Peggy Moreland
Dear Reader,
Was it fate, luck or just a fluke that I was invited to participate in an anthology about three sisters? I’ll probably never know, but the similarities between the heroine whose story I was assigned to write and myself are strange enough to make me wonder. You see, I’m one of three sisters and, like my heroine Deanna, I’m the middle child, plus I fell in love with a cowboy from Texas! Isn’t that wild? Of course, the similarities between Deanna and myself end there. Deanna is much more independent and spunky than I ever was, and I’m a board-straight redhead and she is a curly-headed blonde. There are other differences, as well, but I’m stopping there, before I sink into a depression!
Writing this anthology was a challenge for me, as each of the three stories occurred simultaneously. Not an easy feat for three authors living in three different parts of the country to pull off! Emilie, Allison and I burned up the e-mail trails plotting, sharing and creating our characters, their families and the world they lived in. Time lines, personality traits, physical descriptions of all the characters, as well as the geography and population of Colman Key all had to be discussed and agreed upon. It was mind-boggling…but fun!
I hope you’ve enjoyed reading Lacey and Marti’s stories. Now it’s time to discover how Deanna handles that corporate cowboy who won’t take no for an answer….
Best wishes,
Chapter 1
Deanna stood in front of the refrigerator, her arm draped over the open door holding it ajar, trying to soak up every molecule of cool air that escaped the appliance. She’d already shucked her shorts, bra and shoes in deference to the heat, which left her wearing nothing but an oversize T-shirt that was clinging damply to her back and a sexy—even if she did say so herself—leopard-print thong panty.
Standing eye-level with a jug of milk, she frowned at the drops of condensation pearling on it, trying to remember an experiment her sixth-grade science teacher had conducted for her class. As she recalled, the test had consisted of filling two glasses with water, one with regular tap water and the other with ice water. When the air had touched the cold glass, the water vapor in the air had cooled, forming tiny droplets of water on the glass. But when the air had hit the glass filled with regular tap water, no condensation had formed.
Her frown deepened as she struggled to correlate the condensation forming on the cold milk jug with the perspiration beading her body. She definitely wasn’t cool, so how come condensation was forming on her? Granted, her body temperature exceeded that of tap water, but surely not by that much. Condensation was the same as sweat, wasn’t it?
Heck, she thought in frustration. It was too hot to think. Especially about something pertaining to science, her least favorite subject in school.
Abandoning her deep thoughts to sulk again, she wound a curly blond strand of hair around and around her finger. It wasn’t fair, she thought. Why did she have to be the one to wait for Big John to come and repair Grammer’s air conditioner, when there were three others who could just as easily have done the waiting? No, make that two, she amended judiciously. Her grandmother had a good excuse. Grammer was out playing the Good Samaritan, taking dinner over to Mrs. Finch—the organist at Grammer’s church—who had just been released from the hospital that day.
But Lacey and Marti weren’t so easily excused. Her sisters had snuck out, leaving Deanna to sweat out Big John’s arrival alone. The two were probably, at this very minute, sitting in air-conditioned comfort sipping frozen margaritas and laughing their heads off because they’d given Deanna the slip…which is exactly what Deanna would be doing if she’d thought of it first.
Silently cursing her sisters for outfoxing her, she spied a thin paddle of wood sticking out from between two of the recipe books lined up on top of the refrigerator. Curious, she pulled it down. To her surprise—and glee!—she discovered she’d unearthed an old funeral fan. On the front of the scalloped-edged rectangle of cardboard was a lithograph of a heavenly angel. On the back was an advertisement for Beck and Son Funeral Directors and Morticians, Colman Key and a promise of “we’ll inter your loved ones with the respect they deserve.”
How apropos, she thought wryly, putting the fan to good use. She might very well need the services of Beck and Son Funeral Directors if Big John didn’t show up pretty darn quick. Of course, there would be nothing left of her for Mr. Beck and his son to intern. Just a giant puddle of sweat for them to mop up from the kitchen floor.
