The Cowboy and the New Year's Baby Page 12

  Hardy couldn’t help it. He chuckled. “You are so cute when you get all prim and earnest.”

  Practically trembling with rage, she stared at him. “This is not a game, Hardy Jones. I will not be another notch on your bedpost. If that’s what you’ve got in mind, you can take your little innuendoes and your flirting and your help and go straight to hell.”

  She flounced off before he could snap his mouth closed. She was two blocks away before he caught up with her. He’d figured it would take at least that long for her to cool down and listen to reason.

  When he fell into step beside her, he noted that her color was still high, her mood still precarious. He opted for silence. Maybe after another block or two, he’d think of something to say to soothe her ruffled feathers.

  “That’s not what this is about,” he finally said quietly.

  She kept her gaze straight ahead and remained stoically silent.

  “To tell you the honest truth, I’m not sure what it’s about,” he admitted. “I’ve broken every single one of my rules where you’re concerned.”

  She finally stole a glance at him. “Oh?”

  “You’re vulnerable and innocent,” he began.

  “I’m an unwed mother,” she pointed out. “Hardly innocent.”

  “A technicality,” he insisted. “In my book you’re innocent. And you have a daughter, who could be hurt if we don’t play by the rules.”

  She regarded him with confusion. “Whose rules are we talking about now? Yours?”

  “No, society’s.”

  “I had no idea you even knew what those were.”

  “Oh, I know. I just prefer to ignore most of them.” He met her gaze. “I can’t with you. You come from a good family. You have permanence and happily ever after written all over you. I’m a ranch hand who doesn’t think much farther ahead than tomorrow. I’m all about living in the moment. We’re not suited.”

  To his chagrin, she nodded. “I agree.”

  “Then why can’t I keep my hands off you?” he asked, genuinely perplexed. “Why can’t I get you out of my head? Usually I steer so far away from women like you, we’re practically not even in the same state.”

  “Probably because you know we’d be a disaster, which makes me forbidden. People always want what they can’t have, what’s bad for them. It’s just a totally irrational fascination, one we just have to try harder to nip in the bud.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so,” she said with confidence. “So now that that’s clear, we can just settle down and be friends. Deal?”

  “Friends,” Hardy echoed dutifully. He didn’t even need the impact of that last kiss to tell him that they had a snowball’s chance in hell of pulling that off.

  Chapter Ten

  Friendship should have suited Trish just fine. It was what she had asked for, wasn’t it? And Hardy was throwing himself into the role with total dedication. He hadn’t so much as glanced straight into her eyes, much less uttered a teasing remark to her for the past two weeks.

  He also went to great lengths to avoid touching her. If he handed her something, he released it practically before she could get a grip on it, just to ensure that their fingers didn’t brush. He was prompt, cheerful and helpful. She couldn’t fault him for that. The store was taking shape a whole lot faster than she’d anticipated. In fact, she suspected he couldn’t finish the job fast enough.

  So why was she so disgruntled at the end of every day? Why did she feel as if she’d lost something precious?

  Because she was a ninny, that’s why. Friendship was what she’d asked for. Friendship was what she’d gotten. If she wasn’t satisfied, then it was her own fault.

  She glanced over at Hardy who’d stripped off his shirt to display a devastatingly muscular back and shoulders that a body builder would have envied. He was bent over a sawhorse, cutting through a piece of lumber for the last set of shelves. Staring at his gleaming flesh, at the bunching of his muscles, her mouth went dry. His tush wasn’t bad, either, she concluded when she shifted her gaze in that direction.

  Sweet heaven, what was happening to her? She was turning into some sort of sex-crazed female. Maybe it was all the hormonal ups and downs her body had been through lately. She seized on that explanation like a lifeline. That had to be it. It couldn’t possibly be personal when they had decided, very clearly, very plainly, that friendship was all that was in the cards for the two of them.

  “Trish?”

  She snapped back to reality and met his gaze. Was she mistaken or was there a wicked, knowing twinkle in his eyes? Had he guessed what she was thinking?

