The Accidental Princess

by Peggy Webb

Why hadn’t he sent the roses instead of bringing them in person?

  He broke contact and eased back a fraction so he could see her face. Mistake. Softened by moonlight and kisses, she was the most appealing woman he’d ever seen.

  It took Herculean effort to stop.

  “C.J…..”

  “Hmm?”

  Why did her eyes have to be so bright? Her smile so tender?

  “Is your dad here?”

  “No. He won’t be back till late. Maybe not at all.”

  Clearly, it was an invitation. One he was a fool to ignore and a bigger fool to accept. He was treading on thin ice here, in great danger of falling through.

  “There’s something I have to ask you,” he said.

  There were lots of things he needed to know about her. For instance, what did she do for fun? Sit inside and kill her brain cells with TV? Mince around a shopping mall looking for bargains? Eat food with unpronounceable names at expensive restaurants when there was a good mom-and-pop establishment just down the road that served peas and cornbread?

  “Yes?” she said, “What did you want to ask me?”

  “Will you go fishing with me?”

  C.J. didn’t hear Sam when she got up the next morning, so she went outside looking for him. He was on the back porch with his bare feet up on the rail, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper.

  “What time did you get in last night?” she asked.

  “What kind of question is that to ask your father?”

  “You didn’t answer.”

  “None of your business.”

  “That’s your answer?”

  “Yep.” He went back to his paper, grinning.

  “It looks like you had fun.”

  “Yep.”

  “What’s with this yep. You sound like some TV character from Podunk, USA.”

  “Can’t a man be in a good mood without facing an inquisition from a nosy daughter?”

  “Nosy? You’re calling me nosy? And don’t you dare say yep.”

  “If the shoe fits…”

  “I guess I’ll have to ask Ellie.”

  “You do that.”

  He grinned some more, then whistled an old tune. He already had his head buried in the paper before C.J. recognized it. Her insouciant dad was whistling “Making Whoopee.”

  C.J. was so tickled she was bouncing on the balls of her feet the way she’d done when she was a little girl and excitement got the best of her.

  Sam studied her over the tops of his glasses. “What are you doing dressed like that?”

  “I’m going fishing after a while.”

  “Dressed like that?”

  Maybe she’d gone overboard. The shorts were fine, maybe a little on the skimpy side, but still she did have nice legs, so what did it hurt to show them off to the right man? And Clint Garrett was exactly the right man. After last night’s kiss on the front porch, she was absolutely certain of that.

  “What do you mean, dressed like that?”

  “What’s that little thing around your—” he indicated his chest “—you call that a blouse?”

  “No, it’s a tube top.”

  “Mosquitoes will eat you up.”

  She was hoping to be nibbled by a more exciting predator.

  “I’m taking repellant.”

  He eyed her top once more. “I don’t think they make repellant for that. Better put on a shirt, C.J.”

  Suddenly she saw herself through her dad’s eyes, a young woman showing every inch of skin she could without parading around stark naked. A young woman obviously on the make.

  C.J. sighed. You’d think she’d have learned her lesson by now. All that posturing around in falsies and provocative clothing had sent out the wrong signals.

  If she wanted a repeat of exactly what had already happened with Clint, all she had to do was show up at the front door dressed fit to seduce. She’d get exactly what she deserved: a man who used her and went his merry way.

  In the last few weeks she’d experienced both excess and romance, and she’d stand up in a court of law and testify that she’d take romance every time.

  What she really wanted was to be loved, not for who somebody thought she was but for who she really was.

  “You’re right, Dad. I’d better put on a shirt.”

  She started into the house and her dad called after her.

  “C.J.?” When she turned around he had the sweetest look on his face, like a man who’d awakened from a long nightmare to discover life was wonderful after all.

  “You really like Ellie, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Dad. I love Ellie.”

  He smiled. “I thought so.” He started to immerse himself in the paper once more, then added, “Who’re you going fishing with?”

  “Clint Garrett.”

  “Oh? Okay, have a good time.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I plan to.”

  And she did. Oh, she did.

  When Clint saw C.J. he knew he was in trouble. Here was a woman who took her fishing seriously. Jeans for sitting on the creek bank, long-sleeved shirt so her arms wouldn’t blister, sturdy shoes just right for wading muddy fishing holes, baseball cap angled low to protect her eyes.

  “I see you’ve fished before.”

  “Dad and I used to go all the time.”

  “Used to?”

  She hesitated before she answered as if she were weighing her words. When she finally spoke he saw the naked truth in her eyes.

  “Yes. Before the accident. Mom was an invalid for three years before she died. I was driving.”

  “I’m sorry. That had to be hard. You weren’t much more than a kid.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Sandi.”

  “Oh.”

  “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No. No, I don’t mind. In fact, it feels good to talk to you about it.”

  “Talk about it all you want. I’ll listen.”

  “Okay, I just might.”

  She smiled that open, trusting smile that made him feel like he ought to be clanking around in a suit of armor and rescuing damsels in distress. He took the picnic basket and then escorted her to the Corvette.