With a sigh of resignation, she looked up at the notes and cards posted on the freezer door, hoping to find something of interest to take her mind off the heat. She read a flyer announcing a bake sale to be held that upcoming Saturday, sponsored by the Ladies of Charity of St. John’s Catholic Church.
Wondering if Grammer was planning to contribute one of her famous Mississippi Mud Cakes to the auction, she moved her gaze on to an appointment reminder from her grandmother’s dentist secured by a magnetic business card provided by OUT! Pest Control. Shuddering at the hideous-looking roach OUT! used for their logo, she slipped a finger between the fold of a get well card posted next to the appointment reminder. On the front of the card was sketched a caricature of an old woman, sitting in a chair with her bandaged foot propped up on an ottoman and the message “Do what I do when you’re ailing…” Assuming Grammer had received the card months earlier when she’d fallen and broken her ankle, she flipped open the card and read, “Act like a man and make everyone wait on you hand and foot.”
Chuckling, she resumed her fanning and moved her gaze on. Her amusement slowly faded as she was confronted with what she’d come to think of as THE letter. With its top left corner caught beneath a heart-shaped magnet with the message “I love Grandma!” scrawled in a childish print across its center, the letter had hung in that spot for two weeks, having arrived the first morning of Deanna and her sisters’ month-long vacation with their grandmother. Addressed only to “The one I love” and with no signature to identify the sender, its appearance had created quite a stir, while everyone had tried to guess who it was intended for.
But Deanna knew who the letter was left for. More, she knew who had left it.
Scowling, she snatched the paper from beneath the heart-shaped magnet to read the hand-printed message again.
Some things are meant to be, and we’re one of them. I know I don’t have a lot of time to convince you, but if you’ll give me a chance, I’d like to try. Expect the unexpected, and I’ll be seeing you soon.
As far as Deanna was concerned, that line, “Some things are meant to be, and we’re one of them,” was a dead giveaway. It sounded so cocky, so self-assured…so like Porter Copely—or Cope, as he was known to his friends—the corporate-cowboy who owned the Texas dude ranch where Deanna had worked as a cook prior to coming to Grammer’s.
But that last bit, I’ll be seeing you soon? She huffed a breath. Not if she saw him first. And what was with this soon business, anyway? she asked herself, pursing her lips in irritation. Two weeks had passed since the letter’s arrival and she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the man.
Giving her chin a haughty lift, she slapped the letter against the freezer door and plunked the magnet over it, holding it in place. Not that she wanted to see him. Their relationship was over. Kaput. What they’d shared was a nice little summer fling. A temporary arrangement, at best. One based on nothing but hot sex and mutual satisfaction. Was it her fault that Cope had to go and mess everything up by declaring his love and proposing marriage?
She unhooked her arm from over the refrigerator door and gave it an angry shove, slamming it closed. Well, of course it wasn’t her fault! She’d never done or said anything to lead him to believe that she was interested in marriage.
Marriage, for heaven’s sake! She dropped her head back and laughed out loud, at the very idea. Imagine her, Deanna Colman, even thinking in those terms? She wasn’t getting married! No way. She liked her life just as it was. She could go where she wanted to go, do what she wanted to do and
with whom she wanted to do it. Life was much too exciting, too packed with adventures she hadn’t yet tried, to tie herself down with a man.
Just look at Lacey, she thought. Perfect example. Her older sister had tried marriage and what had she gotten for her trouble? A jerk for a husband, a broken heart and a suitcase full of shattered dreams. Not that Lacey was pining away over her ex, mind you. Lacey was happier since her divorce, even seemed excited about her future. But that was now. Deanna remembered the months prior to the divorce, when Lacey had suffered the disillusionment of her marital dreams.
Nope, Deanna told herself, and began to fan her face again. She wasn’t getting married. Ever. No man was worth giving up her independence and her freedom.
Although Cope had come dang close to convincing her otherwise.
