Читать книгу Family By The Bunch - Amy Frazier, Amy Frazier - Страница 10

Chapter Two

“Hank?” Poolside, eight-year-old Chris Russell stopped blowing air into the rubber raft. “Why aren’t you married?”

Why wasn’t he married?

Funny, but you could hem and haw and evade a similar question from an adult, but a kid deserved an honest answer.

From his lounge chair Hank reached for a soft drink in the cooler. The noises and bustle surrounding the neighborhood pool assailed him. He longed for the quiet of his ranch. But Chris’s stare didn’t waver, and his question remained unanswered.

“I almost was,” Hank replied simply.

“What happened?”

“Oh, she was a city gal, and I was a country boy. We just couldn’t agree on most of the things you need to go about your daily business.”

“Did you love her?”

“Yup.” Now, that was the godshonest truth. And it had hurt like hell when she’d left him. The memory of it stil did, at times. The pain provided a good reminder that he might search high and low, but it would take a very special woman to become a rancher’s wife.

“I could help you find someone new.” Chris grinned. “My teacher’s real pretty.”

“Have you been talking to Willy?” Hank growled playfully. Reaching for the rubber raft, he ruffled the boy’s hair en route. “Here. Let me blow this up for you. Otherwise it’ll be dark before you get in the water.” He began to blow up the raft, safe from Chris’s questions. At least if Chris asked them, he now had an excuse not to answer them.

Casey streaked by with a friend.

Hank lifted his head from the task at hand. “Casey! Slow down, darlin’. The lifeguard will kick us all out, and Chris here hasn’t even had a chance to dip his toes in the water.” He sighed heavily. Would he survive this suburban weekend?

“Looks like you have your hands full.” The voice was soft and sultry and very familiar. But he’d heard so many new voices in the past twenty-four hours.

Peering up from under the brim of his Stetson, Hank saw a shapely silhouette etched against the early-afternoon sun. Shadow obscured the face, however.

“I don’t need the raft,” Chris said suddenly. He leaned close and whispered in Hank’s ear. “She’s even prettier than my teacher.” Before Hank could answer, the boy dashed off, executing a cannonball in the deep end of the pool.

“This seat taken?” That unmistakably feminine voice again.

“It is now. It’s yours.” Tipping his hat, Hank gallantly rose from his lounge chair while inwardly bemoaning the loss of his privacy. “Ma’am,” he added to give the invitation a distancing formality.

“Neesa. Please.”

Oh, that voice. Neesa Little of the angel blue eyes and the tiny red sports car. His suburban weekend just got more complicated.

Having fully expected that he’d never see the woman again, he’d allowed himself to flirt with her—just a little—yesterday evening when she’d come bearing chicken and dumplings. Damned good chicken and dumplings. But now here she stood, intending to occupy the lounge chair right next to him. Perhaps for the rest of the afternoon.

Regrets settled over him like dusk over the mountains, even as his pulse picked up in her presence.

Her beautiful blue eyes were covered with dark sun glasses, but her other attributes, covered only by a short. silky top, were much in evidence. He noticed for the first time that she wore no wedding ring. Trying to swallow, he found his tongue and throat uncommonly parched.

As Hank returned to a sitting position, Neesa lowered a small canvas bag to the pool deck, then spread a towel on the lounge next to his. Kicking off sandals, she perched, ramrod straight, hands folded in her lap, on the very end of her chair. “Well!” Her voice became breathy. Despite the pool paraphernalia, she didn’t look as if she came here often.

In fact, with her creamy smooth skin and delicate build, she didn’t look as if she was much the outdoors type at all.

The kids in the pool had taken up a raucous Marco Polo chant. Water from a particularly messy belly flop lapped its way along the decking toward their chairs. They both reached out at the same moment to rescue her canvas bag; their hands touched. Hank felt a fool as his heart began to hammer like a schoolboy’s.

“Sorry!” they said together, both recoiling.

The trickle of water edged closer.

Again, at the same time, they reached for the bag.

This time Hank gripped her hand firmly, then with his free hand scooped the bag to safety. He grinned. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

She blushed.

Must be the heat, because he’d never considered himself a smooth operator.

