She was probably already in love with one of them!
He tripped over his own boots and almost went sprawling. He would have if three blonde women he'd met on the bus hadn't caught him and hauled him upright.
"You okay, sugar?" one of them asked.
"Fine. Just fine. I—" he fumbled with the map of the ship that the registration clerk had given him, as he tried to get his bearings "—just gotta figure out where I'm going."
One of the blondes peered over his shoulder and studied the map and the room the registration clerk had circled. "Why, you're just down the hall from us." She beamed and took his hand. "I'm Lisa, sugar. Deb and Mary Lou and I will take care of you. Just come along now."
And Jace, feeling as if he'd been tossed from a bronc and landed on his head, gave himself up to the inevitable and did exactly that.
Lisa and Deb and Mary Lou appointed themselves his guardians. They were cousins, all from Alabama, all schoolteachers, all single and in their midthirties. They went on a cruise every summer to spend time together and maybe, just maybe, meet the men of their dreams.
"It hasn't happened yet, of course," Deb said with a fatalistic shrug.
"But we're optimists," Mary Lou said.
"Or masochists," Lisa said wryly.
"Whichever," Deb finished, "we'll keep an eye on you."
"I—" Jace started to protest, because he wasn't the man of their dreams and he needed to be sure they knew it.
Lisa patted him on the cheek as they stopped outside his stateroom. "Don't you fret, now," she told him. "We aren't goin' to poach on some other girl's property. We know you're taken."
But Mary Lou nodded in solemn agreement. "Taken. We understand. We're delighted. It's so romantic."
It was?
"Absolutely," Deb agreed and added fervently, "we're just glad to know there are real men like you around."
Jace hoped Celie felt the same way. It still worried him. He'd put it out of his mind as best he could all the way down here. He was committed, he was going on the cruise. But he didn't have a clue as to what to say to Celie when he ran into her.
Hell, the damn ship was so big he reckoned he could go the whole week and never run into her at all. He wondered, for a split second, if he could get away with going home and telling Artie—and the rest of Elmer—that he'd tried to find her, but he'd just never managed it.
Somehow he didn't think it would wash.
He had to figure it out, though, now that he was here. After the Alabama triplets left him, he let himself into his stateroom. It was bigger than he'd imagined, with more closets than his sister's whole house. He set his hat on the desk and surveyed his digs for the week. It wasn't flashy like some of those Las Vegas hotel rooms he'd stayed in. It was more subdued, had more class. The furniture was light oak, the drapes were a soft sky blue. There was a little refrigerator by the desk, thick carpet under his boots, and right in the center, a close to king-size bed.
More than anything else, Jace admired the bed. Used to sleeping on a bunk bed in his nephew, Robby's, room when he was at the ranch or on the hard narrow bed in Artie's spare room when he was in town, he thought the bed alone might be worth the cost of the cruise.
Well, not alone, he amended. His mind's eye was already envisioning Celie in it with him. The notion grabbed him, held him. He sank down onto the bed and let the vision play out in his head.
After all, it made sense. If he'd learned one thing in all his years of bronc riding, it was that visualization was a good thing. You'd never get anywhere close to winning the gold if you worried that you weren't going to make the ride. You needed to imagine yourself sticking to the saddle, needed to see yourself doing everything you needed to do to win.
It was way too easy to see himself doing things in bed with Celie O'Meara.
The trouble was that he couldn't quite see all the intermediate steps that he would have to take to get there.
He lay back and folded his hands under his head and tried. He tried to imagine her smiling when she saw him. He'd seen her smile often enough, though rarely at him. He envisioned that smile. He envisioned her saying his name like she was glad to see him. He saw himself reaching for her, drawing her close, wrapping his arms around her. His brain fast-forwarded to them in bed, to him skimming off her clothes, to him shedding his own, to the two of them learning each other's bodies—
A quick staccato tapping on his door made his eyes fly open and his whole body jerk.
