by Laura Moore
Dear God, she thought dreamily, what woman could resist a man who transforms her bathroom into a summer bower? Who gives presents that dazzle the senses? It was so intimate to have these lushly perfumed flowers filling her bathroom. A secret garden. Caleb had to be a magician to know what would captivate her so thoroughly.
And did it mean that he, too, couldn’t erase the memory of how they’d stood in this very room, sharing heated kisses, his hands touching her, learning the soft curves of her body? She longed to experience once again the wonder of his embrace and the passion of his kisses.
She gave herself up to the sensation of the wet warmth against her skin, wishing only it were Caleb’s hands instead touching her so intimately. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to dream.
Caleb saw the twins perched on the front porch steps as he walked up the path to the house. He was hot and tired, had been thinking of little else these last twenty minutes but the ice-cold six pack tucked away in the back of his refrigerator. The sight, though, of the two blond mops of hair bent over a big white bowl drew him like a magnet.
“Hi, what’s up?”
Jamie and Sophie both looked up and flashed him huge smiles of welcome. Then dropped their heads back down, absorbed in their task.
Intrigued by their deep fascination in the bowl’s contents, Caleb asked, “So what’s in the bowl? Have you two caught yourselves some frogs?”
Jamie’s head shot up at once, his face eager. Words rushed out, tumbling over each other. “ Frogs? There are frogs here? Where? Can you show me, Caleb?”
“Well, sure. There’s a little goldfish pond behind the house where a lot of frogs like to come and swim. I’ll take you and we’ll see whether we can’t catch one for you. But show me what you’ve got in that bowl of yours, first. Looks mighty interesting.”
Sophie lifted her head and shoved the bowl toward Caleb.
“Grapes. Jamie only likes the red ones, and I just like green ones. Thompson sometimes gives us two bowls, one for Jamie and one for me, but she was busy unpacking stuff.” Sophie paused and held the bowl out invitingly. “Want one? Which kind do you like best?”
“Oh, I like both.”
Jamie and Sophie looked up at him, matching frowns marring their faces, clearly appalled by the idea that a person could like both red and green grapes. They watched in reluctant fascination as Caleb selected one of each and popped them into his mouth.
Caleb closed his eyes, allowing the juice of the grapes to fill his mouth. It wasn’t exactly the cold brew he’d been wishing for but what the hell. He gave an exaggerated sigh of pleasure. “Mmm . . . these are terrific. Got any more?” At the twins’ enthusiastic nod, he suggested, “Let’s take them with us. We can eat while we hunt for those frogs.”
Sophie scrambled to her feet quickly and grabbed hold of Caleb’s hand. Caleb felt the wet stickiness of grape juice coat his palm and fingers. He gave her hand a little squeeze and watched as Jamie stood up with the bowl of grapes cradled in his arms.
“Want help carrying that bowl, Jamie?”
“No, I got it,” Jamie replied. Caleb watched with mixed dismay and delight as Jamie tried to tuck the bowl under one chubby arm while his free arm latched onto Caleb’s. The bowl listed drunkenly sprinkling grapes onto the grass. Laughter lacing his deep voice, Caleb addressed his small companions. “All right then, let’s go catch some frogs!”
The threesome moved around the house passing by the kitchen in the back. Caleb eyed the nearly empty bowl that was in imminent danger of following the same trajectory as the grapes.
“Uh, why don’t we drop that bowl off in the kitchen on our way? Then we won’t have to carry it on the way back.”
Jamie released Caleb’s hand and bolted for the kitchen door. Caleb heard his high-pitched voice through the storm door.
“Hiya, Thompson, Caleb’s taking us to catch some frogs at the pond. Can mine sleep in my bed? See ya.” He tore through the door with the speed of a small torpedo and grabbed Caleb’s hand. “Okay let’s go.”
