Читать книгу The Trouble with Josh - Marilyn Pappano - Страница 9

When it came to precipitation in Oklahoma, it seemed there was no such thing as a balance. Months of drought were often followed by so much rain that the lowlands flooded, the dirt roads turned to mud and a smart cowboy stayed inside.

But no one had ever accused Josh of being smart.

After a day and a half of constant downpours, he’d decided he might as well be antsy someplace else. He’d knocked off work early Friday, cleaned up and packed a bag and was heading for Tulsa. He intended to visit some old friends, maybe catch a movie or two and eat in a restaurant other than Norma Sue’s. Hell, he might even call Jerry Lee and see if they still needed a date for the concert for cousin Stacey.

Or maybe not. He had enough frustration right now without adding a beautiful woman desperately seeking a husband and father for her children.

He hadn’t told Tate and Natalie anything about running into Candace Thompson at Norma Sue’s…or Frenchy’s…or U-Want-It. If one of them had mentioned her, he would have said something, but he hadn’t seen any reason to bring it up out of the blue.

Unfortunately, J.T. wasn’t as big on discretion as Josh was. He’d wanted to know whether the nice lady really was a stranger. Natalie hadn’t been happy that Candace had gotten so close to her son, and Tate had called Josh irresponsible, and things had gone downhill from there.

Josh was irresponsible at times—he knew that, and if he ever forgot, there were plenty of people who were more than happy to remind him. But it had pissed him off, coming from perfect Tate, who’d never made a mistake or failed to live up to a responsibility in his life. Even getting his high school girlfriend pregnant hadn’t been his fault—the condom had failed.

So perfect Tate was staying home with his perfect wife and son, and Josh was going off to spend a few days someplace where no one expected him to be anything but a screw-up. And when he came back Sunday, it would be as if no harsh words had ever been spoken.

Though it was usually quicker to cut across the back roads and catch the highway about eight miles north of Hickory Bluff, because of the rain, Josh headed for the nearest paved road. It took him into town, where the street-lights were already shining and the only people out were the ones who didn’t know better. The Wildcats’ game would start in two hours, and they would play to a full stadium in spite of the weather, but he was grateful he didn’t have to be there. He’d never missed any of Jordan’s or Tate’s games, but his obligation was over until J.T. was old enough to play.

Maybe he’d get him to rodeo instead.

With the radio tuned to a country station and the windshield wipers keeping time, he drove through town, then passed Frenchy’s. About a half mile past the bar, his head-lights glinted off a car on the side of the road—a sleek little silver convertible, with a sleek little blonde crouched beside the right rear tire.

It was a hell of a time for a flat, though he couldn’t think of anyone who deserved it more than Ms. Thompson. He didn’t take his foot off the gas as he drove by. She didn’t need help from him. A deputy would be by sooner or later, or some Good Samaritan on his way to the game—or, hell, he’d seen the cell phone on the seat beside her Tuesday. She could call the garage in town. Ol’ Chief Ebersole would be happy to change the tire for her, and he probably wouldn’t charge even half his usual rate, what with her being so pretty. She would make out fine.

And telling himself that didn’t stop him from swearing as he swung onto the dirt road that led to the campground, turned in a tight circle, then headed back toward town.

Pulling onto the shoulder so his truck was nose to nose with her car, he sat there a moment. With the headlights in her eyes, he doubted she could see who he was, but she didn’t look the least bit concerned…until he got out and she recognized him. Then wariness crept into her eyes, her body language, her manner.

Had any woman ever looked at him like a deer caught in headlights? None that he could recall, and it pissed him off that she did. Granted, he’d been unfriendly, but it wasn’t like he would actually hurt her.

“Need any help?” He tried not to sound as if he’d rather be anywhere else in the world, but he didn’t pull it off. He sounded rude, hostile and exactly as if he’d rather be anyplace else.

“No, thanks.”

