Oh, and she could also do flips, thanks to her years on two different junior high gymnastics teams.
She was tempted to say as much to Craig, but it was always easier to just show people what she could do. Although she had to admit that she’d been the first one to question his abilities when he’d offered to help her cook.
Instead, Caroline forced a smile and told her fiancé, “I’ve got things under control in here.”
“Oh. Okay.” He put his hands in his back pockets and she turned to the fridge to pull out more ingredients for the potatoes. She was reaching for a pint of half-and-half when he added, “Then would you mind if I used your shower?”
She turned around so quickly, the carton of butter she’d been holding slipped out of her grip, and one of the sticks popped out and landed near the toe of his cowboy boot. Before he could bend down to pick it up, she was already forming an image of a very naked Craig in her small, steamy bathroom.
“Unless you’d rather I stay here to help,” he said, holding out the butter that was still wrapped in its wax paper, one corner completely dented. It was then that she noticed he was wearing the same clothes he’d had on at the hospital yesterday. No wonder he wanted to take them off. She stared at the buttons on his shirt, thinking how easy it would be to slip them through their little holes and... Stop, she commanded herself, then drew in a deep gulp of air and found her voice.
“No, I’m fine. I’ll get you a towel as soon as I turn the heat down in here,” she offered, then caught her breath at the double meaning. “The heat on the stove, I mean. Unless you already know where the towels are. Assuming you’ve taken a shower here before. Not that you would have, unless there was a time when you needed to. Although how would I know either way? It’s not like I’ve been giving a lot of thought to you being in my shower. And now I’m just babbling and not making sense at all. I better just show you where the linen cabinet is.”
Except he didn’t seem the least bit confused by her rambling, awkward speech. In fact, his normally questioning eyebrow remained firmly in place as he lifted one side of his mouth and replied, “I think I can figure it out.”
* * *
Caroline Ruth had almost as many bottles lined up on her tiled shower wall as she did on the narrow shelf above her pedestal sink. Although he’d never shared a bathroom with his sisters, Craig knew perfectly well that women tended to like a variety of beauty products, especially ones that smelled good. However, the amount of choices on display before him had to be some sort of record.
Craig sniffed at the open lid of the fancy shampoo. At least, he assumed it was fancy judging by the French label. He also assumed it was shampoo since he didn’t speak French. But it wasn’t like he was some young, inexperienced buck. He was thirty-five years old and had stayed the night at ladies’ places before. But that was mostly when he’d been traveling on the pro circuit, and he usually did so only after a night out celebrating a good ride. Then he’d be back on the road, heading for the next city. He’d never really been all that invested in a relationship enough to pay much attention to what the women he dated stocked in their bathrooms.
Well, except for Tina. She’d been his neighbor and they’d practically grown up at each other’s houses. Tina had been the type to use whatever soap was on sale at the local market. It was why she’d been the perfect partner for Craig. She didn’t care about all these frilly, girlie things like—he squinted his eyes at the label across the white bottle he’d just knocked over—Paraben-Free Volumizing Conditioner with Added Boost. She cared about horses and working hard and merging her family’s ranch with his. Unfortunately, Craig’s dream of the perfect partnership and the perfect relationship had died along with Tina many years ago.
Pretending otherwise with Caroline wasn’t fair to either of them.
Foregoing the shampoo bottle’s posted recommendation of a five-minute wait time, Craig stuck his head under the nozzle to rinse off. Then he turned the water as hot as he could stand it, hoping the steam would drive away all the cravings the pretty wedding planner had recently brought back into his world.
His skin was red and stinging when he finally shut off the water. Maybe he should’ve taken a cold shower instead. He grabbed a fluffy lavender towel—because apparently there was nothing masculine in this house—and wrapped it around his waist. Wiping his hand across the fogged-up mirror above the sink, Craig stared at his reflection.
What was he doing here?
He needed to go out there and tell Caroline the truth. He needed to call Josselyn or Drew or Dr. Robinson and inform them that he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t keep lying to that poor, sweet girl.
No. She wasn’t a girl, he reminded himself as he saw an edge of lace peeking out from behind the damp towel hanging off a hook on the back of the door. She was a woman. A woman who clearly wasn’t wearing a bra right this second. And he’d boldly stared at her small, firm breasts as though he’d had a right to look. He’d stood there in her open doorway wondering what shade of pink her nipples would be as his palms had itched to slide up underneath her skimpy tank top.
Now that his body recalled the image, he had to refasten his towel over his growing arousal. Cursing, he dug into his duffel bag to pull out his shaving kit and ended up knocking the whole thing off the toilet. This bathroom was so tiny.
Hell, the whole house was tiny. It felt as if everything was shrinking in on him. How was he going to last the entire night with Caroline and not accidentally touch her? There had to be someone else who could stay here with her.
As though reading his exact thoughts, Craig’s phone lit up with an incoming text from Drew. How’s our patient?
She seems to be completely fine, Craig’s big fingers tapped out awkwardly on the minuscule keyboard.
