Only her father could find good news this early on a weekend morning.
"What news?" she asked, burrowing back under the covers, wishing for sleep, wishing for the dream he'd rocked her awake from—a dream in which she was back at the cabin with Shane.
"J.R. will be here Friday night. I've invited him for dinner."
Poppy groaned.
"Don't be obstinate. He's everything you could want in a man, Poppy," her father said sternly. "Everything." He didn't say, Everything Chad wasn't. But his firmness underlined his conviction. "He's clever. He's bright. He's honest. He has scruples. Besides that he's well-off. Handsome. He doesn't mind a working wife. He—"
"You asked him?" Poppy squeaked, sitting bolt upright.
"Of course I asked him," her father said stiffly. "I don't want to propose someone unsuitable."
Of course not, Poppy thought woefully.
"Trust me, Poppy. I have your best interests at heart. And you know you've always wanted a husband and family. Ever since you were a little girl you said you wanted lots of children."
"Yes, but—"
"And you can't have them without a husband."
"Well, I could," Poppy began.
But he cut her off firmly. "You won't."
"No, I won't. But—"
"And I've always wanted to be a grandfather," he went on, a new, wistful quality in his voice now.
Poppy felt small and guilty.
"J.R. will make a wonderful father. Like I said, dear, he's perfect for you."
He might very well be perfect, Poppy thought. But he wasn't Shane.
* * *
"So take a date," Milly said between bites of a peanut butter sandwich. She was not precisely sympathetic when Poppy gave her the grim news on Monday morning. "You can take Cash if you want," she offered.
"You're speaking to him?"
"No. But my mother is. I could get my mother to ask him."
But Poppy shook her head. "No. It wouldn't be convincing. And after what Cash did, my father would make mincemeat out of him."
"Not a bad idea," Milly said darkly. She chewed her sandwich thoughtfully. "What about Kyle?"
"No." Kyle was too nice. More mincemeat.
"Larry is pretty tough," Milly offered after a moment.
"I don't think so."
Even Larry wouldn't be a match for her father and the perfect man because Poppy knew she wouldn't be able to muster up any enthusiasm toward him. Her father would interpret her bringing Larry for exactly what it was—a desperate attempt to ward off the inevitable.
There was only one man she knew who could make her father stop and pause for thought—only one man she could take who could convince her father that he was far more interesting than any "perfect husband material" the judge provided.
One man.
She didn't dare.
They hadn't seen each other in weeks. Surely if he'd been interested, he would have called or come by.
And yet she couldn't help remembering that what had happened between them had not been one-sided.
He's probably like that with all women, she told herself sharply.
But somehow she didn't think so. Shane might be a "hail fellow well met" in general, but she didn't think he let many people inside.
She actually suspected that the surface charm was less the whole of his personality than a defense to keep people from knowing the real Shane.
"And when did you get a degree in psychology?" she jibed aloud.
Milly blinked. "What?"
"Nothing," Poppy mumbled. "Just thinking."
"Think fast," Milly advised. "Friday isn't far away."
* * *
He wanted to call home.
He wanted to talk to Mace and Jenny. He wanted to hear more about Mark's new horse and Tony's snow fort. He wanted Jenny to hold the phone next to the piano so Pilar could play her newest piece for him.
He especially wanted to ask if they'd been to Livingston lately, if by chance they'd happened into that little florist's shop called Poppy's Garden, if they'd seen the dark-haired woman who owned it, if she was every bit as beautiful as he remembered, if she looked as sleepless and washed out as he did. If she, too, felt like hell.
He didn't let himself call.
He wasn't some homesick kid. He hadn't been hanging around telephone booths even when he was eighteen. He had hit the road and never looked back.
Oh, he'd called now and then. But he hadn't thought about it constantly. On the contrary, he'd almost never thought about home. It was just the way he was, he told himself. For Shane Nichols, out of sight had been out of mind.
"Yeah," he muttered to himself as he tried to avoid even looking at the phone on the wall of the grocery store in Prescott. "Well, look at you now."
He had, after all, called just last week.
He'd talked to Mace and Jenny then. He'd heard about the horse and the snow fort, and Pilar had played him a song about somebody she called Claire Doubloon.
But he hadn't asked about the florist shop down in Livingston. He didn't know anything new about Poppy.
And he wouldn't if he called now.
Because he'd never mentioned her to any of them. Had never let her name drop from his lips. Had brushed off Jenny's questions about those days he'd been stranded in the cabin. Had ignored Mace's speculative looks.
If no one knew, he could pretend she didn't matter. But she did.
He could pretend he would forget her. He damned well would if he could.
He bought his groceries. He stowed them in the truck. Then he went back in and called home, anyway.
Just to say hi. Just to touch base. To hear the voices of some people who'd be glad to hear from him.
"How are you?" he asked when Jenny answered.
"Fine." She sounded surprised, but not displeased, to hear from him. "How are you?"
"I'm doin' good," he said. He flexed his thumb. "Real good." Did his voice sound as hollow to her ears as it did to his?
"I'm glad. Where are you?"
"Prescott. Arizona."
