Downhome Darlin' & The Best Man Switch

by Victoria Pade

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Now, where exactly am I?”

  “In my bed. In my house. If you’ve lived around these parts for any time at all—”

  “I was born and raised here.”

  “Then you probably know this place better as the old Peterson spread—now in the city registry as the Lucky Seven ranch. I believe it started out as a workin’ ranch, got sold off about seventeen years ago and turned into a dude ranch that didn’t catch on, and has been left to rot for the past fifteen-plus years. Or have I been misinformed?”

  “Ripped off maybe, but not misinformed. I hope you didn’t pay too much or buy it blind.”

  “Eyes wide-open.”

  But those eyes didn’t seem to be seeing anything but her at that moment. The intensity of his gaze reminded her that they were not having a plain conversation on a street corner. They were essentially in bed together.

  “Did I hear you say it’s nearly noon?” she asked.

  “You did.”

  “I’m surprised my sisters haven’t sent the sheriff looking for me. I don’t suppose I could impose on you to take me home?”

  “Now? When we’re just gettin’ to know each other?”

  The man was a terrible tease.

  “Please.”

  “Do I have another choice?”

  “You could make me walk, but it’s kind of far for that.”

  “That wasn’t the other option I had in mind.”

  She didn’t think she was up to knowing what he did have in mind.

  “Please,” she repeated. “I could give you gas money if you wanted.”

  “Gas money?” he parroted, laughing again, wryly this time. But he pushed himself to a sitting position and then got off the mattress. “I’m gonna want more than gas money.”

  Abby wasn’t up to asking what that “more” might be. She just wanted to get out of there and home to familiar territory.

  Since she was dressed, she threw off the covers and got to her feet, too, although not without stabbing pains shooting through her head.

  For a moment she had to close her eyes against it. When she opened them again, it was to find Cal Ketchum watching her once more. Standing there in all his glory with big bare feet spread apart, tight jeans zipped but not fastened at the waistband and the tails of that yellow shirt dangling around his hips, leaving a flat, rock-hard stomach and just enough chest showing for her to see the smattering of hair there.

  No one should look that good first thing in the morning, barely dressed and clearly without having paid any attention to his appearance. There should be a law, she thought, wondering just how unsightly she was herself.

  “How about some breakfast before I take you home? You can call your sisters and let ’em know where you ate.”

  Just the mention of food raised her gorge. “I don’t think so. Thanks anyway.”

  “Coffee? Tea? A little hair of the dog?”

  “I don’t dare.” Eat, drink or stay any longer than necessary with this man whose appeal was so potent. “But I could use the bathroom.”

  He pointed to a door beside a tall antique bureau. “Through there. Towels and washcloths are in the cupboard. Feel free to shower if you want. I’ll even lend you some clothes—just say the word.”

  No way was she taking off any clothes within ten miles of this man. It would be too tempting to leave them off.

  “I might just wash my face.” Because it felt as if someone had slathered it with mud. “But then I’ll need to go home. Right away.”

  He made a slight tsk sound from the corner of his mouth. “Too bad.”

  Abby didn’t stick around to discuss it. She went into the bathroom, closed and locked the door.

  But the lock clicked into place with an inordinately loud noise that seemed to admit that she didn’t trust that he would respect her privacy.

  “Don’t worry, Abby Abby,” he reassured through the panel, reminding her of the teasing he’d done the night before, too. “I won’t storm the door and ravage you. I like my wild women willing.”

  Abby groaned to herself and dropped her face in both hands as if someone else could see her grimace at her own follies.

  But then it occurred to her that wallowing in embarrassment was only prolonging things and the sooner she got down to business, the sooner she could get home.

  She took a look at herself in the mirror, and almost wished she hadn’t.

  Her hair had been in such an unruly style that it hardly looked different than it had when she’d done it. But her face was something else entirely, and the thought that Cal Ketchum had seen her like this made her groan all over again.

  Dark black smudges ringed her eyes in a raccoon effect. The blush she’d applied wasn’t her usual pale shade, so it didn’t enhance her natural color; it sat on top, adding an orangish tint that clashed. The raisin shade of lipstick was gone except to leave her lips looking bruised. And the foundation she’d applied had cracked and caked into the creases of her chin and nose.

  She looked as if she’d barely survived a hard Halloween.

  And as much of a hurry as she was in to get home, she couldn’t make herself walk back out and face the rear-end cowboy knowing what he’d be seeing. Even if he had already seen it.

  The bathroom was large, but showed the decay of the years in peeling paint, chipped and missing tiles and a tub and sink that had seen better days. There were cupboards underneath the sink and what seemed to be a floor-to-ceiling linen closet in one corner.

  Since Cal had said towels and washcloths were in the cupboard, she tried under the sink first. But beyond a few cleaning supplies and some spare rolls of toilet paper, the cupboards were bare.

  Turning to the linen closet, she finally found what she needed in the way of man-size washcloths. She took two because the only towels were bath sheets and she didn’t want to dirty a whole bath sheet just to dry her face. She didn’t really want to impose by using anything, but vanity prevailed over her reticence.