Caleb reasoned that it must have been the weight of the bowl that had kept the five-year-old below light speed before. Now that it had been jettisoned, Jamie moved as if he had rocket boosters for shoes. Caleb felt as if his arm was being stretched like a rubber band, so impatient was Jamie to reach the pond. As they made their way the twins kept up a steady stream of questions about the house and what Caleb had liked to do as a kid himself. They also supplied an encyclopedia’s worth of information about themselves, their favorite foods, and any other subject that flitted across their minds. After a few minutes, Caleb realized his tongue was getting tired trying to answer all their questions and opted for companionable grunts and hmms instead. The twins’ stream of conversation continued joyfully unabated.
“Gee, it would be neat if Uncle Alex were with us. He likes things like frogs. Mom doesn’t.”
“Yeah, I don’t know why he had to take a nap. We waited, just like he told us, until it was light before we woke him up this morning. We only came in and asked him a couple of times if it was time.”
Caleb grinned, feeling almost sorry for the poor bastard. He inquired instead, “What’s your mom doing? She’s resting, too?”
“No, she’s taking a bubble bath. We heard the water running and went and peeked. She was in the bath with her hair all piled up and her eyes closed. Boy, were there lots of bubbles.”
“And there were all these pretty flowers in there. She looked just like a princess, like The Sleeping Beauty,” Sophie chimed in, remembering the movie her Uncle Alex had rented for her. Sophie had spent the following three days dressed in a princess costume, reenacting her favorite scenes.
Caleb groaned inwardly at the erotic image that sprang up in his mind. He’d bought the flowers and the bath gel on impulse, on a whim. He’d told himself that he’d purchased them as a gift, to thank Cassie for staying on at Five Oaks in spite of the problems Pamela represented, but he knew that was just a convenient excuse.
He wanted Cassie to remember his kisses, hoping that she’d realize what she was missing, what they could be sharing. Now he feared it would be he who would be haunted.
“Sleeping Beauty didn’t sleep in a bathtub, silly. Anyway, I heard Mom humming, so she couldn’t have been sleeping,” Jamie retorted hotly, annoyed at his sister’s interruption. “We were going to surprise her, but Thompson called us down to the kitchen. It would have been fun to take a bath with her. We used to do that, but Mommy says we’re too big now. But I bet we could fit in that tub. It’s humongous!”
Caleb didn’t think he could take much more of the twins’ chatter innocently conjuring pictures that made his body tighten with need. He would have happily sold his soul to the devil to be the one to “surprise” Cassie in her bath. He’d have started with her toes, all soft and pink, and moved slowly up her ankle, molding his mouth against the delicate bone, then along her slender calf to the back of her knee. She had such endless, wonderful legs. Damn, he could devote an entire afternoon exclusively to her legs.
Oh, Christ, he was going to die from acute arousal.
Caleb almost shouted aloud with relief when the goldfish pond came into view. Nothing like trying to catch slimy frogs for two rambunctious five-year-olds to get the delectable Cassie Miller off his mind. As a matter of fact, this was probably the only activity in the world that might be able to shake loose the incredible fantasy unfolding in his mind.
The twins spotted the pond a few seconds later. Releasing their grip on his hands, they dashed toward it, their short legs pounding the ground like a herd of buffalo. Caleb smiled slightly at the series of plops coming from the edge of the pond: Frogs diving hurriedly for the safety of the water. At the excited cries of the twins, Caleb knew that they too, had witnessed the mass exodus. Sophie came running back to him, arms waving wildly, her face flushed scarlet with dismay.
“Caleb, Caleb, the frogs all ran away!”
“Yup,” Caleb nodded his head. “I’ve never seen frogs run so fast
in all my life. They must have known right away that you two are super frog catchers.”
“But how will we catch them if they’ve gone?” Sophie asked, deeply worried.
“Maybe we can trick them into thinking we’ve gone. That’s going to be pretty tough, though.” Well nigh impossible with these two chatterbugs, Caleb added silently.
After about fifteen minutes of explaining, cajoling, and outright bribing, Caleb managed to convince Sophie and Jamie that if they stood very still at a slight distance from the pond, he might be able to get close enough to grab a frog for each of them. The children reluctantly agreed, but Caleb could see skepticism in Jamie’s face. Caleb had to admit that Jamie’s own plan had sounded infinitely more exciting. Jamie had wanted to wade into the pond and chase the frogs so that they’d all jump back out. Then Caleb and Sophie could be waiting on the bank to catch them. More than a bit awed by the little boy’s tenacity to his plan, Caleb prayed that this season’s frogs were especially stupid and slow. He frankly didn’t know how long he could keep Jamie from testing out his own frog-catching method. It was doubtful that the Miller clan would be too thrilled to see Jamie come back covered from head to toe in pond slime.
