Entice Me Box Set: The Truth About Shoes and MenCover MeMy Favorite Mistake

by Stephanie Bond

  “An interesting theory,” he said. “But many people have reactions to natural substances, such as pollen. And pollen is not only not bad for the ecology, it’s necessary.” He forked in a mouthful of potatoes and swallowed. “If a person is allergic to something natural, his or her chemical makeup is simply flawed—that person’s body isn’t properly equipped to accommodate the allergen.”

  My body wasn’t equipped to accommodate men? I felt a sneeze coming on and yanked up my napkin just in time to catch a noisy one. The dogs must have taken it as a cue to resume barking, and began howling louder than before.

  He laughed. “I guess it’s a good thing you’ll be here for only a week.”

  I closed my eyes briefly. My thoughts exactly.

  11

  “ARE YOU SURE you’ll be okay sleeping out here?” Sam asked.

  We stood in the apartment over the clinic, and I was gnawing my manicure. The combination sitting room/ kitchen, the bedroom and the bathroom were decorated in the same style as the cabin—Early American Timber. But the space was larger than my own place in the city, and featured a washer and dryer, a real treat. At home I lugged my laundry down nine flights of stairs to a row of relic washers in a dank basement. If I’d known about the appliances, I would’ve brought all my dirty clothes with me.

  “It’s nice,” I said, my gaze darting toward the door. “Thank you for offering me a place to stay.”

  He put his hands on his lean hips. “Well, there’s not much in the form of boarding houses in town, and I thought this would be best since we’re going to be spending so much time together. I stocked the refrigerator with food I thought you might like, bagels and cream cheese, bottled water, salad stuff.”

  “Thank you.”

  He grinned. “Listen, if having the animals downstairs bothers you, you can stay in the house with me—”

  “I’ll be fine,” I cut in, then bit into my lower lip. “Are you sure they can’t get out?”

  “Positive.”

  The man was so sexy, I couldn’t breathe. (Plus my nose was stopped up.) The thought of us undressing and going to separate beds seemed a bit ludicrous considering we already had carnal knowledge of each other, but I kept reminding myself that things were different now. The stakes were higher—my job, my integrity, and maybe, just maybe, my heart.

  “What’s the schedule tomorrow?” I asked.

  “I’m expected at the Brenigar farm at six to treat their herd for pink eye, so we’ll need to leave around five-thirty.”

  “In the morning?” I squeaked. “On Sunday?”

  He laughed. “Ed Brenigar has a full-time job during the week, and he farms in between. You don’t have to come along if you’d rather sleep in.”

  “No, I’ll be ready,” I said, trying to calculate how early I’d have to get up to do my hair, makeup and clothes. I might as well start now.

  “Did you bring boots?” he asked.

  I nodded, proud.

  “You might want to wear them tomorrow.”

  At least some of my outfit was decided. “Will it take all day?”

  “No, just a couple of hours. I thought I’d tackle the mess in my office in the afternoon.”

  “Will you have time to answer questions for the article?”

  “Sure.” He pointed. “There’s a phone on the nightstand. Feel free to make calls if you need to.”

  “Do you have a line for business and one for personal use?”

  “Naw, people around here would just call my home number anyway. Here’s the number to my cell phone.” He handed me a slip of paper. “Call me if you get scared.”

  I laughed. “Scared? Sam, I live in Manhattan. I won’t get scared.”

  He held up his hands. “My mistake. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He turned to go and panic seized me. “Sam?”

  He turned back, his eyes alight. “Yeah?”

  “I…urn…are there mountain lions around here?”

  His laughter filled the room. “Don’t worry, Kenzie—I’m the most dangerous animal on this ridge.”

  On that thigh-twinging note, I said good-night and listened as he tromped down the stairs and locked me up tight with the snakes. I rolled up towels and covered the quarter-inch crack beneath the door. Then I went to the window that was trimmed out with baby logs and, by the dim illumination of the light on the telephone pole, watched Sam walk to the house. Even the athletic way he carried himself was appealing—shoulders back, stride long, step sure. He went in the side door of the house through the kitchen, and I noted he left the porch light on—for me? Longing welled up in my chest, and I wondered why this man so affected me. He wasn’t the first good-looking man I’d slept with, and he surely was the least compatible in terms of lifestyle.

