Southern Hospitality

by Sally Falcon

  Logan flexed his hand against the steering wheel, still remembering the satiny texture of Tory’s skin. Damn, he’d been tempted to forget everything and throw caution to the wind. Only the wary look in her eyes kept him from covering her body and seeking her passionate response. Closing his eyes for a moment, he ruthlessly erased the image from his mind. Then, by staring fixedly at the road ahead, he finally managed the Herculean feat.

  With a grimace, he realized his uncle would be delighted by the situation. Damned if Preston was going to find out about his difficulties with Tory. The older man already proved he had a perverse sense of humor by setting up this trip. His cup would run over if he ever discovered Logan’s inept attempts at seducing his friend’s daughter.

  “Hey, earth to Logan! Do you want me to drive while you take a nap?”

  “Pardon?” The amazement in Tory’s voice broke through his distraction.

  “I’ve been explaining the new route to you for five minutes, and you haven’t said a word. I thought you might be one of those people who sleeps with his eyes open.”

  “Sleep? I’ve heard that word somewhere before,” Logan returned, pretending to give the matter serious consideration. Idle conversation might just keep his mind off more dangerous thoughts. “It has something to do with lying down on a soft surface and closing your eyes, doesn’t it? I used to do something like that back home in Boston, I’m sure of it.”

  “Oh, my. This calls for some serious, emergency measures,” Tory murmured. “Pull into that parking lot up there on the right.”

  “What are you planning to do?” he asked suspiciously, but followed her orders and turned into the gravel parking lot. There were a few vehicles parked near the single story, brick building. A simple sign proclaimed Milt and Myrna’s Place.

  “Administer the proper medication for your condition, caffeine and sausage biscuits.”

  He was beginning to enjoy himself again. Tory Planchet wasn’t just the sexiest woman he’d met in a long time, she was also the most fun. He didn’t remember when he’d ever enjoyed talking nonsense so much. “Sausage biscuits?”

  “Save me from ignorant Yankees,” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air and looking up at the roof for some kind of deliverance. “This is a breakfast delicacy, my man. You take a light and fluffy biscuit, warm from the oven, and cut it in half. Then you carefully place a piping hot sausage patty in the middle. Ta da—a sausage biscuit!”

  “This isn’t one of your Aggie jokes, is it? Don’t you people eat things like corn flakes or plain, old eggs and bacon?”

  “Trust me, Logan, you’ll love it,” Tory said with confidence, then scrambled out the door. “You have to experience every facet of the South while you’re here.”

  “I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll survive my three months. I’m still trying to recover from experiencing every nuance of yesterday’s rally,” he put in dryly, noting that she had the grace to look slightly chagrined. Tod Blaylock had told him about Tory’s rationale for placing him in the fast sweep car.

  “Well, as I was saying, the sausage biscuit is a regional delicacy that needs to be experienced in the pure form,” she continued as they entered the restaurant, using her best tour-guide tone. “There’s a fringe element that claims it has to be drowned in milk gravy to be palatable.”

  “Milk gravy?” He wasn’t sure his stomach was going to handle southern cuisine so easily this morning.

  “Relax, I’m from the purist group. Milk gravy only goes on biscuits sans sausage, mashed potatoes, or chicken fried steak,” Tory assured him. “I give you fair warning—never eat breakfast with Curtiss. He puts gravy on everything, including his scrambled eggs.”

  “Howdy, folks, I’m Milt. What can I get ya?” asked a stout man. He looked like he belonged behind the wheel of a semi, except for the butcher’s apron that was wrapped around his generous waist.

  “We’d like two orders of sausage biscuits, no gravy, and lots and lots of hot coffee,” Tory ordered without consulting Logan.

  “Right away. You just passing through?” Milt asked with a friendly grin.

  “We’re on our way back to Little Rock from the car rally at Grove,” Tory answered, her smile matching his. “Is this your place?”

  “That’s me, one half of Milt and Myrna. The little woman is in the back cooking. You’re in for a real treat with her homemade biscuits.”

