Who's Been Sleeping in My Bed?

by Jami Davenport

  Harlee bounded down the front steps with childlike enthusiasm. She jumped into the passenger seat and slammed the door. He shifted the truck into gear and pulled onto the narrow county road.

  Her attempts to look more professional almost made him laugh. Knowing she wouldn’t appreciate his humor, he gnawed on his lower lip to distract himself. She looked more professional, all right. Just the wrong profession. Okay, that wasn’t fair, she’d toned herself down a bit, but still, it was hard to tone down that body.

  Her polyester skirt was mid-knee length. The cotton blouse she wore betrayed the amount of times it’d been washed. Maybe it’d been shrunk by one of those temperamental dryers in a Laundromat. The material gaped between the buttons and pulled across her ripe breasts. Then there was the matter of her makeup. It was too heavy and too obvious, and he didn’t get why she wanted to hide that beautiful face under all that crap.

  Her legs might not be long, but they were shapely and sexy as hell. She’d missed her calling as a pinup girl during World War II by about sixty years. Her shoes—He couldn’t stop his slow smile as he looked at her heels. Obviously, they’d been purchased at a discount shoe store. The cheap leather was scuffed and the heels run down. He’d never catch his sister in shoes like that.

  Well, he’d have to give her an “A” for effort and an “F” for fuc…Oh, man, he needed to put the brakes on his gutter mind. He’d hired her for his office, not his bedroom. She’d slap his face if she could read his thoughts.

  She caught him staring at her legs, and he whipped his gaze back to the road. His cheeks grew warm. He took a sip of coffee to hide his face.

  “Well, do I look more like a professional girl?”

  He choked on the coffee, sputtering and coughing.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine. I’m fine.” He gagged.

  “Sooooo?” Her expectant blue eyes rested on his face.

  “You look great.”

  Harlee lit up like the Space Needle at Christmas. “Thank you. I didn’t have much to work with, so I hoped this was okay.”

  Didn’t have much to work with? Who was she kidding? Clothes, she meant clothes, he reminded himself.

  That gutter was starting to feel like home.

  * * * *

  Harlee carried on a one-sided conversation with the large bay gelding as she groomed his silky coat. Ferguson, the object of her attentions, lounged in the aisle of the twenty-stall barn. He yawned and cocked one hind leg to rest it.

  “Getting bored, old boy?” She scratched a particular spot on his back, and he closed his eyes and stuck out his upper lip in an expression of pure pleasure. Harlee laughed. “Oh, Fergie, you lucky guy. I wish I had someone to scratch my itches. I suppose you’re wondering if a certain man comes to mind. Well, I have to admit—Oh, never mind. This is stupid. I work for him, and there’s no future in that relationship. And I don’t do one-night stands anymore.”

  The gelding cocked his head as if he was really listening. What a sweet horse, but then all horses were wonderful. She’d never met a horse she didn’t like. Now, people, that was a different story.

  If only she hadn’t let that smooth-talking heartbreaker convince her to follow him to Europe. If only she’d read between the lines of Rose’s last letter. If only she’d sensed something had been wrong.

  Harlee sighed. Her stomach knotted with grief, while that ever-present guilt squeezed at her heart and added to her depression. Disgusted with herself, she guessed she had two choices. She could beat herself up and wallow in self-pity, or she could honor Rose’s memory and take action.

  She’d worked for Jake almost two weeks. As his trust grew, so did her responsibilities. She loved her job, and she did it well. She’d also managed to uncover some facts regarding his plans for Rosehill. Not much was happening yet, but he was taking bids for the demolition. He’d slated it for the first of the year when the camp’s lease on the property expired. That gave her a little over two months.

  Her eyes strayed down the aisle of the once-bustling barn. Years ago, every stall had been filled with the sounds of horses munching hay. Every night, she’d checked each stall, and quiet nickers had welcomed her presence. Harlee could recall each horse’s name, personality, and special quirks. Now, nothing was left but empty stalls and broken promises. Rose had always been there for her, but she hadn’t been here for Rose.