Though her clothes were soaked and water dripped from her hair, she was holding an umbrella now to protect the car manual from the rain. He moved close enough to see that she’d looked up how to change a tire. She’d gotten as far as opening the manual and removing the jack from the trunk.

Ignoring her refusal, he went to the trunk, found it open but pushed down to keep the rain out, and removed the lug wrench and the spare. The wrench wasn’t good for anything besides acting as a lever on the jack, and the spare was an undersize doughnut—one of the worst ideas the auto industry had ever come up with, in his none-too-humble opinion. He tossed both on the waterlogged ground, then stalked back to his truck to remove his own lug wrench.

“I’d really rather do this myself,” Candace said when he returned.

He glared at her in the gloomy dusk. “Why?” If she said one word about him or his behavior, he would get back in his truck and—

“Because I think changing a tire is a good thing to know, and I need to learn.”

He stared at her a moment, all too aware of the cold rain dripping from his hair and down his back. Finally he stepped back and offered her the lug wrench.

She tossed the manual into the passenger seat, then folded the umbrella and left it on the roof. Crouching in front of the tire, she tried the various ends of the X-shaped wrench in search of one that fitted.

Her hair was plastered to her skull, and he would bet whatever makeup she’d had on was gone. Her clothes were plastered, too, her pants clinging to her thighs and calves, her cotton shirt hugging curves and revealing the lines of what appeared to be a pink lace bra. Her breasts weren’t very big, but he wasn’t a breast man himself. There was so much to appreciate about the female body. Why limit himself to one—er, two parts?

She found the right end of the lug wrench, fitted it over a nut and pulled. Really pulled. Put her whole body into it.

Nothing happened.

She tried the next nut, and the next, with the same result. On the fourth one, she pushed on one side of the wrench and pulled on the other with so much force that when it slipped, she tumbled to the ground.

“Well, hell.” She maneuvered back onto her knees, brushed grit from her left arm, then gazed up at him. “If there’s a secret to this, now would be a really good time to share it.”

He held out his hand, and after a moment she gave him the wrench. “No secret,” he said, kneeling and manhandling the nuts loose. “You’re just not strong enough.”

He didn’t miss the face she made at him but ignored it. “You just want to loosen the nuts, but don’t remove them yet. If you do, the tire could come off when you jack the car up.”

After laying the wrench aside, he moved the jack into place, then reached for her hand. Her fingers were slender and cold, and the contact startled her—he could feel it in how stiff she’d become. It wasn’t a good idea—he could feel that in how stiff he was becoming.

He moved her hand along the undercarriage of the car. “Feel that? That’s where you want this part of the jack to go.”

He wasn’t sure if she pulled away or he let go, but suddenly they weren’t touching anymore and she seemed to concentrate unusually hard on positioning the jack. He moved back, then stood up and backed off a few more steps just to be safe.

Safe from what? he wondered cynically as he watched her. She was six inches shorter than him, slender and delicate, like a fragile little china doll that belonged on someone’s shelf. She was beautiful, sure, but that didn’t count for much, considering that she’d betrayed Natalie’s trust and broken her heart.

That was a lot to forgive, and Rawlinses didn’t forgive so easily.

Following his directions, she removed the flat tire, put on the doughnut, then let the jack down. After she tightened the lug nuts, he tightened them another half turn, then lifted the flat tire into the trunk while she got the jack.

When she closed the trunk lid, she was wearing a self-satisfied grin, as if she’d succeeded at something really important. “I know you wish it had been anyone but me, but thank you.”

“Yeah.” He picked up his lug wrench and took a few backward steps toward his truck. “Get that fixed first thing in the morning. That doughnut’s not safe.”

“Okay.”

He was halfway to the pickup when she spoke again. “Hey…I’m staying right up the road, at the campground, if you’d…if you’d like to dry off a bit or…or have a warm drink or…” She shrugged as if she’d run out of words…or courage.