To his surprise he found he still held her hand. Within his grasp her fingers were long and slender. Fragile. Her skin was warm and incredibly soft. Never before had he understood his parents’ constant hand-holding. Now he did. He could, quite simply, hold Neesa Little’s hand from now ill Georgians lost their drawl. It felt that good.

Glancing pointedly at their clasped hands, she cleared ier throat. Reluctantly he released her.

He wished she weren’t wearing those sunglasses. Eyes reflected much of what a person felt deep inside. As long is she kept hers covered, he felt at a disadvantage.

With abrupt businesslike gestures, she unzipped the can-was bag, then withdrew a laptop computer.

“Excuse me?” He couldn’t help himself. The hardware ooked so out of place amid the trappings of sun worship.

She gave a sheepish little shrug. “I thought I should get out and get some fresh air. But I was right in the middle of something.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“Business. But the fulfillment of it gives me pleasure.”

He found himself intrigued.

She flipped up the computer screen. “I’m creating Web rites for our hardest-to-place children.”

“Whoa!” He held up his hands. Our hardest-to-place children? “You’re going to have to back up for me.”

Slowly removing her sun glasses, she looked long and lard at him. The blue of her unshaded eyes took his breath away.

“Would you really like to hear about it?” she asked. “It’s a little complicated.”

He was struck then by how vulnerable she looked, even with her hands hovering efficiently above the high-tech keyboard. There was a quality of wistfulness that played about her pretty features. He suddenly felt an unaccountable but overwhelming urge to protect her.

“I really would like to know about the children,” he answered, fighting the attraction he felt for her.

“I work for a private agency called Georgia’s Waiting Children. We help government agencies find foster homes and adoptive homes for children with special needs.”

“Special needs?”

“These aren’t your healthy babies typically associated with adoption. These kids are older. They may have phys. ical, mental or emotional disabilities. Or they may be broth. ers and sisters who want to stay together.”

And she worked to help these children. Neesa Little rose in his estimation. “How exactly do you fit into the pro. cess?”

“I’m an idea person.” She lowered her gaze modestly “I think of programs to support the kids who may never leave state care. Programs like—” She frowned. Setting her chin resolutely, she looked him in the eyes again. “I try to think of new and innovative ways to make these children who need families visible to the public.”

“How?”

“You have to use every tool at your disposal. And lately I’ve been creating Web sites on the Internet.”

Hank shook his head. “I know I’m from a different era but the Internet?” Computers, to him, meant the games the Russell kids played or the business records he kept at the ranch. Period.

“It’s a natural.” She beamed, obviously warming to the subject, and in the process, warming the far reaches or Hank’s heart. “Anyone with access to a computer and connection to the Internet can learn about waiting children through color photographs and descriptions.”

“But this isn’t like casual shopping on-line at a clothing store. These are living, breathing kids.” Genuine concert crept into his words. He hoped the hell she saw them as children and not as some product.

“Believe me, we don’t treat the process as if it were casual shopping for a child.” She looked faintly horrified He took comfort in her reaction. “Very often this is the final recourse to finding good homes. After we’ve explored all other options. Our overriding motivation is our belief that every child deserves a loving home.”

“You said some of the kids have special needs.”

“Yes, and the Net surfer who is more than merely curious can go beyond instant profiles of the children. At the click of a mouse, they can also learn more about a child’s disability or special situation. We provide an extensive reference library.” Her eyes widened. “Of course the real identities of the children are well protected. The prospective parents must go through our agency or a government agency before they ever meet the child in person. Our screening process is stringent.” There was a fierce, protective pride in her eyes. “Our first concern is always the welfare of the child.”

Damn. He’d heard of everything now. The lovely, delicate-looking lady who sat before him was certainly made of stronger stuff than he’d first imagined. And what a coincidence: in a grander sense, she did with children what he did with his Noah’s ark animals. Her caring nature made the attraction he felt for her all the more difficult to fight. This weekend was not working out at all as he’d anticipated.

Neesa watched the color of Hank’s eyes change from dark midnight blue to a warmer cobalt. He seemed genuinely interested in her job. In the children.

Interested, yes, but when he finally found out about her proposed Kids & Animals program, would he be interested enough?

“So what do you do?” she asked brightly. She needed a more solid footing—a little voluntarily shared history—with him before she asked her enormous favor.