  Harlee wrapped her arms around Ferguson’s neck and buried her face in his mane. She inhaled that special scent of horse and rubbed her cheek against his soft coat. How nice it would be if life could be as simple as the friendship of a good horse and the gentle flutter of the wind in the trees.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  Harlee jumped and whirled around. “Jake, I didn’t hear you.”

  “Obviously.”

  Breathe, Harlee, breathe. Whatever you do, don’t look in his eyes. Unfortunately, that smile and those dimples were just as deadly.

  “How long have you been standing there?” Her voice sounded shaky and weak.

  “Long enough. Are you okay?”

  “Not really.” What was the use lying to him? He saw through her anyway.

  “I am sorry, Harlee. I know how hard it is to lose someone you love.”

  “You do?” She didn’t really believe him.

  “Yeah.” He reached up to pet Ferguson, avoiding her eyes. “I was really close to my grandfather. When he died, I— Well, it was a lot tougher than I ever expected it to be. Then, a few months ago, my dad had a heart attack. It was the first time I ever realized that he wasn’t immortal.”

  Harlee nodded, fighting to speak around the lump in her throat. She pressed her face against Ferguson’s neck. Biting her lip, she welcomed the metallic taste. She shuddered with the unfairness of it all. Couldn’t she keep just one person in her life that cared for her?

  She sensed Jake close behind her and wished he’d leave. He didn’t. His hands squeezed her shoulders. He kneaded the knots in her muscles with his long fingers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. His skilled hands worked their magic, and eventually her muscles grew slack and her bones melted. He kept rubbing, slow and gentle, yet firm. She closed her eyes, breathed in the calming scent of horses and a sexy man. Harlee held onto this fleeting moment of peace.

  “You really love horses, don’t you?” Jake’s soft voice stroked her insides as he attempted to lighten the gloomy mood.

  “Sometimes more than people.” She lifted her head, but kept her eyes on Ferguson in an attempt to conceal the truths reflected in her eyes. Jake didn’t need to know her dark secrets and past disappointments. Feeling more composed, she turned to face him. “Do you ride, Jake?”

  He raised his eyebrows, and his teasing grin was wicked.

  “Horses, you lamebrain,” she amended her statement.

  “Oh.” He sounded disappointed and his grin faded a bit. “Yeah. My grandfather owned a ranch in eastern Washington. My brothers and I spent several summers there. It was a young boy’s paradise. We’d ride all over that open rangeland, pretend we were cowboys, or gunslingers, stuff like that.” His smile came back full throttle.

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  “It was. I used to think I could be anything back then. Funny how life sucks that childhood optimism out of you, isn’t it?”

  Harlee nodded. He had no idea.

  Jake leaned against a stall and rubbed his chin, his mood once again serious. He regarded her for a long time before he spoke. “What do you want out of life, Harlee?” He looked like he really cared about the answer.

  Harlee met his steady gaze. “To have my own barn and take care of horses in the manner they deserve.”

  “What do you mean?” He seemed puzzled.

  “Horses are generous and giving. They let us ride them, they never complain, they just keep trying. Too many people treat show horses like machines. They don’t care about anything but blue ribbons. The horses are the ones that pay. Some people use them up and throw them away.” She sig
hed, feeling much older than her twenty-seven years.

  “That sounds like the voice of experience.” He pushed himself away from the stall and moved to stand beside her. She found his nearness oddly comforting.

  “I wish it wasn’t.” She searched for something safe to talk about instead of her personal life. “I thought you were working today.”

  “Yeah, I was for a while, but it is Sunday.” Jake fiddled with the buckle on Ferguson’s halter. He raised his eyes, looking from her to the horse. “Actually, I came to warn you.” One corner of his mouth twitched in an effort to subdue a lopsided grin, but he wasn’t successful. Instead, it escalated into his lady-killer smile. Small tremors started in her stomach and extended to her fingers and toes, leaving her lightheaded and disoriented. Those teasing eyes threatened to imprison her heart, to lock it up and throw away the key. How could one man wreak so much havoc with a look? However he did it, he did it well.