The answer was an easy one. No, he didn’t want to dry off, and no, he didn’t want to share a drink with her. Easy, easy answer…so why didn’t he just say it? Why did he have this feeling that if he opened his mouth, the wrong words would come out?

After a long moment in which he said nothing, she shrugged again. “It’s okay. Thanks. I, uh, appreciate…” She grabbed the umbrella from the roof of the car, then slid behind the wheel and started the engine. By the time he climbed into his truck, she’d already backed up a dozen feet and was easing onto the pavement.

Turning around, he headed for Tulsa once again. Then, for reasons he couldn’t even begin to understand, when the convertible turned off the highway onto the campground road, so did he.

A quarter of a mile in, the road branched, the right fork going to the old Conway house, the left curving another half mile to the lake and a dozen RV sites. Only one was occupied, by a small motor home bearing Georgia tags. Candace parked beside it, in the pool of light cast by a nearby streetlamp, got out and waited for him in the rain as if it were a warm, sunny afternoon.

Obviously, she wasn’t as delicate as she looked, he thought as he followed her to the RV. This was hardly his idea of a good safe place for a woman alone to stay. With no neighbors for more than a half mile and only two street-lights burning, it felt isolated, lonely and spooky. All kinds of things could happen out here, with no one ever the wiser.

She unlocked the door, then stepped inside. When she closed the door behind him, she noticed his duffel bag. “You have some dry clothes?”

He nodded.

“I’ll get some towels and you can change out here.” She headed toward the back of the motor home, turning on lights on the way. A moment later she was back with two beach towels, then she disappeared again.

Josh stripped down, dried off and dressed in clean clothes from his bag. Leaving his shoes near the door, he used one of the towels to dry his hair while he looked around the place.

It was small, cramped, comfortably cluttered. Books were scattered over the dining table—mostly fiction, women’s stuff—and on the built-in sofa across the narrow aisle was a quilt tied with pink ribbons. There were pillows, too, and a small tape player, along with a stack of tapes. He picked up the top one, Becoming the Best You Possible, then laid it down again.

He was standing in the aisle, listening to the rain drum on the roof and thinking he’d be better off going home and giving Tulsa a try the next day, when she returned. She didn’t make any noise that he recalled hearing. He just knew she was there. And when he turned, sure enough…

She wore plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a tank top. The bra strap that edged out from beneath the fabric was pale green and made him wonder why she bothered. Her hair stood on end, as if she’d just crawled out of a bed where she’d done everything but sleep, and her feet were bare and somehow sexy.

She stopped in front of the compact refrigerator and pulled open the door. “I have bottled water, caffeine-free pop, and I can do hot chocolate.”

What kind of woman invited a man over for a drink, then offered him hot chocolate? he wondered, then answered his own question. The kind who didn’t have anything else on her mind. And that was good, because he damn sure didn’t need to have anything else on his mind, either. Not with this woman.

“Hot chocolate’s fine.” He sat down on the couch and watched as she fixed the chocolate. Her toenails were painted red, he noticed, and she wore a ring with a silver heart on the middle one. It was silly and something of a turn-on, and he was starting to think he really should have invited Theresa along this weekend.

Grateful that her hands weren’t shaking, though she could pass it off as a chill if they were, Candace carried the two mugs to the couch. She handed one to Josh, then sat on the bench across the aisle. After one awkward moment, then another, she grasped the first topic to come to mind, gesturing toward the bag next to his shoes. “Were you going somewhere?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. If you need to call someone—”

“No.” After a moment he shrugged. “No one’s expecting me. It wasn’t a sure thing.”

Well, that was the extent of her small talk. It amazed her that a reporter who’d asked a lot of tough questions and written a lot of powerful pieces could find herself so completely at a loss for words. But what did she expect? Except for her friendship with Natalie, she’d had no personal life to speak of. If she were interviewing Josh for a story, she would have more questions than he wanted to answer.

But she wasn’t interviewing him. She was quietly admiring him, and maybe even lusting after him, just a little bit, and those weren’t easy for her, particularly when she knew what he thought of her.