A large, colorful beach ball blew out of nowhere and into her lap. Casey Russell came running up, breathless. “Hank! We’re playing a game. But we need a very big person to be the goal post.”

Hank chuckled. “How flattering! No skills required. Just stand there, dumb as a post.”

Casey scooped up the beach ball. “Will you, huh?”

He gently tapped her on the nose. “Will you, please?”

“Pretty please, with whipped cream and a cherry on top!” The little girl batted. her eyelashes.

“How can I resist?” With a grin to set a heart aflutter, he rose from his lounge chair, laid the Stetson on his towel, took Casey by the hand, then followed her to the shallow end of the pool.

Neesa sighed. Would he ever tell her in his own words that he ran a ranch? She felt awkward now, coming out and explaining that she’d heard it through the grapevine. For some inexplicable reason she felt as. if this man wouldn’t like prying of any kind, either early or late.

Then, too, maybe Claire’s information wasn’t accurate. Maybe he wasn’t even a rancher.

Maybe she sat here, risking sunstroke and worse—risk—ing letting her hormones run amok—for a very attractive man who couldn’t offer her anything professionally and could only offer her the wrong things personally. Goodness, but she didn’t even know if he was married. She hadn’t noted a wedding ring, but that didn’t mean a fig....

In an attempt at self-protection, she again put on her sun glasses. Settling herself comfortably on the lounge chair, she made a show of working at her laptop. In reality she watched Hank Whittaker playing with the children in the pool.

The man was, she had to admit, irresistible. She noticed several of the moms sit up in their poolside chairs, suddenly much more attentive to their kids in the water.

With long, well-muscled arms and legs, big hands and a broad, tanned chest that indicated hard work out-of-doors, Hank Whittaker was a sight to behold. Exuding a patience Neesa couldn’t quite believe, he played goal post for the kids’ impromptu game. When interest in that particular game seemed to wane, he helped them think up a new game. And another. And yet another. He welcomed all omers. All ages. All skill levels. He refereed fairly and gently, making no child feel inadequate. In the middle of 11 those kids, he didn’t look at all like a lonesome cowboy. le looked, instead, like a man destined to head a large, ambunctious and ever-expanding family.

Maybe he already did.

Unaccountably, Neesa’s heart sank.

“Miss Neesa!” Called out in a deep masculine voice, he neighborhood children’s name for her startled her. We’re short one player for sharks and minnows.”

Glancing in Hank’s direction, she raised both hands and look her head, declining the offer. The children around lank groaned.

Hank waded through the water to the side of the pool ght at the end of her lounge chair. He crossed his arms n the cement edge, lowered his chin to his arms, then looked up at her with a dark and soulful, definitely-hard -resist gaze.

“Please.” He filled the one word with husky undercur ents, sending little shivers up Neesa’s arms. “For the ds.”

The man certainly knew which button to push.

“If I recall,” she replied, steadfastly holding out, “in tarks and minnows it doesn’t matter how many players you have.”

“Well...technically.” Hank grinned up at her. “But the ds get a kick out of pursuing really big minnows. I was eling kind of outnumbered.”

His eyes twinkled merrily. The man was actually being ayful. And far too sexy.

The foundation in Neesa’s resolve began to crumble. He cocked one dark eyebrow. “All work and no play...” Makes for a nice safe existence, Neesa finished mentally. e shook her head. If she got in that water, if she spent e afternoon horsing around with Hank Whittaker and his ng of neighborhood kids, if she let down her guard, she was in for trouble. Pure emotional trouble. She couldn’t afford that.

As Neesa tried to resist, Hank rallied reinforcements. This children he’d been playing with, one by one, swam to hi side. Cast baleful glances up at Neesa.

“Miss Neesa,” Chris Russell coaxed, “it’s always mon fun when we can capture an adult.”

Her dormant competitive nature awoke. “And who say any one of you could capture me?” She chuckled. “I swan on my college team.”

“Ooooh...” Rolling his eyes, Hank started the cheerfu taunt. The kids chimed in. “Ooooh...”

In the end, it wasn’t the dare that sucked Neesa into th game. It was the realization that she’d come to the pool to get a job done. She’d come there to get to know Han Whittaker better, so that if and when he finally talked about his ranch, she would feel comfortable broaching the subjec of Kids & Animals. She couldn’t do that if he remained i the water and she remained on the sidelines.

