Bringing Up Baxter (Forever Friends, Book 3 of 4)

by Webb, Peggy

  “Everybody except me. This has been my campsite for the last ten years. I didn’t expect to have a neighbor. Especially a Philadelphia lawyer, but heck, I’m easy. I can get used to anything.” He winked. “How about you?”

  “I don’t have to get used to you. I plan to ignore you.”

  “That’s going to make it a mighty long two weeks.”

  “You worry about your two weeks and I’ll worry about mine.”

  “I never worry. It cuts down on the sex drive.”

  Having delivered that gem of wisdom, Crash stretched full length on the grass in front of his tent, crossed his arms above his head, and tipped his face up to the sun.

  B. J. whirled around and started packing up her tent. She had no intention of spending the next two weeks in the company of a man whose leather pants were tighter than her skin. She huffed toward her car, expecting any minute to hear a scathing remark from her neighbor. But Crash was as silent as the mountains that surrounded them.

  Then she heard it, the sound of snoring. The man who never worried had goaded her and teased her, outraged her and kissed her, then had stretched out in a patch of sunlight and gone fast asleep. And what was she doing? Once more playing the coward. Turning tail to run.

  B. J. Corban, the criminal defense attorney known for standing her ground, renowned for winning, revered for never conceding defeat was quitting the battleground after the opening salvo.

  Setting her jaw, she untangled her tent and began the arduous task of putting it back together. She wasn’t about to be intimidated by the likes of a man called Crash.

  Chapter Two

  Crash was hungry when he woke up. He had found that catnaps improved his outlook on life, and sleep always called for food and sex, sometimes in that order, sometimes not, depending on the circumstances.

  Yawning and stretching, he glanced across the way at his neighbor. Now there was an interesting set of circumstances: a remote campsite, a hungry man, and a desirable woman. On the surface, she was exactly the kind of woman who appealed to him—long legs, lush lips, and a ripe body. There was only one small problem: She was armed with a rapier mind, a prejudice against playboys, and a law degree. Armed and dangerous.

  The irony would appeal to his brother. He could just hear what Joseph would have to say when Crash got home.

  “You mean you were forced to spend two weeks in the company of a woman with a brain? A lawyer? That’s rich.” Joseph’s laugh was as resonant as the voice he used to great effect in the courtroom. And he would laugh his head off at Crash’s predicament.

  The next thing he would say would be something along the lines of “Did it ever once make you think what you might be missing?” It was a variation on his “a mind is a terrible thing to waste” theme.

  How anybody could consider a lifetime spent enjoying the finer things in life a waste was a mystery to Crash. To him waste was burying yourself alive in briefs and books that weighed more than a bowling ball. Waste was missing sunrises and sunsets. Waste was take-out food in a crowded law office instead of leisurely meals in a fine restaurant or in the backyard over a grill. Waste was workouts at a health club after dark instead of hiking up mountains when the first flowers of spring were in bloom or swimming in a lake with the sun on your back. Waste was putting mileage on a steady sedan, meeting appointments instead of lapping up the miles on a Harley going new places, seeing new sights, and meeting new people.

  Present company excepted, of course.

  Crash glanced over at his neighbor. She was surrounded by enough paraphernalia to outfit an army—backpacks, lanterns, a complete set of camp cookware, a camp stool, a portable grill, an ice chest, a new sleeping bag still in the original wrapper, and enough guidebooks to stock a small bookstore. She gave new meaning to the word over-prepared.

  And yet he couldn’t fault her. Obviously a novice camper, she had done what most of the uninitiated do: get away from civilization but take it all with them.

  Her tent was now upright, though it looked as if a small breeze would topple it, and she was studying an instruction book for the small Coleman stove at her feet. Crash knew better than to offer his advice. Anyhow, the last thing on his mind was spending the evening in the company of a woman who used million-dollar words like cranium when a ten-cent word like head would do.

  Whistling, he gathered a few twigs, lit his fire, and roasted six hot dogs. A few feet away, his stuffy neighbor made a big to-do of fanning smoke.

