“Okay,” Jessie said, stepping away from the sink. She cupped a dripping washcloth in her hands as she hurried over. “This is pretty soapy, so I hope it doesn’t sting too much.”
Trent lifted his bent arm, making it easier for her to see the splinters. She dabbed the cloth on the bloody spot to clean it as water trickled down his elbow.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, dabbing some more.
He looked up in time to see the scarf slip right off her shoulders and onto the floor. Trent gulped as he took in the slender slope of her arms. The delicate shape of her collarbone. The scent of something sweet and feminine, like flowers or spice, lured him in even deeper.
She paid no mind to the item on the floor, simply attended to him in the nightdress she wore. If you could call it that. It was white and silky like the scarf, but it went close to her knees and hugged her waist. But it didn’t do much to cover her up.
“I think we’d better go into the quilting room to get these out.” She motioned to an open doorway along the hall, the room marked by a small sign that read quilting cove. “I’ve got a magnifying glass in there, and you can get more comfortable if you’d like.”
The heart clanking started up again. More comfortable? Of course she wasn’t coming on to him. But could he stop himself from coming on to her if this kept up? The softness of her touch? The smell of her skin? The lovely sight of her face? Not to mention her charm. Oh, was she charming. Dangerously so.
She retrieved a napkin from a nearby drawer, patted the area dry, and blew on it while slowly moving her head from one side to the next.
Chills rushed over his skin.
“Okay,” she said, striding away from the counter.
He bent down to retrieve the silky scarf, catching hints of her scent as he placed it on the stool. Lilacs—that’s what it reminded him of. Like the ones in his yard years back.
When he straightened back up, he saw that Jessie was watching him, the slightest grin at the corner of her lips.
“Come on,” she said. “Follow me.”
Chapter 11
Jessie could feel the weight of Trent’s gaze on her back. She couldn’t remember being so frazzled. It was impossible to dissect the emotions revving through her like fuel in a fine-tuned engine. The feeling reminded her of her very first crush—Luis Williams. She’d sat next to him in the fourth grade and could still remember how often he owned her thoughts. Even on weekends when there was no chance of seeing him, the quiet kid was on her mind. She’d obsess about what to wear, too, second-guessing every outfit. Would Luis like blue better, or green?
It was odd that Jessie felt something akin to that now. She flicked on the light to the quilting room and stepped aside so he could walk in.
“I’ll grab some tweezers. Go ahead and have a seat.”
Before rushing off to her room, Jessie watched him shift around the quilt frame, curious as to what he thought of the place. Not that it mattered.
Once in her bathroom, she loaded a small tray with rubbing alcohol, cotton swabs, tweezers, and a few other supplies. If she needed a sewing needle, there’d be plenty in the quilting room; she could sanitize one of them.
She couldn’t resist taking a moment to examine her reflection in the mirror. Here she’d spent time and energy wondering when Trent might come down for breakfast or if she’d show up for social hour. She’d put more focus on her appearance than she had in who knew how long, and he hadn’t even shown.
Now—after she’d cleaned up the kitchen, endured a long, busy day, and ventured out back in her nightdress—he shows up.
Jessie had changed the bulbs in the bathrooms to give a warm, softer glow than the harsh light that blared from the old ones. But even still, her eyes looked tired. The hint of mascara she’d put on at the beginning of the day was smudged beneath one eye, but visible only when she looked closely. Her first urge was to wipe it off and redo her makeup completely. But two things stopped her from doing that very thing: pride, and time. Not to mention sheer circumstance.
Why did it matter what she looked like? She was not in the market for a man. Not in this lifetime, anyway.
Yet as she stepped back through the open doorway, saw him caught in a concentrated glare at the bookshelf, her heart refuted that claim. It was a vicious sort of gnawing that stung as she breathed in and out. Desire. Longing. Ache. Ache. Ache.
“Hi,” he said, his voice low and husky.
He was seated on the chair, which wouldn’t work out too well considering where the splinters were.
“How about lying back on the couch with your right arm on the outer edge? I’ll pull a chair up and take a look at what we’re dealing with.” A thought rushed to her mind: this was the man who’d bid on her at the auction. This incredibly handsome specimen had paid $800 for a date with her. Her heart sped up at the mere thought—causing heat to pool in her chest.
Trent gave her a sideways glance. “If I’m going to lie down, I’ll have to take off my utility belt and all the rest of this stuff.”
“Okay,” she said, resisting the grin that threatened. She stepped farther into the room, rested the tray on a side table, and slid the standing magnifier closer to the couch. From her periphery, she saw him remove the utility belt. She heard a snapping sound next, and flushed as she noticed he was removing his shirt.
“This thing has so much attached to it, I’m best to just remove it, too.”
She was relieved to see that he had a T-shirt underneath, though her hands had started to tremble. She breathed out a steadying breath as he lay back on the couch. Boy, did he look out of place. A hunky, muscular man, lying on the old sofa amongst quilting supplies and country art. It looked like a spread for a magazine article: Find the Man of Your Dreams Where You Least Expect.
She pulled the chair close and set the tray on her lap.
