The Husband Quest

by Lori Handeland

  “As you can see, the trail’s too narrow for Lightning to get beyond the first few feet.”

  “But—”

  Evan took her arm and led her back up the trail and toward the house. “It’s been a long day. You’ve had a shock.”

  “I could use a hot bath and a cup of tea.”

  He shook his head. What was he going to do with her?

  “Sorry, we’re fresh out of water. How about a towel and a beer?”

  She stopped dead at the edge of the front yard. “That…that horse!”

  Evan followed the direction of her gaze. The contents of her suitcase had been strewn all over the pasture. Lightning grazed calmly next to the empty bag, as if he hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Jilly marched toward the animal. Evan caught her by the elbow and hauled her back. She was nearly hyperventilating. “Breathe,” he ordered.

  He was very good at dealing with hysterical women. As a teen, his sister had always been on the verge of eruption. Lately, thanks to menopause, his mom usually was.

  Jilly took a deep breath, then another. “Why did he do that?”

  Evan wasn’t sure. Lightning had never misbehaved before. The horse was a lump. He ate and he pooped and he stood there. He didn’t shove people off cliffs, and he hardly ever threw their clothes all over the pasture. Either he really liked Jilly or he didn’t; it was hard to tell with a horse.

  “You go ahead and change.” Evan gave her a little shove toward the inn. “I’ll pick up your things and bring them inside.”

  “Thanks.” She paused halfway between him and the house. “And thank you for saving my life. I think I forgot to say that in all the excitement.”

  “No problem.”

  “If there’s anything I can do to repay you—”

  “I don’t suppose you’d consider sixty-forty?”

  She tilted her head and her wet, red hair fell in hanks around her face, reminding him of the little mermaid. Except Ariel’s hair was always dry or at least looked that way, even under the sea. Of course, that only happened in the wonderful world of Disney, not an Arkansas backwater.

  “I’ll consider it,” she said with a smile, and disappeared into the house.

  Evan started picking up clothes. Everything she had was high class, completely inappropriate for the temperature in Arkansas. A lot of it was grass stained, dirt smudged, water speckled; one particularly lovely blouse had the perfect imprint of a horseshoe on the back. Jilly was going to have a fit.

  He stopped near Lightning. “What were you thinking?”

  The horse shook his head, stomped his foot and whinnied.

  “You’re right.” Evan glanced up at the inn. “She won’t last a week.”

  JILLY FOUND A TOWEL in what must be Evan’s room, since there was a sleeping bag spread across the floor, another in the corner and a knapsack nearby. She also found a battery-operated lantern. He was a regular outdoorsman.

  His room was almost habitable. New drywall, baseboard; the hardwood floors were scratched but clean. The windows still had holes. She hoped they weren’t large enough for birds or bats to get in.

  Shuddering, Jilly carried the towel, the extra sleeping bag and the lantern into her own room. At least her windows were intact.

  Quickly she undressed, dried off, donned the sweatpants and T-shirt, then wrapped her hair in the towel. She’d need to braid it before bed or she’d resemble Little Orphan Annie in the morning.

  A scent reminiscent of moss and day-old fish rose from her skin. She should return to the creek with a bar of soap.

  Jilly glanced at the window. The sun had gone down.

  “Who knows what’s in those woods?” she murmured, swearing she could hear banjos strumming in the trees.

  A footfall on the stairs had her scurrying around the room, gathering her ruined clothes into a pile. Seconds later, Evan knocked.

  “Come in.”

  Evan laid her suitcase, and judging from the amount of material sticking out the sides, all of her clothes, on the floor. “Sorry. There’s a lot of dust and dirt and…other things on these.”

  Jilly sighed. “I wasn’t going to wear them, anyway.”

  She glanced at her sweats. She was down to the clothes on her back. Panic fluttered in the pit of her stomach as old fears surfaced. When was the last time she’d had no clothes to wear, no food to eat, no place to stay and no money in her pocket?

  The day she’d sworn never to be that way again—no matter what she had to do.

