The Cowboy and the New Year's Baby

by Sherryl Woods

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

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

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

  “What?”

  “Flirting.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Liar.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  He nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

  “The man’s a fool.”

  “Which one?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  He saw the muscle work in her throat, felt her pulse fluttering wildly beneath his touch, but she didn’t jerk away, didn’t struggle to get out of the compromising position. In fact, she was so still, her gaze so watchful, he gathered that she intended to leave the next move up to him. Anticipation simmered between them.

  It would have been so easy, so natural to kiss the parted lips just inches from his own. For an instant he actually considered it, even ran his tongue over his own lips in readiness.

  But then he saw the predictability of it, knew that that was precisely what she was expecting. Better, he concluded, to be disappointed himself at one missed opportunity and surprise her with his restraint.

  Because he wasn’t a saint, he allowed her body to slide slowly along his until her feet touched the floor. Every inch of him was aware of the contact, ached with it. Still, once he was assured she was steady enough, he released her and deliberately backed away.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, jamming his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her again.

  “Fine,” she said unsteadily, her eyes filled with confusion, and maybe just a hint of relief.

  It was the latter that reassured him he’d made the right choice. He knew he could get to her with a kiss, knew that the chemistry was explosive enough to lead to seduction when the time was right. But not yet, not when it would only prove every single rotten opinion she already held about him. Having the reputation of a womanizer had never especially bothered him before, because his conscience was clear when it came to each of the women he’d dated. Having Trish think the worst bothered him for reasons he wasn’t sure he really wanted to explore.

  Slowly, and again with careful deliberation, he turned his back on her and retrieved his sandpaper and spackle. He went back to work as if the incident had never taken place, as if his nerves weren’t jumbled and his pulse weren’t racing.

  “Hardy?”

  “Hmm?”

  “What just happened here?”

  He bit back a grin at the irritation in her voice. “Nothing, why?”

  “It didn’t feel like nothing.”

  He glanced over his shoulder to see that she was sitting on the chair now, regarding him with a perplexed expression.

  “Oh?” he said innocently. “What did it feel like?”

  She peered at him intently. “You honestly didn’t notice anything?”

  “Darlin’, you’re going to have to be more precise than that. Notice what?”

  She held up her hands in a vulnerable, helpless gesture that would have drawn another smile, if he hadn’t figured that was a sure way to get clobbered by a hammer.

  “Never mind.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever.” He forced his attention back to the job.

  “Hardy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you kiss me just now?”

  He swallowed a laugh at the plaintive note in her voice. Keeping his expression perfectly serious, he met her gaze. “You told me no more kisses. That was the deal, wasn’t it? I never go back on my word. Haven’t I told you that?” He studied her an instant. “What about you? Have you changed your mind?”

  “No, of course not,” she said impatiently, then sighed. “I suppose you think I’m totally perverse.”

  He grinned. “No, what I think is that you don’t know your own mind. Let’s face it, you’ve had a bad experience with a jerk. You don’t trust your own judgment. I can wait.”

  She eyed him warily. “Wait? For what?”

  “For you to admit you want me.”

  Her expression froze. “Want you?” she echoed as his very explicit response sank in. “Oh, no, you are definitely wrong about that. I absolutely, positively do not want you. No way. You can just get that idea right out of your head.”

  He shrugged as if it made no difference to him one way or the other. “Oh well, maybe I was wrong.”

  “You were. Absolutely.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “Hardy, I am serious. Don’t go getting any ideas. I don’t do flings.”

  “Of course not. No ideas,” he echoed. “I’m taking you at your word.”

  Her gaze narrowed as if she sensed a trick, but she finally gave a little nod of satisfaction. “Good.”

  “Besides, you’re a blunt, straightforward woman. I’m sure you’ll let me know if you change your mind,” he suggested.

  “I won’t change my mind.”

  “Okay, then. It’s settled. Can I get back to work now?”

  “Of course.” She reached for the bag of chips and began munching them as if she hadn’t eaten for a month. After a couple of minutes she stared at them as if she had no idea how they’d gotten into her hand. Scowling, she dropped the bag as though she’d just discovered it was filled with worms.

  “Anything wrong?” he asked.

  “Not a thing,” she said firmly. “I think I’ll go sweep out the storeroom.”