She rose and removed her silk wrapper. “All right.”

“All right!” the kids shouted, clambering out of the water onto the edge of the pool.

Hank remained in the water.

Neesa eyed him suspiciously. “I thought you, big mi now, needed reinforcements. You’re looking pretty shark like to me.”

“The lady’s very quick.” He winked at the gigglin kids.

“And you better be quick, Miss Neesa,” Casey Russe added, “’cause Hank will gobble you up in a minute.”

The look he shot her certainly made him appear capable of gobbling her up. But not in the way little Casey mean

Neesa shivered. “Can we get started? We’re freezing u here.” Freezing? Maybe not, but she was trembling.

“Yeah!” the kids chorused.

“Anytime you’re ready.” With a mock-sinister glan Hank began to circle in the center of the pool, never takin is eyes off his prey. “Dum-dum. Dum-dum. Dum-dum,” he chanted in movie-shark challenge.

The kids on the sidelines hopped from foot to foot and .ttered nervously.

“Now!” someone whispered loudly, and a dozen little odies plummeted into the water.

Keeping the mass of children between Hank and her, Neesa dove, stroked and came up effortlessly on the other ide of the pool. Climbing out, she noticed that Casey had een right. Hank had single-handedly captured a half dozen ids, turning them automatically into sharklets. The uncathed children flopped like manic fish onto the pool deck ng next to her.

Now the pool water roiled with the added predators. Caught up in the fun, Neesa grinned from ear to ear. If nly the kids her agency dealt with could have such careree afternoons. Specifically, she thought of the five Had-ways. She glanced at Hank, king shark, in the center of ne frolic. Thoroughly enjoying the kids. He’d help her, she ist knew it. He’d help her if she ever got a chance to talk bout his ranch.

“Now!” The minnow directive went out.

This time, with six added hungry sharks, crossing the ool would require more skill. This time Neesa dove to the ottom, then, with eyes wide open, maneuvered under the angle of thrashing arms and legs. She came up on the other ide of the pool with only one other uncaught minnow remaining.

“Shark bait! Shark bait!” the swimmers in the pool hanted gleefully as Neesa and the sole minnow child crambled onto the decking.

With a sharp whistle, Hank gathered his forces around im. Whispered a quick directive. Looked Neesa straight the eye, and declared, “You’re mine.”

Oh, my.

She had to remind herself that this was merely a game.

Her cominnow folded under the pressure. With a jubilant shriek of surrender, the child threw herself into the mids of the circling sharklets. Piscine hara-kari.

The entire group of noisy kids then swam to the edge of the pool to watch the climax—the big minnow-big sharl drama—unfold.

Good Lord, he was going to have to catch her. Toucl her. Because she was the last minnow, rules dictated i wouldn’t be enough for him to just touch her. He’d have to hold her so that she couldn’t make it to the other side of the pool. To asylum. The thought of those strong arm around her corroded her already-waning sense of safety Emotional safety.

It was very difficult to hold on to the thought that she was here on a professional mission.

From the middle of the pool, Hank grinned at her. Whit teeth in a tanned and rugged face. A sharky grin if she’d ever seen one. “Jaws” with sex appeal. His broad shoulde muscles glistened as he stroked the water. Waiting. Hi dark eyes held a challenging glint. The challenge, she feared, didn’t spring solely from the game. His gaze ho and compelling, he circled. This had suddenly stopped be ing childish fun.

Oh, it promised to be fun. But very adult fun.

Well, she’d be no pushover. She grinned back at him Then dove.

She felt the current next to her as he dove, too. Under water, glancing over her shoulder, she saw him right behind her, reaching out. She felt his hand graze the arch of he foot. Even knowing he’d have to hold her to claim victory she started at his touch. Expelled far too much air. Sav precious bubbles escape to the surface. It wouldn’t be lonj before she’d have to surface where it would be less eas, to maneuver.

She kicked. He grinned. For an instant, she got the im pression that he toyed with her.

Her heart beat faster. Her lungs began to ache. She wa out of shape. College swim team was a long way off. And for the past year after the divorce, she’d put fun—boisterous, all-out fun—on the back burner. It showed. She needed to surface.