  “How fast can we get this place ready to sell?”

  Evan frowned. “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “How much money you have to put into it and how much help you can give me. Ever use a power saw?”

  She merely raised a brow.

  “I didn’t think so.” He shrugged. “With just you and me, fixing this place up could take months.”

  Months? Here? With him? Jilly’s shoulders slumped.

  Well, she’d wanted some time on her own. Looked like she was going to have it in a very unlikely place. With a very unlikely companion.

  “Is that what you’re going to wear?” he asked.

  Jilly glanced down. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “You’ll boil.”

  He tilted his head, and his hair, somehow freed from the rubber band during their misadventure, brushed his shoulders. She’d never met a man with long hair. Most of those in her acquaintance were lucky to have hair.

  “I’ve got an idea.”

  Evan walked out of the room, leaving Jilly alone with her thoughts. Not good, because her thoughts were of running her fingers through the sun-streaked strands, then under his dirty T-shirt, across smooth skin—

  “Here we go.”

  She gasped and ducked her head, though she doubted Evan could see her flush in the flickering light of the lantern. He didn’t seem to be interested in her face, anyway. He was coming at her with scissors.

  “Hey!”

  Going down on one knee, he grabbed a hunk of her sweatpants at midthigh. “Hold still.”

  Before she could protest, he clipped a hole in them, then grabbed hold of the fleecy material and pulled. His biceps flexed; her mind went gooey as her pant leg tore in two. The soft cotton slid to the floor, pooling around her ankle.

  Evan lifted his head. “Better?”

  His mouth was even with her belly, which quivered as his breath fluttered against her shirt.

  She couldn’t talk. She was too busy fighting the urge to lean forward and allow his incredibly lush lips to press against the place where her skin flamed.

  “Jilly?”

  He shifted to the other leg, and his shoulder bumped her thigh. Her breath hissed in at the contact.

  “Sorry.” He placed his palm on her bare knee. “Did I hurt you?”

  She took an instant to be thankful she’d shaved her legs that morning, then shook her head.

  “I’m fine.” Her voice was a hoarse, sexy rasp.

  He didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he lifted the scissors and made short work of the other leg of her sweatpants. Within seconds she wore shorts.

  Evan stood. Jilly’s head tilted back. Their gazes met and the air around them stilled.

  A trickle of sweat, or perhaps water, ran down his neck and disappeared beneath the collar of his damp shirt. The room felt like a sauna. They both smelled like the creek. So why did she suddenly want to press against him and absorb some of the heat?

  “Do you want me to…?”

  He stopped speaking and froze as she stepped closer. She could think of a lot of things she wanted him to do.

  “Cut off the sleeves of your shirt,” he blurted.

  She inched even closer, and her knee brushed his. “Please.”

  Her voice was no longer hers. Her body didn’t seem to be, either.

  Evan took a quick step backward, then his fingers fumbled with the sleeve of her shirt, brushing against the side of her breast.

  “Sorry,” he mutt
ered. “Uh, maybe you should take it off.”

  Jilly reached for the hem. He grabbed her hand. “Not now.”

  “I don’t have anything else to wear.”

  “Well, um, I’ll just make a slit and tear it like the pants.”

  “Fine. Sure.”

  He plucked the material away from her skin with his thumb and forefinger, as if he were afraid of touching her again. A snip later and his biceps bulged right in front of her eyes. She had to fight the desire to run her tongue along the muscles and mark them as hers.

  The sound of rending cloth shot straight to her stomach, then dipped lower. She gritted her teeth, held herself still while he shifted and did the same to the second sleeve.

  This time the brush of his nails, the chill of the scissors, the sound the cloth made as it ripped made her gasp, and his gaze flicked to hers. Instead of wary confusion, his heated eyes reflected the fire in her belly.

  The scissors clattered to the floor as his hands closed around her shoulders. She had a moment to be glad the blades hadn’t pierced one of their feet before his mouth captured hers.

