by Diana Palmer
At least focusing on her appearance allowed her anxiety to abate somewhat and by the time she pulled up to Nick’s house, her body felt more pliable again.
For a minute she sat, taking in the realization that she’d done it—she’d driven!
The remaining jitteriness in her limbs began to turn into a feeling of excitement. “Oh, my gosh,” Nettie whispered. To someone else it would have been a small thing, not an accomplishment at all. But she understood the importance of what she had just done—and the reason she had done it. Chase Reynolds was obviously a powerful prescription.
Peering through the windshield for signs of life, Nettie squared her shoulders and opened the car door. Her sandaled feet had barely touched the hard gravel when she heard the wet snuffle of an equine snort. Assuming Nick was out for a ride on King, she felt herself relax a bit more.
Nick was an old friend who knew about her anxiety attacks. Picturing his surprise when he saw her emerge from behind the driver’s seat, Nettie allowed herself a taste of victory.
“Good morning.” She smiled broadly as she turned. “I bet you didn’t expect to see me here all by myself, but I—Oh.” Her smile turned to stark surprise when she saw Chase Reynolds astride King.
Nettie stared at him. He stared back.
He’d shaved since last night. There was no mistaking his identity now. He looked exactly like his picture in People magazine—masculine, intelligent, hazardous to a woman’s peace.
They each waited for the other person to speak.
Bringing his right leg over the saddle, Chase dropped to the ground. He was hatless, his eyes masked only by an unreadable expression.
“You were saying?”
Nettie blinked. Heat sizzled steadily through her body, and suddenly her brain seemed too full. She was saying…
Chase raised a brow. He walked forward, bringing the horse with him. “You bet I didn’t expect to see you here all by yourself, but you…” he prompted.
Nettie licked her dry lips and mustered a smile. “Um, I thought you were Nick.”
Black eyes narrowed. Tilting his head, he considered the admission. “You’re not here to see me?”
“You? No.” Caught off guard, Nettie squeaked the denial. “I…” She shook her head. “No.”
“Hmm.” He frowned, musing. “That’s funny. Because actually, I was expecting you.”
Nettie stared at him. Embarrassment crept up her neck as she imagined those night-dark eyes reading her thoughts. Okay, so she had arrived here this morning hoping to flirt with him, or rather, hoping he’d flirt with her. But even before anxiety, she had never been the kind of woman who could admit to such a thing.
“Actually, Mr. Reynolds, I didn’t know you’d still be here.”
He scratched his neck, obviously unmoved by the denial.
“If I had known,” Nettie insisted, a distinct chill in her voice, “I certainly wouldn’t have shown up unannounced.”
He brushed at a fly that buzzed past.
“Right, I am here unannounced,” she conceded. “But not to see you.”
“I just thought you might want to apologize.”
“Apologize?”
“It’s the usual practice after you’ve nearly shot an innocent man, Ms. Owens.” He shrugged. “Maybe that’s a city custom.”
He stood calmly, looking down at her.
It was his straight-faced irony that eventually penetrated her attempt to remain cool. A smile tugged at her mouth, urged her cheeks, and she relented, nodding. “You’re right. I should have come here to apologize. How’s your head?”
Chase rubbed the spot where the lamp had smacked him. “Not bad. Although my barber once told me I had a perfectly shaped head, so I never had to worry about going bald. I guess that’s shot.”
She laughed outright at that. “I really am sorry.”
The breeze pulled a lock of her hair across her face. It caught between her lips, and she brushed it away. Chase watched her steadily, his gaze focused on her mouth.
Nettie felt her gaze drop to his mouth, too. It was closed, lips firm. When she looked back up, into his eyes, she felt her heart thump with adrenaline. They were like two animals on the prairie—circling, watching, testing. She waited as long as she could for him to make the next move, but the anticipation made her feel like a balloon ready to pop. Feeling her heart beat faster, she gathered her courage.
“Can I make it up to you?” she asked, her voice sounding as if she’d swallowed too much prairie dust. “How about dinner while you’re here? As amends for all you’ve suffered. Nick’s not much of a cook, but I’m pretty fair, so you could consider yourself safe. Not much chance of food poisoning or of offending the chef by having to rush out for a burger or anything.” She smiled.
