The bushy-haired giant appeared suddenly from the kitchen, holding two huge white containers. “Two big muddies, ready to roll!”
Josie blinked, wondering where those monster sized boxes were going to fit in the van. And what was in them, anyhow? She leaned a little closer to Johnson and whispered, “What is a big muddy?”
He grinned. “Only the sweetest, gooiest, finger-lickin’ fantastic chocolate cream pie this side of the Mississippi.”
Josie sighed. Great. One more terrific, tempting thing that she couldn’t allow herself to have. Not even if she used all the insulin this lovely new pump could produce.
She hesitated.
She’d said that the pie was one more tempting thing she couldn’t have.
One more? That meant there had been another.
What was the other one?
But she didn’t have to think very hard. She already knew the answer.
The other one was Chase.
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHASE WAS HOT, and tired and frustrated, and ready to call it a day. There were at least fifty people out here, helping to frame Drew Bradley’s new house. Surely they could manage without him for the rest of the afternoon.
He wanted to get home and find out what the hell had happened between Trent and Susannah. Not that either one of them was likely to tell him the truth. They just might be the stubbornest two people on the planet. They kept everything inside.
Which was why, after eleven years, they still hadn’t been able to work out their problems. And why they probably never would, not in a hundred more.
But just as he was about to track down Liam, the framing contractor who’d come all the way from Madisonville to head up today’s crew, and ask him to put someone else on measuring rafters, he saw Josie walking toward him. Her hands were full of red, yellow and white boxes.
Imogene’s famous lunches. A roar of approval went up from the workers, most of whom had eaten Imogene’s grub before. They gathered around Josie eagerly, and pretty soon a posse headed off to collect the rest of the boxes.
She stayed where she was, a red box in her hand, scanning the empty lot. She must have been looking for him, because when she spotted him, she smiled.
And suddenly he wasn’t tired anymore.
He smiled back and crooked his hand to invite her over. He could have met her halfway, but he was enjoying the view too much. He watched her coming toward him, with that light sway in her hips, that natural bounce in her step.
He wondered what it was about her that always made him feel so…
Horny.
Sure, she was pretty, with that honey hair that swished around her shoulders, catching the afternoon sunlight. And those pink lips. And those subtle river-bottom-blue eyes fringed in feathery black lashes.
But what did he care about “pretty”? He’d dated true beauties. He’d been married to a woman who was off-the-charts gorgeous. Lila’s lovers had written mournful ballads about her, and tragic Shakespearean sonnets. Rumor was that one of them had tried to kill himself. Another had applied to become a monk.
Maybe that was the difference, he thought. Lila made men miserable. Josie Whitford made them smile.
“Hi,” she said as she finally reached him. “I bought you this, from Imogene. She put a dot here—” she pointed to the top right corner of the box “—so that I’d know exactly which one to give you. She didn’t tell me why.”
He laughed. “That’s probably the one she put the poison in.”
But when he opened it up, he saw what Imogene had planned. There were two sandwiches inside. One was ham, his usual. The other was a cucumber and egg salad sandwich—Josie’s favorite. There was also a slice of chocolate cake, with a sticky note on the protective cellophane.
“Sugar free,” the note read.
He wondered for a minute whether Imogene might be playing matchmaker, just a little. But his housekeeper idolized Susannah, so that didn’t make any sense.
More likely, she’d grown fond of Josie, the same way everyone on his ranch had done. She probably thought it was unfair that Josie should just sit and drool while the rest of them gobbled up slices of Big Muddy.
“I think she hoped you’d stay and eat with me,” he said. And he was absurdly pleased when Josie picked up the chocolate cake and grinned.
“You bet I will,” she said. She kissed the cake. “Oh, Imogene, you are an angel!”
While she carried the box, he got them both big plastic cups of water. And then he led her over to the east side of the lot, the wooded side, where the property sloped off steeply toward Clayton Creek. Drew Bradley didn’t have much—especially now that most of it had gone up in flames—but he did have one heavenly view down that daffodil-covered hillside.
