by Lori Foster
“Busy day?”
“Yes,” she groaned, setting the box on the sideboard that was just by the door. Then she took off her gloves, her hat and her coat and put them on the floor. “Where is Poppy?”
“I set her free. Back into the wild where she belongs. She should be making her way back to the Canadian wilderness as we speak.”
“Jace, where is my dog?”
“In front of the fireplace. She had a busy day following me around. I think she’s out of shape.”
“Yeah, we don’t do much in the way of ranching.”
“I didn’t figure. She did like playing in the snow, though.”
“Aw, fun. I’ll have to go out with you both for a while tomorrow. Sunday, my blessed day of rest,” she said.
“Holiday orders getting heavy?”
“Around Thanksgiving I made so many pies my fingers were curled into claws for days, and it hasn’t slowed down much. Mince pies, apple pies, pumpkin pies. I have a special order in for a cherpumple.”
His dark eyebrows locked together. “What fresh hell is that?”
“It’s a pie inside a cake.”
“That’s wrong. You can’t put a pie inside a cake.”
“You can.”
“It doesn’t mean you should.”
“Some power-mad baker decided to wreak havoc with the order of the universe, I guess. I don’t know what to tell you,” she said.
Jace took his hat off and smoothed his hair, his muscles shifting beneath his tight T-shirt. He and Poppy must have just gotten back because he rarely wore a hat inside. “I like things to make sense. To go where they belong.”
He walked over to the coat closet and put the black Stetson up on the top shelf, then left the door standing open. A clear invitation for her to put her own stuff away.
She wouldn’t even grumble about it. She picked up her coat and other accessories and brought them to the closet, placing her hat next to his, and then put her gloves on the shelf by the door, right on top of Jace’s leather Carhartts.
She grinned at him in triumph. “I can adapt,” she said.
“Good,” he said. “Because I don’t very well.”
“Aw, be adventurous. Try a cherpumple.”
“I’m letting a dog sleep by my fireplace. I think that’s enough adventure in my life for the time being. I’m not eating some unholy dessert mash-up.”
“A cherpumple and a romantic comedy.”
“A beer and Die Hard 2.”
“Bah!” She smiled at him and her stomach tightened. She took a deep breath and headed toward the kitchen, scooping up the cookies along the way. “Hey, what do you want for dinner?”
“I made dinner,” he said.
“You...made dinner?”
“Yes, you can have some.”
“I thought you just got in.”
“I came in and put chili in the slow cooker and then went back out for a while. I usually live on my own, you know.”
“I know,” she said. “But I kind of picture you being a little more helpless than that. Your kitchen doesn’t look used.”
“Clean. It looks clean.”
“Ahahaha. Funny, funny. Where is this chili?”
“In the Crock-Pot, waiting for you.”
Again she couldn’t shake the feeling of the domestic. And a little bit of bliss. Domestic bliss. She’d been short on that in her life. She wasn’t sure what she thought about feeling it now, in this situation, with Jace.
She hadn’t ever felt this with guys she’d slept with. She’d never felt at ease having them in her space. Which, when you were in a long-term relationship with someone, obviously wasn’t very good. And that was maybe why they’d ended up dumping her.
Man #1, Mike, had lasted for two years. Two years of dates, the occasional dinner and night in, and then an unceremonious boot in the morning so she could get back to her life.
Man #2, Caleb, had lasted a fleeting three months and hadn’t made it into her bed. Poor bastard. He’d always been called out at third base. No chance of sliding in home.
Man #3, David, had lasted a record four years. Until he’d wanted them to move in together. And the idea had felt so close to permanent it had given her the shakes.
Two years since that horrific breakup and she’d been sort of happily without.
So, in all honesty, she’d spent a long time avoiding domestic bliss. That she was liking it now, with Jace, was more than a little disturbing. Because Jace didn’t want it. And making any move toward it might alienate the one constant in her life.
The simple truth was, she loved Jace. Not that she was in love with him or anything, but she loved him. He was like a part of her. So deeply ingrained she didn’t know what she would do without him.
Which was maybe the root of some of her relationship trouble. Jace was the most important person in her world. That meant her boyfriends always came second. And they didn’t like that.
And a husband couldn’t come second to a friend. So that made things...impossible.
Just dating was almost impossible. David and Jace had not been each other’s biggest fans. And it wasn’t entirely Jace’s fault. Or David’s really. But David had been understandably iffy about his girlfriend going to another man’s house, alone, late at night, to watch movies. And Jace had been understandably pissed that David had suspected they would fool around behind his back.
And she’d been understandably pissed about it, too, but if she’d been in David’s place she would have been a little suspicious, as well.
That had just been a big mess. And while her attachment to Jace hadn’t ended the relationship, it hadn’t helped, either.
She shook off her decidedly downbeat musings and headed toward the Crock-Pot, filling a bowl with chili, cheese and corn chips. “Nom,” she said. “Thank you. It’s kind of nice to have someone cook for me.”