As the third frog dove to the safety of the pond’s muddy bottom, Caleb began muttering curses under his breath, wondering what in hell had possessed him to suggest a frog hunt. He was slightly worried, too, that he’d gotten too tall for frog catching—he’d been about three feet shorter the last time he’d attempted to swoop down and grab one.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jamie squirming impatiently, jumping from one foot to the other, and knew time was running out. Caleb edged his way around the water’s edge, his gaze trained on a brownish green lump nestled in the weeds. He bent his long, muscular frame slowly raising his arms sightly, so that his hands were in front of his waist, his fingers open and ready. He pounced, letting his body fall forward, his hands scooping up the brown blob before it could leap away. Cold, slimy brown water oozed between his fingers. But he’d done it. The frog squirmed frantically in his hands. Caleb grinned in triumph, feeling like a conquering hero, as the twins started jumping up and down in excitement.
“You got one! You got one, Caleb!”
“Please can I hold him, Caleb?” Sophie looked up at him, and he imagined this was precisely the way Cassie would have looked at her age. He glanced down at her two small, open hands waiting to receive the frog. Kneeling, he brought himself and the treasure down to her level so that she and her brother could admire the catch. He kept his fingers pressed against each other, forming a miniature cage.
“This guy looks a little jumpy Sophie,” Caleb replied gently. “Why don’t I stick him into my shirt pocket—see how it’s big enough—then I can just button the flap while I catch another frog for Jamie. Then, when we get back to the house, you can both hold your frogs at the same time.” Sudden inspiration struck and, convinced Einstein couldn’t have done better Caleb added, “That would make it more fair.”
Sophie looked at the frog and then nodded at Caleb solemnly her eyes blue as forget-me-nots. The twins watched as Caleb gingerly tucked the frog into his faded denim shirt’s breast pocket and then turned to make his way once more to the edge of the pond. Caleb felt the frog’s legs pumping frantically against the fabric. God help me if I smush this sucker while I’m catching the other one, his lips twitching at the thought.
Thompson heard the excited cries of Jamie and Sophie and moved to the kitchen window in order to witness their triumphant return. She smiled at the sight of the twins alternately hopping and skipping around Caleb’s measured stride. They reminded her of cocker spaniel puppies she’d seen once at a fair: all golden bounce. Jamie and Sophie were bombarding Caleb with questions as they jumped in frenzied circles around him, unable to contain their excitement. Snippets of their conversation floated on the afternoon air.
“What can we put our frogs in, Caleb?”
“Let’s take a look in the basement. I seem to remember having a couple of fish tanks when I was little. Maybe they’re still around.”
“Let’s catch some goldfish tomorrow, ’kay, Caleb?”
“Do you like pizza, Caleb?”
Thompson opened the kitchen door and stood in the door frame, her arms crossed against her bosom as the trio approached. A fine-looking young man, she thought appreciatively. And good with children, too. Exactly what Cassie needed in her life. Thompson had been deeply concerned at the way Cassie had shut herself off after her breakup with Brad. Although she didn’t know the full details, Thompson had seen how rarely Cassie accepted a date, how reserved she was.
It just wasn’t right for a beautiful, young, unmarried woman to have no life outside the care of her children and her horses. Cassie needed a man to stir her juices, to make her feel giddy and foolish. Thompson figured that Caleb Wells had enough charm and charisma alone to stimulate the interest (as well as just about everything else) of the most reluctant of women.
Nevertheless, it might be wise to set the record straight with this southern charmer. If his intentions were less than honorable toward Cassie, then she’d sit out on that comfortable-looking rocking chair on the front porch, a shotgun warming her lap.