  The countertop around the sink was clean but cluttered with a straight razor, a can of shaving foam, a bottle of aftershave, deodorant and shampoo. But there was no soap. For that she had to venture inside the black shower curtain that sealed off more than half the tub.

  There was a bar resting in a dish on the tub’s far edge, and she leaned in to get it. Residual steam from what could only have been Cal’s shower wafted around her from inside, smelling the way he did—clean, fresh, masculine.

  And although she told herself she’d lost her mind, she actually closed her eyes and breathed deeply, finding herself relishing the thought that not long ago he had been in there. Naked. Glistening wet. Scrubbing that big, hard body with that very soap...

  “Findin’ everything you need in there?” he asked from outside the door.

  The sudden sound of his voice and her own guilty conscience startled Abby into straightening up fast. Without the soap. Which she dived back in for, snatching it like a child stealing candy.

  “Fine. I’m fine,” she answered too loudly, the sound of her own raised voice erupting yet another memory of the previous evening and her lack of aplomb.

  Feeling rotten, she spun around to the sink again and gave herself a fierce stare in the mirror.

  “You’re just a big, dumb idiot for acting like something you’re not,” she whispered to herself harshly. “It serves you right to get stuck here now, like this, humilitating yourself all the more. If this doesn’t teach you not to pretend to be something you aren’t, nothing ever will.”

  And with that she turned on the hottest water she could stand and proceeded to scrub the life out of her face for punishment.

  When the residual makeup was gone and her cheeks were their own color again, she eased up on herself by gently patting her skin dry.

  As she did, she became increasingly aware of the bad taste in her mouth. And of how unpleasant her breath must be.

  She would never in her life use someone else’s toothbrush,
but a tube of toothpaste seemed to call to her and she ended up putting some on her index finger and doing a makeshift job on her teeth until every trace of liquor taste was gone.

  And then another bit of temptation struck.

  Bending over to slurp water from her cupped palm to rinse her mouth, her gaze fell to the bottle of aftershave on the counter. Her attention caught on it like a sweater on a bramble bush, and as she dabbed at her mouth with the dry washcloth she suddenly became obsessed with taking a whiff of the stuff.

  The rear-end cowboy had been clean shaved when he’d awakened her, but she hadn’t been aware of any cologne smell, so her curiosity about what scent he chose for himself got the better of her.

  She reached for the bottle, thinking that the top was screwed on tight.

  It wasn’t.

  The bottle tipped, splashing its contents over her hand, her forearm, her shirtfront and the countertop, filling the whole room with a scent not unlike the soap except with a woodsy undertone.

  Groaning yet again, she screwed the top on tight, washed her hand and arm and mopped up the countertop. But there was nothing to be done about the aftershave on her T-shirt to announce that she’d been snooping.

  Could this morning get any worse?

  There was no way around stepping out of that bathroom reeking of his aftershave, so Abby resigned herself to facing the music, again thinking that the sooner she did that, the sooner she could get home, out of the man’s sight and—with a little luck and a lot of hiding for the rest of her life—maybe she’d never have to face him again.

  She took a deep breath and sighed it out—as much in self-disgust as to bolster her courage—squared her shoulders and walked out of the bathroom.

  “I...uh...accidentally knocked over a bottle of aftershave on the counter. The lid wasn’t on tight, and some of it spilled. I’m sorry. I’d be happy to replace it,” she said in a hurry.

  He was rummaging in a drawer and only when he had a pair of socks in hand did he face her. He leaned near, sniffing as he did. “Smells better on you than on me.”

  She couldn’t imagine that was true but appreciated that he didn’t make any bigger deal out of it than that.

  Then he straightened up again and studied her face. “Better. Much better.”

  She self-consciously touched her fingertips to her cheek. “I know I was kind of smeared up.”

  “This is even better than before that.”

  Had she looked so bad last night? “Not so clownish—is that what you mean?” she asked, embarrassed once more.

  “You didn’t look like a clown. Just a fresh-faced woman trying to cover it up when she shouldn’t have.”

  “Fresh faced,” she repeated. It sounded better than shy, quiet, predictable and provincial. But somehow, in her mind, it went along with those other things and still added up to boring. She was just...plain.

  And she guessed it was time to give up trying to be anything else and accept it.

  “I’d like to go home now.”

  As if he could tell that she hadn’t taken his comment as a compliment, he stepped close in front of her, grasped her chin in a strong hand and tilted her face upward until she was looking right into his aquamarine eyes.

  “The makeup just hid how really beautiful you are,” he said quietly, as if confiding a secret.

  And then he did something that totally and completely surprised her.

  He kissed her.

  Square on the mouth. A soft, delicate meeting of warm, slightly moist, decidedly expert lips against hers, in a kiss so tender she might never have guessed a man like Cal Ketchum would give it. Except for the added bit of devilry in the tip of his tongue touching ever so lightly to her upper lip just before he ended it.

  The kiss was over before she knew it, but still it had wielded power enough to leave her knees weak and her head spinning more than it had been under the effects of alcohol.

  And all she could think of was that she wanted more...