She broke into the brilliant sunshine and blinked. Took a second to adjust. Wrong move. She felt him slither up the length of her and surface right beside her, his arms encircling her waist. His flesh hot against hers in the cool water.

She had only to admit defeat.

He pulled her gently to him. “You’re mine,” he breathed in her ear.

He had another think coming.

Because he expected her to surrender, she still had surprise on her side.

Quickly, she expelled all the air in her lungs. Mentally made herself heavy and reed thin. Raised her hands over her head and sank like a slippery eel through his light grasp. As she slid away, her fingertips grazed his rock hard chest, his lean hips, his thighs. She almost regretted pulling away.

Almost.

But the thought of him, just seconds ago, assuming he’d won the prize made her feisty. After Paul, her ex-husband, she’d be no man’s trophy ever again. Not even in a kids’ game.

With all her might, she kicked, reached out and touched the safety of the pool wall. Her lungs empty and burning, she kicked once more with enough effort to propel her over the side onto the decking. She lay gasping and grinning, her fist raised.

“Power to the minnows!” she declared gleefully before her words dissolved in a fit of coughing.

My, my. Hank watched her from the middle of the pool. For a little bitty thing she had some fight in her. He liked a woman with some gumption.

The kids hooted.

“Another game,” Chris Russell demanded. “This time Miss Neesa should be shark. She’s awesome.” How fickle fame and favor.

Rising, Neesa reached for her towel. “Not right now.” Her smile dazzled. “This minnow needs a break.”

“Later?”

“Maybe.”

“Hank?” The kids pressed around him.

He’d played enough for the moment. “How do you think this defeated shark feels?” He pulled a face as the children groaned in unison. “Y’all play amongst yourselves. I’ll take you on in a little bit. Right now I need something cool to drink.”

Right now he wanted to find out more about Neesa Little. A woman with a laptop who’d come to the pool prepared to work, but who’d played—and played hard—instead. A woman with the face of an angel who must seem like a guardian angel to children without homes. A woman who, right from the moment he’d spotted her at the bus stop, seemed to exert some mysterious pull over him.

He hauled himself out of the water and onto the pool edge, mentally noting that he had no intention of starting anything—anything at all—with Neesa Little, the suburban beauty. He was just curious. Heck, he’d probably never see the woman again after he retreated to his ranch on Monday. Their worlds were that different.

But right now he was curious.

As he reached for his towel, she smiled up at him from her seat on the lounge chair, and his curiosity felt uncomfortably like attraction.

“So, sharkmeister,” she said, her blue eyes dancing, “what are you in the work world? Teacher? Cruise director? Game show host? If so, you’re good at what you do.”

He rubbed the towel vigorously over his chest and arms. “Rancher.”

In a small birdlike gesture, she tilted her face. “In Georgia?” Despite the question, she didn’t seem surprised.

“I raise draft horses and train them to be loggers.” Without the children about them, he’d gone unaccountably reticent. He didn’t want to talk about himself. He wanted to listen to her talk.

“Is your ranch near?”

“Not too far.” He didn’t want to give out too much information. Not even to an angel with blue eyes. His ranch was his business and his life, not a showpiece. And he was damned protective of his refuge. His solitary life. Damned choosy about the people he allowed beyond the front gate. Even in conversation.

A curious expression passed over her face. She altered the topic slightly. “What brings a rancher to Holly Mount subdivision?”

He sat, uncomfortable now, and scowled out over the pool and the kids frolicking noisily. “Evan Russell’s my cousin. I’m watching over his kids so that he and Cilla can...get away for the weekend.” He wouldn’t discuss Evan and Cilla’s marital problems. Blood loyalty.

“Well, you’re terrific with kids.”

Yeah, he was. He flat-out loved kids. Wished he could raise a whole bunch of his own out at the ranch. His scowl deepened. The problem was that kids were a package deal that came with marriage and happily ever after; in his experience, he hadn’t seen too much relationship happily ever after. His Pa had died of a broken heart. His own fiancée had left him, almost at the altar. And now Evan and Cilla’s relationship was in serious trouble. Hell, he knew the divorce statistics.

Pain. That’s what the flame of passion ended in.