  “I’m glad you left the top down.” She climbed in and flashed her wonderful smile again. “I’ve never ridden in one of these before.”

  “Corvette or convertible?”

  “Neither.”

  “It looks like you’re having all your firsts with me.”

  He spoke in a casual manner, but it didn’t feel casual at all, this heady knowledge that he was giving C.J. new experiences, all of them romantic. He walked to the driver’s side feeling ten feet tall. How many more firsts could he give C.J. Maxey?

  On any given summer’s day you could see fishermen on the Tennessee/Tombigbee Waterway, lined up along grassy sloping banks, casting from the small boats that drifted in the eddies, standing on the sides of the bridges watching corks bobbing in the water.

  Clint chose a less populated fishing spot, a little creek really, one so small it didn’t even have a name that C.J. knew of, and she knew just about every creek in Lee County, for fishing had once been her dad’s favorite pastime.

  “This looks like a good spot.” Clint parked the car underneath a giant hickory tree. Shells from last fall’s crop of nuts still littered the ground and they made nice crunching sounds when she walked on them.

  He’d brought all the fishing supplies, and it was an impressive array.

  “I brought some live bait,” he said. “I’ll help you bait your hook.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “You bait your own?”

  “Yes. Dad didn’t teach me to be a spectator. He taught me to fish.”

  Clint laughed. “Sounds like a challenge to me. What do you want to bet I catch the most fish?”

  “I’ll wager the wishbone.”

  “You fried a chicken? The old-fashioned way?”

  “Yes. I’ll have you know this is a country girl you’re tal
king to, mister.”

  “You’re on.”

  They left for the creek bank laughing. Clint didn’t bother to raise the top or lock the car. There was no one around for miles.

  C.J. loved walking in the woods. She loved the cool green silence, the surprise of woodland flowers, the occasional flash of wings as cardinals and bluejays and mockingbirds dived toward unsuspecting bugs. Such beauty called for reverence, and she walked without shattering the cathedral-like hush with chatter.

  She liked to fish the same way, with a minimum of talk and a maximum of effort. By the time they stopped for lunch she had six fish on her stringer, Clint had four.

  “You won,” he said.

  He seemed pleased about her victory, even jovial.

  “I like you this way,” she told him.

  “What way?”

  “Honest.”

  “I like you this way, too.”

  “How?”

  “Honest.” He smiled, then handed her the piece of chicken called the wishbone. “Looks good.”

  “Eat it, then.”

  “No, you won. Fair’s fair.”

  “You have the meat, I get the wish.”

  “A man could get addicted to fishing like this.”

  “So could a girl.”

  Their eyes got tangled up, and C.J. wondered if he would kiss her. She wanted him to. Wanted it with a heart-thumping, breath-stopping urgency that was almost palpable.

  Instead he took a bite of fried chicken then closed his eyes and moaned. It sounded sexual to C.J., but then around Clint the least little thing became sexual.

  “Make a wish,” he said, finally, handing her the wishbone.

  Closing her eyes, she wrapped her little finger around one end of the bone and he caught the other. The bone snapped.

  “What did you wish?” he asked.

  “It won’t come true if you tell.”

  “That’s an old wives’ tale.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. How can it come true if you don’t tell, especially if you don’t tell the dreammaker.”

  Oh, she loved it, this playful mood of his, this teasing, flirtatious, generous-hearted mood that made her believe she was somebody special.

  “Promise you won’t laugh,” she said.

  “I solemnly swear. Scout’s honor.”

  “You were a boy scout?”

  “No, but I always wanted to be.”

  “Okay, that’s good enough for me.”

  “Is it?”

  Something about his voice caught her high under her breastbone and wouldn’t let go. Tender feelings flowed through her like a river, and she reached out and caught his hand.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “It’s perfect for me.”

  There now. She hoped she’d made up in some small way for the way she’d turned on him the night he rescued her, the night of the green monkeys.

  “Tell me your wish, C.J.” The tenderness in his tone wrapped around her like a warm hug.

  “I always wondered what it would be like to go skinny-dipping.” The ghost of a smile played around his lips. “You said you wouldn’t laugh.”

  “I’m not. I’m thinking that a woman who caught six fish ought to be granted that one simple wish.” He smiled at her. “Today, as a matter of fact.”

  She glanced at the quiet green water. A canopy of trees shaded their fishing spot, and farther downstream a still section reflected the sun-drenched sky. She imagined how the water would feel closing over her naked skin. Wet and warm and silky. Sensual. Like being flooded with love.

  “If only I could,” she said.

  “You not only can, you will.”

  Clint stowed the dishes in the picnic basket, then hung the quilt on the branches of the hickory tree.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making you a cabana.” He smiled at her. “For privacy.”

  A few days ago he’d have seized the opportunity for sport. He’d have stripped off his clothes and waded in, calling for her to join him, promising to close his eyes then going back on his promise.

  “What about you?” she asked.

  “I sometimes enjoy a nap after lunch…in the car.”

  “Oh.”

  Disappointment battled pleasure, with pleasure finally winning. Men like Clint didn’t do heroic things like this every day. Instinctively she knew that. The gift was rare indeed.