He leaped to his feet, heart pounding, mind reeling, body aching. Cripes, if it was Celie— He shut his eyes and prayed for inspiration. Then he ran a hand over his hair, shoved his shirt in his jeans and, wincing, adjusted their very snug fit. It didn't help much. So he grabbed his hat and held it in front of him as he answered the door.
Of course it wasn't Celie. She didn't even know he was here.
The Alabama schoolteachers, all looking cool and fresh in clean, bright dresses, stood beaming at him. "We're headin' off to the safety demonstration. It starts in five minutes. Y'all wanta come along?"
He had to, of course. The safety demonstration or "life boat drill" as one of the crew had called it, was the only mandatory event on the cruise. "I, er…" His voice sounded thick and ragged. He cleared his throat desperately. "Yeah, sure." He took a deep shuddering breath and tried to get a grip.
Mary Lou looked at him closely. "You all right, sugar?"
Feeling like an eighth grader whose brain—and body—were out of control, Jace nodded. "Yeah. I just… Lemme just … wash up a sec. I just sorta … dozed off."
He didn't wait to see if they looked as if they believed him. He ducked back inside his room, shut the door and hurried to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. He toweled it dry, then yanked on a clean shirt, buttoned it and jammed it into the waistband of his Wranglers.
They were still annoyingly snug—because he was still annoyingly horny. He hadn't been with a woman since February. Not since the night of the auction, when Celie had won Sloan Gallagher. Not since Tamara Lynd had walked into his bedroom, slid her arms around him and assured him that Celie wasn't the only fish in the sea.
In a fury because Celie had not only bid on but actually won a weekend with Sloan Gallagher, Jace had slaked his need with Tamara that night.
It had been a disaster. At least for him. He hoped Tamara didn't hate him. He'd hated himself enough for both of them. And he hadn't been with a woman since.
No kidding his frustrated body grumbled now.
He grabbed his Stetson again, but he still didn't put it on. Instead, with determined nonchalance, he clutched it in front of his belt buckle and opened the door again.
Lisa, Deb and Mary Lou were still waiting with identical smiles on their faces and bright-orange life jackets in their arms.
"Hang on." Jace went back and got his, clapped the Stetson on his head and carried the life jacket in his arms. "All set."
Deb looped her arm through his right arm, Mary Lou clutched his left hand, and Lisa led the way. "Y'all follow me. I've been here before."
The lounge was already full of people. A staff member, smiling brightly, ticked off their names when they arrived and directed them into the room. A handsome, uniformed guy greeted them with a cruise-ship trademark smile, told them his name was Gary and proceeded to run through the safety measures. The point was, if any emergency occurred, everyone was supposed to come here and wait for further instructions.
"Now," Gary said, "we'll just make sure you all know how to put on your life jackets, and then you can get on to the fun part of your holiday."
He demonstrated, putting the jacket on over his head, tightening and fastening the straps. "Your turn," he told them. "If anyone has any problem we've got plenty of staff here who can help you."
It was like the first day of football practice in high school when the coach had handed out the shoulder pads. There was lots of bumping and bumbling as too many people in too small an area raised their arms and fumbled as they
put on the unaccustomed vests.
Jace fumbled, too, and, now that his arousal had subsided, wished he hadn't brought his hat.
"Hey there, cowboy, let me hold that for you," a familiar female voice behind him offered.
He turned and found himself staring into the bright, beautiful eyes of Celie O'Meara—a Celie O'Meara whose cruise-ship smile was fading fast.
* * *
Three
« ^ »
"Jace?" Celie said his name, disbelieving, her voice soundless in the tumult of the lounge.
She truly didn't believe it. Jace Tucker? Here? Celie felt as if she'd been punched in the gut.
She closed her eyes for a moment, certain she had to be hallucinating, certain that the wholly incongruous cowboy hat she'd glimpsed across the room, which had drawn her like a moth to a candle, would vanish and her momentary twinge of homesickness would not have turned into a nightmare.
A cowboy on a cruise? she'd thought, smiling when she'd spotted the Stetson, unable to stop her feet moving in its direction. Seeing it brought so many memories of home.