  “Do you mind?” she said.

  He deliberately filled his mouth with hot dog before answering. “What?”

  “Who taught you manners? Godzilla?”

  “My mother might take exception to that remark, but being the kindhearted, generous-spirited man that I am, I’m going to ignore it.”

  Crash poked his fire and sent another waft of smoke her way. If he smoked her out, maybe she’d leave. Then he could have the mountain all to himself. A pity, though. And such a waste. Her mouth had tasted like cream and berries. He wondered what the rest of her would taste like.

  “You’re doing that deliberately,” she said.

  “Doing what deliberately?”

  “Trying to smoke me out.”

  Looking straight into her eyes, Crash took a long slow lick of his finger and held it aloft. Her cheeks bloomed like summer roses. It was a very appealing sight, and he’d have told her so except for one small thing: She was not his kind of woman.

  “The wind’s from the north,” he said. “I have no control over nature.”

  “I’m surprised that you admit such a shortcoming.”

  “My shortcomings are legend.” He raked her with a look designed to melt the ice in her veins. “But then so are my assets.”

  By the way she fanned herself with her hand, he figured his ploy was working. If he’d known mind games were this much fun, he’d have given them a try long ago.

  “I’m sure legions of women have confirmed your inflated opinion of yourself. Rest assured, I have no intention of joining their ranks... even if you issue a solid gold invitation.”

  “I don’t issue invitations: I take what I want.”

  “This is probably a concept beyond your comprehension, Crash, but caveman tactics went out of style centuries ago.”

  “You’ve just saved me a hot dog.”

  “If that’s what you’re calling it...”

  Crash threw back his head and roared with laughter. He didn’t know when he’d had so much fun.

  “I was talking about dinner, Philadelphia.”

  She raked her dark hair off her forehead and glared at him.

  “Obviously so was I.”

  “I was going to invite you over to share a hot dog, but since you’re so hell-bent on being an independent woman, I guess I’ll have to eat them all myself.”

  He ate two more hot dogs while he watched her futile attempts to start her camp stove. In her starched safari outfit she looked like some big name designer’s idea of a professional woman trekking in the wilderness. Only her dark hair belied the image. It had come loose from its French twist and sprang around her flushed face in dark ringlets.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw her brush it away from her face as she poured over the instruction sheet. With any other woman he’d have lent a hand, but she had declared herself self-sufficient so why not let her sweat?

  Not only that, he was going to rub it in.

  “Nothing like a roasted wiener on a cool summer evening.” He slathered mustard on yet another bun, then bit off a huge chunk. “Hmmm, delicious. Of course, a woman like you probably doesn’t eat these things.”

  “They’re full of additives. I wouldn’t touch one with a ten-foot pole.”

  “That’s what I thought. By the way, what are you having for dinner?”

  “Sauteed fresh vegetables.”

  “That figures. Rabbit food. Better keep it out of sight, or they’ll raid your camp tonight.”

  She jerked her head around and stared at him, w
ide-eyed.

  “You mean animals come into the camp?”

  This was getting good. Suppressing his grin, Crash straddled his camp stool.

  “There’s nothing to worry about. You’ll be fast asleep. You’ll never even hear them.”

  “Them? You’re still talking about rabbits? Right?”

  “Rabbits, raccoons, skunks, bears.”

  “Bears! As in grizzly?”

  “Didn’t you read your Smoky Mountains guidebook, Philadelphia?”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “This is the wrong mountain range for grizzlies. All you’re likely to see is a friendly old brown bear or two. They’ll be no problem at all for an independent woman with a knife in her pocket.”

  For a moment she looked as if she were going to hop into her car and hightail it down the mountain, but then she thrust out her chin and squared her shoulders. It was a gesture he could see her making in a courtroom, one that probably struck fear into the hearts of her opponents. All it struck in him was a grudging bit of admiration.