  “Warn me? About what?” Harlee marveled at how normal her voice sounded.

  “My sister Bridget. She’s on her way. She called from the ferry on her cell about an hour ago. She should be here any minute.”

  “Why do I need a warning about her?”

  “If you’d ever met her, you’d know why.” He grinned and raised his eyes to the heaven as if praying. “God help us. She’s here to check you out since you’re taking care of her precious babies.”

  “Ferguson? He’s hardly a baby. He must weigh over twelve hundred pounds. The other two aren’t much smaller.”

  “Harlee, Bridget is the family princess. In fact, Carson nicknamed her Cleo years ago. That was back when Carson—my oldest brother—still had a sense of humor, before he turned into a tight ass. She’s spoiled and used to getting her way. She interferes in everyone’s business and tries to control every situation. Sometimes, she doesn’t think before she opens her mouth. In fact, most of the time. Even worse, she’s pissed at me right now. I suspect she won’t be above taking it out on you. Guilt by association, you know.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  “You’ll need all the help you can get.” He frowned and glanced behind him.

  “Afraid she’ll sneak up on us?” Harlee peeked over his shoulder.

  “She’s been known to do that.” He positioned himself to keep one eye on the door.

  “So why is she mad at you?”

  He seemed uncomfortable. In fact, he actually fidgeted. “Oh, it’s a long story.” He waved his hand as if to dismiss it. His gaze darted around the barn as he looked everywhere but at her.

  Harlee wondered what he was hiding and why. “What does your sister do?”

  He gave a rude snort. “Besides collect expensive horses and show them or pay someone to show them? All with Dad’s money, of course.”

  “Of course.” Harlee suppressed a smile.

  “Bridget’s an artist. At least she dabbles in painting. She owns an exclusive art gallery in Seattle. Some of the biggest Northwest artists exhibit there. Dad subsidizes it, too. She has a manager and works when it suits her.”

  “Do I detect a little jealousy?” She knew what it felt like not to be your parents’ darling.

  “Hell, no. You detect a lot.” He sighed with exasperation. “The only time I recall that Bridget’s ever been told no was just recently. Dad finally put his foot down at paying six hundred a month board each for three pasture ornaments. That’s how I got stuck with them. My sister never sells a horse.”

  “Did you consider telling her no?”

  “Bridget? Are you kidding? It wouldn’t be worth the hell she’d put me through.” He laughed. His ready grin wrinkled the corners of his eyes and deepened his dimples. Like a siren’s song, and just as dangerous, it beckoned her closer. She gravitated to him as if pulled by some invisible thread. He smelled like soap and sawdust, an odd combination, yet so very masculine and sexy. That same sawdust sprinkled his unruly hair and grubby clothes.

  Not thinking, she reached out and brushed off his chest. He stood absolutely still. His body tensed beneath her palm. The tight T-shirt under his open jacket clung to his muscled torso. What would that chest feel like against hers, naked and straining, moist from exertion and need? Forgetting why she’d placed her hand there, she splayed her fingers and dragged them over his pecs, across his nipples, and down to his abs. Jake drew a ragged breath, but remained silent. Harlee’s hand paused above his belt and hovered there. What the heck did she think she was doing? After all, he was her boss. He was also the enemy when it came to Rosehill’s future. She’d be wise to remember those facts.

  He placed his large hand of top of hers and pressed it down against his belt buckle. She was so near to and yet so far from paradise—and danger. So much for remembering the facts.

  Jake bent his head. His mouth tugged at her earlobe while his breath tickled her ear. Harlee swallowed an awkward lump of desire and squeaked in a most unladylike way. She felt his chuckle against her cheek. Somehow, she doubted he cared if she was a lady or not. If fact, she suspected he preferred “not.”

  The man cleared his throat. Oh, God, he even sounded sexy doing that. Harlee fastened her gaze on his face. The intensity in his dark eyes siphoned the remaining resistance from her traitorous body. A muscle twitched in his strong jaw. So he wasn’t immune either. She affected him as much as he affected her. A smart girl would be plotting how to use this to her and the camp’s advantage. Maybe she wasn’t a smart girl. It was hard to plot his professional demise when he was looking at her like that.

