“Well, if you must know, I had Caleb buy the shop.”
“With your money.”
“That’s right. Caleb made sure Jackson paid Lucille back. Then Caleb sold the shop for me. At a profit. Everybody came out all right—financially, at least. And by then, Jackson had moved on. Lucille doesn’t talk about him much, not to me, anyway—and you know, now I look back on both Jackson and Ted Anders, I realize I was pretty darn lucky. At least I didn’t marry them. At least I found out what kind of men they really were before I took any kind of irrevocable step.”
There was silence from the narrow cot on the other side of the room.
She grinned into the darkness. “Justin? Have I put you to sleep?”
“I’m wide-awake.”
“You sound so serious…”
A pause, and then, “Those two were a couple of prime-grade SOBs—and you’re right, at least you didn’t marry either of them.”
“No, I didn’t. And Justin…”
“What?”
“I did have a nice boyfriend or two. Nothing that serious, but they were good guys. I actually enjoyed high school. How many people can say that?”
“Good point.” The way he said that made her sure he was one of the ones who couldn’t.
“And I went to both proms—junior and senior. For my senior prom I wore a—”
He made a loud snoring sound.
She sat up and the bed creaked in protest. “I might have to unscrew one of these pineapple finials and throw it at you.”
He sat up, too. “Please don’t hurt me.”
They looked at each other through the darkness. For pajamas, he’d found a pair of cheap black sweats in the storage room. In the minimal light, he was hardly more than a broad-shouldered shadow. But then his white teeth flashed with his smile.
She flopped back down. “I promise to let you go to sleep. Soon.”
His blankets rustled. “No hurry. As it happens, I don’t have any early appointments tomorrow.”
“Okay, then. But remember. I offered to shut up….”
“And I turned you down.”
She raised her arms and slid her hands under her hair, lacing them on the too-fat pillow, cupping her head. “Sheesh. I’m starting to feel as if I know you so well. But I don’t even know where you live—in Bozeman, right?” He made a noise in the affirmative. “Your house…what’s it like?”
“Four thousand square feet. Vaulted ceilings. Lots of windows. Good views.”
“And redwood decking, on a number of levels—with a huge hot tub, right?”
“How did you know that?”
“Oh, Justin. How else could it be? And come on. Fair’s fair. Women?”
He let out a big, fake sigh. “Okay. What do you need to know?”
She thought of the way he’d kissed her out in the shed—and when they got “married.” And she realized it had never occurred to her that there might be someone special in his life. A live-in girlfriend, or even…
A wife.
No. No, that couldn’t be. He could never have kissed her like that if there already was a special woman in his life—not the way he had when they’d pretended to get married.
And certainly not the way he’d kissed her out in the shed.
And if he could…
Oh, God. Here she’d made such a big deal about asking him if he was after her money. And she hadn’t bothered to find out if he had a wife.
“It’s too damn quiet over there.” His voice was deep and rough—and teasing.
“Justin, are you married?”
There was dead silence, and then, “What the hell made you think that?”
“Nothing. It’s just that I never asked—and you never said.”
He swore under his breath. “I’ve done one or two things I’m not…thrilled I had to do, I’ll admit.” She wondered what, exactly. But before she had time to ask, he said, “But I never will do that—play one woman when I’m married to another.” He sounded totally disgusted with the very idea.
Which pleased her greatly. “Er…that would be a no?”
“Yeah. A no. A definite no—and let me guess your next question. Do I have a steady woman in my life?”
She was grinning again. “Yep. That would be it.”
“That’s a no, too.”
“Well.” She put her arms down on the blankets again. “Okay, then. Were you ever married?”
“Never. Too busy making something from nothing. Serious relationships just didn’t fit into the equation.”
“You’re career-driven?”
“I guess one of these days I’ll have to slow down and get a life. But I like what I do.”
“What about…a high school sweetheart?”
A brief silence, then, “High school. Now, that was a long time ago.”
She realized she didn’t know his age. “You’re how old?”
“Thirty-two. And as I think I told you, when I was growing up, we moved around a lot—no chance to fit in. I dated now and then. It never went anywhere.”
“You make yourself sound like a lonely guy.”
He grunted. “No need for a pity party. There have been women, just not anything too deep or especially meaningful.”
There have been women…
Well, of course there had. He had those compelling good looks. That kind of dangerous, mysterious air about him. A lot of women really went for the dangerous type. And yet, he could be so charming, so open, about himself and his life. And then there was the way he could kiss….
Katie slipped her hand up, to touch her lips, remembering.
Oh, yes. A guy who could kiss like that would have had some practice.
But there was no special woman. No secret wife.
In spite of that aura of danger he could give off, Justin Caldwell was an honest guy—and Katie really did like that in a man.
The next day was Monday. They woke to find the snow still coming down, though not as thickly as the day before. On the ground, it reached halfway to the porch roof. After they’d dressed and had their fresh coffee and two-day-old sandwiches, they both went out to the front porch, though the door could barely clear the spill of snow that sloped onto the boards of the porch floor.