They found a shady spot under a spreading maple, with the closest thing to privacy they were going to get today. At least fifteen feet and two trees lay between them and the other workers.
For several minutes they ate in silence. Imogene’s food was too good to give it only half your attention. They’d grown comfortable with each other, he realized. Sometime in the past ten days, they’d relaxed enough to be silent together. It was a good place—one he’d never reached with Lila.
Finally, their appetites were satisfied. Josie put her napkin and empty cup inside the box, then stretched out along the grass, tilting her head back so that her face could catch the dappled sunlight through the leaves.
He scanned her body, assessing her condition. She wore shorts and a T-shirt, which gave him a good view from head to toe. He could even see the tiniest swell at her abdomen, which might have been the first outward sign of the baby.
It made the baby real, as nothing else had done so far, not even the visit to Dunne. It was growing there, inside her. Some man had created this life with her, and had walked away from it.
The bloody fool should be taken out back and shot.
She was still dramatically slender, but finally it looked healthy, the slightly bony, long-legged look of a new foal. Strong. Full of life. She looked as if she could run down this hill, the wind in her hair and the daffodils at her feet, and splash into the creek at the bottom, laughing and panting.
He had a sudden ache, wanting to see her do that. Wanting to do it with her. He’d like to lift her up onto Captain Kirk’s broad, slow-moving back and ride her under the trees. He’d take her to Green Fern Hole and show her the two-winged silverbell.
But if he did that…how exactly was he any different from the bastard who had gotten her pregnant in the first place? Was a condom really all that stood between right and wrong?
He wadded his napkin up hard in his hand and squeezed it till his joints turned white.
“You awake?” Her voice was soft, as if she didn’t want to disturb him, in case he’d dozed off.
“Yeah,” he said. He tried to remove the tension from his tone. She wouldn’t have any idea what had caused it. Her thoughts undoubtedly weren’t turgid, as obsessed with sex as a teenager.
“I just wanted to tell you. When I stopped by the diner to get the pie, I looked at all the pictures they have in there. I thought maybe, if Flim lived here at any time, he might have been photographed at one of the events.”
“Not a bad idea. And?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. I didn’t recognize anyone.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll find him sooner or later. I’m thinking about sending a private investigator to Riverfork. Maybe Flim did something dumb, like pay for a hotel or a meal with his own credit card. He’s mortal, right? He has to have made a misstep somewhere.”
She looked at him a minute. Then she sat up, cross-legged, with her hands in her lap. Her face was solemn. “How long do you intend to keep hunting, Chase?”
“Until we find him.”
“But what if we don’t? What if there is no logic we can apply, no description we can come up with, that will tie him to you? What if he’s just some random guy, some person you’ve never even met? He could have hea
rd the stories about you third hand. You’re sort of a celebrity around here. People talk about you. Stories get passed around.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said. “My gut tells me I know this guy. I just have to find out how, and where.”
“And what if it takes a long time? What if it takes months?”
He shrugged. “Fine.”
“What if it takes years? Do you want me to be hanging around your guest room when the baby is starting school? Would it still be fine then?”
“Sure. Why not? The schools around here are great.”
She plucked a blade of grass absently. She gazed into the mid-distance, still smiling, but with a faraway look that held a touch of sadness.
Finally she looked back at him. “I think it’s time for me to go.”
“Why?” He frowned, suddenly irritable. “You said yourself there’s nothing for you to go back to. If you’re bored, take a class or something. If you want a job, I’ve got plenty of them here on the ranch.”
“No. You’ve been more than generous. But I can’t go on being your charity case.”
He felt heat tighten the muscles of his chest. That “charity” line just didn’t wash anymore. They had become friends, and he would do as much for any friend. Besides, she worked so hard around the house she ought to be getting a salary.
