by Lori Foster
Damon peered inside, making note of the tidy rows of booths and tables, the immaculate floor, the utilization of every available space. Apparently Ceily did an efficient job of running the diner, and in hiring good help. He wondered if he'd be able to meet her. Based on everything Emma had told him about her, he was curious. He'd already formed an image of her in his mind and he wondered if she'd look as he pictured her – work-worn, tired, frumpy. As he was glancing around, a waitress moved into his view, drawing his attention.
The second Damon's gaze landed on her, everything and everyone else faded into the background. Lord have mercy, they grew the girls healthy in Buckhorn. He leaned into the doorway to watch her, and felt intrigued.
Damon had always considered Emma to be a luscious woman, healthy and earthy and sensual. The woman now bent to a booth picking up dishes was just as luscious, maybe more so because, damn, he didn't view her in any familial way.
He did a visual sweep of her body, taking in every detail and noting the lack of a ring on her left hand, as well as the delicate bracelet circling her slim ankle. He also noted that she appeared busy but happy, rushed but energized.
Tight, faded jean shorts made her rump look especially round – a deliberate effort on her part, no doubt. A red cotton crop top hugged her breasts and showed off her trim, lightly tanned midriff. A sturdy utility apron with only a few spots on it had been tied loosely around her hips, looking more like decoration than protection against stains. Sun-streaked, sandy-brown hair hung to the middle of her back, contained in a loose ponytail that added to the country-girl charm. She wore snowy-white canvas sneakers on her feet. Cute.
He'd known, admired and sexually enjoyed a lot of polished, sophisticated women. Not once had he ever gotten involved with a country bumpkin. The idea appealed to his sense of adventure and variety. Would she romp with him in the hay? Make him biscuits and gravy the morning after? He grinned to himself, wondering at the possibilities and feeling a tad whimsical.
Someone at the table behind her spoke, and she laughed as she turned – and caught Damon's speculative stare. As if the meeting of their eyes snared her physically, she went still. Her wide smile faded but her green eyes remained bright. Damon estimated her to be in her early thirties. Their gazes locked for a long moment before the customers regained her attention. She dismissed Damon with a quick, curious smile and got back to work.
Miss Ceily had done all right in hiring that one, Damon decided. Not only was she a conscientious worker, but she provided some very nice scenery.
Propelled forward by his own curiosity, Damon stepped inside. He watched her a moment more to judge which tables were hers then he seated himself. And he waited. He didn't stare at her again; that would have been too obvious. But his awareness of her was so keen he always knew just where she was within the diner. He listened to her as she visited with the other customers, and decided her laugh was nice. Her voice had the same pleasant country twang he'd noticed the first time he'd met Emma.
Satisfaction oozed through him as he sensed her approach. It'd be interesting to see if she suited him. And if she did, well, this visit might turn out more stimulating than he'd anticipated.
She set a glass of ice water in front of him. "Hi there." Without blinking, she leaned her hip on the edge of his booth and met his bold gaze.
Damon allowed a small smile. Checking for her name, he glanced at her breasts, but she wore no name tag, so he couldn't look as long – or as thoroughly – as he'd have liked. Glancing back at her face, he kept his gaze fixed, his voice low and heavy in a way that he knew would indicate his interest. "Hello."
The second he spoke, her slim eyebrows lifted. "A visitor, huh?"
Her easy, friendly familiarity pleased him. "Guilty. My lack of accent gave me away?"
"That it did, but don't worry. You won't stand out too much. This time of year we have a lot of vacationers around." She looked him over, then asked, "You staying at the lake?"
"No." Damon continued to smile without offering further explanations. He waited to see if she'd push him or back off.
She did neither. "I didn't think so. You don't look much like a fisherman."
Startled by that disclosure – and a little relieved, because, really, who would want to look like a fisherman? – he said, "No?"
Her smile quirked. "Too tidy."
"You have sloppy fishermen in the area, do you?"