"Oh. That's a long way," she said doubtfully. "Too long," she added after a moment's pause.
"Too long for what?"
"To come for dinner."
"Dinner? You want me to come to dinner?"
"Not me. Someone called Poppy."
* * *
"Poppy? Er, this is—"
"Shane!" At least she sounded glad to hear from him. So that probably meant she wasn't inviting him to dinner to serve him with an arrest warrant. She wasn't going to lure him in and have her dad lying in wait with a cop to slap the handcuffs on him.
Actually he never thought she would. It was just an excuse to keep from calling her.
He'd done probably thirty laps around the supermarket parking lot after he'd hung up from talking to Jenny, trying to decide what to do.
"I told her you were miles away by now," Jenny had said. "But that I'd tell you if you called. I told her not to get her hopes up."
So he hadn't had to call. He could have pretended he never got the message, or didn't get it in time. It would have been smarter. Saner.
But he was Shane Nichols. When had sane and smart ever mattered when he was making up his mind what to do?
He called.
"Yeah, uh, hi." He cleared his throat which felt suddenly dry. "Jenny … um … my sister-in-law … said you called and—" Cripes, he was sweating just talking to her.
No. He was sweating because this was Arizona and it was hot. Well, it wasn't actually that hot, but—
"She said she didn't know where you were. You're home?" Poppy said hopefully.
"Not exactly." He was comforted by the fact that Poppy sounded a little hesitant, too. But wonderful. Shane could envision her, that wary expression on her face, that look of hope in her hazel eyes. He propped himself up against the wall of the supermarket and tucked the phone against his shoulder.
"I just called her. She gave me your message. Dinner, she said?" H
e tried to make the word casual, but it came out eager.
"Well, yes. I was … hoping … that you could come. But she said—"
"Friday?" Jenny'd told him Friday.
"I know it's short notice but—"
To a guy who'd never asked a girl for a date more than half an hour ahead of time, it seemed like a million years. And so he was in Arizona? So what? He'd driven more hours and more miles to get to a rodeo, where chances were he would get kicked in the head.
"I'll be there."
"Wonderful!" She sounded overjoyed. "Six o'clock. At my father's."
"What?" He almost dropped the phone. He stood bolt upright and gripped the receiver in a stranglehold.
"I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you. It's at my father's place. It's … because he's come up with his perfect man. Remember? I told you he was going to try to do that. And now he has."
She sounded desperate.
Shane felt desperate. "You want me to eat dinner with you and your father and … his idea of a perfect man?" No wonder he was sweating.
"You don't have to do anything," Poppy said. "Just … just be there. He expects me to show up and cook the meal, smile and say all the right things. Be perfect wife material. And I can't!" This last was a wail.
"Oh, God."
There was a long silence on the other end of the line, but she didn't offer to let him off the hook. "I know you had a run-in with him," she said quietly. "But you were a kid then, weren't you? I mean, it was a long time ago?"
"Not long enough," Shane muttered.
"He won't remember."
"He'll remember."
"He won't care."
"He'll care."
"Shane!" she said, exasperated. "Please."
"Poppy… No." His mouth went totally dry just thinking about it. The man had made him a laughing-stock. And as far as driving off any eligible suitors went…
There was a dollar's worth of long distance silence. Then Poppy said, "You owe me."
"What?"
"You heard me. You owe me this. I kept my mouth shut about my 'kidnapping.' I—"
"Commandeering," Shane corrected sharply.
"Kidnapping," she repeated firmly. "I never told anyone. And believe me I could have! Everyone and the cat wanted to know where I was that weekend and who I was with! They all think I'm some sort of woman of mystery now who sneaks off with equally mysterious men."
"So what's wrong with that?"
"I'm not mysterious! I'm a liar. I said I wouldn't be. But I am. And if I've got to be a liar for you, the least you can do is be one for me. Just show up for dinner. And pretend you're interested in me."
I am interested in you, he wanted to yell at her.
"Why me?" he demanded.
"Because you're the only one who … who— Just trust me. You're the only one he'd believe."
"He'd get out his gun."
Poppy sighed. "I need you, Shane. I thought you … I thought we—" She stopped. The silence went on. And on. Then, "Never mind," she said dully. "It doesn't matter."
But it did.
Shane knew it did. He knew the moment he got over his knee-jerk reaction to having to see her father again, that it mattered a lot.
He didn't just want to help her out, pretending to be the man in her life. He wanted to be the man in her life.
"I'll be there."
* * *
The next day Poppy called Shane's brother's house again.
"I gave him your message," his sister-in-law told her. "But he was in Arizona, and—"
"Arizona!" She hadn't realized. She'd called to leave a message that he didn't have to come, that she'd thought better of it, that she had no right to coerce him. She wanted him to—desperately—but not because she'd forced him to.
Now she was sure, despite his quiet "I'll be there" that he wouldn't.
"He called me yesterday afternoon," she told Jenny. "And I thought he said he'd be able to come. I was going to tell him he didn't have to. But if he's in Arizona … well, I must have misunderstood."
"I don't think so," Jenny said. "If he said he'd come, he will. Shane never promises anything unless he plans to deliver."