Reminded of that, she drew the fan to her mouth and worried the scalloped edge with her teeth. How had he done it? she wondered uneasily. She’d never once in her life come so close to saying “yes” to a proposal. Was it his handsomeness that had caused her to temporarily lose her focus? He definitely had the rugged good looks of the Marlboro Man, a cigarette advertisement that never failed to make her want to light up, even though she’d given up smoking three years before. Or was it the way he walked? That slow, ambling gait, his shoulders thrown back and his chest swelled, as if to say, “come on sucker, take your best shot,” that made her think of John Wayne in the movie True Grit. Or was it his slow Texas drawl that had weakened her resolve? God knew, Porter Copely could turn sex into a three-syllable word and leave a woman panting to hear more.
That was it, she decided. It was the sex. A man overdosed on Viagra had less staying power than Cope, and a Ryder truck fewer moves. He had this thing he did with his tongue—she swept her own over her lips, shivering, just thinking about it—that turned her knees to jelly and made her want to throw her head back and howl at the moon. And he knew just where to touch her—and when she needed touching there the most—offering just the right amount of pressure, the right angle, his aim as accurate as that of any skilled marksman, zeroing in on his target for the kill.
The memories alone had her fanning her face faster to cool her suddenly hot cheeks. That had to be it, she decided, relieved that she’d finally put a label on the attraction. What she felt for Cope was nothing but lust. A physical attraction that, with the passing of time, would flicker out and die a natural death all on its own.
The sound of the doorbell had her lowering the fan to peer at the hallway that led to the front of the house. Big John? she wondered. But Big John always came to the back door. What was he doing ringing the doorbell?
Wondering if she should pull on her shorts again, she glanced down at her bare legs. Since the oversize T-shirt dropped to well below mid thigh, she figured she was decently covered. With a shrug, she tossed the fan onto the table and headed for the front of the house.
“It’s about time you showed up,” she complained, as she swung the door wide. “I—” Her breath backed up in her lungs, when she came face-to-face with lust…or at least the human form of it. Dressed in his usual getup—boots, jeans, a chambray shirt and a Stetson pulled low over his brow—and looking more handsome than ought to be legal, Cope shot her his sexiest smile, one reputed to have the power to melt the chastity belt off a saint.
But the smile was wasted on Deanna. With the contents of THE letter fresh on her mind and two weeks worth of hand-wringing anxiety fueling her actions, she curled her lip in a snarl and advanced on him. “You thought you were so smart. So clever.” She stabbed a well-aimed finger against the middle of his chest. “Well, I’ve got news for you, cowboy. I knew you were the one who sent it all along.”
His smile slowly melted. “I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. The letter! It was so—so—” She tossed up her hands and turned back inside the house, frustrated that she was unable to think of a word that adequately described her reaction to the message he’d left.
Two furious steps later, she whirled. “So you!” she finished angrily. “‘Some things are meant to be, and we’re one of them,’” she quoted, her voice all but dripping sarcasm. Fisting her hands on her hips, she narrowed her eyes. “And for a man who was so darned concerned about having enough time to convince me, you certainly took your dead-easy time getting here.”
Cope didn’t have a clue what Deanna was talking about. But since she hadn’t slammed the door in his face, which was what he’d expected her to do, he took advantage of the oversight and stepped inside.
“I had to clear my desk,” he explained vaguely, as he closed the door behind him.
“And it took two weeks?” Before he could answer, she shot out a hand. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” She marched around him and opened the door, then folded her arms over her breasts. “My answer is still no.”
He lifted a brow. “I don’t recall asking you a question.”
She rolled her eyes. “Like you didn’t make your intentions clear in the letter.”
The letter again, Cope thought, but chose not to respond to its mention, since it seemed to be his ticket of admission for an audience with her. “We have a little unfinished business to discuss.”
“We have nothing to discuss, business or otherwise.”
Cope had figured she’d take that stance, which was why he had devised a plan. “Obviously you’ve forgotten about the employment contract you signed.”
She dismissed the legal document with a careless flap of her hand. “That contract terminated two weeks ago.”
“You might want to examine that contract more closely. I think when you do, you’ll find that no end date was specified. Just your salary and term of employment. Which,” he added pointedly, “you failed to meet by two weeks.”
She flung her arms wide. “So shoot me.”