  Knowing how much I had to lose, why did I still have this unexplainable urge to wrap my legs around his head?

  I sneezed into my hanky. Because I was a glutton for punishment. Punishment brought to mind how early I would have to get up, so I flipped off the light and dragged myself to the bed for which four huge trees had given their lives. Angel was zonked out on the floor next to the bed.

  Thirty minutes later, I was still wide-awake even though my body ached with fatigue. Christ, it was so dark. Twice I turned on the lamp to prove to myself I hadn’t gone blind. And the noise—there was none. No raised voices or television from the apartment next door, no sirens or shouting from the street, no creaking vents or rattling windows. I suspected the creatures downstairs were doing their thing, but as Sam had promised, I couldn’t hear them.

  Then I heard a thump and my heart vaulted to my throat. My hand darted out for the phone on the nightstand before I realized the source of the thump. I turned on the light and Angel blinked at me, standing with her front legs against the mattress, thumping her tail on the floor. She whined and I sighed. “Okay, you can sleep with me, but if you start snoring, you’re history.”

  I hauled her into bed with me and she snuggled against my butt. I smiled to myself at the picture of her—or anything—being snuggled against Helena’s butt, although I had to admit my boss was a chain of contradictions. On the one hand, she was the hard-nosed, ball-breaking executive, but on the other hand, she consulted a psychic and believed in curses. I had the feeling that sending me to Jar Hollow to man-sit Sam was her way of using my knack for practicality to fix one more thing—to dispel the notion of the curse in her mind. I was a superhero. Da da DA—Pragmatic Girl.

  I decided to leave the lamp on, then proceeded to stare at the clock until 2:00 a.m., thinking about the quandary I’d put myself in. At thirty-one, my life was more directionless than at twenty-one. I was starting to wonder if I was a self-saboteur.

  The next thing I knew, the Liberty Bell was clanging two inches away from my ear. I sat straight up and Angel launched herself from the bed, cowering in the corner until I shut off the loudest alarm clock ever invented. When my hearing returned, I climbed out of the bed and padded to the window, curious to see what 4:45 a.m. looked like.

  Nature was still snoozing. The trees were heavy and silent. The car and the truck glistened with dew. I might have been the only person in the world. Except I could see Sam moving around in the kitchen at the house. The man was an early—and energetic—riser.

  Which, I remembered, was why I’d been late to work the morning after our one-night stand.

  I pushed thoughts of his lovemaking from my mind as I showered and dressed. The lump on my forehead had shrunk, but had turned an unflattering shade of green that called for thick bangs. Since we were going to visit a farm, I opted for the dressed-down equestrian look. In addition to my red leather boots, I pulled on a knee-length plaid Polo skirt, a gray silk sweater and a red jacket. I pulled my hair back into a neat twist and confined my jewelry to post earrings and a long gold chain with a simple pendant. Nice, understated, unpretentious.

  The temperature in the clinic was hospital-cool, so I dressed Angel in a yellow sweater and bow, and took her
for a walk around the building by the glow of my combination penlight-alarm-keychain. It was still pitch-black, but based on the strange chirpings and burpings around us, some woodland creatures were beginning to stir. I urged Angel to hurry the hell up, but I didn’t have to worry—the ominous surroundings apparently scared the business right out of her. I returned her to the apartment, grabbed my shoulder bag, and met Sam downstairs at 5:30 a.m. on the dot.

  He sat behind his piled-up desk, drinking coffee and reading a newspaper that wasn’t the Times. He looked up. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”

  “Fine,” I lied. “It’s really quiet here.”

  “Yeah, isn’t it great? How’s your head?”

  “Okay.”

  “Good.” He must have suddenly realized that I was wearing clothes because he looked me up and down. “That’s what you’re wearing?”

  I balked. “You said to wear boots.”