“Shoveling our way out of here will be a hell of a challenge,” Justin said.
She nodded. “If it would only stop coming down. Give us a chance to take a crack at it, give the snowplow a break. It’s piling up faster than anyone could hope to clear it.”
Back inside, the phone was still out. And the boom box picked up the usual crackling static.
They made their way along the narrow covered path to the shed, where they spent a couple of hours cleaning up after Buttercup and keeping her company. Twice, the horse got feisty with Justin. She tried again to head-butt him into the hay. And once, in a deft move, she actually got the collar of his jacket between her teeth. She yanked it off him.
When he swore at her, she instantly dropped it. White tail swishing grandly, she turned for the doors that led out to a wall of snow.
“See?” he demanded. “That horse hates me.”
“Could be affection,” Katie suggested.
“Yeah, right.” He picked up the old coat and brushed it off.
“Hey, at least it didn’t land in a pile of manure.”
He made a low sound, something halfway between a chuckle and a grunt, and slipped his arms into the sleeves. “Are we done here?”
She agreed that they were.
Back in the museum, Katie decided to get busy on the day’s main project: clean hair.
Over her baggy tan pants, she put on a wrinkled white T-shirt with a boarded-up mine shaft and Stay Out, Stay Alive! emblazoned across the front. The rummage sale bags didn’t come through with a bath towel. But hey. She had plenty of personal-size bottles of shampoo—in herbal scent and “no tears.” And there was a stack of dish towels in the kitchen cupboard. She’d make do with a few of them.
Then came the big inter
nal debate—to use the bathroom sink: more private. Or the one in the kitchen: bigger.
Bigger won. Justin had seen her in her ugly sweater and saggy pants wearing zero makeup; he’d seen her in the distinctly unflattering flannel pajamas. He could certainly stand to get a look at her bending over a sink with her hair soaking wet.
Glamour just wasn’t something a girl could maintain in a situation like this.
Justin sat at the table playing solitaire with a deck he’d found in the desk out front and tried not to sneak glances at Katie while she washed her hair.
The faint perfume from the shampoo filled the air, a moist, flowery scent. And the curve of her body as she bent over the sink, the shining coils of her wet hair, the creamy smoothness of her neck, bared with her hair tumbling into the sink, even the rushing sound of the water, the way it spilled over the vulnerable shape of her skull, turning her hair to a silken stream and dribbling over her satiny cheek and into her eyes….
He couldn’t stop looking.
He had a problem. And he knew it.
There was something about her. Something soft and giving. Something tender and gentle and smart and funny…and sexy, too. All at the same time.
Something purely feminine.
Something that really got to him.
Every hour he spent with her, he wanted her more. It was starting to get damn tough—keeping it friendly. Not pushing too fast.
Too fast? He restrained a snort of heavy irony liberally laced with his own sexual frustration.
Too fast implied there would be satisfaction.
There wouldn’t be. And he damn well had to keep that in mind.
Even if she said yes to him, there was no way he was taking her to bed while they were locked in here.
He couldn’t afford that. Not without protection. And though the bags in the storage room seemed to have no end of useful items in them, what they didn’t have were condoms.
He knew because he’d actually checked to see if they did.
And since he’d checked, he’d found himself thinking constantly of all the ways a man and a woman could enjoy each other sexually short of actual consummation.
He grabbed up a card to move it—and then couldn’t resist stealing another look.
She’d rinsed away most of the flowery-scented shampoo, but there was a tiny froth of it left on her earlobe. She rinsed all around it, but somehow the water never quite reached it.
He gritted his teeth to keep from telling her to get that bit of lather on her ear. He ordered his body to stay in that chair. Every nerve seemed to sizzle.
Damned if he wasn’t getting hard.
Ridiculous, he thought. This has to stop….
He looked down at the card in his hand—the jack of spades—and couldn’t even remember what he’d meant to do with it.
This was bad. Real bad.
Some kind of dark justice?
Hell. Probably.
He meant to use her as another way to get to Caleb. Too bad he hadn’t realized how powerfully—and swiftly—she would end up getting to him.
At last, she tipped her head enough that the water flowed over that spot on her ear. The little dab of lather rinsed away and down the drain.
Late that afternoon, Justin went out to the front of the museum to stoke the fire in the stove. Katie busied herself in the kitchen, putting away the few dishes that stood drying on the drain mat, wiping the table and the counters. The tasks were simple ones, easily accomplished.
After she rinsed the sponge and set it in the little tray by the sink, she found herself drawn to the window. She wandered over and stood there watching the snow falling through the graying light, wondering how long it would be until they could dig out, until the old mare in the shed got a little room to stretch her legs and a nice, big bucket of oats.
Justin returned from the front room. She glanced over and gave him a smile and went back to gazing out at the white world beyond the glass.
He went to the sink. She heard the water running, was aware of his movements as he washed his hands and then reached for the towel. A moment later, she heard his approach, though she didn’t turn to watch him come toward her.