Heck. He might harbor the nesting urge—deep down inside—but he remained realistic. Cautious. He planned to enjoy his cousins and nieces and nephews, for, as much as he loved children, he might have to forgo the pleasures of fatherhood to avoid the pain of commitment. Despite his longing for married family life, he knew the odds of finding the right woman.

A sour outlook if ever there was one. But practical. His scowl was now so tight he could see the shadows of his own eyebrows.

“I’m sorry if I touched on a sore spot.” Neesa’s soft voice startled him.

He glanced to his right and discovered her watching him. Great. He needed a pair of cloud-soft eyes prodding him like a horse needed wings. He’d known this weekend was going to be tough; no day at the ranch; taking care of the kids; the normal parenting routine. But the kids had been great. However, the suburban distraction—namely dainty Neesa Little—was doing him in. He wished it were Monday.

Neesa couldn’t get over the change in Hank.

Minutes ago he’d been grinning. Relaxed and playful. Flirtatious even. Now he looked liked a thunderstorm rising. What had happened? Had her few questions precipitated this change? The fact that she had a motive for her curiosity made her feel just the tiniest bit guilty.

“It’s nothing,” he replied, his words a barely controlled growl.

“Perhaps I’d better go.”

“No!” The force of that one word hung in the air. “I mean...” He reached in the cooler for two cans of soft drink and seemed to be reaching for an explanation—or composure—as well. “It was just some serious business that came to mind. Don’t let it spoil your time in the sun.”

He obviously had let it spoil his.

He handed her a soft drink. He didn’t smile, but his expression wasn’t quite as fearsome as before. “At least let the shark buy the conquering minnow a drink.”

He was certainly a complex one, this Mr. Hank Whittaker. Rancher.

Accepting the soft drink, she searched for a new topic of conversation. He wasn’t the easiest man to be with, but, with the deadline pressure for Kids & Animals, she needed him. Needed to keep him talking. Just now the subject of kids had, strangely enough, brought on his beetled-brow silence. She racked her brain for some new avenue of conversation. Something that would make her sound casually curious. Not prying.

“I think every girl loves horses at one point or another in her childhood,” she began. “I was no different. What’s it like to work with them? Especially the big ones. Draft horses that you train to be loggers, didn’t you say?”

He seemed to relax. Clearly animals were a safe topic. “Percherons,” he said with pride. “And red Suffolks. Real beauties.”

“And the logging training...is that for competition?”

“No, ma’am. It’s a living. Logging as it was done in the mountains a century ago. It’s a highly selective method that minimizes damage to old-growth forests.”

What a picture that brought to mind. Rugged Hank Whittaker behind a team of powerful draft horses. In control. Logging the north Georgia mountains. The great outdoors and one great-looking guy, to boot. “Now that would be something to see,” she said almost to herself.

“I don’t give tours,” he replied gruffly.

What a conversation stopper. It looked as if Kids & Animals was slipping into the netherworld of terrific yet unrealized ideas.

Saving Neesa the task of thinking up another change of subject, Chris and Casey came scampering up.

Rummaging in the cooler, Chris flashed her a grin. “You’re good at sharks and minnows.”

“Thanks.”

Casey wrapped herself in a towel as big as herself. “You can play with us anyday.”

“Yeah,” Chris agreed. “Like tomorrow.”

Hank scowled.

“I don’t think I’ll be coming to the pool tomorrow.” Neesa could read Hank’s admonitory frown loud and clear. For whatever reason, it was becoming obvious that he wouldn’t be overjoyed to repeat their meeting. Surely she could dream up a more biddable sponsor by Monday.

“Not at the pool.” Casey sidled up to Hank. “We’re having a picnic at Hank’s ranch tomorrow. Miss Neesa can come too, can’t she, Hank?”

Hank looked as stunned as Neesa felt.

“Oh, I...I...” Neesa stammered, conflicting feelings pulling at her.

“Pretty please?” Casey wrapped her arms around Hank’s neck.

“Please?” echoed Chris.

Knitting his brows, Hank cleared his throat. “It’s up to Miss Neesa.” His words sounded gruff as he shot her a pointed look, clearly warning her off.

“Sure,” she replied without further thought.

Oh, heck. He wasn’t the only one who couldn’t resist kids.