The magnifying glass was like a floor lamp—the base rested on the floor, its tube-like body curved like a swan’s neck. Trent bent his arm as he had when he was seated and looked at her through a dark set of lashes.
She gulped, admiring the contours of his face. She was close enough now to see just how thin his T-shirt was. Talk about contours—he could probably pull off swimsuit modeling as a side job.
With a quick clearing of her throat, Jessie forced her attention to the tray on her lap. “I, um … let’s see. I’m going to sanitize these tweezers first and hope that I don’t have to get more invasive.”
“You mean with a needle?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
Once the tweezers were clean, she took a closer look at the magnified splinters in his arm. “Looks like there are four.” She shook her head, feeling responsible for the small wounds. “You know, that wood was sealed last spring. It just … gets more abuse along there.” She secured the first paper-thin tip of wood and plucked it out.
“How exactly does it take more abuse?” he asked.
“When guests swim in the pond, they hang their towels on the balcony to dry. It ages the wood faster than the rest, that’s all.” She focused on the next one, frustrated when it seemed to duck beneath the skin as she prodded.
He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “I’ve had a lot worse.”
She held her breath as she finally trapped the small piece of wood. She tugged slowly, willing the thing not to tear, and exhaled as the entire sliver came out in one piece. “Whew.” She rolled her head to one side. “My shoulders are tensing up.”
He gave her a smile. “Thanks for doing this.”
She nodded. “Thank you, for putting your life on the line like you do. I have a real appreciation for law enforcement.”
“Even if you don’t always agree with us?”
“Exactly.”
Jessie worked at the others in silence, though she noticed a few things as she did. The size of Trent’s bicep as he flexed. The masculine scent of him, cologne or aftershave, sh
e wasn’t sure which. And the way his gaze seemed to warm every part of her.
Out came the third splinter, but the last one wasn’t so kind. She resorted to prying at the skin with a needle, after sanitizing it of course.
“Got it,” she announced. “Sorry I had to get mean toward the end.”
“No problem. You had to get back at me for the flyers somehow.”
She laughed. “You’re right. In fact, maybe I see another one here …” She meant it as a joke, but as she inspected his arm beneath the glass once more, Jessie could feel his eyes on her. Without thinking, she ran the tips of her fingers over the area. The action felt intimate, but a weak part of her liked that. He must have liked it, too, because goose bumps rose over his skin, the sight of it magnified beneath the glass.
“Is Friday night okay?”
The question took her off guard. “Okay for what?” She hoped he wasn’t checking out so soon.
“For our date, if you’re still up for it.”
Her face grew hot. It felt as if he’d just asked her out or something, which wasn’t exactly the case. “Sure,” she managed.
Trent rested his feet back on the floor, the action bringing them face to face as he straightened up.
Jessie couldn’t quite respond to the voice that told her she should back away from him. They were too close, that was for sure. But something about it felt good. Everything about it felt good. Like water pouring on a forgotten plant. Water that gave life and excitement and … passion.
His gaze shifted to her mouth, giving truth to that final word. “Six o’clock?”
She nodded.
“Can you find someone to take care of social hour here?”
“Sure,” she said, turning her attention to the tray of supplies. “Six on Friday.” She gave him the slightest grin as she stood to leave. “Good night.”
In her dreams, Jessie was back in the quilt room with Trent. She ran her fingers over the wounded area gently, teasing, and smiled as goose bumps spread up his muscled arm once more.
She glanced up—struck by the look of desire on his face. Her gaze dropped to his lips as that same desire flared within her. Without even one second of thought, Jessie leaned down and pressed her lips to his in a slow, passionate kiss. Trent moved his hands to her hips, hoisted her onto his lap, and kissed her again. And then again. Yes. The sensations coursing through her were like fire—fast spreading, hard to contain, and wonderfully hot.
The sound of chimes pulled her from the moment, making her realize—immediately—that it was only a dream. No. Don’t wake up yet. She reached an arm beyond her covers, snatched the phone, and pressed snooze on the alarm.
Please, please, please go back to sleep. She wasn’t ready for the dream to end. Chances were that she’d never really have Trent’s lips on hers, but she could enjoy the illusion, couldn’t she?
The thought was so far from any recent musings that Jessie shot straight up in bed. What was happening here? Did she have a crush on Trent Lockheart—aka the new sheriff?
She shook her head, getting up to make her bed in the low, morning light. Smoothing sheets, tucking sides and corners, then smoothing the quilt, one that Grandma made for her when she was just thirteen. Patches of butter yellow complemented the shade of softest, faded turquoise. Jessie had painted the old wooden bench at the foot of her bed in a matching shade. She reached for a few of the accent pillows and arranged them along the headboard.
Her alarm sounded again, and Jessie prided herself for not thinking of Trent or the dream for nearly five whole minutes. Though she was thinking of him now, wasn’t she? And thinking about that interrupted kiss; a kiss that could only be a dream, of course. Men didn’t kiss like that in real life.
She worked to shake it off, hurrying through her morning routine. Still, Jessie couldn’t help but wonder if Trent would come down for breakfast this morning. He hadn’t come yet, but maybe after their time together last night, he would make an appearance.
