Marry Me, Cowboy. Peggy Moreland
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covered her stomach.
Her mane of red hair was pulled up under a baseball cap whose curved bill shaded her eyes, but he could see the distrust in their green depths as she shifted her gaze to the hand he’d rested on Stephie’s shoulder. From what Stephie had told him, he supposed he could understand her wariness, but he wasn’t about to move his hand. He wasn’t a threat to the little girl, and the woman might as well learn that now.
He tore his gaze from hers, finding it a lot easier on his system to look at the fence than confront all that bare flesh. “Looks like you’ve been doing some fence mending of your own.”
Mary Claire glanced at the distance she’d covered. that morning and let out a weary sigh. “Three hours and less than forty feet. At this rate it’ll take me a year to finish,”
Harley chuckled. “Once you develop a rhythm, the work’ll go faster.” He glanced Jimmy’s way. The boy was busy ripping off rotten boards with a crowbar. “Appears you’ve got some pretty good help of your own.”
Mary Claire smiled proudly as she looked at her son, knowing she couldn’t have accomplished half of what she’d done without his assistance. “He’s that all right.”
“Could you use some more muscle?” Harley asked, then wondered where the offer had come from. He certainly had enough chores at his own place without taking on Mary Claire’s.
She looked at him in surprise. “Oh, I couldn’t ask you to take time away from your own work to help us.”
“You didn’t ask. I offered.” He gave Stephie’s shoulder a squeeze before he pulled his hammer from the carpenter’s belt strapped low on his hips. “Me and my partner here work pretty cheap.”
Without waiting for a reply, he caught Stephie by the hand, winning a smile from her, and headed down to the next section of fencing. Before Mary Claire could think of an argument, he had Jimmy toting a bundle of new pickets to him and Stephie passing him nails.
Mary Claire knew that inviting Harley to eat lunch with them was the least she could do, considering he had entertained Stephie all morning, then spent another two hours working on her fence. But knowing it and liking it were two entirely different balls of wax. For some reason, the man made her uncomfortable.
With Stephie and Jimmy upstairs washing up, she laid out cold cuts and cheeses on a platter—and kept a watchful eye on Harley as he did his own washing at the kitchen sink.
He stood, one leg cocked, one hip shot higher than the other as he lathered soap between wide tanned hands. She fought back a shudder, remembering all too-well the strength encased in those hands. With his sleeves rolled to his elbows, long ropes of muscles played beneath the healthy smattering of dark hair as he rubbed the lather up one forearm and down the next.
Sunlight gleaming through the window above the sink caught the bubbles that jumped to life from his brisk rubbing and turned them into hundreds of tiny rainbows. Mesmerized by the iridescent bubbles and the sheer manliness of the act, Mary Claire watched in growing fascination as he rotated his arms beneath the water to rinse off the soap. Cupping his hands, he dipped his face low over the sink and splashed water over his face and neck, then growled liked a bear, shaking droplets from his head as he groped blindly for a towel. The feral sound sent a quiver of sensation shooting through Mary Claire’s abdomen.
The cold cuts forgotten, she snagged the towel and pressed it into his hand. The thick terry cloth muffled his thanks as he dragged it down his face, across the back of his neck. He turned, but stilled; his hands locked on the ends of the towel, when he found her watching him.
Something electrical passed between them as their eyes met, something charged with so much force that it shocked every nerve in Harley’s body to life.
Before he could decide whether to stand or run, Mary Claire caught the corner of the towel and wiped at a stray droplet that clung to his mustache, her nervous movements as fleeting as those of a moth at a flame. But the brush of her fingers across his lips did something to his insides, making his heart do a slow somersault while his blood warmed in his veins. It had been a long time since a woman had touched him in such a way. He’d forgotten the tenderness, the comfort rendered in so simple a gesture.
On a sigh, he closed his eyes and caught her wrist in his hand. He held her palm against his cheek, absorbing the softness of her skin against his. Slowly, the thundering of her pulse trapped beneath his fingers registered in his muddled mind. Opening his eyes, his gaze settled on lips slightly parted and eyes filled with... Was it longing? Drawn by that look, he gathered her fingers in his and pressed them to his lips. He watched as her eyes widened, then darkened to a smoldering green, and his lungs burned with the need to pull her into his arms.
“Hey! What’s for lunch!” Stephie called as she skipped into the kitchen.
At the sound of Stephie’s voice, Harley dropped Mary Claire’s hand faster than he would a hot branding iron. He tore his gaze from hers and whirled to face the sink once again, his chest heaving as he grabbed for much-needed air. Mary Claire did her own job of covering up their actions by snatching up the platter of cold cuts. But Harley saw the tremble of her fingers on the plate’s edge and knew she was just as shaken as he by what had just transpired between them.
It seemed like an eternity, but he was sure it was only seconds before Mary Claire turned to greet her daughter, a smile on her face. “We’re having sandwiches, and no complaints,” she warned. “It’s too hot to cook.”
Stephie pulled out a chair and plopped into it. “That’s okay. I like sandwiches.” She patted the seat of the chair next to her. “You can sit by me, Harley,” she said shyly.
Harley wasn’t sure how he did it, but somehow he made it to the chair without his knees buckling beneath him.
“How’s your new neighbor getting along?”
Harley hunched his shoulders to his ears, already regretting the impulse to stop at the End of the Road for a beer. He didn’t want to talk about Mary Claire Reynolds. In fact he’d stopped at the bar hoping to drown her image in beer. “How would I know?” he replied sourly.
Cody bit back a smile. “I thought since you’d leased that land of hers, you might’ve seen her around.”
Harley frowned. In a town the size of Temptation, everyone knew everyone else’s business, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out how that bit of news had leaked out so fast. “How’d you know I’d leased the land?”
“June, over at the bank. She said the Reynolds woman made a deposit the other day. A nice fat check written on your account I just put two and two together and figured you’d talked her into that lease.”
Harley twisted his head around just far enough to scowl at Cody. “You’re a genius, Cody. A bona fide genius. It’s no wonder you’re the sheriff.”
Cody laughed good-naturedly and pounded Harley on the back. “Did you hear that, Hank?” he called out to the man behind the bar. “Harley here thinks I’m a genius. I think that calls for a beer.”
“Reason enough for me.” Grinning, Hank stuck a mug under the tap and pulled the lever, then decided, what the hell, and plucked up another to fill. Business was slow in the afternoon, and it was a rare moment when he had the opportunity to share a beer with his two friends. After topping off the mugs, he hooked a finger through both handles and rounded the bar. He slid one in front of Cody before hitching a hip on the nearest stool. He lifted his mug and tapped Cody’s before taking a long drink.
On a satisfied sigh, he set the mug down and leaned around Cody to peer at Harley. “Would you look at that face?” he said to Cody with a woeful shake of his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the man had woman troubles.”
Harley’s scowl deepened and he snatched up his beer. Hank hooted and gave Cody a poke in the ribs with his elbow. “I believe the man does have woman troubles.” Ready to give