  “Yes,” she snapped more tersely than he deserved. She was instantly riddled with guilt, but she bit back the urge to apologize. She’d been doing that too much the past few days, making excuses every time her temper flared, trying to dismiss with nonsense the erratic behavior that could only be explained honestly by admitting to pure sexual frustration. Which of course she had no intention of admitting to, ever.

  “You okay?” he asked, studying her intently.

  That was another thing that drove her crazy. He was so blasted thoughtful, so unrelentingly considerate. He always seemed to know when she was tired, when she needed a break, when something was on her mind. Just the way a friend would, she thought sourly.

  “I’m fine,” she said, trying for a more even-tempered tone. “Just distracted.”

  “Let’s take a break,” he said at once, regarding her worriedly. “I could use a milkshake. How about you?”

  “A milkshake sounds good.” Anything that would get him out of the store for a few minutes so she could gather her wits.

  “Come with me. You can visit with Sharon Lynn for a bit. She asks about you every time I go into Dolan’s to get something. She’s complaining that you’re right next door and you never drop by.”

  There was a good reason for that, Trish thought. Sharon Lynn was a direct pipeline to the rest of the family. The less Trish saw of her, especially in Hardy’s company, the better.

  “Not this time,” she said. “I have things to do.”

  “What things?” he asked, deliberately testing her.

  “Things,” she declared more emphatically.

  He chuckled. “Darlin’, you’re going to have to be more specific than that or Sharon Lynn will think you don’t like her.”

  “I like her just fine. And you don’t have to tell her that I’m doing things, just that I’m busy.”

  Hardy’s gaze narrowed. “I think I’m beginning to figure out the problem. You don’t want her to see us together. Is that it?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Oh, I think it is. Because if she sees us together, she’ll draw all sorts of wild conclusions, report them straight back to Harlan or the others and, bam, we’ll be right back where we started.”

  Trish sighed at his perceptiveness. “Bingo.” Why did the man have to have so many admirable traits? Why did he have to be perceptive, of all things? Men were usually clueless. When she’d thought of him as nothing more than a handsome, sexy scoundrel, they’d both been better off.

  He tucked a finger under her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. Her skin tingled, even from such a simple touch, and Hardy looked as if he’d been singed. Still, he gazed at her evenly, his expression serious.

  “Surely we can behave for fifteen minutes,” he teased. “I won’t kiss you senseless in front of her, the way I do at least ten times a day in here, when we’re all alone. I will keep my hands to myself. She won’t suspect a thing.”

  Trish chuckled despite herself. “Okay, I suppose we don’t have to give her anything to report back to the army of meddlers. In fact, it might be good if we’re seen out in public doing absolutely nothing romantic or personal.”

  “I’ll even let you pay for your own shake, so no one will think it’s a date.”

  “Fine. I’ll get my purse.” She glanced at him worriedly. “You are going to put on your shirt, aren’t you?”r />
  He shot her a look of pure innocence. “Me being half-naked doesn’t bother you, does it?”

  “Of course not,” she lied, perfectly well aware that he’d deliberately chosen the word naked just to rattle her. She refused to let him see that she was suddenly awash in images of him without a stitch of clothing from head to toe. Keeping her voice cool, she said, “But you’ll freeze if you step outside like that, and besides, I’m pretty sure Dolan’s has a shirt-and-shoes policy.”

  Good, sound, rational reasoning, she thought. Hardy laughed.

  “Then by all means, let me grab my shirt,” he said, his eyes twinkling with unabashed amusement.

  Five minutes later they strolled next door. At two-thirty, the lunch counter was deserted. Sharon Lynn was scrubbing the grill. She brightened when she saw them.

  “Oh, am I glad to see you,” she said. “I can take a break. I hate this job. It’s one of those necessary evils I can’t seem to make myself foist off on the part-time help. Are you here for food, sundaes, what?”

  “Milkshakes,” Hardy told her. “Thick, chocolate for me.”

  “Make that two,” Trish said.

  “How’s the work coming on the store?” Sharon Lynn asked as she put double scoops of chocolate ice cream and milk into the metal container and attached it to the machine that would stir it into an old-fashioned, thick, frothy shake.