  His thumbs stroked the hollows between her shoulders and her collarbone in the same rhythm as his tongue stroked her lips. Their bodies hovered a wisp apart. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She wanted things she’d never wanted before, and she knew instinctively she could get every one from him.

  His fingers held her face; his tongue dipped inside her mouth to entwine with hers. The towel tumbled off her head, and her hair cascaded around them like a curtain. She barely noticed.

  The man could certainly kiss, or maybe she’d just never been kissed before.

  Foolishness; she’d been married four times. She’d no doubt been kissed four thousand.

  Too bad she’d never been kissed like this.

  WHAT IN HELL was he doing?

  The usual—seducing any female in the vicinity. Evan disgusted himself.

  He had lost track of the number of women he’d taken to bed. He could count on one hand how many he had cared for. Count on…no fingers the ones who had cared for him—and that had to stop.

  Stiffening, he broke the embrace. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

  Jilly, who despite his fumbling retreat was staring at him with soft eyes, her lips wet, red and inviting, blinked. “Do what?”

  He shrugged, spread his hands. “This.”

  She straightened, going from luscious, willing country girl to put-upon, high society widow in an instant. “On the contrary, I bet you can do it. Very well.”

  “I didn’t mean I couldn’t.” Evan rubbed a hand through his hair, shoving the damp strands away from his face. “I just swore that I wouldn’t.”

  “What are you, some kind of priest?”

  “No, that would be my brother.”

  “You have a brother who’s a priest?”

  She seemed shocked—as if he’d just said his brother was a serial killer and not a man of God. In truth, Aaron was neither one.

  His big brother had planned to be a priest, but a single night with a stripper had resulted in a child. When that child had shown up on the doorstep of the family farm—thirteen years old and looking for her daddy—all hell had broken loose.

  Evan, off working on someone’s summer home, had missed all the fun. By the time he’d returned, Aaron had been married to the mother of his child and had absconded to Las Vegas to open a home for runaways.

  “No,” he answered. “My brother isn’t a priest.”

  Jilly made an aggravated sound deep in her throat. “You aren’t making any sense.”

  Evan glanced at her, and his body leaped in response. Tearing off parts of her clothes had been a very bad idea. Not only was it one of the most erotic things he’d ever done, but now her arms and legs were bare—soft, white and enticing.

  He wanted to touch them—first with his hands, then with his mouth. He wanted to teach her all the things she didn’t seem to know. He wanted to learn what she liked and how she liked it.

  He had to get out of here before he forgot the vow he’d made to change his life. But it was so hard when he was…so hard.

  Evan shook his head. Would he ever change? Could he? He wasn’t sure, but he had to try.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, and fled to his room.

  “THAT WENT WELL.”

  Evan’s door closed across the hall. He’d practically run away from her. Was she that unappealing? She might resemble Ellie Mae Clampett in this outfit, but was that bad? Obviously he thought so.

  Or… A hideous thought occurred to her. Maybe she was only attractive to older men. She couldn’t remember ever dating anyone her own age. She’d definitely never gone out with a man who was younger.

  Jilly had just turned thirty-five; Evan appeared to be in his twenties at best. Why would he want her?

  Sighing, she spread out her sleeping bag. It was only ten o’clock, but what else did she have to do but sleep—and think?

  Seven hours later, she was still thinking. She’d tossed and turned, but hadn’t slept much. Now she was hungry.

  She sat up. The air was still and humid, and the bugs outside made more noise than a brass band. She missed the soothing cadence of her ocean. Without the murmur of the Pacific outside the window, she wasn’t going to sleep well anytime soon.

  She headed downstairs. A big guy like Evan had to have food around here somewhere.

  Thankfully, the sun was coming up, spreading slivers of golden sunshine through the broken windows to light her path. She found the kitchen with relative ease, found the food even easier. The huge cooler was as out of place in this house as she was.

  Jilly removed the makings for a sandwich—bread, turkey, cheese. No coffeepot. She just might have to kill someone.