Home. Not Jace. It couldn't be Jace Tucker! It just couldn't!
Her mouth was dry. Her palms were damp. Her heart was playing leapfrog with her stomach. Celie squeezed her eyes shut, willing the hallucination to vanish.
But when she opened them again, Jace was still there. And if he'd looked astonished, too, at first, and had blinked and swallowed at the sight of her, now he was grinning. Of course he was grinning—the same crooked, teasing grin with which he'd baited her ever since he'd come back to Elmer.
"Well, Celie O'Meara, fancy meetin' you here," he drawled.
"Ooh, is this your friend, honey?" a soft female voice asked.
And Celie was suddenly aware of a wide-eyed blonde at Jace's right elbow looking at her eagerly. At his left elbow stood another blonde, looking equally interested. And, of course, since this was Jace, who obviously believed The More The Merrier, a third blonde, just fastening her life jacket straps, was looking her way, too.
Trust Jace, Celie thought, jaw tightening, to go on a cruise with three women!
Damn it to hell, she didn't see why he had to go on a cruise at all!
Especially her cruise!
"What are you doing here?" she demanded furiously.
All the blondes' eyes widened at her tone.
Jace's grin wavered just a little. And his body seemed momentarily to stiffen. But then he flexed broad shoulders, slouched slightly, lifted those shoulders in a negligent shrug and gave her an easy, lazy Jace Tucker smile. "Well, I came to see you, of course."
Celie felt as if steam were coming out of her ears. "Oh, of course you did," she spat.
If he had come intentionally—if his being here wasn't the most awful coincidence in the world—it was because Jace Tucker was apparently willing to go to the ends of the earth to humiliate her.
He, of all people, knew what a failure she was. He knew Matt had dumped her. He probably even knew why, which was more than she did. Matt had probably spelled out all her failings in great detail.
And if that wasn't enough, he knew she'd spent ten years getting over it, refusing to date anyone else, dreaming about a movie star. He knew she'd bid her life's savings on a date with that star—only to have him turn around and marry her sister! Not that Sloan's marrying Polly had been a bad thing. It hadn't. And it hadn't hurt her, either.
But to anyone else hearing the story, she was sure she would sound like the most pathetic fool in the world. And she was sure Jace Tucker would be only too happy to share it.
Damn Jace Tucker! He knew every terrible secret she had—all the ones she'd put behind her, the ones she'd thought she'd overcome. She had made a new life for herself here. She wasn't The Girl Matt Williams Jilted here. She wasn't even The Woman Who'd Bid Her Life's Savings On Sloan Gallagher And Was Now His Sister-in-law.
No. She was Celie O'Meara, a bit of an innocent, perhaps, but still likable. She was a woman with a life. Not much of one yet, but it was improving. She had made friends. She had met men. Maybe not her perfect man yet … but she had hopes that she would, given time.
She wasn't stuck anymore. She was finding the confidence in herself to believe that she could pursue her dreams.
And now Jace was here—grinning, teasing, infuriating Jace—staring at her, laughing at her, undoubtedly finding her pathetic attempts amusing, and capable of ruining everything!
"Is this your girlfriend, Jace?" one of the blondes asked.
"The girl from back home?" said the second. "Aren't you goin' to introduce us, honey?" said the third.
At their questions, Jace looked as startled as Celie felt. He also seemed to blush. Jace Tucker? Blush?
From embarrassment, no doubt, Celie thought, at the absurd idea that she could possibly be his girlfriend.
Not hardly.
Celie expected a prompt denial. But he just looked agitated and cleared his throat. "Um, this is, er … Celie," he said quickly.
They all beamed at her. "Hi, Celie!"
She blinked, surprised at their enthusiasm, but before she could ask the names of his harem, another voice cut in.
"You know zis man?" It was her boss, Simone, arching perfectly plucked eyebrows as she appeared next to one of the blondes and looked from Celie to Jace and back again. Her disapproval was obvious.
And there was no way to deny that she knew Jace now.
"He, um, used to work with me," Celie said. "That's all," she added firmly, because she knew how Simone felt about fraternizing between staff and guests.