He snorted a breath, as he pulled off his hat and sailed it onto the sofa. “Believe me. I gave that careful consideration.” He sat down on the sofa, stretched his arms out along the sofa’s back and smiled smugly. “But I decided I’d rather have the two weeks you owe me.”
“In your dreams.”
He tipped his head to the side and studied her. “You’re scheduled to start your new job as a bartender at the resort in Hawaii on September 5, right?”
Her mouth dropped open. “How did you know about that?”
“I have my ways. And you know what?” he continued. “It turns out I know the owner of the hotel. I have a lot of respect for the man, as he’s very selective about the employees he hires. He’s gonna be madder than a wet hen when he discovers he’s hired someone with a black mark on her employment record.”
She jutted her chin. “I’ll have you know my former employers have given me nothing but rave recommendations.”
“True,” he agreed, then lifted a brow. “Except for me.”
Unable to believe that he would actually stoop to extortion, Deanna slammed the door and marched across the room to glare down at him. “If you think you can blackmail me into doing what you want, you’re wrong.”
He placed a hand against his heart, looking wounded. “Blackmail? Me?”
“Yes, you!”
“Sorry. Blackmail’s not my style.”
“Well, what is?” she asked angrily.
“You have to ask?”
Before she realized what he was doing, he’d hooked a boot behind her leg and tugged her forward, tumbling her onto his lap. She came up hissing like a cat.
“If you don’t let me go right this instant,” she threatened, “I swear I’m going to—”
He cupped a hand behind her neck and drew her face to his to nip playfully at her lips. “You’re going to, what?”
She was going to sock him, that was what she was going to do. Right square in the kisser. And she’d tell him that, too, if he’d quit nibbling at her mouth long enough for her to gather the mental muscle required to string two words together.
Or maybe she wouldn’t, she thought wit
h a shiver, as he traced his tongue along the fullness of her lower lip. The man was truly gifted. He could do things with his mouth and tongue that, alone, would send a weaker woman into orgasmic convulsions.
But Deanna wasn’t weak. She was strong. Independent. She led a freewheeling lifestyle that she wasn’t about to give up for any man. Not even one who could kiss as convincingly as Porter Copely.
And since she was strong, why not just kick back and enjoy the kiss? He was here and she was here and he tasted awfully good. Besides, it wasn’t as if she was in danger of losing the farm, so to speak. Not over a little kiss. She’d cuddle with him a while, get her fill of him, then send him packing.
Confident that she was fully in control of the situation, she wrapped her arms around his neck and settled in to savor every nuance of pleasure she knew he was capable of providing.
Positioned as she was on his lap, she was gloriously aware of every inch of his body. The shape and texture of his lips skimming over hers. The rasp of his day-old beard against her cheek. The wide expanse of muscled chest beneath her flattened breasts. The corded strength in the arms wrapped around her.
And his taste…it was as wild and seductive as the state he called home. Sweet and succulent, yet with a tartness that made her think of margaritas, warm summer nights and uninhibited sex. Greedy for more, she twisted around on his lap to straddle him and forced his head back. She felt his hands smooth down her thighs, then back up. The chafe of his callused palms sent her nerve endings tap-dancing beneath her skin. With his hands cupped on her buttocks, he urged her hips closer, close enough for her to feel the tumidity of his sex, the heat.
He slid a finger beneath the elasticized string of her thong, and she knew by the hum of pleasure that vibrated against her lips that he’d recognized the leopard-print panties by touch alone. She remembered vividly the first time he’d peeled them off her. She’d been standing in the loft of his dude ranch’s hay barn, trying to work up the courage to jump from the second-story window into a stack of loose hay on the ground below. She’d seen several of the guests making the jump earlier that day and it had looked like so much fun, such a thrill. But as she stared down at the hay from a height of two stories, she had second thoughts. While she was vacillating, Cope had appeared. Rather than scoff at her fears, as she thought he would’ve done, he’d taken her hand and jumped with her…then proceeded to teach her how and where the phrase “a roll in the hay” had originated.
To the One I Love: That Old Familiar FeelingAn Older ManCaught by a Cowboy Page 21