And it just plain didn’t ring true. She wasn’t being completely honest with him, and he had a feeling he knew why.
“Look, Josie. If this is about last night…”
“It isn’t,” she said, too quickly. The flush on her face wasn’t merely from the sun. “I know that didn’t mean anything. It was just…just the river and the moonlight. And you feeling sorry for me because I was feeling a little—”
“No,” he said, making a conscious effort to keep his voice low. Their neighbors were close enough to hear everything if they weren’t careful. “It had nothing to do with pity. It was just what it seemed to be. Me wanting to kiss you so much I thought I’d go crazy.”
Her eyes widened. “Chase—”
“But I know it was a mistake. It was the dumbest thing I could possibly have done, for more reasons than I can possibly count. You don’t have to worry, and you damn sure don’t have to run away. I won’t do it again.”
“I know,” she said. “And honestly, that’s not why I’m thinking of leaving. It was no big deal, in the end. It was just a kiss.”
Not even that, he wanted to say. It had been only half a kiss. Only the tiniest fraction of what he’d wanted to do. Of what he could make her feel.
If he were free…If she were free…
But they weren’t.
“The truth is…I need to start making some decisions about my future.” She touched her stomach with the palms of her hands. “September will be here so soon, and I’m not ready.”
“No one is telling you not to make plans. Just make them here, where you’ve got a support system—good doctors, good food. A comfortable roof over your head.”
He couldn’t believe he was doing this. He was getting married in a month. He had no right to get emotionally involved with this woman. He’d talked to Susannah about it, and had admitted that, though at first he’d been involved only so that he could find the impostor, it had morphed into something else. Josie’s vulnerability moved him. He felt oddly guilty, because the creep who left her like this had used his name.
He knew it didn’t make sense, but he wanted to help her. To provide at least a little piece of the safety net she needed.
As usual, Sue had been a brick. She’d made a joke about his superhero syndrome. And then she’d assured him that she had no problem with any decision he made. He could help Josie in any way that seemed fair.
So, officially, he had his fiancée’s blessing.
But, deep inside, he knew he wasn’t telling Susannah everything. When he was with Josie, he wasn’t just a protective uncle, or a friendly pal, or a fairy godfather.
He was a man. And she was a woman.
Whether he allowed himself to act on it or not, it was disloyal to Sue, to whom he had already promised his support.
Now that Josie had said she wanted to go home, he should wish her Godspeed. In spite of what Susannah said, he didn’t think he was a superhero. He couldn’t make everything right for everyone.
When she went back to Riverfork, he could stay in touch. He could send money to help with the baby. He could arrange for good prenatal care.
Why wasn’t that enough?
Was it possible that, in less than two weeks, he had grown so accustomed to her presence in his house that he couldn’t imagine the place without her?
Next thing he knew he’d be offering her a job as his housekeeper. Or his secretary.
Or his mistress.
“Stay through the weekend, anyhow,” he suggested, grasping at straws. “Come with me to the horse auction on Sunday. A lot of the people I’ve done business with through the years will be there. If nothing comes of all that, I’ll take you home on Monday.”
She bit her lower lip. She was obviously deeply conflicted. He was sorry for that. But not sorry enough to make her decision any easier.
“I did tell Susannah I’d come to the Burn Center’s dance tomorrow night. Not that I can afford to make any kind of donation, but—”
“She didn’t ask you because she wanted a donation. She asked you because she thought you might enjoy it.”
She took a deep breath. “All right. I’ll stay through the weekend. But then, if we haven’t found him—”
“I know,” he said. “If we haven’t found him, I promise I’ll take you home.”
AT SEVEN O’CLOCK Saturday night, just two hours before the fund-raiser dance would begin, Susannah stood in her bathroom and prayed for courage.
“Okay. Here goes.” She wrapped a hank of hair around the curling iron, wound it tightly and held it for the count of ten. The thick coat of styling gel began to heat up, and she wrinkled her nose against the nasty, fruity scent.