  Jake lifted his hand and touched her lips. His index finger traced their outline then came to rest under her chin. He leaned closer; so did Harlee. She craved more than the touch of that one finger. Her lips parted, and she sighed. The corners of Jake’s mouth lifted in a slight smile.

  “Harlee,” he whispered. His breath fanned her cheek. He tilted her chin upward. Like marauders, his dark eyes invaded her soul, plundering her secrets and setting her heart ablaze. Harlee shivered from the heat and looked away before he discovered her most guarded truths.

  “Are you cold?”

  She nodded, even though she burned hotter than a California brush fire. Harlee closed her eyes and waited for the first touch of his lips on hers. She didn’t need eyes to see because she felt him, his nearness, his breath, his very essence. She ran her palm down his biceps, savoring the feeling of contained power.

  “I can warm you up.” His sexy voice surrounded her.

  “I don’t doubt that,” said a disgusted female. Harlee leapt backward, rescuing her sanity and her heart. Her naughty hand dropped to her side. Jake whipped around, cursing under his breath. Anger radiated from him like steam from a broken radiator.

  Assuming a belligerent pose, the glamour girl glared at Harlee. Not at Jake, but at her, as if Harlee had led him astray. Harlee stared at her, an unworthy mongrel sizing up a pedigreed poodle. This poodle should be strutting around the ring at Westminster, not standing in a rundown horse barn.

  Her long straight hair reminded Harlee of the black panther pelt that hung in the Safari Bar in Miami. Her delicate features and carefully applied makeup gave her a classic, understated look. She had the imperious expression of royalty, and Harlee almost smiled. Jake had hit the nail on the head when he’d called her a princess. She was that and more. She was formidable.

  Jake introduced them, and Bridget dispensed with the small talk immediately. She didn’t even comment on Harlee’s name. She walked around Ferguson, studying every square inch of him. Harlee waited for her to pull out a white glove and run it over his back.

  “So Jake tells me you’re taking care of my horses?” She shot her brother a withering glance. “Looks like that’s not all.”

  Jake winced. “Bridget…”

  She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You should know better. Don’t you ever learn?”

  “Shut up,” he growled.

  Bridget ignored him and turned back to Harlee. “Do you have references?”

 
“I…I could get them,” Harlee lied. She stared at her feet and shuffled from one to the other. “Rose taught me everything. I worked for her until four years ago. I spent the last two years in Europe managing a stable of show horses. Before that, I worked in Florida as a groom.”

  Bridget glowered. “I assume I can get names and numbers from the resume you gave Jake.” She glanced at her brother who seemed fascinated with an interesting knothole in the plywood wall. “If you gave Jake a written resume.”

  “I worked for Conrad Richards.”

  Bridget seemed impressed but only for a brief second. Then it started. Glamour princess grilled her as if she was applying for a job that required the highest national security clearance. Jake tried to interrupt several times, but Bridget paid no attention.

  Finally, his bossy sister ran out of questions and turned to Jake. “She’ll do as far as my horses are concerned. You’re a different matter. Show me to my room. I’m tired, and you and I need to talk.”

  Without another word to Harlee, Bridget strode from the barn like the regal queen she thought she was.

  “Good luck.” Harlee smiled at Jake, sympathy in her eyes.

  “Thanks, I’ll need it.” He hesitated. “Harlee, I—”

  “Forget it. We’re on an isolated island with very little diversions. Stuff like that happens.” She waved him off, pretending indifference.

  With a long-suffering sigh, he trudged after his sister. “Good night, Harlee.”

  Harlee heard Bridget rail at him when he caught up with her. “Jake, what is it with you? She looks like your ex.”

  “She does not,” he argued, sounding like a petulant little boy.

  Harlee watched them until they disappeared into the house. Maybe being an only child wasn’t such a bad thing after all.