  “Obviously the park commission would not allow camping here if there were any threat from the animals. Let me save you a bit of trouble here, Crash. I’m not planning to leave this mountain until my two weeks are up, and if that’s a problem for you, then I suggest you leave.”

  “Bravo, Philadelphia. That performance deserves a round of applause.”

  Three red-tailed hawks lifted into the air when he clapped. He would have taken time to appreciate the beauty of their flight if he hadn’t been so mesmerized by his irate neighbor. He couldn’t take his eyes off her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. She had thrown herself completely into their argument. Would she bring that same passion to her bed?

  She turned her back on him and applied herself to the task of lighting her stove. The sun disappeared behind the mountain peaks, leaving a spectacular trail of red and gold. Night creatures began their evening symphony, crickets chirping, tree frogs singing, whippoorwills calling.

  The red-and-gold sky faded to a muted pink then a dusky gray. A flashlight cut through the growing darkness, and by its glow Crash watched his neighbor dig into her ice chest and pull out a carrot. She was giving up.

  He reached into the coals of his fire where the last hot dog lay warming in its foil wrapper.

  “I’ve got something for you, Philadelphia.”

  “You have nothing that interests me.”

  Crash laid the hot dog on top of her ice chest. “In case you get hungry and change your mind.”

  The look of surprise on her face was his reward. For a moment she was as soft and lovely as any woman he’d ever seen. And he was a sucker for vulnerable women. He almost leaned down and brushed the wispy curls back from her face, a tender gesture that would have been completely lost on her. She saved him the embarrassment.

  “I suppose you expect me to pay,” she said.

  He stepped in so close, their thighs were almost touching, but she held her ground.

  A young moon hung low; he could almost reach up and touch it. In the sudden magic of evening, a million stars were flung across the sky so that the mountaintop and everything on it glittered like the inside of a crystal ball.

  Crash loved nothing better than evenings just such as these, soft, sensual nights made for loving. Haunted by the remembered taste of berries and cream, he almost bent down to kiss the woman beside him, a woman whose name he didn’t even know. Not the kind of just-for-the-heck-of-it kiss he’d given her in the harsh light of afternoon, but the sort of slow dreamy kiss a man gives a woman he plans on carrying to his bed, the sort of kiss that carries the promise of tomorrows.

  Softened by the magic of evening, she was dangerously delicious. He almost forgot why he was standing so close.

  “Philadelphia...”

  He cupped her face and tipped it upward. Caught off guard, she didn’t move for one heady moment. Then he saw the resolve come into her face, felt the stiffening of her entire body.

  “You have about five seconds to take your hands off me.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or I plant a knee on the family jewels.”

  He grinned. “You got me there. Brawn over brains. It works every time.”

  He released her, but he didn’t step back. Nor did she. Body heat. He loved it. Even if it did come from the enemy.

  “By the way, don’t you want to know why I touched you?”

  “I never belabor the obvious.”

  “And what is the obvious?”

  “I have no intention of spelling it out. But you can rest assured that what happened this afternoon will never happen again. I’m on my guard.”

  “I hate to spoil your fun, Philadelphia, but I have no intention of kissing you. I just wanted to tell you that the hot dog is yours for the taking. Everything else comes with a price.”

  He sauntered toward his camp, and when he turned back around she hadn’t touched the hot dog.

  “ ‘Night now,” he said. “If the animals go on the prowl tonight, you know where to reach me.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  Crash’s campfire was almost out. He put on another stick of wood, then took his harmonica from his backpack and settled down to play the blues. There was silence from across the way. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Philadelphia lounging in her camp chair, the picture of a woman enjoying the music. Heck, he’d figured her for the highbrow type.

  Still, he wasn’t going to let anybody spoil his fun. One of the greatest pleasures he knew was sitting in the moonlight, making mournful music. He played a jazz riff that sent chills down his spine. The harmonica was an instrument with passion and soul, much like a good woman, and Crash played both of them with equal skill.

  He played through his Harold Arlen repertoire and had started on his Gershwin tunes when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Tipping his head slightly to the left he saw Philadelphia’s hand snake out and snatch the hot dog.