  “The shelves should be done this week. I’m expecting my book order on Monday. I figure I’ll be open by the first of March,” Trish told her. “I thought I’d have some sort of grand opening party.”

  “Let me do the food,” Sharon Lynn volunteered. “I can fix things other than burgers and fries. I’d love to do it. There are days when I’d kill to be able to make pretty little hors d’oeuvres.”

  “Work up a menu and a price list and you’re on,” Trish said.

  “No price list,” Sharon Lynn said. “The Adams family will pitch in. It will be our grand-opening present.”

  “I can’t let you do that,” Trish argued.

  Sharon Lynn exchanged a look with Hardy. “Tell her,” she commanded.

  “It won’t do you any good to argue,” he said. “They’re a stubborn bunch.”

  Trish heaved a sigh. “So I’ve noticed.”

  Sharon Lynn beamed. “Good. That’s settled. I will let you okay the menu, though, in case there’s anything you absolutely hate. Do you want Tex-Mex? Something more formal?”

  “I’ll trust your judgment. Whatever will bring the most people out.”

  “This time of year, when winter boredom has set in, you could get them out for chips and dip,” Hardy said.

  “I think I can do better than that,” Sharon Lynn said, grabbing a pad of paper, a pen and moving out from behind the counter to sit beside Trish. “Okay, let’s decide on a theme. How about English tea? Doesn’t that sound perfect for a bookstore? You could do it on a Sunday afternoon.”

  “I love it,” Trish said, enchanted. “That’s exactly the sort of atmosphere I want to create.”

  “Tea?” Hardy echoed disdainfully. “Itty-bitty sandwiches? We’re talking cowboys here, ladies. Big appetites.”

  “He has a point,” Sharon Lynn said.

  “Then we’ll have lots of itty-bitty sandwiches,” Trish said. “And scones and cakes.”

  Hardy’s expression brightened. “Cakes? Personally I like chocolate with fudge icing.”

  “Petits fours,” Trish informed him, enjoying the way his expression fell. “Itty-bitty individual cakes,” she added for emphasis.

  “Girl food,” he declared, dismissing it.

  “Women buy more books than men,” she pointed out. “Why shouldn’t I cater to their tastes?”

  “Yoo-hoo,” Sharon Lynn said, waving a hand between them. “Remember me?”

  They stared at her as if they’d forgotten her existence. Trish barely restrained a moan. This was exactly what she’d hoped to avoid. She and Hardy had been so busy arguing with each other, Sharon Lynn might as well have been on the moon. And Sharon Lynn knew it, too. The knowing sparkle in her eyes was proof of it.

  “I think we can update the tea idea a bit to satisfy the male appetites,” she told Trish. “I’ll make a more substantial filling for some of the sandwiches, maybe some little ham biscuits or even miniature barbeque buns.”

  “Better,” Hardy agreed.

  Trish scowled at him. “I’m so delighted you approve.”

  “Regular cake, too,” he said, ignoring her and appealing directly to Sharon Lynn. “Sliced thick, with lots of frosting.”

  “I hate to say it,” Sharon Lynn said, “but knowing the men in my family, they’d go along with Hardy on this one.”

  Trish recognized when she was beat. “Okay, regular cake, then.”

  “What about beer?” Hardy asked.

  “Not on your life,” Trish declared. “Champagne, maybe. Sharon Lynn, what do you think?”

  “Let’s stick with tea. It will be Sunday afternoon. We’d better do both hot tea and iced, though. I can’t see these clumsy men balancing little tea cups in their hands while they shovel cake into their mouths. The phrase bull in a china shop comes to mind.”

  “Hey,” Hardy protested. “Men are not clumsy.”

  “I still think we’d better not risk Granddaddy Harlan’s best porcelain, which I intend to borrow for the occasion. He’s the only one who has enough for a huge crowd.” She made another note on her paper, then turned back to Trish. “What about invitations?”

  “Since you two seem to be caught up in party planning, I think I’ll go back next door and get some work done,” Hardy said.