The wind whipped up again. This time he reached for the hair that blew in front of her face, pushing it back with a touch as subtle as a whisper. His knuckles brushed her cheek and even that slight touch sent a shiver through her. “I bet there isn’t a burger joint within twenty miles of here,” he said.
“That’s true,” she agreed, too breathlessly. “There’s only Ernie’s.”
“Ernie’s?”
“The diner.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Pass.”
Nettie wondered if he knew that a little groove appeared between his brows when he was thinking. Or that the laugh line on the right side of his mouth was deeper than the one on his left. His smile seemed to begin mostly on the right…
She was still lost in her study when Chase said quietly, “Well, Miss Nettie Owens, I thank you very much for your offer. Dinner isn’t necessary, though. And you have nothing to make amends for.”
Was he letting her know he wanted dinner to be her choice and not her obligation, Nettie wondered? The possibility made her feel flattered and satisfied, and some of the lightness of the morning seemed to enter her own spirit.
“Oh, sure, you say that now,” she replied, engaging in some teasing of her own. “But one day I’ll turn on the TV and there’ll you’ll be, telling Mike Wallace all about last night. I’ll come out looking like the bad guy, and I can’t have that. I’ll have you know I won Miss Congeniality twelve years ago at the Kalamoose Founder’s Day Fair.” Her tone suggested he ought to be mightily impressed.
Chase smiled, the humor deepening in his eyes, and Nettie’s courage took flight. “So now you’ll have to come over, if only to preserve my reputation.” She smiled more freely. “I’ll make stew and soda bread. My mother’s family was Irish. I have a great recipe—”
“I can’t.” The refusal was swift and decisive.
Chase’s expression grew taut. Softness and humor vanished like mist, and his voice became a gravel-paved monotone. “I’m not going to be here very long, two weeks at the most. It’s going to be a busy time. Thanks anyway. Is there anything you’d like me to tell Nick?”
Nick.
“He’s not here. But I can give him a message.”
Oh, that Nick.
Nettie frowned, trying to think. Chase’s mood, his entire being, had altered so rapidly, she couldn’t quite grasp what had just happened, other than the fact that she’d been rejected. Thoroughly. Utterly.
Swallowing hard, she decided that getting out of here with even a smidgeon of dignity was now her first order of business.
“Nick,” she said, forcing her mind to work. “Yes, please do tell him…” What? She gave a small shake of her head. Chase Reynolds had a life filled with adventure and amazing people. Come over…I’ll make stew? What had she been thinking?!
“Please tell Nick,” she continued, “that I came by to pick up the eggs.” The lie emerged in a voice too strained to sound wholly genuine. “He usually brings some to the house each week.” That much was true. “He’s been so busy lately, though, I thought I’d save him the trouble.”
She should have let it go at that and left, but with no hint to suggest Chase believed her, Nettie felt the compulsive urge to try harder. “He al
ways has extra. Eggs. Nick does. His chickens are such good liars—layers!” Oh, my God. Chase Reynolds gave no indication that he noticed the slip, but Nettie began to speak double-time to cover it up. “I use the extra to make cakes and muffins…” She pointed again. “There’s a nursing home on Fifth and C Street. They love sweets. Of course, there is the cholesterol issue, but when you’re pushing eighty, who’s counting, right?” Smiling broadly, as if this were an actual conversation rather than one person’s rambling attempt to sound convincing, she closed with a brisk nod. “Well, I can see you’re not an egg man. So, I’ll just come back another time. Oh! If you think about it, you can tell Nick I plan to make that stew sometime this week. He loves Irish stew.” She nodded again. “Well, so long.”
Taking a step toward the car, relief almost outweighed disappointment until she realized that now she was going to have to drive back, her efforts fruitless, feeling more alone than she had when she set out this morning.
Nick’s absurdly long driveway loomed ahead of her like a broad jump. The nausea that had blessedly subsided rolled inside her again now and she knew she couldn’t face another anxiety attack, not yet.