At least that gave her something to say. “Why did you come back to help me?”

He glanced at her, then away, sipped his chocolate and plucked at a ribbon on her quilt. After a time he shrugged as if his actions were unimportant. “Around here that’s what we do.”

“So if it hadn’t been you, some other properly raised Oklahoma cowboy would have stopped.”

He nodded.

“So…why did you come back? You didn’t need to, if you knew someone else would help.”

His brow drew together in a frown. “Lucinda Rawlins has certain expectations of her sons and grandsons. Leaving a woman stranded alongside the highway isn’t one of them…no matter who she is.”

She would have been happier if he’d kept those last five words to himself. But none of this was about her happiness—at least, not directly.

Holding in a sigh, she cradled her mug and let the heat seep through her chilled skin. Her fingers had been cold ever since she’d left work…except for those few minutes alongside the road when Josh had taken her hand. She knew it sounded sappy and romancey, but she would swear she’d felt some kind of charge pass between them. For a few moments she’d forgotten that she looked and felt like a drowned rat. For those few moments she’d felt warm and tingly, and she’d wondered how much warmer and tinglier she might feel if he really touched her. If he brushed her hair back from her face or slid his arm around her waist and pulled her close….

How appalled would he be if he knew she’d had such thoughts? Enough to drop the chocolate, leave his shoes behind and run screaming into the night.

“Your arm’s bleeding.”

Though she continued to gaze at him, it took a moment for his words to register. She lifted her left arm from the table and saw blood smeared across the surface, then twisted the arm to one side, then the other, searching for the source. “I must have scraped my elbow when I lost my balance. Excuse me.”

With a tight smile she went to the tiny bathroom that separated the kitchen from the bedroom. It was easier to see the cut in the mirror there. It wasn’t bad, but it continued to ooze blood. After cleaning it with a damp cloth, she located the largest adhesive bandage she had, squirted a dollop of antibiotic ointment on the gauze pad, then tried to gauge the proper alignment in the mirror.

“Let me.” Josh stepped into the cramped space, turned her for a better look, then smoothed the bandage in place. His fingertips were rough when they slid from the bandage to her skin—callused from years of hard work, but gentle, bringing back memories of other times, other hands….

Candace couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t escape. Worse, she didn’t want to escape. She knew it was wrong. Reckless. He was the last person in the world she should want to get involved with, and there were a hundred reasons why. Natalie was between them. Her life was nothing but uncertainties. She was afraid. Afraid, afraid, ninety-five times afraid.

But his fingers were still touching her, lightly stroking from bandage to skin, and she was amazingly warm and aware, and even if it was reckless, she couldn’t recall ever feeling so secure.

A soft sound drifted on the air between them, not really a moan or a whimper so much as a wordless plea. It was heavy with pleasure and need, and she realized when his dark eyes hardened and turned cold that it had come from her.

Embarrassed, she took a step back and felt the commode against her legs. Forcing a smile that felt every bit as phony as it was, she lowered her arm to her side. “Th-thanks for the help. Our, um, chocolate is getting cold.”

Taking a deep breath, she squeezed between him and the door frame and beat a hasty retreat to the living area. She grabbed the quilt from the couch, then slid all the way back on the bench flanking the dining table. With her legs stretched out in front of her, the table on one side and cabinets on the other and the quilt tucked over her, she felt relatively protected.

But from whom? Josh? Or herself?

She half expected him to grab his shoes and clothes and go. The way he looked at them when he passed suggested the thought had crossed his mind. But instead, he settled on the sofa with his hot chocolate. When he spoke, his tone was conversational, his voice steady. “I had a quilt like that when I was five. I was being forced to go to school against my will, so my grandmother made it to cheer me up. It was made from my old worn-out jeans and tied with yarn.”

She plucked at one of the ribbons until she recalled the image of his long, tanned fingers doing the same. Resolutely she folded her arms over her chest. “I have no talent for sewing. A friend made this for me.”