"Not sloppy. Relaxed." She straightened away from the table. "Fishing requires a lot of patience and time spent in the weather. You don't look all that patient, and you don't look like you hang outdoors much."
Now that sounded vaguely like an insult, causing him to frown. So he didn't have a tan. Hadn't she heard that too much exposure to the sun wasn't healthy for you?
With a look of innocence, as if she hadn't just deliberately riled him, she tapped the menu. "You had a chance to decide what you want, yet?"
Oh, he knew exactly what he wanted. Damon pushed the plastic printed menu aside without interest "What do you recommend?"
Her smile widened and her lashes lowered in a coy, rather effective manner. "That'd depend. Whatcha in the mood for?"
Damn, her flirting stirred him. It had been far too long since he'd had the relief of sex. "I somehow doubt it's listed on the menu."
"We're not that backward." She shifted, and deftly managed to draw his attention to her legs again. "Why don't you give us a try?"
"All right." He eyed her shapely hips, not lingeringly, but with enough intent that she couldn't miss it. "How about something ... hearty."
Suddenly she laughed in delight, tipping her head back and showing a seductive length of throat. She had a husky laugh, and it turned him on. But then, at that particular moment, everything appeared to be turning him on.
"Hearty, huh?"
"That's right."
Smoothing a wisp of tawny hair behind her ear, she said, "All right. We have a sinful egg and ham casserole that'll stick to your ribs till dinnertime."
"Sinful, you say? Interesting. And who prepared it?"
She looked at him beneath her lashes. "Me."
"Ah." He tilted his head to study her. Her lashes were long and thick, her eyes smoky, with small crinkles at the corners that showed her to be a woman used to laughing, a woman who lived her life with enthusiasm. Her nose turned up slightly on the end, giving her an elfin appearance in direct contrast to her earthy sensuality. And her body...he'd love to see her naked. He was fair sick of skinny women on a perpetual diet, honed so tightly that nothing ever jiggled. With a long, leisurely ride, this woman would jiggle – her breasts, her behind...
Feeling the heat expand inside him, Damon stuck out his hand, anxious to touch her. "I'm Damon Devaughn, by the way. I'll be in the area for a little while."
"S'that so?" She took his hand, but didn't perform the customary shake. Instead, she just held on to him, giving her own brazen show of interest. "I'm Ceily."
Surprise momentarily made him mute. Damn, he hadn't seen that coming. To be sure, he asked, "Ceily, as in the owner of the diner?"
"One and the same." She smiled down at their clasped hands, one eyebrow raised, but she didn't pull away from him. And Damon didn't release her. She had a firm hold, her hand slim, warm, a little rough from work.
For whatever reason, he'd expected Ceily to be older, more timeworn, tired. Emma's memories of her had been of a grown woman, yet Ceily must have had responsibility for the diner at an early age because by his count, she was still young.
Beyond his sexual interest, Damon felt...impressed.
Knowing who she was slanted things though, made them a tad more difficult, but not impossible. He decided to test her before he got any more involved. "I'm here with a friend."
Disappointment made her green eyes darken. "Female friend?"
"Yes." He released her hand and leaned back in his seat, watching for her reaction. "You might remember her. Emma Clark?"
A brief moment of confusion crossed her
features, then she brightened. "No kidding? I remember Emma. She's Casey Hudson's age, right?"
Damon scowled. Why the hell would she mention Casey? "That's right. In fact, she's with Casey today, visiting her father in the hospital."
Ceily turned and hollered toward the kitchen. "Hey, I need a casserole and—" She looked back at Damon. "What do you want to drink?"
"Do you have sweet tea?"
Nodding, she yelled, "And an iced tea."
A dark-haired man in a hair net poked his face into an opening visible behind the bar that led into the kitchen. "Be ready in a sec."
"Thanks." Without being invited, Ceily sat down in the booth opposite Damon. "So Casey's already hooked up with her, huh?" Dimples showed in her cheeks when she grinned. "Doesn't surprise me much. From what I remember, she always did like him. And he's just like his uncles, meaning he's not one to waste time."