“If you don’t mind,” she said hoarsely, reluctantly glancing around, “I think I’ll—” Chase was already heading toward the barn with King, oblivious to her dilemma.
“—sit on the porch and wait for Nick,” she finished, speaking aloud to Chase’s departing back. She watched him go, resentment beginning to edge out embarrassment.
Maybe she was no longer the calmest person in three counties, but at least she was polite and consistent. Chase Reynolds had just made Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde seem predictable. Had she completely misread him last night? Her exhalation turned into a dismal sigh. She was so out of practice with this whole man-woman thing. Come to think of it, she hadn’t had a first date since high school.
Trudging up the porch steps, she seated herself with a thunk on the blue-painted wood.
This was worse, far worse even than high school, when the boy you had a crush on ignored you and you spent your lunch hour in the girls’ room crying into a wad of toilet paper. Pulling her legs toward her chest, Nettie lowered her forehead to her knees.
There was never a girls’ room around when you needed one.
Chase paused outside the barn, his conscience and his ego taking turns pummeling him.
If the lovely Nettie had come to see him, then he probably ought to be shot for the way he’d treated her. If, on the other hand, she’d merely come to pick up eggs from Nick—Muscles bunched in Chase’s jaw. He didn’t like that possibility one little bit.
Whipping the reins over King’s ears, Chase made the horse prance nervously and had to pause a moment to settle him down.
He doubted there was another woman in North America right now capable of making him rethink his moratorium on women, but something about this Midwest country girl got under his skin. Everything about this Midwest country girl was getting under his skin.
Chase shook his head. He’d had relationships with models, news reporters, a foreign head of state once. Sophisticated, fascinating women about whom he had never lost his objectivity. Maintaining emotional distance was one of his innate gifts.
That gift warned him clearly now: A hometown girl who hung curtains in a jail was not someone to add to his little black book.
His yearning in response to the simple offer Come over…I’ll make stew had scared him, made him feel like he was standing in a minefield. Domesticity was not detectable in the Reynolds family’s DNA pattern. As a rule, he only dated women who shared the same biological aberration.
That left Miss Nettie Owens clean out of the running. Which brought him back to the source of his present agitation: He’d had no business flirting with her. And absolutely no business wanting to hear her say she’d come to see him rather than Nick.
Shaking his head in disgust over his lack of mental discipline, Chase led King toward his stall. “I suppose I should have unsaddled you outside,” he told the large gelding, trying not to listen for the sound of Nettie’s station wagon pulling away, “but we can handle the cramped quarters.”
Soon now he would have the results of the DNA tests he’d taken before he’d left New York. Maybe then he’d be the pilot of his own mind again. It was the damned living in limbo that bothered him the most.
Holding the reins in his right hand, Chase reached with his left for the door to the stall. A flash of movement caught his eye. Before he could investigate, King was rearing, pawing the air with his front hooves and neighing in distress. The horse nicked Chase’s forearm on his descent, then reared again.
“Whoa! Hang on there.” Confounded by the horse’s behavior, Chase tugged the reins. “Settle down!” King was not reassured by a stranger pulling on his bit and became more agitated.
Chase stood too close, crowding the large animal, and this time when King dropped to all fours, the big animal caught Chase’s shoulder with enough force to off-balance them both. Falling into the stall, Chase let go of the reins and the horse took off like a shot.
Outside, Nettie saw King emerge from the barn in a near panic. She stood as the horse headed for the barley field, changed his mind and turned sharply toward the house.
She was down the porch steps in a flash. In years gone by she’d ridden King with great relish. She knew the horse well, and once she caught sight of Chester, Nick’s cat, sitting calmly outside the barn door, cleaning his paws, she had a pretty good idea of what had spooked the sensitive gelding.
King snorted and stamped the ground as Nettie approached. “Shh-shh,” she soothed. “Shh, you’re all right.” Carefully, she reached for King’s bridle. “Did that big old cat scare you again? Hmm?” Stroking the bridge of his nose, she guided him gently as he calmed, so that he was facing the barn again as the cat strolled leisurely toward the side of the house. She continued her ministrations as Chase reached them.