  To Trish’s discomfort, he gave her shoulder a quick, friendly squeeze before he left. Naturally Sharon Lynn caught the affectionate gesture. No doubt her imagination would run wild.

  “You two seem to be getting along well,” she observed, her gaze fixed on Trish’s face.

  “Well enough,” Trish said. “About the invitations—”

  Sharon Lynn cut her off, her expression alight with curiosity. “What have you two been doing all day long over there?”

  “Working,” Trish said, not even trying to hide her impatience. “What else?”

  “Besides that?”

  “Nothing,” Trish declared very firmly. “There’s a lot of work to be done.”

  “Nothing?” Sharon Lynn regarded her with a mix of disbelief and disappointment. “I thought for sure by now…” Her voice trailed off.

  Trish shrugged. “Sorry. Now about those invitations, how many do you think I should have printed?”

  She finally managed to drag Sharon Lynn’s attention back to the task at hand. By the time she left an hour later, they had worked out most of the details for the grand-opening party. She was also pretty sure she had managed to squelch any speculation that she and Hardy were a hot item.

  As she opened the front door of her store, she heard voices from the storeroom. Male voices. One, of course, was Hardy’s. The other was…She listened more intently, recognized the familiar lazy drawl and almost turned around and dashed right straight back out of the building. Before she could, Hardy came in, caught sight of her and called out.

  “Hey, Trish, look who’s here.”

  Her stomach knotted as her oldest brother followed Hardy into the room.

  “Dylan, what are you doing here?” she demanded tightly. “How did you find me?”

  A grin spread across his face, despite the lack of welcome. “I’m a private detective, Sis. Finding people is what I do.”

  “Well, go find somebody else. I don’t want to be found,” she said, stubbornly refusing to walk into his embrace.

  Dylan was as close to a rebel as any male in the Delacourt family had been allowed to get. Disgustingly handsome and fully aware of it, he’d left a trail of broken hearts in his wake until he’d met his wife and she’d turned around and left him with one, taking their son right along with her. Dylan had balked at going into the oil business. After listening to h
is father rant and rave for months, he’d gone right ahead with his own plans for his life. He, of all of her brothers, should have understood why she’d needed to get out. Obviously he didn’t because he was here, probably intent on dragging her home again.

  His expression softened. “I haven’t told Dad where you are,” he said quietly. “This is just between us.”

  Hope spread through her. “You swear it?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  Then she did fly into his embrace. “I’ve missed you, Dylan. I would have called you, but I didn’t want you to get caught between Dad and me.”

  “When have I ever been scared to take a bunch of garbage from Dad?” he scoffed.

  “I didn’t want you to because of me.” She turned to Hardy. “Have you met?”

  “We’ve met,” Hardy said.

  “For a minute I thought he was going to take me on, until he realized I was your brother and not Jack the jerk.” He gestured at the work they’d accomplished. “I like it. It’s going to be even better than the store in Houston.”

  She nodded. “I think so, too.”

  “Look, why don’t you two go on?” Hardy suggested. “I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do. I’ll finish and lock up here.”

  “Only if you’ll join us for dinner,” Dylan said. “Is there someplace close we can go?”

  “I’m sure Hardy already has plans,” Trish said hurriedly. She didn’t want her big brother getting any ideas about her and Hardy. He could be as much of a nag as an Adams. “Besides, I want you to come out to the ranch and see your niece.”

  “Another time,” Hardy said. “Once you get a look at little Laura, you won’t want to leave her. I guarantee it.”

  “A real beauty like her mama, huh?” Dylan said.

  “Pretty as a picture from the moment she was born,” Hardy said. “I ought to know. I was there.”

  Trish knew he had said that deliberately, that he was staking his claim on the two of them so her brother wouldn’t mistake it. Not that Dylan was likely to go more than a minute without plaguing her with questions about Hardy, anyway.

  “I’ll explain on the way,” she said, drawing Dylan toward the door, even as she shot a scowl over her shoulder at Hardy. Obviously unintimidated, he winked.