God, why did anybody do this? When she unrolled her curl, her hair looked fake and shiny, like a lardy sausage. But she refused to be daunted. She picked up another section of hair and began the process all over again.
This was the last step. She’d already completed her makeup, and she was quite pleased with the results. She smiled at herself in the mirror, trying to get used to seeing big black feathers of mascara whenever she blinked. She licked her juicy red lips, showing a lot of pink tongue.
Perfect. She looked like the love child of Marilyn Manson and Cleopatra. She positively oozed sex. And not good-girl sex, either. Hot, trashy, male-fantasy sex.
The kind of sex she’d never had in her life.
Her clothes had been the toughest part. Nothing she owned was even close. Her closet was full of tailored slacks and blazers, and cool, expensive evening dresses that all shivered icily and said don’t touch me, I’m channeling Jacqueline Kennedy.
So she’d spent the afternoon in Austin, trying on the most seductive clubbing outfits she could find. Some of them had made her blush, even in the privacy of the dressing room. The white bell-bottoms, for instance, that had the rear end cut out and a built-in white thong to cover the indecency laws. Or the skintight black dress with pink-sequin nipples appliquéd on the chest.
Okay, maybe the situation with Nicole wasn’t as bad as it could possibly get. Compared to these outfits, Nikki’s clothes looked like Pollyanna pinafores.
She settled on an all-white minidress and a pair of thigh-high black boots. The dress was too tight, too short—and just trashy enough to make her point without getting her arrested.
She squinted her eyes as she finished the last curl, and smiled a smug-cat smile. She couldn’t wait to see Nikki’s face.
She had to hurry, though. The whole purpose would be defeated if she didn’t get down there before Nikki chose her own outfit.
She heard Nikki trudging up the stairs, every heavy footfall announcing how much she didn�
��t want to attend tonight’s dance. Two days ago, she’d been thrilled. But the difference was that, two days ago, Eli had been invited.
Nikki had only one way of making Susannah pay. By dressing like a trashy little hoodlum, she could advertise her disdain for Susannah’s stodgy, middle-class attitude toward work and life, toward love and money. Plus, she could embarrass Susannah in front of her equally self-righteous friends at the Burn Center.
The minidress was Susannah’s somewhat dramatic plan to stage a preemptive strike.
When she heard Nikki hit the landing, she stepped out of the bathroom, zipping up her last boot. She tugged her microscopic skirt over her rear end, and smiled at her little sister. “Hey, Nik. Is my slip showing?”
Oh, for the foresight to have brought along her Polaroid! Nikki’s expression was priceless. She had been scratching an itch in the center of her back, and she froze that way, her elbow pointing toward the ceiling. Her mouth fell open, giving Susannah a clear look at her tonsils.
She seemed, for a minute, incapable of speech. That alone had to be counted as a victory.
“Oh, that’s right! Silly me! I’m not wearing a slip.” Susannah twisted her hip and pretended to be looking at her own butt. “But what do you think about underwear? Yes or no? I don’t want to have a panty line, but…”
Finally Nikki lowered her arm. “What the hell are you thinking?”
“Don’t cuss, sweetie. And you’d better hurry. We’ve got to leave in about twenty minutes.”
Nikki’s eyebrows dug so deep over her eyes Susannah wondered how she could see. “What is this? Some kind of joke?”
“No, of course not. I just listened to what you said yesterday, you know, about how I’ve forgotten how to have fun. You’re right. I need to loosen up a little bit.” She plumped her crazy curls. “I thought I’d start tonight.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“Of course not,” she said again, quite merrily. “I’m just letting go of my inhibitions.”
She picked up her atomizer and began spraying perfume. One puff. Two. Three. She could hardly breathe, but she managed to squeeze out a fourth. She held back a cough and extended the atomizer to Nikki. “Want some?”
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