It was the truth. Caroline looked totally healthy. Almost too healthy, if one asked Craig’s growing libido. He stared at his screen, hoping that his buddy would give him permission to abandon his caregiver duties.
Head injuries are like that. They can seem fine one minute, and the next minute... Drew didn’t finish his sentence, letting three little dots at the end of his sentence imply all the potential risks to Caroline.
Those three dots were the reason Craig was here. Nobody knew what to expect.
When Craig didn’t reply, another text bubble appeared from Drew. Has she regained her memory yet?
As far as I can tell, she knows everything else about her past except who I am. It’s weird.
The brain is a weird and complex thing.
Thanks for the anatomy lesson, Dr. Drew. But what do I do in the meantime? I can’t keep pretending that we’re engaged.
What else do you have going on right now?
Craig pushed a lock of wet hair off his forehead before typing, It’s not a matter of my time.
You want me to see if Ben can come stay with her?
Even with all the hot air surrounding him, Craig went cold at the thought. No, he typed and hit the send button.
It’s me she wants, not Ben, he began typing, then immediately deleted the words. That would make him sound jealous when he clearly had nothing to be jealous of because none of this was real. Caroline didn’t truly want him. She didn’t even know him.
It’s that none of this feels right. She’s going to be so pissed when she finds out we have been tricking her, Craig wrote instead, purposely using the word we to remind Drew that he was in on this asinine plan.
There was no response for a while, so Craig set his phone down and lathered his face. He was halfway done shaving when Drew’s next text came through. Just try to be as honest as possible without stressing her out. And remember, it’s not YOU tricking her. It’s her brain.
But why did her brain pick me? he replied. Not that he would’ve preferred it picking Ben.
This time, he didn’t have to wait long for Drew’s response. Buddy, I may be a
doctor, but even someone as smart as me doesn’t know why ANY woman’s brain would pick you.
Haha, Craig texted, then added an emoji of a hand making a crude gesture. That was pretty much the extent of his technology skills.
He finished shaving and found a clean pair of jeans in his duffel bag. However, all the steam in the enclosed space made his skin damp and he had to wrestle the jeans over his legs. After he finally buttoned his fly, he decided he needed to let in some cool air before pulling on one of his T-shirts.
When he opened the bathroom door, Caroline stood on the other side, one arm raised as though she’d been about to knock. At first, her eyes were round with surprise, but then her lids lowered toward his bare chest. He resisted the urge to flex his pectoral muscles, but he also couldn’t bring himself to break her concentration as she studied him, a slight hitch in her breathing. After all, it had been a while since his body was whole. Since a woman had been so obviously and physically responsive in her assessment of him.
They stared at each other for what felt like minutes before she finally squeaked, “Dinner’s ready.”
Caroline pivoted quickly and her slim legs practically ran toward the living room. When she was finally a safe distance away, Craig’s only thought was that if they both kept looking at each other like that, they would never get through the night.
Chapter Eight
After accidentally confirming that every ounce of his upper torso was indeed made out of rippling muscle, Caroline decided that she couldn’t face Craig across the dining table and carry on a conversation without thinking of his steamy tan skin underneath his T-shirt.
“Why don’t we put something on TV while we eat?” she suggested, carrying their plates to the coffee table she’d found at a local antiques store and painted a soft shade of butter yellow.
“Wow, this looks great,” he said when he sat next to her on the sofa, which was really more of a love seat. It was too late when she realized that being this close to him, sitting side by side, was almost as bad as making eye contact with him.
“What do you want to watch?” she asked when he had a forkful of mashed potatoes and gravy in his mouth, then had to wait for him to finish chewing before he could answer.
“I don’t care. What do you normally watch?”
“Whatever I programmed on the DVR the week before.” She picked up the remote control and turned on the television and a list of her new recordings popped up on the screen.
He let out a little chuckle. “Looks like my choices are either all of last Saturday’s college football games or else an assortment of movies from the Hallmark Channel.”
“That’d be pretty much it,” she said, scrolling down. “I’m guessing you don’t want to watch this one about a big shot fashion designer returning to the small town where she grew up to attend her former prom date’s wedding to another woman?”
“Pretty sure I already read the book,” Craig said before biting into a crispy chicken thigh. His thick lashes actually fluttered closed as he moaned.
“So football, then?” Caroline said brightly, turning up the volume so the sportscasters drowned out Craig’s sighs of satisfaction.
“Sure,” Craig said as he wiped his hands on a napkin. “But I already watched the University of Montana game last Saturday.”
“I know they lost, but they’re still the top seed in the Big Sky Conference, and if they beat Portland State next week, they’ll go to the FCS playoffs.”
“Wait. You actually watch college football?” The squiggly eyebrow was back, but instead of looking surprised, his accompanying smirk made him appear doubtful.
“Craig, my parents have been guest lecturers at most of the top universities in the United States. So I’ve been to a football game at every Division 1 stadium and most of the Division 2 schools.”
“Wow. I guess I didn’t see that coming.”
“Seems as if we’re both still learning things about each other.” She smiled as she picked up a piece of chicken.
“Why don’t we see what’s on live TV?” he suggested and then shoveled another forkful of potatoes into his mouth. “This gravy is almost as good as my grandma’s.”