Thompson was ready for him before dawn the next morning. The night before, over dinner, Alex and Cassie had discussed plans to run together before Cassie set off for Five Oaks. Thompson thought that this would be the perfect time to invite Caleb Wells over for a cup of hot coffee and breakfast. After hearing the sound of the front door closing, she made her way downstairs. With any luck, the twins would sleep in this morning. Last night, they hadn’t even complained at going to bed, the day’s activity and excitement having finally caught up with them. She might have until about six-thirty for that private conversation with Caleb Wells. Luckily for Thompson, there wasn’t a shy bone in her body—at her age, she considered that emotion an utter waste of time—and anyway, what she was doing concerned the welfare of her employer.
Caleb looked somewhat taken aback when he answered the knock on his front door and saw Thompson standing before him. It wasn’t too often people called on him at five-thirty in the morning. His dark hair glistening with moisture, his jaw freshly shaven, it was obvious he’d just gotten out of the shower and was still in the middle of dressing. So far he’d gotten on his jeans. His feet were bare and so was his chest.
Excellent pectorals, Thompson judged approvingly. She’d always liked men who didn’t have rugs on their chests. With a nice bare chest like Caleb’s you could see each of those lean muscles ripple and flex. A lovely flat stomach, too, with just a thin line of dark hair disappearing beneath the button of his jeans. Fleetingly Thompson wished that she were thirty years younger. This young man looked like he had all the right stuff. She hoped Cassie would have the good sense to take what he offered and enjoy herself every step of the way.
“Good morning, Bessie. Anything up? Something broken at the house you need me to take a look at it?”
“No, no, everything’s fine. I’m something of an early riser and I noticed you came back from a run about twenty minutes ago. I was wondering if I might interest you in some eggs and bacon and a cup of hot coffee.”
The smile he gave her could have melted both polar icecaps. “Bessie, you are one smart woman. Offer me food, and I’m yours. Give me five minutes.”
Thompson looked pleased. “Just like my husband. That man could eat half a lamb in one sitting and still have room for dessert. Alex is that way too. You all must have metabolisms to rival supersonic jets. How do you like your eggs, by the way?”
“Over easy ” Caleb replied, a little annoyed to learn that he and Alex Miller shared anything at all in common. But hell, Miller would probably look like a fat slob in fifteen years, given his cushy desk job in some Manhattan skyscraper.
The thought pleased him immensely.
Whistling softly to himself, Caleb returned to his bedroom. He grabbed a white T-shirt and a black flannel button-d
own shirt from his closet. From the top of his bureau drawers, he retrieved his beeper and hooked it onto the waistband of his jeans. Shoving his keys into the front pocket of his jeans, he rummaged for a pair of socks from the top drawer and padded barefoot into the mudroom at the back of the house to don his work boots. A scant four minutes had elapsed since Thompson had appeared at his doorstep. Caleb shut the door behind him and strode toward his parents’ house and the promise of a hearty breakfast.
12
“So what do you think of Cassie?”
His smile was obscured as he lifted the steaming mug of coffee to his lips. Definitely a no-nonsense kind of a woman, Bessie Thompson was. At least she’d had the patience to wait until Caleb had wolfed down his three eggs, buttered toast, and bacon before getting down to brass tacks. He took a slow sip of the deliciously brewed coffee and leaned back in his chair his hands cradling the warm mug against the flat of his stomach.
“Nice girl. Excellent rider. She just might be our ticket to getting Orion the ribbons he needs,” Caleb offered blandly intentionally sounding as clichéd as a football coach interviewed on television.
“Piffle.” Thompson waved her hand in the air dismissively. “You know I’m not asking about how good a rider she is. I assume that if you had the brains to hire her, it’s because you recognize how good she is.” Thompson locked eyes with Calebs, her expression as serious as a judge’s. “What I want to know is what you think of her as a woman.”
Yep, she definitely knew how to grab the bull by the horns, so to speak. Caleb pondered just how long he might be able to avoid the issue Thompson seemed so determined to discuss, but decided it probably wasn’t worth the effort. The look on the older woman’s face, her body language— arms folded across her chest, backside resting against the kitchen counter—told him that there was no way he was going to get out of that kitchen until he provided Thompson with the heart-to-heart talk women seemed to love to have.