"How...reassuring."
Ceily laughed, then crossed her arms on the table-top and leaned toward him. It was a toss-up what fascinated him more – her mouth or her cleavage. "You with her, or just friends?"
"Friends." She wasn't wearing any lipstick, but her naked mouth looked very appealing. Her bottom lip was plump, her upper lip well defined. "If it was more, I wouldn't be flirting with you."
That sexy mouth tilted up. "So you are flirting, huh?"
"Of course." He stared into her eyes without smiling. "And you're flirting back."
She shrugged. "Around here, that might mean something – and then again, it might mean nothing."
"Around here?"
"We're all real sociable and quick to tease."
"I see. So which is it this time?"
She pondered her reply before answering. "I reckon it means I wouldn't mind showing you around the area, if you're interested."
Uncertainty made her offer casual, yet Damon noted her anticipation, the way she held herself hopeful. Oh yes, the trip had become quite intriguing.
"My interest has already been established." His body hummed with that interest as he began considering what the night might bring. The irony of it amused him. Emma might not like it, but then there was no reason she had to know right off.
He reached across the table and took her hand again. "So tell me, Ceily. What time do you get off work, and how late do you want to stay out?"
CASEY WATCHED EMMA grow increasingly subdued the farther they got from town. The ride to the hospital took her back along the way she'd come in, to the outskirts of the city proper. The twenty-minute trip had been mostly silent, yet not uncomfortable. From the drive-through, they'd picked up two bottles of orange juice and breakfast sandwiches to eat along the way. Emma had also downed another cup of coffee.
After gathering the sandwich wrappers and empty bottles together, Emma had spent the remainder of the ride looking around with a mixture of awe, recollection and melancholy. She'd missed Buckhorn, that much was plain.
So why had she waited so long to return?
Casey didn't mind her silence as she reacquainted herself with the area. But the closer they got to the hospital, the more she retreated until he could feel her agitation. Was she worried about seeing her father again?
Old habits were indeed hard to break, and Casey found himself wishing he could shield her from the unknown. Would her father be happy to see her again? Or would he treat her with the same callous disregard he'd shown so long ago?
For the rest of his life, Casey knew he'd remember the look on her bruised, tear-streaked face the night her father had jerked her forward, presenting her as a problem, ridding himself of her.
It still infuriated him, so how must it make her feel to face Dell again?
The roads here were smooth, open, with no need to shift from fifth gear. Though the temperature had reached eighty already, with high humidity, Emma had been all for skipping the air-conditioning in favor of leaving the convertible top down. Casey glanced toward her, watching her hair dance behind her, seeing the concentrated, determined expression on her face.
He tightened his hands on the steering wheel, fighting the urge to reach for her. "Hey."
She started, then glanced at him. "What?"
"You okay?"
"Sure, I'm fine." She clutched at her purse in her lap, giving away her unease. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
"I don't know. Everything. Nothing." She turned toward him, folding one leg onto the seat. She had to hold her hair out of her face with her hand. "Buckhorn hasn't changed at all."
Her position exposed more of her thigh – something Casey made immediate note of. As a teenager, she'd kept a golden tan. Now she looked fair, with only a faint kiss from the sun. He had to clear his throat. "Not much, no."
"Everything seems exactly the same, maybe aged a little more. But still...the same."
"That bothers you?"
She leaned back in her seat and stared up at the sky. "No." She spoke so low her voice almost got carried away on the wind. Casey strained to hear her. "It's just that I've changed so much, and yet I still feel like I don't belong here."
A vague panic took Casey by surprise. "This is your home." He sounded far too gruff, almost angry. "Of course you belong."
Silence hung between them, pressing down on him, until she swiveled her head toward him. "If you have anything you need to do today, you can just drop me at the hospital."
It bugged the hell out of him how she kept trying to shove him away. "I'll wait for you."
"Dad's probably not up to a long visit, but it still might be an hour."
"I'll wait."