“Almost?”
“Well, it’s better, but don’t tell my Meemaw.”
“Will I be meeting your Meemaw at Thanksgiving?” Caroline tried to get her voice as neutral as possible. Now that the subject of his family had come up again, she didn’t want to seem too eager or even pushy. But she was dying to know more about the rest of the Cliftons. It would give her more clues about the man she was planning to marry.
“Probably. Unless she and my grandpa get into one of their fights beforehand. Even then, she might still show up just to make him mad. If they are going at it, though, you have to be very careful not to pick sides.”
“Please. I’m a wedding planner. Diplomacy during the heat of family disputes is my specialty.” She pushed the live-TV button on the remote control and since it was already set to a sports channel, an announcer welcomed them to the North American Championship Rodeo. “How long have your grandparents been married?”
“Oh, they aren’t married to each other. Meemaw is my grandma on my mom’s side and Grandpac is my dad’s dad.”
“His name is Grand Pack? Two words?”
“No.” Craig gave a slight grin and Caroline realized it was the first time she’d seen him not looking so blasted serious. Her knees would’ve gone all wobbly if she hadn’t already been sitting down. “Grandpac. One word. When I was a kid in Wrangler Camp, we had to learn how to work with leather, and I decided to hand tool Grandpa Clifton’s name onto the back of a belt. Unfortunately, as I started running out of room, my letters got squished closer together and I could only fit Grandpa C, which ended up looking more like Grandpac. My brother Jonathan had just learned to read, and when he sounded it out as one word, the name just kinda stuck.”
“Aw.” Caroline’s rib cage felt all warm and liquidy, just like her gravy. “I bet your Grandpac was so proud to wear something you made especially for him.”
“Oh, no, he couldn’t actually wear it. My grandfather is a man of considerable stature.” Craig extended his arms into a circle in front of his belly for emphasis. “And I’d used myself as the model and then added two inches because I had absolutely no concept of waist sizing. But he did put it in a display case and still brings it out every time Meemaw wears the feather-and-bead earrings I made her.”
“That’s sweet that your grandparents love showing off the gifts you made them.”
He shook his head, but kept glancing at the television as he spoke. “It’s not sweet, it’s calculated. They’ve never gotten along and are always competing with each other to be the favorite grandparent. It usually means lots of great presents at Christmas and birthdays, but the rest of the year we all just try to get out of the room as soon as the bickering starts.”
Craig shrugged before directing all of his attention at the bull rider on the screen and effectively ending any further discussion.
She finished eating and soon lost interest in whatever the commentator with the turquoise bolo tie was saying about the combined score in the short go-round. Plus, Caroline still needed to email her parents and look over her notes for tomorrow’s meeting at work. Craig didn’t seem to notice as she stood up and retrieved her laptop off the dining room table. When she settled back onto the couch, she powered on the computer and got to work.
At some point she’d brought her legs up into a crisscross position and Craig’s elbow ended up resting on her knee. Caroline enjoyed the discovery that they could spend a pleasant, ordinary evening side by side, in companionable silence. At least, they were enjoying it until the announcer said, “Our next rider is on pace to beat the record for consecutive rides, a record that was set six years ago by Craig Clifton before he retired from the pro circuit.”
At
the mention of her fiancé’s name, Caroline lifted her head in time to see an image of a younger Craig flash on the screen.
“That’s you!” she said, pointing to the TV.
“Yep.” His hand slipped between their bodies and Caroline held her breath, wondering if he was finally going to make some sort of move. Instead, he found the remote wedged into the cushions and hit the power button. “It’s getting pretty late, huh?”
“I didn’t know you rode in the rodeo,” she said, pivoting her upper body toward him and resting an arm across the back of the sofa.
He wasn’t rude enough to point out the obvious—that there were actually a lot of things she didn’t know about him. But he also didn’t seem particularly inclined to provide her with the details, either.
“Is that how you got your scar?” She had barely traced the hook shape when he pulled away.
“I’m going to do the dishes,” he said, his hip knocking into her knee as he stood up quickly. Carrying their plates into the kitchen, he glanced back at her with a pointed look and added, “You should probably get to bed.”
The guy had barely said two words for the past hour and now he only spoke when he wanted to boss her around. Caroline stood up and followed him, remaining on the opposite side of the kitchen counter that separated the sink from the rest of the living area. “What about you?”
“What about me?” he asked, not bothering to look up as he rinsed off their silverware.
“Are you coming to bed?”
“I’ll go to sleep after I clean up the kitchen.” Craig was proving to have quite the habit of carefully phrasing his answers.
Caroline angled her head, trying not to let the frustration settle onto her expression. “But where will you be sleeping?”
“I can bunk on the couch.” He might have shrugged, but it was too difficult to tell since he was leaning sideways to load the dishwasher.
“It’s more of a love seat,” she replied, estimating that he had to be at least six feet tall. “I mean, it can fold out into a bed but the mattress is thin and the frame is kind of wonky with the support bar going right across the middle.”
The Maverick's Christmas to Remember Page 7