  “Then you’d better get back here and give their order, you old fool,” interrupted a gravelly voice from the end of the room. A woman who matched Milt pound for pound stood in the doorway that led to the kitchen. “Leave those folks alone and fetch their coffee.”

  Milt was off in a flash, moving rapidly for a man his size, but not before giving Logan a masculine look of resignation.

  Watching Tory glance around the unimposing decor of the restaurant, Logan made a decision. He needed to know when he would hold her in his arms again. She might not speak to him for the rest of the trip, but she wasn’t going to run off when he had the keys to the Winnebago in his pocket.

  “I’ll eat sausage biscuits on one condition,” he began, speaking slowly to make sure he had her attention before he forged ahead. When Tory turned to face him, her brown eyes were wide with innocent curiosity. He almost swallowed what he was going to say, but forged ahead. “If we talk about what happened the other night, I’ll eat my breakfast without a single complaint.”

  Tory was saved from answering by Milt’s return with a thermal carafe of coffee. She gave the man a weak smile, wishing she could sink gracefully under the table and disappear. Just when she thought everything was going so smoothly, Logan had to ruin everything. So much for her plan to distract him with a difficult drive.

  “Well?” Logan prompted after Milt went back to the kitchen.

  “Logan, what’s the point in dredging all this up again? We made love, it was nice and it won’t happen again.” Tory was proud of her control, her tone was calm and reasonable. He couldn’t know that her pulse was doing a two-step and that her palms were sopping wet.

  “It was nice?” Indignation radiated from every inch of his body.

  How was she going to get herself out of this one? Why did she always make a fool out of herself with this man? It was bad enough that he was determined to discuss their lovemaking. Now she had wounded his ego. Why couldn’t he have stayed in Boston where he belonged?

  Boston. The word was an inspiration. Logan wasn’t the only who was going to get some answers. Repressing a triumphant smile, Tory quickly rehearsed her question, making sure that she had it just right.

  “Tory, you can’t ignore what happened forever. This is—”

  “I’ll be glad to discuss it on one condition.”

  The startled look on Logan’s face was priceless. Tory could feel her lips twitching. He had that startled look that was so reminiscent of Ty Daniel caught in the act. Apparently he’d been prepared for a long, drawn out argument.

  “What’s the condition?” His eyes narrowed in a speculative look. Now that his initial shock had passed, he clearly didn’t trust her.

  “You tell me why you’re in Arkansas.”

  The statement hung between them. If she didn’t know better, Tory would have sworn Logan was squirming in his seat. He wouldn’t look at her, showing more interest in the pattern he drew on his paper placement with his fork.

  “Here ya go, folks. Myrna’s sausage biscuits straight from the oven,” Milt announced innocently. The atmosphere between Tory and Logan, however, was easy to read as he set down their plates. He leaned toward Logan, and after a quick glance over his shoulder at the kitchen, informed the other man, “Son, whatever it is, just apologize. Doesn’t matter if you’re right or wrong, you’ve got to be the one to apologize. It makes life much easier that way.”

  Tory picked up one of her biscuits and bit into it as she waited for Logan’s answer. He looked at the kitchen door where Milt had disappeared, then slowly turned back to face Tory. Although she couldn’t i
dentify the expression in his eyes, she suddenly had a lump in her throat. For a moment, she considered retracting her question.

  “You drive a hard bargain, sweetheart,” Logan finally managed. He still needed to take a deep breath before he continued with his confession. Once he began, the words tumbled over each other. “My uncle decided that I didn’t have any emotions, or at least not enough for a relative of his. I’ve been exiled to Arkansas for three months to learn how to be a human being, instead of a preppy android. There, are you satisfied now?”

  Tory was appalled. How could Preston Herrington do this to Logan? After his explanation, she knew what the unfathomable expression was in Logan’s eyes. He was hurt and bewildered by his uncle’s action. Preston might have a point in sending Logan south, but he apparently hadn’t handled the situation with much finesse.

  Yes, Logan was slightly arrogant and too demanding at times, but he certainly wasn’t an android. She hadn’t made love to an animated computer; he’d been a passionate, virile male. As far as she was concerned, Logan was a little too human, but she wasn’t going to admit that to him.