Simone's brows arched even higher. "Zis man, he cuts ze hair?" She looked at Jace in disbelief from the top of his Stetson to the pointed toes of his cowboy boots. The blondes in Jace's harem looked equally astonished.
"No, he doesn't cut hair," Celie said hastily. "My other job. I worked in a hardware store back home, too." Not something she had put on her résumé. Her job at Artie's was something else she was quite sure Simone would look down her aristocratic nose at.
Simone, who made of point of telling everyone she had been "born in Paree," had very high standards. She believed in Sophistication, with a capital S and Elegance, with a capital E. She believed all her stylists should look like Paris models.
"You zink ze guests trust you to make zem be-you-ti-ful when you look like ze frump?" she'd demanded when Celie had shown up for work the first week with her hair in a smooth, unsophisticated style.
While Simone wanted her stylists for their skills first and foremost, she wouldn't take anyone who didn't have "ze potential." To look beautiful, too, she meant.
Celie, while always doing her best with what she had, had never considered herself beautiful. What Simone saw she wasn't sure, but from the amount of work Simone and the other stylists had expended on her, she was pretty sure her boss considered her a reclamation project.
The first day she arrived Simone had demanded that Stevie, the top stylist, cut her hair. "We bring out ze cheekbones, yes?" she said, and Stevie, nodding, had cropped Celie's dark hair in a short, feathery cut.
Amazingly it had brought out her cheekbones. Then Birgit, who was the closest thing to a makeup artist Celie had ever met, had been deputized to show her how to "make ze most" of what she had. With the deft use of liner and shadow and just a hint of blush on "ze cheekbones," Birgit had made her look almost elegant.
At least Celie had dared to feel elegant then. Now she felt like nothing so much as a fraud—an imposter—a country bumpkin trying to pass herself off as an urbane sophisticate.
And she was sure Jace Tucker could tell.
There was more than a hint of a blush on Celie's cheekbones now. She would have liked to drop right through the deck.
"Is no time for socializing now," Simone decreed. "You will get back to work." It was an order, and Celie knew it. And even though at the moment her "work" was supposed to be helping the passengers, she knew what Simone meant. Leave. Go up to the salon. Do not flirt with the p
assengers.
As if! Celie thought.
The last person in the world she would flirt with would be Jace Flaming Tucker. But she wasn't going to say so. And she was going to take advantage of the out Simone had given her.
"Of course," she said brightly to Simone. "I'm on my way."
Then she turned her best, polite-cruise-ship smile on Jace and his harem, trying to mask her panic as she said cheerfully, "Welcome aboard."
So much for inspiration.
So much for seeing Celie again and being the easy, teasing guy he was with every other woman. So much for knowing exactly what to say.
Cripes, he was lucky he'd managed to say anything!
Jace hunched on a bar stool, downing his fourth—or was it fifth?—whiskey of the evening, feeling the burn all the way to his toes and wishing that instead of feeling it, the booze would send him straight to oblivion.
God, what an idiot he was! He'd heard her voice, turned around, and had had his breath taken away.
Far from knowing what to say, he'd simply stood there, like a fence post, staring at Celie as if he'd never seen her before.
Well, he hadn't! Not like that!
He'd expected to see the Celie he knew, the quiet demure wallflower Celie. The sweet, self-effacing Celie. The Celie who had been in the background of life in Elmer as long as he could remember.
Sure, he'd always known she was pretty, but it had been a quiet sort of pretty, a gentle, soft sort of pretty. It had never called attention to itself before. Not like this!
This Celie was almost exotic—with huge eyes and sooty dark lashes, a Celie whose soft curly hairstyle had been exchanged for a snazzy funky layered look, a Celie with cheekbones!
Where the hell had she got those cheekbones?
Polly had always been the one with the cheekbones in the family. And you noticed because Polly had always had a thousand freckles which had called attention to them. Celie, on the other hand, had had the peaches-and-cream unblemished look. And damn it, her face had always been round!
A COWBOY'S PURSUIT Page 4