  How was she going to face Evan this morning after throwing herself at him last night? She had no idea what had gotten into her. She’d wanted nothing more than to tear off his clothes as he’d torn hers, put her hands all over his skin and have him put his mouth…everywhere. She must be more upset over Henry’s death than she’d thought.

  Jilly seized on the excuse. That was it! Losing Henry, of whom she’d become inordinately fond, had unhinged her mind. She’d be fine once she had a new husband. She always was.

  A shuffle outside the open window frame above the counter drew her attention. Lightning stared back at her.

  “What did I ever do to you?” she whispered.

  The horse ignored her, pushing his nose, then his entire head, through the window. He pulled back his lips, teeth reaching daintily for her food.

  Jilly snatched the sandwich away before he could eat, or sneeze on, it.

  “Behave yourself!”

  Jilly froze as a woman spoke behind her. Lightning took one look at the intruder and ran.

  Jilly spun around. Her mouth fell open.

  A tiny, skinny, withered old woman stood in the kitchen doorway. Where had she come from? Jilly hadn’t heard the front door open, nor any footsteps on the plank floor.

  She was dressed in a white cotton blouse, high-necked and long-sleeved, despite the heat. Her skirt hung to midcalf—the better to admire her ankle-high work boots. Her long, gray hair had been twisted into a bun.

  “Do you like my house?”

  Panic fluttered in Jilly’s stomach. Her house? Was the deed contested? Jilly didn’t have the money to go to court, but this place was all she had. She couldn’t give it up without a fight.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Figured you would have heard about me by now.”

  Jilly thought back over what she’d been told. The only thing she recalled was that the inn was…

  Haunted.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “TH-THIS IS your house?” Jilly asked.

  “Used to be. Always loved the place.” The old woman sat on a kitchen chair, then stuck her feet out in front of her and fanned her face with one hand. “Hot, ain’t it?”

  Jilly nodded,
wondering if ghosts could be hot. Wouldn’t they be cold? As in stone-cold dead?

  She reached out and touched the woman’s arm. Bony, warm, solid—she felt pretty real.

  “You’re alive,” Jilly murmured.

  “And kicking. Got a few good times in me yet, I hope. Whad ya think? I was a shade?”

  “Shade?”

  “Ha’nt.” At Jilly’s blank expression, she continued, “Spirit. Ghost.”

  “Oh! Yes. Well, not really. I don’t believe in such things.”

  The woman lifted her snowy-white eyebrows. “You will.”

  Jilly straightened and tried to appear dignified, which wasn’t easy wearing cut-off sweatpants and a torn T-shirt.

  “I’m Jillian Hart.” She offered her hand. “The inn is mine now.”

  The old woman stared at Jilly’s hand with such a frown, Jilly surreptitiously peeked at her fingers, then winced. Her polish was chipped; two nails were broken. She needed a manicure in the worst way. However, until she made good on her husband quest, she’d be making do with a nail file and some polish remover.

  “Sold the place to a man by the name of Duvier,” the woman said. “Who might you be?”

  “His wife. Henry passed on recently.”

  “Sorry to hear that. I’m Addie Tolliver.”

  She clapped her hand around Jilly’s and crunched a few bones with her handshake. For a tiny, skinny old woman, Addie had the strength of an ox.

  “Where’s the youngun who’s workin’ here?”

  “Youngun?”

  “Pretty boy. Long hair. Nice butt.”

  Jilly’s eyes widened. “Um. That might be Evan.”

  “Might be? Any other young men with a nice butt and an even better chest?”

  Jilly put her nose into the air. “I wouldn’t know. He’s my partner.”

  “Partner? Well, that should be interesting. You plannin’ on livin’ here?”

  “It’s my place.”

  “And him?”

  “There’s nothing going on,” Jilly hastened to explain. Though why she felt the need to explain to a stranger, she had no idea. Nevertheless… “We’re fixing up the place to sell as a bed-and-breakfast. For the new highway.”

  “So I hear.” Addie withdrew a cloth-covered rectangle from a voluminous pocket in her skirt and offered it to Jilly. “Made it m’self this morning.”