It was so still out there. Snowy and silent. The museum sat at the corner, where Elk Avenue turned east. There was a full acre to either side, free of structures—what had, years ago, been part of the school-yard. Katie could see the shadowy outline of the first house beyond the museum property. The Lockwoods lived there—a young couple with two children, a boy and a girl, eight and nine: Jeff and Kaylin, both nice kids. Kaylin loved to read. She and Jeff always attended the library’s weekly children’s story hour, run by Emelda Ross.
There was a light on in the Lockwood house, the gleam of it just visible, through the veil of falling snow. Katie hoped the Lockwoods were safe in there, with a cozy fire and plenty to eat.
“Katie…” Justin brushed a hand against her shoulder. The warm thrill his touch brought lightened her spirits—at least a little. “Watching it won’t make it stop coming down.”
She thought of the noisy beer drinkers back at the hall, of dear old Emelda, who’d stuck it out when all the other members of the Historical Society had left. “I was just thinking of everyone back at the hall. I hope they’re all safe.”
“They had food, didn’t they?”
She looked from all that blinding white to the man beside her. “Yes. The potluck, remember? People brought all those casseroles.”
“So they’ll get by.” He gave her a steady look, a look meant to reassure. “They have food. And restrooms. Water—and the sidewalks on Main are all covered. That’s going to make it a lot easier for them to get out than it will be for us.”
He was right. She added, “And the first place the snowplow will be working is up and down Main.”
“See? They’ll be okay.”
But there were others—the ones who’d left the hall before Katie and Justin. “What about the people who left for home? We don’t even know if they all made it.”
He took her by the shoulders—firmly, but gently. His touch caused the usual reactions: butterflies in her stomach, a certain warmth lower down….
“Katie, you can’t do anything about it. We just have to make the best of a tough situation. And so will everyone else.”
In her mind’s eye, she saw Addy’s dear long, aristocratic face, her sparkling blue eyes and her prim little smile—and then she pictured Caleb, in that white Stetson he liked to wear, a corner of his mouth quirked up in his rascal’s grin. “I don’t even know where Addy and Caleb went. One minute they were there, in the hall, and then, when we were up there on the stage, just before the ‘Reverend’ Green stepped up, I looked out over the crowd and I didn’t see either of them.”
“They probably went home. Or maybe you just didn’t spot them and they’re both still there. Either way, there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. Just let yourself believe they’re safe—which, most likely, they are.”
“But if—”
He didn’t let her finish. “Worrying about them won’t help them. All it’ll do is make you miserable.”
“But I only—”
“It’ll be okay.” He shook her, lightly. “Got it?”
She made herself give him a nod.
He studied her for a long moment. Then he demanded, “Why the hell do you still look so worried, then?”
She only shrugged. What was there to say? He was right. There was no point in worrying. But when she thought of Addy and Caleb—when she looked at the Lockwood’s faint light across the snow-covered museum yard—she simply couldn’t help it.
“Hey,” Justin murmured. “Hey, come on…” He pulled her to him.
She didn’t even consider resisting—why should she? Maybe she’d had her doubts about him at first. But gently and tenderly, he’d dispelled her reservations. She knew she could trust him now.
He wrapped those long, hard arms around her and she pressed herself close to him, tuc
king her head under his chin, laying her ear against the leaping reindeers on the front of his sweater, right over his heart, which beat steady and strong, if a little too fast. She smiled to herself—a woman’s smile. His embrace brought more comfort than words could. And the sound of his heartbeat, racing in time to hers?
That wasn’t comforting, not in the least. That sound thrilled her. It stole her breath.
She hoped—she prayed—that everyone else trapped by the storm was at least safe and warm with plenty to eat.
For herself, though, there was no place she would rather be than right here in the Thunder Canyon Historical Museum held close and safe in Justin’s arms.
For herself, she was beginning to believe that getting snowed-in with Caleb’s business associate was the best thing that had ever happened to her.
She felt his lips against her hair and snuggled closer. “Justin?”
“Hmm?”
She tipped her head up to find those blue eyes waiting.
And his lips…
It just seemed the most natural thing. To lift her mouth, to let her eyes drift shut.
His mouth touched hers—so lightly. Heat flared and flowed through her. Her lips burned. Her pulse raced.
Then he lifted away.
She didn’t want that.
Oh, no. She wanted more. Much more.
“Justin?” She opened her eyes to look up at him again.
“Hmm?”
“Justin, do you like kissing me?”
He muttered something very low, probably a swear word. “I do. I like it too damn much.”
“I like kissing you, too,” she confessed. “I like it a lot.”
His gaze scanned her face. “So…?”
She slid her hands up to encircle his neck. “Please. Kiss me some more.”
“Katie,” he whispered, and that was all. Then his mouth swooped down and covered hers.
Chapter Six
They kissed, standing there at the window, with the white hush of the snow drifting down outside, for the longest, sweetest time. When Justin finally lifted his head, he asked, husky and low, “Convinced?”
She blinked up at him. “Of what?”
Stranded with the Groom Page 7