  Of the kisses, not the alcohol.

  “Sure I can’t persuade you to stay awhile?”

  Awhile? How about forever? As a willing slave to kisses as potent as that one...

  “No,” she said in a semipanic at her own thoughts, her own weakness—a weakness she’d never known she possessed. “I have to go home. Now.”

  “Who says?”

  “Me,” she insisted.

  He let out an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. “If your heart is set on it. I guess we’d better go, then.”

  He began to button his shirt from the top, and a wave of disappointment washed through her. She just wasn’t certain over what. Maybe over losing the sexy sight of his bare chest and stomach? Maybe over his agreeing to let her go rather than keeping her captive to kisses like the one before and the silent promise it held of more passionate ones?

  She honestly didn’t know.

  She only knew that she couldn’t take her eyes off his hands working their way down that shirtfront and then tucking the tails into his jeans in a way that unwittingly tantalized her imagination with images of what was hidden behind that zipper.

  Then, as if he didn’t have any idea what he was doing to her insides, he bent over and pulled on the socks he’d taken from the drawer.

  Bent over...

  Her hand actually itched to reach out and pat that great derriere again.

  Maybe she was a wilder woman than she realized.

  “Shoes!” she said to snap herself out of her own reverie as he yanked on a pair of tan snakeskin cowboy boots. “I need my shoes, too.”

  He nodded toward the side of the mattress. “Those I did take off you. They’re over there.”

  Abby nearly ran for them, grateful for something—anything—to do rather than watch him finish dressing as if they’d shared more intimacy than they had.

  “Ready?” he asked when he was.

  “Please,” she said, knowing it was too polite and kind of a dumb response, but just wanting to escape that room, which seemed to be getting smaller by the minute.

  He held his arm out toward the door, and Abby came close to flying out of it, down the stairs and through the front door, all without so much as a glance at anything in the rest of the house.

  She was in the passenger’s seat of the black convertible parked outside before Cal had made it to the porch steps.

  She tried not to watch him finish the trip she’d taken in such a hurry, but even from the corner of her eye she could see long, muscular legs carrying him down the steps. And when he walked around to the driver’s side, her gaze seemed to stick like glue to that rear end again.

  “Where to?” he asked as he got behind the wheel and started the engine.

  This was how I got into trouble last night, she remembered. But this time she didn’t hesitate to give him directions to the family home she and her sisters shared.

  Then she sank as deeply into the seat as she could so no one in town could readily see her being taken home in the same clothes she’d been wearing the night before, by a gorgeous man who no one would believe had been a gentleman. That kiss notwithstanding.

  “Ashamed to be seen with me?” he asked, noticing.

  “Ashamed of myself,” she answered almost under her breath.

  “For cuttin’ loose a little?”

  “For cutting loose way too much.”

  “Way too much? Honey, I’ve seen people cut loose a whole lot more than you did last night. Much to my regret.”

  “That you’ve seen other people do worse or that I didn’t do more?”

  He just grinned over at her and left her guessing.

  After a moment he said, “Ask me what I want as payback for behavin’ myself.”

  She was a little afraid to inquire. But she owed him a great deal for not turning the previous evening into the nightmare it might have been had he been another man, so she complied. “What do you want as payback?”

  “I want to pick you up tonight about eight and have you show me
where around here is the best place to watch the sunset.”

  An involuntary thrill ran through her at the prospect, even as she told herself she’d be better off never seeing him again as she’d promised herself earlier.

  “It looks good from anywhere,” she said in an attempt to resist him. And her own desires.

  “But there’s always a prime place or two to settle in and watch. If you’ve been here your whole life the way you said, you must know where it is. Or were you lyin’ about bein’ ashamed to be seen with me?”

  “Will you still behave yourself?” she heard herself ask, hating that she sounded like such a prude. Predictable, provincial and now prudish.

  “Can’t make any promises,” he said. “But I’ll try.”

  “I don’t know....” She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t give in to this. To him. To herself.

  “I’ll behave myself better if you do this than if you don’t,” he threatened with a glint of mischief in the sidelong glance he shot her way.

  “What does that mean?”

  He only shrugged and grinned.

  “My reputation will already be in shreds after you were seen carrying me out of that bar last night.”

  “Thought that’s what you wanted—to show folks you were different than they thought you were.”

  “Maybe not that different.”

  “What’ll they be sayin’ if I start showin’ up to howl at the moon under your bedroom window every night?”

  “That you’re a lunatic.”

  He laughed. “And that all sorts of things must have gone on between us to drive me crazy.” He pulled up in front of her house and stopped the car. “So what’ll it be? Show me the best place to watch the sunset or have me raisin’ a ruckus under your window?”

  “This smacks of blackmail, you know.”

  “Doesn’t it, though?” he answered with yet another grin. “Tonight at eight?”

  She wasn’t sure whether or not he’d actually make good on his threat. And it wasn’t really much of a threat to begin with. So she could have refused. Could have and should have.

  But she did owe him for driving her home the night before. For not taking advantage of her or of the situation.

  “Okay,” she said. “Eight o’clock.”