The friend’s name was Betty, and Candace had known her only online. They’d met in a chat room and had built the only real friendship she’d had since Natalie. That was a sad commentary on her life. “It’s my security blanket,” she added with an awkward shrug.

She half wished he would ask her something personal—what friend? Security from what? Of course, he didn’t, so after a time she asked him, “Does your grandmother live in Hickory Bluff?”

His gaze narrowed, and she knew exactly what he was thinking—that she was asking because of Natalie, digging for information on Natalie. Though, really, what possible good would it do her to know where Natalie’s husband’s grandmother lived? Would it persuade Natalie to meet with her, or make her view Candace with any less disdain? Of course not.

Presumably, he reached the same conclusion, because at last he answered the question. Barely. “No.”

It wasn’t much encouragement to go on, but hey, she’d once been a damn pushy reporter, and she had the awards to show for it. “I only ask because I find families interesting. You’ve heard the joke about putting the fun back in dysfunctional?” She waited for his faint nod. “That’s my family. We weren’t fun, but we damn sure were dysfunctional.”

“So that’s your excuse? You can’t be held responsible for what you did to Natalie because your family was dysfunctional? Your father was a drunk and your mother didn’t love you, so you’re entitled to behave however you want without suffering the consequences?”

Now it was her turn to simply look at him. Was he guessing? After all, that was about as stereotypical as a rotten family could get.

Or had Natalie repeated all of Candace’s confidences to her new family?

“I’m not blaming anyone but myself,” she said evenly. She’d been self-absorbed, ambitious and greedy. She’d wanted everything Natalie had had—hell, she’d wanted to be Natalie. And for a few years she had more or less succeeded. While her former friend had disappeared with her career in ruins, Candace had moved on and up. She’d become the hotshot female reporter making a name for herself. Even Natalie’s father, a legend in the field who’d always found his daughter lacking, had accepted and welcomed her. Though he’d never lifted a finger to help Natalie follow in his footsteps, he’d extended a very generous helping hand to Candace, giving her the support and encouragement that should have gone to Natalie instead.

For a while. Until Candace had disappointed the great man by letting illness come between her and her career. In Thaddeus Grant’s mind, nothing interfered with the job. His wife’s death thirty years ago hadn’t distracted him, and neither had the young daughter he was supposed to raise in her mother’s stead. The career, journalism, the news, was all-important.

Until she’d gotten sick, she’d agreed with him. Now she knew better. The job was nothing if you didn’t have a life—friends, family, anyone who cared.

Feeling the faint flutters of depression settling in her chest, she laid the quilt aside and slid to her feet. She pulled a plastic shopping bag from a kitchen drawer, stuffed Josh’s wet clothing in it, then held it out. “You should probably go on to wherever you’re going.” It wasn’t the most polite invitation to leave, but it was the best she could come up with, considering her limited experience in dealing with visitors. And she wanted him gone, before she got anymore blue.

He got to his feet slowly, trading his mug for his shoes. They were work boots, and looked none the worse for the time they’d spent in the rain. He shoved his feet inside and laced them quickly, shrugged into a dry jacket from the duffel—fleece-lined denim—then picked up the two bags. “Thanks for the chocolate.” His tone was civil, nothing more.

“You’re welcome. And thanks again for your help.” She watched as he opened the door and gazed for a moment at the rain, falling even harder than before. The cold air seeping in made her shiver and hug herself tightly. “For the record—”

He glanced back at her.

“My father was the sweetest, most good-natured drunk I ever knew, and while my mother never wanted a child, she tried to make the best of having one. It’s not her fault her best wasn’t much.”

The look in his eyes shifted, edging into embarrassment or perhaps chagrin. Maybe Natalie hadn’t spilled her secrets, Candace thought with a hint of relief. Maybe he’d gone for the stereotype, never dreaming it was true.