She stared at him, so Casey gave her a smile to counter his insistent tone and then, because he had to touch her, he opened his hand over the gearshift in invitation. She hesitated only a moment before reaching across and lacing her fingers in his. Like old times.
Now, that felt right – Emma reaching for him, accepting him. The touch of her hand to his, palm to palm, fingers intertwined, filled him with a sense of well-being.
Two minutes later, he parked in the crowded visitors' section of the hospital lot. Emma, now utterly silent, flipped down her visor to quickly comb her hair and reapply lip gloss. He'd seen the feminine routine performed by numerous women. But this was Emma, and she fascinated him.
He went around to her side of the car and held her door open. "You look beautiful, Emma."
She sent him a look of tolerance. "I'll settle for passable, thank you."
"Very passable, then." Casey took her arm as they crossed the scorching lot. Damp heat lifted off the pavement in waves. "Do you remember the last time we were here together?"
Nodding, she said, "With your Uncle Jordan and his wife. But that was before they'd gotten married."
"The night they met, actually. Georgia's mother, Ruth, was sick, and Jordan had brought them, along with Georgia's two kids, to the hospital." While driving to the hospital to lend a helping hand, Casey had found Emma walking on the side of the road. As if the picture had been painted on his brain, he recalled exactly how she'd looked that night in ultrashort shorts, a hot-pink halter, and her skin dewy from the humidity as she'd sashayed down the roadway. All alone.
He'd been worried about her, as usual, and had insisted on giving her a ride. She'd climbed into his car, then made him sweat even more with wanting her.
Shaking his head, Casey wondered why he hadn't taken what she'd offered. If he had, maybe he wouldn't feel as he did now. And maybe he wouldn't have felt this way for most of his adult life.
Putting himself back on track, he continued with the family discussion. "Ruth still has some problems with her lungs, but now she's hooked up with Misty and Honey's dad, and he pampers her. She's doing pretty good."
"Do you mean your grandfather? Do you work for him now?"
"Step-grandfather officially, but yeah, I've been working with him since I finished college. I'm the executive vice president of sales and marketing."
"Wow." Emma sounded genuinely impressed. "That soun
ds like an important position."
Self-conscious about the rapid and consistent promotions, Casey grumbled, "My grandfather has shoved me right up the ladder. He takes every opportunity to give me a bigger office, a better parking spot, more perks. It's his goal that I'll eventually run the company for him."
"What exactly is his company?"
"Electronics, computer hardware. You know, very high-tech, state-of-the-art stuff for businesses. Boring stuff." He laughed at himself. "Very boring."
"I see." Her look was filled with comprehension in a way exclusive to Emma. She understood him, which made long explanations unnecessary. "So you don't like your job, or is it your grandfather you don't like?"
He avoided giving her a direct answer by saying, "I like him fine. He's loosened up a lot, especially since he and Ruth married."
That disclosure diverted her. "Wow, everyone is getting married."
Casey stared ahead, strangely annoyed. "Nope, not everyone."
Emma did a double take, probably trying to judge his mood. When she saw his sour expression, she went a little quiet. "Like everyone else, Casey, you'll eventually find the right woman and swear love everlasting."
She didn't sound overly thrilled with that prospect, which pretty much minored his own feelings on the matter. Marriage? Just the thought of it left him tight and uncertain in a way he refused to accept. "We'll see."
Emma bit her lip, feeling the new tension just as he did. In an obvious effort to lighten the mood, she said, "Georgia had two really cute little kids, right?"
"Yeah, but they're not so little anymore. Lisa is fifteen and a real heartbreaker, though she doesn't know it, or else doesn't care." He glanced down at Emma, saw her pensive frown, and regretted adding to her uneasiness. She had her hands full with the coming confrontation. "Lisa's more into her studies than boys, and she's so smart she scares me."
Emma relaxed enough to grin at that. "As I recall, nothing scares you – especially a female."
That was far from the truth, but Casey just shook his head. "Adam's thirteen, a helluva football player and real interested in becoming a vet like Jordan. He's even got the soothing voice down pat. They're great kids."