Gracious! She was doing exactly what she’d told herself to stop doing. Was she bound to think about the guy nonstop until they went out? And what about after that? Jessie shook her head, forcing her attention on the breakfast menu. Potato rounds and garden veggies fried up with ham and topped with cheese. Perhaps she’d whip up some fresh salsa to go with it if there was time. Anything to keep him out of her thoughts.
Though somewhere in the corner of her mind, Jessie knew all the recipes and cooking and busy work in the world couldn’t keep her thoughts from going to something so inviting.
Chapter 12
Trent wiped his palms on his jeans while staring at the door leading out of his suite. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone on a date. And just how exactly was this supposed to go? The two were living in the same place. Was he supposed to sneak out of the inn and then knock on the door?
That was probably better than wandering around and looking for her. Or trying to knock on the door to her suite. Fine. He’d do it. He would walk right down the stairs and out the front door and then turn around and knock. Or ring the bell.
Trent groaned. Knock or ring, who cared? “Just do it already,” he grumbled. Opening the door was easy enough. Snatching the flowers off the side table was next—a cluster of lilies. He was on his way down the steps when he heard the quick whistle of a catcall.
“Why, you look shinier than a bright new penny,” came a female voice, the southern accent giving her away as Charlotte, the one and only employee.
Trent turned to answer. “Thank you,” he mumbled.
She grinned. Her bright pink lips matched her shirt. “Would you like me to go get Jessie?”
“Sure.” He cupped the flower stems with both hands and brought the blooms to his nose, wondering where he should stand while he waited. And had he overdressed? The catcall had him second-guessing the navy docks and charcoal-colored polo shirt.
He stepped over to look at a picture frame hanging in the entryway. Something the door would cover were it open. The single frame held a collage of several photos. An older woman seemed to be present in most of the pictures. Her features were easy enough to detect in pictures where she was obviously younger. And there was Jessie, he realized, in her teens. Hair cut in a short bob, streaks of blue lining one side. And was that her as a little girl?
“I should really take those down,” Jessie said from behind.
Trent straightened with a jolt and turned to look at her. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I look atrocious in them,” she said with a laugh.
It was hard to pull his gaze from her—that bright smile, the ever-intriguing glimmer in her eyes. She wore black pants that made her long, curvy legs go on forever. And a silky-looking blouse, the cool, ashy gray causing her skin to look nearly golden beside it.
“You look great,” he breathed.
The color in her cheeks deepened. “Thank you. So do you.”
A bit of nodding. Foot shifting. And glancing at the ceiling.
“Are those for me?” she asked.
Trent held up the flowers. “Oh! Yes, here. Sorry, I forgot.”
“Thanks. They’re beautiful. Want to follow me while I put them in water?”
He nodded once more. “Sure.”
“So where are we going tonight?” she asked while filling a vase at the sink.
“Benny said his wife likes the steak house downtown. He thought I ought to take you there.”
She rearranged the flowers with delicate hands, tilting to one side and then the other. “That sounds nice.”
Yeah. Not that he had any clue what they’d do after that. Go for some ice cream? Call it a night? Benny had suggested he take her square dancing at the city arts center. Square dancing? What? Were they in the fifth grade? He knew they were in the country, but that was ridiculous.
“You ready?” Jessie asked, drying her hands off with a kitchen towel.
Trent nodded, unable to believe she was really his date for the night. “Yeah. Le
t’s go.”
Jessie looped a hand around his arm as they headed for the door. He hadn’t even noticed Charlotte standing in the gift shop until she spoke up. “You two look happier than dead pigs in the sunshine.”
Trent threw Jessie a questioning glance. “Dead pigs?” he said under his breath.
A gorgeous smile crossed her lips. She thrust her chin toward him and whispered into his ear. “Just say thanks,” she said. “That’s what I do.”
He cleared his throat, trying to recover from the effect of Jessie’s warm breath so close to his neck. “Thank you kindly,” he murmured, copying the way Benny often said it.
Sure, it was an odd start to a date, and who knew if that was a good or a bad thing. All Trent knew was that no matter how hard he tried to deny it, he was really looking forward to spending some time with Jessie.
Jessie closed her eyes and savored her final bite of steak. “Mmm …” she moaned. “That was delicious.”
Trent’s eyes—pools of deep tempting blue—shone with a hint of amusement. “I’m glad you like it. We should’ve tried the fried pickles, too. Benny says Darcy craves them the most, with her pregnancy, I mean.”
“Pickles? I thought that was just something people joked about. She’s really craving them?”
“Yep.” Trent’s shoulders dropped suddenly. He leaned across the table. “I just realized something.”
Jessie matched his whispering tone, unable to hide an amused grin. “What?”
“I just spilled the beans about Darcy’s pregnancy. Benny told me not to tell anyone, and here I am wagging my tongue like the town gossip.” His face had more color than it did a moment ago. He was blushing—and Jessie couldn’t believe how adorable it looked on him.
“I can’t believe you did that,” she hissed. “I’m telling Benny.”
“No, don’t—” He stopped there as Jessie broke into laughter. Who knew the new sheriff would be so fun to tease?
The Sheriff's Bride_Country Brides & Cowboy Boots Page 7
