Между двумя мирами. Школа выживания. Марина Ефиминюк
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she said. “You don’t like my hair?”
“It looks okay now,” he admitted, his tone grudging.
“But?” She left the word hanging between them. “Come on, you’ve obviously got a problem with my hair. Tell me.”
“When you make it spiky and turn it all those different colors, it looks mighty strange.”
“I suppose it does here.” She grinned, enjoying the idea immensely. “But it’s just a little thing I do for fun. It washes right out.”
“It’s not just the hair.” He sounded as if his patience was stretching thin in spots. “It’s the whole package.”
Hope caught a harsher note of criticism in his voice that surprised her. She raised her chin and met his gaze head-on. “Do tell.”
“You’re too flashy for a guy like me,” he said bluntly.
“Flashy?” She raised her eyebrows and patted her collarbones, feigning surprise. “Moi?”
“You know what I mean.”
She supposed she did, but sincerely hoped she was wrong. “Why don’t you explain it to me anyway? Just to be absolutely certain?”
He gave her a long, considering look, as if he were debating whether or not he should answer. “It’s the hair. The fingernails. The clothes.”
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” she asked, carefully maintaining a neutral tone.
“Nothing’s wrong with ’em. I doubt anybody’d even notice ’em in L.A.”
“But they don’t work in Sunshine Gap.”
Jake nodded. “Yeah. They’re not practical or even modest. Everything you wear is missing a strategic hunk or two of material. There’re guys all over town nursing sore necks from trying to get a better look at your…assets.”
“Oh, really, you’re exaggerating.” At least she thought he was. It was the middle of July for heaven’s sake. Everybody peeled down a bit when the weather was hot.
“The hookers in Cheyenne and Denver wear more on a work day than you do. Your stuff is too damn sexy.”
“Women aren’t supposed to be sexy in Sunshine Gap?”
“I didn’t say that.” Muttering a rude word, he jammed his right hand through his hair. “Look, it’s not personal. The thing is, if I wanted a woman in my life now, I’d be lookin’ for an old-fashioned Wyoming gal with ranching in her blood.”
Well, that certainly left her out, didn’t it? But it didn’t have to.
“Blair learned how to do all that stuff. If she can do it, so can I. You could teach me.”
“No way.” He held up both hands and stepped back, shaking his head. “I’m workin’ on important plans for my future. I don’t have time to play with a flaky little California floozy who writes raunchy books, causes scandals and looks like she came out of a can of spray paint half the time.”
Time stopped long enough to imprint every humiliating detail of Jake’s critical assessment of her into Hope’s permanent memory banks. The backs of her eyes stung, her throat closed around a golf-ball-sized lump and her chest ached as if he’d punched her just under her sternum. After three months of seeing her every day and working with her on this wedding how could he still think so little of her?
And how could she have been so wrong about him?
Automatically falling back on Rule Number Two, Hope plastered an amused smile onto her mouth. “My, my my,” she drawled. “Been reading the tabloids, Jake?”
His face flushed, but he didn’t look away. “You’re news, Hope. All the magazines and newspapers have stories about you.”
“You believe everything you read?”
“Not everything.” His tone told her he believed all but the most outrageous stories. “But you’ve gotta admit you have one colorful image.”
“Of course, I admit it,” she said calmly. “I’ve worked hard to build it.”
He frowned as if he’d never entertained the idea a celebrity might deliberately develop a certain kind of image. “I only wanted to point out our differences. I didn’t mean to offend—”
“Don’t apologize for being honest. There’s far too little honesty in this world. And since we’re being so honest, I have to say I’m terribly disappointed in you.”
“Come on—”
Hope slashed at the air like a conductor halting an orchestra. “Save it, McBride. I’ve clearly misjudged you.”
Frowning, he asked warily, “What do you mean?”
“I thought you were more than just a handsome face. Obviously, I was wrong.”
“Wait a minute,” he protested.
“You had your turn. Now it’s mine,” she retorted. “I may be a flaky California floozy, but you’re a shallow, narrow-minded idiot who can’t see past the end of your own nose.”
“Hey—”
Hope continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “You don’t have the faintest clue what you’re passing up, but someday you will. And when you do, you’re going to be one sad and sorry cowboy.”
Before Jake could even begin to think up a reply, Hope stepped down from the fence and headed back toward the party. Holding herself straight and tall as a queen, she crossed the barnyard with a smooth, unhurried stride. He watched until she rounded the corner of the house, then returned his attention to the horses, feeling a mixture of relief and regret.
He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings, but she hadn’t been listening to him, just brushing aside his arguments as fast as he’d made them. After all of that, any man in his right mind would’ve gotten desperate, but he’d gone too far and said too much. He was sorry as hell about that. She’d gotten in some good licks of her own, though.
He almost had to smile at the idea of Hope DuMaine calling him shallow. Brother. Talk about your pots and kettles.
Still, he’d stop by the guesthouse tomorrow and apologize. He didn’t want to cause Dillon any problems with Blair’s family. He didn’t want to cause himself any problems with his own family, either. They all really liked Hope. When she wasn’t pestering the hell out of him, so did he.
But dammit, tonight was all his fault. What had possessed him to kiss her like that? And why had he done it in front of everybody?
He’d love to blame it on the alcohol he’d consumed, but he hadn’t had that much to drink. And he’d been tired, but not that tired. Well, it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t happen again because he wouldn’t let it. Even though he regretted hurting her feelings, he’d meant everything he’d said.
He wondered if Hope had meant what she’d said. That part about him being a sad and sorry cowboy had almost sounded like a threat. Jake laughed and shook his head.
“Yeah, right. I’m shakin’ in my boots. What could she possibly do to me?”
Not a blessed thing. And with any luck, by this time next week, she’d go back to L.A. She’d be off the Flying M and out of his life, and he’d finally get a little peace and quiet. After all the craziness of the past twelve weeks, surely that wasn’t too much to ask for.
Chapter Two
Still fuming at dawn the next morning, Hope loaded her luggage into the rental car and wedged a thank-you note under the back door of the Flying M’s main house. She hated to leave like a thief in the night, but if she ran into Jake, she feared she would hit him. She’d mentally replayed their argument again and again