Without saying anything, he stepped out into the rain, then closed the door behind him.

Candace stood there a long time, until her chills were gone, until the cold fresh scent of the rain gave way to the RV’s usual citrus-and-vanilla potpourri. She rinsed the two mugs, then turned on the tape deck, sending the relaxing sounds of the ocean through the motor home. Grabbing her legal pad and an ink pen, as well as her quilt, she stretched out on the couch, plumped pillows behind her back and breathed deeply of potpourri and the faint hint of Josh.

She settled in for another Friday night alone.

  Learn a useful skill.

  Indulge in a lustful fantasy.

Josh followed the dirt road back to the highway, then sat there, engine idling for a moment. If he turned right, he could still make it to Tulsa in plenty of time to hook up with his buddies and do some much-needed relaxing. If he turned left, he could be home in ten or fifteen minutes and…and what? Spend the night alone watching TV? That was pathetic. Invite Theresa over? Maybe even sweet-talk her into cooking dinner for them, and then…

Something that felt a lot like guilt made him move uncomfortably on the seat. Theresa liked cooking, and she especially liked cooking for him. But, hell, there was just something wrong about calling her when he felt so damn…he-didn’t-even-know-what about Candace. Not interested. Not turned on.

Unsettled. That was as good a word as any. He wasn’t used to a beautiful woman being off-limits for any reason other than marriage—and Candace Thompson was definitely beautiful. If not for her history with Natalie, he would have already done things with her that would make a grown man blush. Instead, he wasn’t supposed to see her…talk to her…even think about wanting her.

He damn sure wasn’t supposed to go home with her or bandage her scrapes or touch her in a way that brought that soft, erotic whimper from her.

Clutching the steering wheel tighter, he turned right onto the highway, toward Tulsa, away from Candace. A night on the town, too much fun, too much to drink—all sounded pretty good at the moment.

And if he did it right, come tomorrow morning, he wouldn’t remember a damn thing about tonight.

“Your mother needs a book of stamps from the post office, and your brother wants this stuff.” Natalie slid a list bearing Tate’s writing across the kitchen table. “And here’s the grocery list. And can you drop off Jordan’s sports coat at the cleaners? He wants to take it back to school with him this weekend. Let’s see, is there anything else?”

It was a sunny, cool Monday morning, and given a choice, Josh would spend it on horseback. Not that his sister-in-law had given him a choice. Bossing him around came as naturally to her as it did to Tate and their mother. It was a good thing for the family that being bossed around came naturally to him.

“I can’t think of anything,” she said as the phone rang. Being closest, she rose to answer, said hello, then frowned and hung up.

“Nobody there?”

“No,” she said flatly. “Oh, can you tell Martha to go ahead with the ice cream cake we talked about? I’ll need it Saturday morning.”

Couldn’t that be done by phone? he wanted to ask. Better yet, couldn’t they skip the ice cream cake altogether and order a regular cake at the grocery store bakery? Of course, if he asked, Natalie would want to know why, and then he’d have to tell her that Candace was working at U-Want-It. Somehow that hadn’t been made quite clear in their shouting match—er, conversation—last week, and no doubt that would somehow be his fault.

“Anything else?” he asked as he stood up.

“I don’t think so.”

“Then I’ll be back in a couple hours.” He folded the lists and slid them into his hip pocket, grabbed his nephew’s coat from the back of a chair and picked up his own jacket. He was passing the wall-mounted phone when it rang again, and though Natalie moved as if to answer, he picked it up. “Hello.”

There wasn’t silence on the line—he could hear voices in the background, the sound of a bell—but whoever had called apparently didn’t want to talk. After a few seconds the line went dead. “Nobody again,” he said as he hung up, then headed for the door. “See you, Nat.”

He’d made the drive into town so many thousands of time that he swore he could do it blindfolded. He didn’t have to think about traffic, his speed or where to turn—it was as if his truck was on autopilot—which meant he had all that time to let his mind wander.