  “You can give a yell if you need me.”

  “Thank you, Clint.” She stood on tiptoes and kissed him softly on the mouth. “I think you’re my hero.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Clint stretched in the back seat of the car with his arms folded under his head and his ear tuned to the distant sounds from the creek.

  He pictured C.J. romping in the water, hair slicked back, moisture beaded on her skin, nipples puckered by the slight chill of the spring-fed creek. Sitting there in the car missing all the fun he had to be the world’s biggest fool. Or hero.

  That’s what she’d called him. Her hero. A warm glow settled somewhere in the region of his heart and wouldn’t let go no matter how hard he tried.

  A man could get used to being a hero. A man could grow accustomed to being held in high regard by a lovely, intelligent woman. A man could even make a few changes for a woman like that.

  If he wanted to.

  “I’m out of the water,” C.J. called.

  “Are you decent?” he called back, knowing full well she was.

  The C.J. he’d brought to the creek bank today was the kind of girl his mother would have picked for him. She was the kind of girl his mother would have taken to her Saturday Sewing Circle and introduced proudly to all her friends. She was the kind of girl his mother would have bragged about to the postman, the grocer and anybody else who would listen.

  “Mostly,” she yelled back. “Except for a few wet patches here and there.”

  His mouth went dry thinking of those wet spots. “I’ll be right there.”

  C.J. was standing beside the stream with her hair plastered to her head and her shirt clinging to dampened skin that still glowed from the cool water. She’d taken the patchwork quilt off the tree, and it dangled from her hand.

  “Thank you for that lovely swim.”

  “You’re more than welcome.”

  They faced each other with perfect stillness. Afterward he would never remember who made the first move, but suddenly they were in each other’s arms.

  The touch of her lips seared his soul. That was the only way he could describe what was happening. He’d never felt anything like this.

  If he’d tried to explain it, he would have failed. All he knew was that he was completely lost. There was no more Clint Garrett, a man alone viewing the world through jaded eyes. There was simply an ego that disappeared and left in its place a beating heart.

  His blood sang with awareness, his body clamored for release.

  With sexy little murmurings, C.J. indicated she felt the same way. It would be so easy to lower her to the quilt and find release in her sweet supple body on a hot summer’s day.

  But he wanted more. He wanted to keep this special something that sizzled between them. He wanted to feed the fire slowly, to coax the flame gradually until it burned so hot the embers would never die.

  “Clint, please…” C.J. wove her hands into the front of his shirt and tangled her fingers in his chest hair. “I want…I need…”

  “So do I, sweetheart. So do I. But I want it to be just right.”

  He wanted to remain her hero. He didn’t want her to ever wake up in the morning and say, my goodness, what have I done? He didn’t want her to call Sandi and say, that scoundrel took me on the creekbank like an alley cat.

  Why he wanted more, he couldn’t say. Maybe it had to do with finally living up to his mother’s expectations. Maybe it had to do with C.J. herself, the one woman who bested and intrigued him at every turn. And so he gentled her with tender kisses and soft caresses until she lay against his chest, sighing
.

  “We’d better be getting back,” he said.

  “I suppose so.”

  Her reluctance thrilled him. He wanted C.J. to want him more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.

  Tomorrow maybe he’d change his mind. Maybe he’d get on his Harley and leave Hot Coffee and never look back. But today he wanted this: her sweet lips and her tender regard.

  She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the mouth, softly. “Thank you for a beautiful day.”

  It was enough. For now, it was enough.

  C.J. was in such an overwrought state of jangled nerves and raging libido that she slipped in the back door so she wouldn’t have to say anything to Sam. She eased her bedroom door shut, then lay on the bed with her body tingling and her heart on fire.

  She could hear Sam in the kitchen whistling.

  At least somebody’s satisfied. Not that she was envious. She was happy for her father. She really was.

  Right now what she needed was her mother, somebody she could go to and say, tell me what to do when you think you’re falling in love and you’re not sure the man feels the same way. Do you act pushy and try to get what you want? Do you wait and hope he catches on? Do you retreat? Advance? Play hard to get? Don’t play games at all but be brutally honest even if it means you make a fool of yourself? Even if it drives him away?

  C.J. couldn’t bear the thought of driving Clint away, especially now, especially since she’d caught a glimpse of the real man.

  Sam knocked on her door. “C.J., I thought I heard a car. Are you in there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Want some iced tea?”

  “No thanks, Dad.”

  “What about supper? I’m making tuna salad.”

  “Maybe I’ll get a sandwich when I come back. I thought I’d go over to Ellie’s.”

  There was a long silence, then Sam said, “She’s busy tonight.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m taking her to the movies.” You could drive a Mack truck through the long pause. “Uh, C.J….don’t wait up for me.”

  “Dad, I’m not going to be checking the clock. Okay?”

  “Right.”

  He walked back down the hall like Fred Astaire tap dancing.

  C.J. must have dozed, because it was dark outside and she was still lying on top of her bed with her wrinkled fishing clothes on. She listened to the no one’s-home silence. Sam had already gone.