  He grinned as she backed out of the room, carrying the broom in front of her as if it was meant to ward off any unwanted advances.

  Oh, she wanted him, all right. Hardy recognized the signs. Unfortunately he had no idea what he should—or dared—to do about it. He had a feeling that the longer he went on playing with fire, the greater the odds were that someone was going to get burned. He had an even stronger, even more troubling feeling that this time—for the first time in the history of his social life—it could be him.

  Chapter Nine

  Hardy headed straight for Garden City the minute he and Trish wrapped up work on Saturday. He needed a drink. He needed a heavy dose of uncomplicated flirting. He needed to go home with a woman who wouldn’t wake up in the morning with expectations.

  Of course, as usual lately, what he needed and what he got were two different things.

  Harlan Patrick was seated at the bar, listening raptly as his wife performed her latest song in a test run before a very friendly audience. In this one, the romance had a happy ending and the tune was upbeat, reflecting the state of their marriage. Hardy was a whole lot more comfortable hearing about broken hearts. Those songs reaffirmed his cynical conviction that real love didn’t exist.

  Harlan Patrick gestured toward the vacant bar stool next to him. “Join me. I’ll buy you a beer.”

  Hardy figured the beer would come with strings attached. Harlan Patrick would probably waste no time pumping him for information about Trish and the state of the romance everyone in the Adams clan was hoping for.

  “Sure, why not?” he agreed, hiding his reluctance. Hoping for at least a temporary distraction, he added, “Laurie sounds good.”

  Harlan Patrick’s expression brightened. “She always does.”

  “The song’s a little different from her usual.”

  “Yeah. She’s worried about it, too,” he admitted. “She thinks happiness is boring and that she’s losing her edge. I keep telling her she could sing the phone book and her fans would be ecstatic.”

  “I’m sure she finds that reassuring,” Hardy commented.

  “No, as a matter of fact, she gives me the same ‘oh sure’ look you’re giving me.”

  “Does she have another concert tour coming up?”

  As Hardy expected, Harlan Patrick’s expression soured.

  “Not for a few more months, but that’s too soon for me. I’m hoping there’s enough time for me to persuade her to do a television special instead.”

  “You really hate it when she’s on the road, don’t you?”

  Harlan Patrick nodded. “And now with two kids, there’s even more
reason for her to stay put, but I learned my lesson a few years back. If touring makes her happy, I’ll figure out a way to live with it.”

  Laurie wrapped up her set, strolled over and put her arms around Harlan Patrick’s neck. “Hey, cowboy, buy a girl a drink?”

  “You’ve got it,” he said, brightening at once.

  Laurie grinned at Hardy. “So how much work did you and Trish actually get done today?”

  “I see the White Pines grapevine is alive and well,” Hardy noted, ignoring the question.

  “Indeed. Between Kelly, who packed the lunch, and Sharon Lynn, who crept next door to peek in the windows, we pretty much know everything,” Laurie said with unrepentant glee.

  “Then why ask me?”

  “Confirmation, of course. Plus spin. These secondhand reports lack all the juicy details.”

  “Too bad,” Hardy grumbled. “Because I’m not talking.”

  Harlan Patrick regarded him speculatively. “Is that so? I wonder why?”

  “I never kiss and tell,” Hardy said.

  “Of course you do,” his friend contradicted. “Why do you think the guys in the bunkhouse wait up for you? They’re living vicariously through you.”

  “So, spill it,” Laurie said. “Do you like her?”

  Now there was a dangerous question. Hardy considered his response carefully. “Of course I like her. She’s a very nice woman.”

  “Nice?” Laurie made a face. “What a disgustingly lukewarm description. She’s beautiful.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me about that.”

  “Then you are attracted to her?” she gloated, putting her own spin on things.

  “I never said—”

  “Give it up,” Harlan Patrick advised. “Once these women get an idea into their heads, you’ll only make yourself crazy trying to convince them otherwise.”

  “I thought your grandfather was the one I needed to watch out for,” Hardy said, unable to keep a plaintive note out of his voice. At the rate the number of matchmakers was multiplying, he might as well go out and buy the blasted engagement ring.

  “Where do you think they get their inspiration?” Harlan Patrick retorted. “He won’t live forever and he’s making darn sure that others share his skill.”