The Trouble with Josh. Marilyn Pappano
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important to her than some Oklahoma cowboy, no matter how cute he was. That fact gave her the strength to keep her gaze level and her mouth shut.
“Natalie’s not going to talk to you, not now, not ever.”
She didn’t have to talk, Candace thought. All she had to do was listen. If she would simply agree to that, then Candace would say what she needed to say, then leave.
But that was between her and Natalie, and no matter how adamantly he might insist otherwise, it was none of his business.
Then he repeated his words from the day before. “Do us all a favor and get the hell out of here.”
She let him turn away, let him take three or four steps, before she softly spoke, drawing him back around to face her. “I’m not interested in doing favors, Josh, and frankly I’m not interested in your advice, your opinions or your threats. I came here for a purpose, and I don’t intend to leave until…” Until she succeeded? Or, more likely, until she admitted failure? “Until I’m satisfied with what I’ve done.”
He gave her a long, scathing look, then scooped up J.T. “How much for the ice cream?”
“It’s on the house,” Martha replied.
With a curt nod he left without looking Candace’s way again.
“Well…” Martha gazed at her from the opposite counter. “You have some talking to do, my friend. Pull up a stool and tell Auntie Martha all.”
Not on her life, Candace thought grimly. She had enough enemies in Hickory Bluff in the Rawlins family. She couldn’t afford one more.
Chapter Three
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