  He glanced down at my Stuart Weitzman specials and pushed his tongue into his cheek. “So I did. Want some coffee?”

  “Is there a Starbucks along the way?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Then yes, please.”

  He stood and poured a John Deere tractor travel mug full of brew. He wore a navy blue Gap T-shirt (I knew Tshirts), and faded Wrangler jeans that were distressed in all the right places. Slap a designer label on those denims and the view would have rivaled any billboard hanging in Times Square.

  “I’m out of cream, but I have sugar.”

  I didn’t want to seem high-maintenance, so I shook my head and reached for the mug.

  “Let’s go, partner,” he said, then shrugged into a heavy denim jacket and picked up a big black leather case.

  Partner—hmm. Gravel crunched under our footsteps as we walked toward the double-cab truck in the pre-dawn. I was a bit unsteady in my high-heeled boots, but I managed. When we got to the truck, he swung his big bag into the back. A large metal chest sat next to the cab. “Is that where you keep supplies?”

  He nodded. “Plus tools and various straps and wrenches, in case an animal has to be subdued.”

  I hadn’t realized his job could be so physical. “Have you ever been hurt?”

  “Nothing serious,” he said. “A few kicks and a couple of bites.” He flashed a grin and opened the passenger-side door for me. “But those were women, not patients.”

  I smirked and Val Jessum came to mind. The woman had looked as if she could buck.

  I focused on trying to figure out how I was going to get up on the seat. Sam took my bag and deposited it first, then directed me to step onto something called a running board and pull myself up with a handy strap hanging down. He still had to help me, and between the unfamiliar movement and his hands on my waist, I was a stiff klutz. I half rolled, half fell onto the seat, but had managed to catch my breath by the time he walked around and swung up into his own seat in one graceful motion.

  “Buckle up,” he said. “This might be a rough ride.”

  Later I decided that would be the opening line of my article. “Rough ride” didn’t begin to describe the teeth-jarring journey over roads that were little more than mud-caked ditches. I quizzed Sam about his practice, and accidentally bit down on my tongue too many times to count. Twice we had to stop for Sam to take down barbed-wire gates. Admittedly, though, the Brenigar farm offered up some gorgeous scenery, from furrowed fields to enormous sprawling trees to red barns.

  “Do the Brenigars raise cows?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, “but in your article, you might want to use the word cattle.”

  I didn’t see the difference, but I made a mental note. We drove past a big white clapboard house and Sam waved at the woman in the yard who was carrying a pail in each hand. He turned onto a dirt path and we lurched over more muddy, rocky terrain. I actually bounced so high on my seat that once I hit my head on the roof of the cab. I saw stars, but I shook it off, reminding myself that I couldn’t look after Sam if I sustained a serious head injury.

  When we came to a stop in front of another barbed-wire gate and Sam turned off the engine, even the stillness vibrated.

  “I’ll come around and help you down,” Sam said.

  I dug my notebook and camera out of my bag. Sam opened the door and reached for me. My heart raced as he clamped down on my waist. I put one hand on his shoulder and slid down his long, hard body…and kept going. When I looked down, I was ankle-deep in mud that smelled as if it might be spiced with more than just dirt and water.

  “Sorry about that,” he said.

  “It’s okay,” I murmured, mourning my lovely boots. I lifted one foot with a great sucking noise, only to step forward into more of the same.

  Sam retrieved his bag and moved toward the gate, yelling a greeting to someone on the other side. I slipped and slid my way through the muck to catch up with him, and stared at the dozen or so cows—er, cattle—on the other side. They were bigger than the ones I’d seen at the petting zoo.

  Ed Brenigar, a thick man with ruddy skin, came to let us through the gate. He shook hands with Sam, whom he called “Doc.”

  “Ed, this is Kenzie Mansfield. She’s writing an article about my practice. Okay with you if she watches?”

  “No problem, Doc.” The man revealed big, square teeth. “You’re turning into a regular celebrity. Hattie’s missing church this morning to make sure she’s at Chickle’s when it opens to get that magazine you’re going to be on the front of.”

  Sam looked sheepish. “Don’t give me a hard time, Ed, or I’ll raise my fees.”