“Has anyone ever cooked for you?” he asked.
“Not really. Mrs. Brown used to bake for me. And she made us both cheese sandwiches for lunch.”
“Oh...I remember those,” he said. “Mayonnaise and cheese on white bread.”
“It was nice to have someone care enough to feed me.” She swallowed past a rising lump in her throat. “Anyway, it was nice then, and it’s nice now.”
“It’s nice to have you here.”
“I’m been making your life hell, but thanks for saying that.”
“No. Really. It reminds of me of how things were. I mean, the good things. Because Lord knows there was a bunch of crap. But...there was good. And you were a huge part of that.”
“Thanks. You, too. For me, I mean.”
“Tomorrow we should have cheese sandwiches with mayonnaise,” he said.
“I’ll pack them for lunch. I really do want to follow you around while you work for a while.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m proud of you. Of what you have here.”
“I had help getting it.”
“And you were smart enough to take help. You should be proud of that, too. Neither of us had anything growing up. I had whatever tiny apartment my mom could get us into. Whatever food we could cook on a little individual burner in one pan. And hey, sometimes we just lived in cars. And then there was your house...”
“Yeah.”
“We’ve come a long way, baby,” she said.
“I know.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing how things have changed since the last time I did an extensive tour. Normally I just come sit on your couch.”
His whole face changed. Pride. Contentment. Oh, she loved to see all that there. He deserved it. “You’ll love it. I’m experimenting with the best time of year to calve. These babies were born in October.”
“
And they’re probably mad at you since you stole their testosterone.”
“That’s how it works,” he said.
“You wouldn’t be so cavalier if it was your testosterone we were talking about.”
“Are you acknowledging I have it?”
“What? Naturally. Your chest hair doesn’t come from your rampant estrogen, and I know about your chest hair since I tried to make a pancake on it yesterday.”
“You did.”
“Thought maybe I could cook it on your skin. ’Cuz you’re so hot.”
“Ha-ha.”
“See? I acknowledge your...” The light in his eyes changed and her sentence died on her lips. He looked so intense, so focused, for a moment that she thought he might...that he might be intending to...
And now he was staring at her lips.
Oh, no.
Oh, yes.
No. No, no, no.
Her inner hedonist and her inner doomsday prophet were locked in an epic battle. One thrilled about the potential for a kiss. The other screeching about it bringing about the end of days. And unfortunately, the little bitch with the sandwich board was right. It was a recipe for doom. Dooooom.
“Your testosterone,” she finished, kicking her brain into gear and taking a step back from him. “It is in full working order. Beer and Die Hard 2! Let’s do this thing.”
She stalked into the living room, her heart beating so hard her pulse echoed in her temple. This time, it was all Jace’s fault. He couldn’t look at her like that and expect her to maintain sanity and purity of thought. She was on a two-year sex hiatus. And he was hot.
And she was a red-blooded woman with urges and needs. Urges and needs that were going to have to calm the hell down because she was not, under any circumstances, going to kiss Jace Colter.
No, she was not.
She sat down on the couch and closed her eyes, waiting for Jace and imagining warm summer days spent on a grassy hill. Away from home. Away from the crazy for Jace. Away from the empty for her. And she thought of mayonnaise-and-cheese sandwiches. And how no matter what, Jace had been by her side. How he’d supported her through everything.
Nothing was worth risking that. Nothing at all.
Chapter Five
Jace blessed the cold air as it washed over his body. But he cursed the fact that Sam was with him. Because she was negating the effect that the frigid surroundings otherwise would have had on him.
He’d been harder than hell and bound up in one big knot since last night.
He’d almost done it. He’d almost leaned in and kissed her sassy pink lips. And damned if he wouldn’t have regretted it. He regretted not doing it. And that was dumb as rocks.
But she’d gotten to talking about his testosterone. And then the pancake incident. The pancake incident that he should be irritated about. The pancake incident that made his blood run a little hotter and his pulse pound at an accelerated rate.
Because now, when he pictured the scene, batter all over his bare chest, he invited her to lick it off. A fair trade since she’d caused the incident. And then, when the altered memory went there, his chest wasn’t the only thing she licked.
And that was just sick. Who had those thoughts about their best friend? He felt like a complete bastard having fantasies about her lips on him, but dammit, he had them. Lots of them. Explicit, erotic fantasies.
He redirected his thoughts quickly—a necessity because his jeans were starting to get tight—and turned to face Samantha and her big black shadow.
“So,” she said, “what are we doing today?”
“We,” he said, “are going to move the cattle from one pasture to another. We have to keep the rotation going, especially through the winter so they have plenty of grass to eat.”
“We’re going to herd your cattle? That’s freaking awesome.” Her pale cheeks and nose were already stained cherry-red, her hair frizzing around her head thanks to the moisture in the air. She had on a berry-colored hat and gloves, which should have clashed with her coloring but somehow didn’t. She was so vibrant against the background of white snow and silver sky. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
And it wasn’t just his groin that tightened. It wasn’t just his stomach that felt strange. It was his heart.
