get Charlotte’s car. Guilt washed over her. She hated ju
st sitting back and letting people do things for her. She should have listened to her parents—she didn’t have enough money to make this life change. Yet working another six months to save while staying in a city that had been the location of such trauma didn’t…what had Hank said? Didn’t set well with her.
The interior of the house was simple and homey. Pale walls and family photographs. Across the way, she picked out a group photo—five young guys in plaid and denim, a few with thumbs hitched in pockets.
Feeling like a voyeur, she hurried back upstairs. She used the bathroom and changed into knit shorts for sleeping. Then she stretched out awkwardly on the bed.
It wasn’t very late, but she was exhausted from her experience. Fear and worry had chipped at her energy reserves and now she felt weighted to the bed. Tomorrow she’d have to fork out some money for car parts, and what if she didn’t have it? She couldn’t get anywhere with no car, little money and a handful of department store cards.
She’d be forced to call her parents for help. Ughh.
Releasing a slow breath, she listened to the world around her. A rooster crowing. In the distance, a dog bark—maybe even Prince, out running the fields.
And nothing else.
No neighbor’s TV, garbage truck or sirens of the city. She could practically hear the fields growing. Peace and calm stole over her, and she did something she never believed possible in a strange house, in a stranger’s bed behind an unlocked door—she fell asleep.
When she awakened, there was a glass of cold milk and a stack of cookies on a blue china plate.
* * *
Hank flipped the switch in the garage, and the space flooded with light and country music. Beck was a music fanatic, and he’d wired the radio to turn on with the light. They all worked better with music.
Around the ranch, they were always fixing tractors, old trucks, and more. Hank hadn’t been lying to Charlotte when he said he knew his way around a transmission. Unfortunately, hers was in bad shape.
Rebuilding would be costlier than she could probably handle, and he didn’t know if he could get one from the junkyard eighty miles away.
