Have Honeymoon, Need Husband. Robin Wells
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“I drove in from the highway. I was following the directions in the brochure.”
The man gave a disgusted shake of his head that sent an unruly lock of hair cascading over his forehead. “No, you weren’t.”
Josie bristled. She’d had a horrible day, and she was in no mood to take any guff from a disagreeable ranch hand. “I most certainly was. The directions said to turn at the sign, and that’s exactly what I did,” she said frostily.
“You turned at the sign that says Lazy O Lodge Ahead. If you’d driven on five hundred feet, you would have seen a larger sign with an arrow.”
Josie felt a familiar cringing sensation—the one she always felt when she’d just made a mistake. Oh, no, you don’t, she told herself fiercely. You’re not going to let this man make you feel like your judgment is faulty just because you couldn’t read the entire sign in the pouring rain.
Who did he think he was, anyway, talking to her like that? She wasn’t going to stand for it. “Do you work at the Lazy O?”
The man’s lip curved upward. “You might say that.”
Josie stretched her frame to its full five-foot-four height and took a step forward, striving for her most imposing demeanor. “Well, then, sir, I’ll make you a deal. If you’ll spare me any more pearls of wisdom and simply tell me how to get to the lodge, I’ll refrain from mentioning your insufferably rude behavior to Mr. O’Dell.”
“Oh, you will, will you?” The man’s mouth widened into a smile, a smile as infuriating as it was devastating. The expression transformed his face, bringing the hard, masculine planes and angles into a shockingly attractive alignment.
For some reason, the sight knocked Josie off her stride. She compensated for her shaken composure by directing the full force of her fury at him—a fury that had been building inside her ever since she’d learned the truth about her would-be groom.
Her hands balled into fists at her sides. “On second thought, I won’t. I used to work in a hotel, and I thought I’d seen everything, but I’ve never heard of anyone in the hospitality industry treating a guest trying to check in as rudely as you’ve just treated me. I’m sure Mr. O’Dell will be interested to learn of your behavior.”
To her chagrin, he appeared amused. “I’m afraid you’re out of luck, miss. For starters, we don’t have any rooms available. We’re booked solid.”
“But I have reservations.”
The man’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “All of our guests have already checked in, except for the honeymoon couple.”
He suddenly froze and stared, his gaze traveling from her mud-covered stockings to her clay-encrusted veil. His eyebrows flew up like the wings of a crow. “Holy molasses! Is that a wedding gown you’re wearing?”
Josie took a perverse pleasure in his dumbfounded expression. “It is,” she said with all the dignity she could muster. “And if you’d point me in the direction of the honeymoon cabin, I’d like to change out of it as soon as possible. My car got stuck on the road and I fell in the mud.”
The man stared at her. “You’re Mrs. Olsen?”
“No. I’m Josie Randall.”
He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, his expression confused. “But the reservation is for the Olsens.”
“Yes. But it’s on my credit card, and my credit card says Josie Randall.”
The man studied her for a moment, apparently processing the information. He shook his head. “I’ve never understood why a woman would marry a man and refuse to take his name, but that’s your business. So where’s your husband?”
“I don’t have one.”
His dark brows pulled together. “But you just said you’d reserved the honeymoon cabin.”
“I did.”
“And you don’t have a husband?” His expression clearly said he was having doubts about her sanity.
“We didn’t—I mean, the wedding didn’t—” Josie’s throat swelled with emotion, and to her horror, she realized she was about to cry.
Oh, no! She always cried when she was upset—ever since she’d been a young child. It was nothing more than an emotional release valve, but this man was sure to take it as a sign of weakness. The last thing she wanted to do was break down in front of him.
She drew a deep breath and tried to forestall the inevitable. “The w-wedding was c-c-called off,” she finally managed to say in a tear-choked voice.
She ducked her head, and the mud-streaked veil sagged forward. She gratefully took refuge behind it. Her pride had taken enough of a blow today without the additional embarrassment of having this impossible man see her cry.
“Oh, hey…I’m sorry.” His deep voice was contrite. “That must be rough. I had no idea…”
The veil abruptly lifted. The man stood in front of her, his dark eyes worried and apologetic.
“Here.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at her face, first drying her cheeks, then gently wiping her forehead. “You have some mud here, too,” he said, rubbing the cloth across her chin.
His gentleness jarred Josie as much as his earlier rudeness. She stared up at him, surprised to find his face so close, his eyes so dark and concerned.
Still holding the hanky, he placed his hands on her shoulders. His fingers were warm on the wet silk. “Look, I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize…”
His change of demeanor disoriented her. Or maybe it was his nearness. She was keenly aware of the weight of his hands, of his masculine scent, of his breath on her face.
Her gaze fastened on his lips, and a wild, alien thought formed in her mind: what would it feel like to kiss him?
Merciful heavens, where had that thought come from? She lowered her gaze, suddenly self-conscious. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself; it’s not like the thought is tattooed on your forehead. He’s a cowboy, not a mind reader.
“I’ve never had a guest show up in a wedding gown before,” he said apologetically. He gently tilted up her chin. The pads of his fingers were callused, and the rasp of them on her skin made her heart rate soar.
Funny…she couldn’t remember a man ever touching her face before. Certainly not Robert. And she’d never known fingers could be so warm. Why, his seemed to warm her straight to the bone.
“With all the mud, I thought you were wearing some sort of costume—Swamp Girl or Creature from the Black Lagoon or something. It’s close to Halloween and I’ve had some guests do some pretty weird things…” His brow knit in concern as he looked down at her. “Are you okay?”
Josie nodded, not yet trusting herself to speak. He smelled like leather and horseflesh and hard work, with a subtle undernote of soap. The scent was rich and male— far more appealing than all of Robert’s expensive colognes and grooming products, she thought distractedly. Her gaze again fell to his lips.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was upset because you nearly got yourself killed,” he explained. “That stallion’s got a mean streak a mile wide. In fact, I’m trying to sell him for just that reason. A potential buyer is coming to look at him in the morning, so I was grooming him when you walked in.” His hand moved back to her shoulder. His eyes were kind and worried. “I go ballistic when guests put themselves in danger. Sorry I overreacted, Josie.”
The frank, open apology took her by surprise. There weren’t many men who would own up to a mistake so readily, she thought.
But it was the way he’d said her name that really jolted her. His deep rumble of a voice had wrapped around it like a velvet cloak, making it sound