Well, damn. That was inconvenient. Feeling these inappropriate Sam feeling were bad enough when they were below the waist. Bringing his heart into the equation made it all worse.
“Yep,” he said, his throat suddenly tightening up, too. Oh, good, his whole body was staging a rebellion.
“Get along, little doggy!” she said to Poppy, weaving back and forth in the snow, making uneven footprints. Poppy pranced behind her, lifting her feet higher, clearly excited by Samantha’s exuberance.
And he couldn’t blame her. Samantha had that way about her. She was infectious. She’d always made him smile, even when there’d been nothing in his life to smile about.
She still did that to him. She did everything to him.
Dammit.
“Calm down, cowgirl,” he said. “We’ve got to saddle up some horses.”
* * *
Five hours later, Samantha was muddy and exhausted, and so was Poppy. And Jace still wasn’t done working.
“We’re going to head back to the house,” she said.
“Right. I’ll be behind you in a bit.”
She nodded and strolled from the barn back to the two-story home. She’d spent the whole day in the cold with Jace and his hired hands. And they’d eaten cheese-and-mayonnaise sandwiches, and her cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
Her butt hurt, too, from riding the horse for so long. And she was pretty sure she would be walking funny in the morning. She didn’t ride very often, and she’d never shadowed Jace on the ranch before.
It was incredible. To see what his hard work had earned him. To see how hard he worked every day. And it made him even sexier. To see him get dirty. Sweaty. To see him like she never normally saw him.
He really wasn’t joking. He didn’t mind getting dirty; he just cleaned up after.
He was like a walking fantasy. Tough and masculine, yet deeply involved with soap.
It wasn’t fair.
She let out a breath and opened the door to the house, cringing when Poppy bounded in and left several paw prints in the entryway.
“No,” she whined, grabbing Poppy’s collar. “Hang on.” She marched the dog into the laundry room and got a towel to clean her paws. “You need a bath,” she said. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Samantha wiped up the floor on her way back by the entry door, then marched Poppy up the stairs and into the guest bathroom, right next to the room she’d claimed as her own for the duration of her stay.
“Okay, chica, let’s get this mud off you.”
A half an hour later, she had a clean and mostly dry dog snoozing at the foot of her bed. And she had a bathtub with a dirt ring to contend with.
She grabbed the flexible shower head and started to spray along the edge of the tub until most of the ring was gone. Now there was just a bit of black hair sticking to everything. That was always the problem with bathing Poppy. The water drew out enough hair to build a whole new dog.
She hummed as she sprayed the tub, jumping when she heard Jace’s voice.
“Did you bathe your dog in the house?”
She flipped the switch on the shower head and stopped the flow, diverting the water to the tub. “What? Yes. Did you want me to leave her muddy?”
“I bathed her in the stable yesterday. I didn’t bathe her inside.”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Jace. Unclench,” she said, a rush of anger washing over her. Anger directed at him for being such an ass about the house. And for being so sexy. And so off-limits. And anger at herself for wa
nting him when she knew it was impossible.
She was suddenly very angry about all the things and there wasn’t anything she could do to stop it from leaking out.
“It smells like wet dog in here.”
“Does it? It’s about to smell like wet cowboy.” She flipped the switch on the sprayer again and aimed it at his chest, making a nice little damp spot right in the same place she’d smacked him with batter the other day, then turned the water off again.
“I can’t believe you did that,” he said.
“Believe it. I’ll do it again, too.”
“Sam...”
She sprayed him again.
“Samantha.”
Again, and she could have sworn he smiled as he crossed the bathroom, reaching out toward her watery weapon even though he was trying to give her his very best angry eyebrows. “No!” she shrieked, spraying him the whole time he was advancing on her. He grabbed her arm and spun her so that she was locked against his chest, facing away from him. And then she was unceremoniously disarmed, held captive against his wet chest, the sprayer against her breasts.
“You wouldn’t,” she said.
“You did.”
“But I’m mean. And you’re usually not.”
“Nah, baby,” he said, his voice low, resonating in his chest, vibrating against her back and sending a million little sparks through her body, “I’m a mean son of a bitch. And don’t you forget it.”
“You are not.” She wiggled, her butt coming into contact with what was either a hard belt buckle or...or...oh, my. She wiggled some more, not so much to get free as to identify just what all was hard back there. Because no matter how much she shouldn’t want him to be hard against her ass, she kind of wanted him to be hard.
He flipped the diverter on the sprayer and a shot of cold water hit her between her breasts. “Dammit!”
“I told you.”
“But I didn’t believe you!”
“You pushed me.”
“Yeah, well, you could use a little push, Jace,” she said, pushing her butt against him again. “Lord knows you don’t get challenged enough.”
“You don’t think?” he asked, his hold tightening on her, bringing him harder up against her ass and no, that was not a belt buckle.