  “Just how is Arkansas supposed to help your…condition?” she asked hesitantly. The conversation about their lovemaking might have been safer after all, she decided after a moment’s consideration.

  “My uncle thinks that exposure to your family is a step in the right direction. He’s made a living codicil to his will that keeps me out of H.P.G., if I don’t come home cured.” Logan grimaced at the statement, and picked up a sausage biscuit almost without realizing it. He took a bite and seemed surprised that he liked it. “Your father is to act as my guardian, overseeing my progress.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t run screaming back to the airport the minute you laid eyes on T.L.”

  “I gave it some thought,” he admitted with a slight smile, “but Herringtons are made of stern stock. We persevere under the most arduous conditions; it’s our Pilgrim heritage.”

  The level look he gave Tory reminded her of how the conversation began. Damn, he was persistent. He’d met her condition and expected her to honor her part of the bargain. She wasn’t about to sacrifice herself to a quicky affair to help Logan mark time in Arkansas.

  “Don’t get your hopes up, mister. I’m not going to jump back into bed with you to help you prove that you’re human,” she said boldly, not trying to sugar coat her refusal. “I don’t indulge in short-term affairs. What happened the other night was an accident. I can’t explain it any better, but it won’t happen again.

  “I’ll be glad to help you meet Preston’s stipulations, but only if you keep your hands to yourself. I won’t be your lover, but if you need a friend, I’ll be glad to help.” She took refuge in eating the rest of her breakfast.

  Her speech had been perfect—rational and adult. Still congratulating herself, she took a sip of coffee.

  “Fat chance.”

  She almost spewed coffee all over the table and at Logan and his muttered words.

  His smile was almost feral. Tory knew she wasn’t going to like what else he had to say, and she didn’t.

  “My sweet, innocent Tory,” he began, giving her a condescending, pitying look that she wanted to slap off his face. “There’s a chemistry between us that has nothing to do with friendship. I can’t be in the same room with you for more than a half hour without wanting to make love to you, and I think you feel the same. Do you really think you can stay out of my bed during the next few months?”

  She didn’t dare answer him. She couldn’t trust herself to open her mouth to deny or confirm anything. Her temper was heating up, but she wasn’t sure exactly why she was angry. Was it his arrogant disregard for her feelings, or the shiver of excitement she felt under his heated gaze? If it was possible, she’d hitchhike back to Little Rock. That couldn’t be any more dangerous than close confinement with Logan for the next four hours.

  “Okay, play it safe for now. I’ll try to be the little gentleman, but don’t be surprised if I suddenly make a grab for you. Even Bostonians have been known to crack under extreme pressure.” All signs of hurt and confusion were gone from Logan’s face. His slate-blue gaze was lovingly moving over her face and upper body. The sparkle of amusement was what made her uncomfortable, not the masculine appreciation in his look.

  “Just pay the bill, Logan,” she muttered, tossing down her napkin and standing up. The rumble of raised voices could be heard from behind the closed kitchen door. Myrna’s voice was louder and more forceful than Milt’s. “I’ll meet you outside in a few minutes. I think I need to get a few pointers from Myrna on how to handle a man.”

  Logan’s delighted laughter rang in her ears as she walked toward the restroom. Let him laugh now, she thought with a disgruntled sniff, but he wouldn’t find her so amusing when she got done helping with his cure. Slapping her hand against the restroom door, she began formulating just the right treatment for transforming a preppy android into a human being.

  Chapter Seven

  “Hmmmm.”

  “Ah-hah.”

  “Ooohhh.”

  “Mmmmmm.”

  Tory’s murmurings echoed around the interior of the gazebo, and Logan knew he wasn’t going to be able to stand it much longer. For two days he’d been on his best behavior, playing by Tory’s rules, but not for much longer. There was only so much a man could take.

  Over breakfast Tory announced her brilliant idea on how to help him become more human for Preston. She was going to give him a quiz on his lifestyle. Like a fool he’d agreed. The dumbest moment in his life, except for confessing why he’d come to Arkansas.

  “Ah, yes.”