"But—"
"You don't want him?"
"I—" But she couldn't say she didn't want him. "Will you just tell him if he calls?"
"I'll tell him," Jenny promised.
And probably she had.
But on Friday, standing in her father's kitchen cooking dinner, Poppy prayed he hadn't got the message. She wanted Shane to be there.
Still, she didn't expect him. If he actually did drive all the way back to Montana, surely he would go to the ranch first. His sister-in-law would give him the message, and that would be that. He might be angry that he'd driven all this way for nothing. But mostly she thought he would be relieved that she'd changed her mind and didn't expect him to come.
It was the best she could do.
She tried not to think about him as she put her mother's good damask tablecloth on the table and got out her parents' wedding silver and the bone china that her father had given her mother on their tenth anniversary.
She'd decided not to make her mother's wonderful garlic-stuffed roast. She never did it as well as her mother had.
So she went for the tried-and-true—a standard all-American turkey dinner with all the trimmings. It was subtle perhaps, but if he was as bright as her father claimed, maybe he would see the signs. Maybe the turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, cranberry sauce and green bean casserole would be so tradition-bound, would shout so loudly of home and hearth that they would drive J.R. Phillips away.
She couldn't imagine any man of a marriageable age not running in the other direction if an unattached woman cooked it for him. Unless he truly was looking for a wife.
She still had hopes that, regardless of what her father said, J.R. Phillips was as marriage shy as she was.
And if he wasn't, well, she would get rid of him somehow. Politely, of course.
But it would have been easier if she'd been able to flaunt Shane.
And there she was, thinking about him again. Damn it.
She glanced out the window and saw the flash of sun on the windshield of a vehicle coming up the lane. Her father, no doubt, with the perfect man in tow.
She wiped damp palms on the sides of her apron, then headed back to the kitchen.
She busied herself there with last-minute preparations, not wanting to be caught hovering by the door, but listening for it to open and her father's voice to ring out.
She heard the doorbell instead.
Drat. She hadn't counted on him sending J.R. on ahead.
But, she thought hopefully as she shed her apron and hung it on a hook by the door, maybe it was for the best. This way she could set J.R. Phillips straight before her father even got here.
Pasting on her best-polite hostess smile, she opened the door.
It was Shane.
* * *
Jenny had told him he didn't have to go. "Your Poppy called," she'd told him when he drove into the yard last night. "She said to tell you that you don't have to come." She was giving him curious, assessing looks, and he knew she was wondering who this Poppy was.
He ignored the looks and went to the message, which had rocked him. "You're saying she doesn't want me?"
"I'm not exactly saying that," Jenny said.
"What are you saying?" Shane demanded, exasperated.
"Just what she told me. That you didn't have to come."
"I didn't drive all this way to turn around now," he said flatly.
Jenny's brows lifted. Her eyes widened. "She must be pretty special," Jenny murmured.
Shane met his sister-in-law's gaze steadily. "She is."
And so he was here.
Early. And determined.
And when she opened the door, he felt such a rush of joy at the sight of her that he wondered why in God's name he'd stayed away so long.
"So," he drawled, smiling, "am I
still invited. Or not?"
She blinked the same way Jenny had at seeing him. Then a smile dawned on her face that was even better than the ones he'd spent a month dreaming about.
She launched herself into his arms. "Oh, yes. Oh, Shane. Yes!"
And as he caught her, all the aching need and desperate desire that had been building within him for the past month took over. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to hers.
It was like coming home.
It was warmth and welcome and just a hint of the wildness he had known when he was loving her. It awakened all the urgency he'd told himself all month he didn't feel. It stirred cravings he'd tried to convince himself he didn't have.
"Poppy!" His fingers loosed the pins that bound her hair, tangling in the silken strands, all the time his mouth was fused with hers. Their bodies, too, could not seem to get close enough. He felt her hands slide up under his jacket, then tug at his shirttails. He shifted to make it easier for her to free them from his jeans and was rewarded seconds later by the feel of her hands on his bare back.
With one hand still tangling in her hair, he let the other tease the waistband of her skirt, then burrow inside to stroke her heated skin.
"I missed you," he mumbled against her mouth. "Oh, God, I missed you! The whole time I was out there, I might as well have been going in circles, because in my head I was with you."
"Yes," Poppy said. "Yes! Oh, me, too."
Then they were kissing again, hungrily, greedily, desperately.
The door opened. A rush of cold February air slammed in.
"Are we interrupting something?" asked Poppy's father.
* * *
Ten
« ^ »
It was not a Miss Manners moment.
Or if it was, Poppy had skipped that chapter, certain it would never happen to her.
"Oh, God," she muttered under her breath. With one frantic, trembling hand she groped to tuck in her blouse, while the other attempted to do something constructive to her undone hair.
She glanced at Shane. His normally tanned face was white. He was stuffing his shirt back into his jeans. Had she pulled it out? Poppy realized with mounting embarrassment that she had.
"D-Daddy," she said with as much brightness as she could muster. "You're … early?"
The Cowboy Steals a Lady Page 11