  Crash grinned. “A hungry woman will eat almost anything,” he said.

  “Don’t you wish,” she said.

  And with that parting shot she went inside her tent. He watched for the glow of her flashlight, but she was too smart to turn it on. He could picture her over there undressing in the dark, inconveniencing herself all because of him.

  “Lord deliver me from a stubborn woman.”

  Crash put his harmonica away, stripped under the light of the moon, then climbed into his sleeping bag. If it rained he’d drag the bag inside his tent, but he didn’t plan to miss a single opportunity to sleep naked under the stars.

  o0o

  B. J.’s tent had windows, and she just happened to be watching when Crash shed every stitch of his clothes and paraded his assets around. Obviously for her benefit.

  She had to give the devil his due, though. His assets were abundant. No wonder he had legions of admirers.

  She kicked viciously at the blanket she’d managed to get into a tangle inside her sleeping bag. This was just what she needed, to be subjected to two weeks of a man who thought he was God’s gift to women.

  Tomorrow she was going to get out her journal and list his pros and cons. True, she might have starved to death if he hadn’t shared his food, but the hog dog was such a small pro, it wouldn’t hold a candle to his cons. Lord, did he have cons. She’d probably need two notebooks just to list them all.

  On the other hand, maybe she wouldn’t commit anything to paper. She could just hear what Maxie would say.

  “Why do you turn everything into a law case? Have you ever considered just taking things as they come? Loosen up, B. J. Have some fun.”

  Even Kathleen and Helen, her Forever Friends, used to chastise her about being “all work and no play.”

  She was in the mountains, wasn’t she? She was in a lumpy sleeping bag on the hard ground with wild animals prowling outside her tent. But would that be enough fun to suit Maxie? Not by a long shot. Her sister expected B. J. to return home with tales
of conquest.

  “Riding cowboys, indeed,” B. J. muttered.

  The next thing she knew Crash would don a cowboy hat. Not that it would have the least bit of impact on her. No, indeedy. Not even if he hung it on his sizable asset.

  Chapter Three

  When she first came awake B. J. wasn’t certain whether she’d heard something or whether she was dreaming. Tense, she lay in her bag with her eyes wide open, adjusting to the darkness. The wind whispered through the pines, and from somewhere deep in the forest an owl screeched his mournful question.

  “Great,” she said. “Just what I need.”

  Tires swishing against wet pavement and sirens in the distance were music to her ears, but after two weeks of woodland symphonies she would go home bleary-eyed and befuddled from lack of sleep.

  B. J. closed her eyes and settled into her bag to wait out the rest of the night. She was just drifting off when something jarred her awake. Definitely a sound. She cocked her ears. There it was again. A scratching sound. Right outside her tent.

  She rammed her fist into her mouth to stifle a scream. The scratching came again, and backlit by the moon, a giant claw cast a shadow on her tent.

  B. J. leaped out of her bag and kicked it out of her way. The thought of sharing her quarters with a bear propelled her out of the tent, screaming.

  She raced outside, looking neither right nor left. The mere idea of a bear was enough to give her heart failure: She had no intention of looking for the actual animal. Her mad dash for safety carried her up the rise toward the form stretched out in his sleeping bag.

  She stumbled in the dark and fell with a whump, straight into the arms of Crash.

  “Whoa, there. Where’re you going in such a hurry?”

  “A bear...”

  Incoherent with fear, she hid her face in the first available spot. It never even registered that she was cowering against Crash’s broad shoulder.

  “A bear? Where?”

  “Over there...” She gestured wildly. “By my tent. Trying to get in.”

  “I don’t blame him.”

  A pair of strong arms tightened around her, and her world righted. For the first time in months she felt safe. For the first time since she’d stood at the back of the church and heard Stephen’s fatal announcement, she felt a sense of order in her world. She felt the ground beneath her feet, knew the boundaries, understood the limits... and glimpsed the possibilities.