  Logan threw down his sandwich, kicked back his chair, and reached across the table to snatch the three pieces of paper that she was reading. This nonsense had gone far enough. Tory tried to grab the papers back, but he held them out of reach, his height and the round, metal table hampering her attempts.

  “Watch it, you’re going to spill the ice tea,” Logan warned above the sound of rattling dishes, before steadying the pitcher with his free hand. His rescue didn’t stop him from keeping the papers out of her flailing hands.

  Perhaps now that he had her attention he could break through the impersonal reserve she’d assumed since their return from Oklahoma. Her attitude was grating on his nerves more than anything else. She claimed she was going to be his friend, but he was tired of being treated like an inanimate object studied under a microscope. He almost wished she wasn’t speaking to him again—that showed some emotional involvement—instead of this impersonal niceness.

  “Give it back, then. I haven’t finished checking your answers,” she complained. After another fruitless try, she sat down abruptly and folded her arms over her chest.

  “You’ve been reading this rag for a half hour, hemming and hawing and smirking,” he shot back. With deliberate movements, he bent to pick up his chair and sat down slowly, keeping his eyes on Tory every second. “If I’d known you were a closet Sigmund Freud, I’d never have agreed to this. What is this? Bait-a-Yankee week? And to think I was beginning to enjoy my visit to Arkansas.”

  “You’re just over sensitive about this. I was simply studying your answers for a thorough analysis.” She glared at him, thrusting out her lower lip.

  Lord, she wants me to think of her as a friend, and all I want to do is kiss her, Logan groaned to himself, focusing on the rounded curve of her pouting lip. I’m furious with her, but I still want to make love to her. Somehow, although she was dressed in a cotton T-shirt and jeans, he was struck again by the impression that she should be wearing lace and ribbons. “I am not over sensitive; I’m impatient and bad tempered. Didn’t your thorough analysis tell you that?”

  “It’s nothing to brag about. What you need to do is learn how to relax,” she stated smugly. Dropping her militant pose, she reached for her chicken salad sandwich, chewing thoughtfully before she continued. “I think that might be the point Preston was trying to make in sending you
here. A little rest and relaxation, you know. Learning to be a little more laid back.”

  “I might consider wearing suspenders, nothing garish, but I draw the line at a cap. I don’t wear hats.” Yes, things were progressing fairly well, he decided. Tory’s face was flushed and her eyes gleaming with life again. She was starting to forget her mannequin-like pose in the heat of discussion.

  “What are you talking about?” Tory’s forehead creased slightly as she frowned in confusion.

  “When you said laid back, T.L. rocking on the back porch immediately came to mind. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a full-fledged southerner,” Logan returned, giving her a doleful smile. “I’d never be able to hold my head up at the club.”

  “I wasn’t thinking anything that drastic, so you can preserve your image. But you do need to adjust your thinking a little.” She pushed her plate to the center of the table and leaned her elbows on the table. Cupping her chin in her palms, she studied him for a minute. “That list you have in a death grip was very revealing.”

  Logan looked down in surprise at the papers that were still clutched in his fist. He laid them on the table, pressing out the wrinkles with the palm of his hand. The action kept him from thinking about Tory’s cleavage, suddenly more prominent at the top of her scoop-necked T-shirt as she leaned forward. He had to keep his mind on the business at hand, not on remembering how Tory looked without a stitch of clothing, or how the satin texture of her skin felt under his hand. His dreams had been haunted by her for two nights, and the smell of jasmine perfume was driving him nuts.

  Clearing his throat unnecessarily, he asked, “Just what did you discover, Dr. Freud?”

  “Cute, Logan. You don’t do anything for fun. Every activity is work oriented, either at the office or at social functions. You spend more than forty hours a week at the office,” she explained, starting to count off the activities on her fingers. “You go to the theater or the opera, but it’s for fund-raising projects. Every dinner you’ve listed is with your mother or uncle with his wife along, again for H.P.G. functions or charity. Your dates seem to be business associates or relatives of business associates. The only recreational activity seems to be your health club. And you’re worried about holding your head up there?”