“I don’t know what happened in there.” Without preamble, he described the scene in the barn. “I was trying to get him into the stall, and he took off.”
Nettie sent a sidelong glance to the man at her side. Bits of straw stuck to his crisp jeans and shirt. A larger piece of hay nestled in his mahogany hair. Rumpled and bemused, he seemed more approachable than he had earlier. Nettie felt her pulse increase—with interest, not nerves—but she pasted a cool expression on her face. “Mmm,” she murmured, “maybe he didn’t like your attitude, Mr. Reynolds.”
Dark brows spiked in surprise. Nettie held his gaze. Slowly, a reluctant smile edged Chase’s mouth. “You think that was it?”
Hesitating a moment, Nettie shrugged. “No. Actually,” she nodded toward Chester, “there’s your culprit.”
Following her gaze, Chase squinted, then brought his hands to his hips and craned his neck forward. “A cat?”
“Mm-hmm. King and Chester have a long and complicated history.”
“Is that so?” Chase massaged his sore shoulder, eyeing King with displeasure. “So the cat was in the barn.” He shook his head. “You’re not going to tell me a big animal like that is afraid of a stupid little cat?”
“Chester isn’t stupid.” Nettie countered. “And King is perfectly comfortable around an average barn cat. He’s only afraid of Chester.”
“What the devil for?” When Chase raised his voice, King danced unhappily again. Nettie cooed to him as if to a child before she explained.
“Chester is wily. He jumped on King’s back years ago when they were both young and scared the heck out of him. Once he got that reaction, he dedicated himself to tormenting King every chance he got. Call it little-man syndrome. He’s not allowed in the barn anymore. Usually Nick keeps Chester in the house when King is out.”
“I let the cat out this morning,” Chase confessed. “He was meowing.”
“Ah.” She smiled at his sheepishness. “Well, no real harm done. King just had a good fright, didn’t you, boy?” Nettie pressed the length of her palm against
King’s forehead. He pushed back, nuzzling into her.
Chase stood to the side, watching her soothe the horse. She communicated with the big animal, no doubt about it, by look, by touch. “You’re good with him.”
Lightly, she ran her knuckles along the soft area of King’s nose, ducking her head so that she was almost forehead to forehead with the horse. When finally she turned her head to glance shyly at Chase, he felt his stomach muscles clench. “This is something I know a bit about,” she said.
Chase felt bewitched. “Horses?” he murmured.
Nettie meant fear, but didn’t say so. Patting King’s neck, she said, “I think he’s calm enough to unsaddle now. I bet he’d enjoy a good rubdown, too, wouldn’t you, fella?”
With one hand on the bridle and one holding the reins, she walked King to a post outside the barn. Chase followed, admiring the grace of her movements, noting and enjoying the quick glances she directed his way as she looped the reins around the wood.
With her hand on King’s neck, she spoke to Chase, but it took him a moment to register the soft request: water. She wanted a bucket of water, a currycomb and a brush.
“Can you find all that in the barn?”
Chase nodded. He wouldn’t be able to find his own head with two hands and a flashlight if he didn’t stop staring at her.
He answered gruffly, “Right,” then turned and strode into the barn.
Looking for a currycomb seemed like an innocuous activity, but then the fresh bedding in the stalls reminded him of all the Westerns he’d seen in which the hero and heroine eventually wound up lying in straw…
Picturing Nettie with straw in her long curly hair wasn’t much of a mental leap.
Clenching his jaw, Chase concentrated on collecting the grooming supplies, but the image of her hands, gentle and feminine, and her amazing innocence as she awkwardly asked him to dinner refused to leave his mind.
He’d had a damned hard time not questioning Nick about her last night, trying hard to convince himself there was nothing he needed to know.
With a bucket of water in one hand, brush and currycomb in the other, he walked into the sunlight, frowning when he saw that Nettie had unbuckled the cinch and was attempting to drag the heavy saddle from King’s back. The Western-style gear was cumbersome and though she didn’t appear weak, unsaddling the tall horse was obviously an effort.