  The other man laughed. “Val’s going to be riding you hard now, boy.”

  I watched Sam’s reaction beneath lowered lashes, but he ignored the man’s gibe as he gestured to the cows. “Are these the only ones in the herd that are symptomatic?”

  “Yeah—it’s early in the year for pink-eye, so I wanted to get out in front of it.”

  Sam moved toward one of the cows and I shadowed him warily. I stared at the cows and they stared at me, as if knowing I didn’t belong. They reeked of manure, and their black and white coats were peppered with mud. One of them bawled, which set off a group bawl, a frightening sound. The first cow started to back up, but Sam reached out and held it by the mane—I was pretty sure that was the wrong word, but that was all I had.

  “Their eyes don’t look pink,” I said, pulling out my camera.

  “This is a mild case,” Sam said, then flipped back one of the cow’s huge eyelids. “See—it’s irritated. It’s like conjunctivitis in humans, only…bigger.”

  I swallowed hard at the sight of the inside-out eyelid, but I managed to snap a picture. Sam removed a huge tube from his bag and proceeded to smear ointment all around the cow’s eyes, then moved to the next one. The other cows must have mistaken the medicine for food, because they began to crowd around us. One bumped me from behind, and I freaked out a little. I turned and darted away, and it followed me—at a trot. I shrieked and starting jogging back toward the gate as fast as my boots would allow. Bawling ensued, and I looked back. To my abject horror, all the cows had joined in the chase. I was going to be run down by mad cows—what a humiliating way to go.

  “Kenzie, stop running!” Sam yelled behind me. “Stand still!”

  Reluctantly, I slowed, then stopped, and closed my eyes. The cows gathered around me, bumping me from all sides with their big warm bodies. My screams were stifled by something constricting my neck. I opened my eyes and watched in dismay as a big cowess took my gold pendant in her mouth. The strength of her swallow yanked my face close to hers as the length of chain disappeared before I could lift it over my head. I saw giant teeth and smelled a hot stench of breath. I was going to be swallowed—what a humiliating way to go.

  Suddenly I was yanked backward and Sam had one hand on me, and the other hand down the throat of the cow. When he pulled out his arm, he was holding the pendant, dripping with cow slobber. The cow reeled away, snorting and coughing, and the herd followed her. I looked
at Sam and he looked irritated.

  I burst into tears. “I’m s-s-sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he said with a sigh, lifting the chain over my head and wiping it with a bandana. “Are you all right?”

  I nodded miserably.

  “Why don’t you wait in the truck while I finish up?”

  I nodded more miserably.

  Ed Brenigar came running up. “Are you two okay?”

  “We’re fine,” Sam said.

  “It was the red jacket,” Ed said. “Red makes cattle nervous.”

  Now they told me.

  “Ed, I’m going to walk Miss Mansfield back to the truck—would you mind rounding up the herd again?”

  “No problem, Doc—are you okay? You’re limping.”

  He was. “You are,” I said.

  “Just got stepped on,” he said. “It’s nothing.”

  My heart twisted. Great—I was supposed to be watching out for him, and I’d started a stampede and had almost gotten him trampled. I looked at my watch—6:37 a.m. The issue of Personality with Sam on the cover had hit the east coast newsstands seven minutes ago.

  So far, not so good.

  12

  “YOU COULD have been killed!” Jacki said.

  I slumped on the edge of my bed, wearing a robe. A hot shower had not restored my spirit. “I might still die of humiliation.”

  “How were you to know that red would incite a cow riot? They should teach those things in school! Did your boots survive?”

  “Barely,” I said, staring at their muddy ruins on a newspaper on the floor. Angel sniffed at them, then turned away whining. “They were last year’s style,” I said, sighing, “but I loved those boots.”

  “Of course you did,” Jacki crooned. “What’s not to love?”

  “Sam thinks I’m an idiot.”

  “He doesn’t think you’re an idiot. He probably thinks you’re…out of your element. Besides, if you don’t like this guy, why do you care what he thinks?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that one.

  “Kenzie, are you there?”