Propositioned by the Playboy: Miss Maple and the Playboy / The Playboy Doctor's Marriage Proposal / The New Girl in Town. Cara Colter
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let’s assume he cared about the frog. Maybe he wanted to return it to where he got it from.”
That made such perfect sense Beth wished she had thought of it herself.
“We went on a little field trip for science class last week. Migg’s Pond,” she said. “It’s not far from here. We walked.”
“I’m sure I can find it.”
She was sure he could, too. But she was going with him. And not to spend time with him, either. Not because just standing beside him made her feel soft, and small and delicate.
She would go because this wasn’t really about Ben nor her, nor even about a frog. It was about a child who, despite the fact he was street smart, was still a child. Somehow, someway, somebody needed to let him know that. That they would come for him when he had lost his way.
“I’ll just get my jacket,” she said. “And my boots.” The boots were hideous, proof to herself that she was indifferent to the kind of impression she was making on Ben Anderson. No woman with the least bit of interest in how he perceived her would be seen dead in a skirt and gum boots by him.
“It’s wet by the pond,” she said, pleased with how rational she was being. She even leveled her grade-five-teacher look at his feet.
And then was sorry she had because her eyes had to travel the very long length of his hard-muscled legs to find the feet at the end of them.
“I’m not worried about getting my feet wet,” he said, something flat in his voice letting her know that he had been in places and experienced things that made him scorn small discomforts.
Today Beth was wearing a plaid tartan skirt, which did not seem as pretty to her now as it had when she put it on this morning. The boots, unfashionable black rubbers with dull red toes, were kept in the coatroom for just such educational excursions. They looked hideous with her skirt, but since they were going to a swamp and she was determined to not try and impress him, she thought they were perfect for the occasion.
Still, when she saw the laughter light his eyes as she emerged from the coatroom, she wished she hadn’t been quite so intent on appearing indifferent to his opinions. She wished she would have ruined her shoes!
In an effort not to look as rattled as she felt in her gum boot fashion disaster, she said conversationally, “I like the name of your business. Garden of Weedin’. Very original.”
He glanced down at his shirt and grinned. A knowing grin, that accused her of studying his chest, which of course she had been.
“Very creative,” she said stiffly, keeping on topic with stern determination as he held the door open for her to leave the school.
“Yeah, well, I stole it.”
“What?”
“I saw it on a sign in a little town I was passing through a long time ago. It kind of stuck with me.”
“I don’t think you can steal names,” she said. “That would be like saying my mother stole the name Beth from the aunt I was named after.”
“Beth,” he said, pleased, as if she had given away a secret he longed to know.
The way he said it made a funny tingle go up and down her spine. You could imagine a man saying your name like that, like a benediction, right before he kissed you. Or right before he talked you into his bed, the promise of bliss erasing the fact there had been the lack of a single promise for tomorrow.
She shot him a wary look, but he was looking ahead, scanning the terrain where the playground of the school met an undeveloped area behind it.
“Migg’s Pond is out of bounds,” she said. “The children aren’t supposed to come back here by themselves.”
He grunted. With amusement?
“Are you one of those people who scoffs at rules?” she asked.
“No, ma’am,” he said, but his amusement seemed to be deepening.
“You are! I can tell.”
“Now, how can you tell that?” he drawled, glancing at her with a lazy, sexy look that made her tingle just the way it had when he had spoken her name.
“I’m afraid I can picture you in fifth grade. Quite easily. Out of bounds would have just made it seem irresistible to you.”
“Guilty.”
“Frog in the teacher’s drawer?” she asked.
“Only if I really liked her.”
She contemplated that, and then said, “I don’t think Kyle likes me at all.”
“I would have, if I was in grade five. Not that I would have ever let on. How uncool would that be? To like the teacher.”
How uncool would it be to feel flattered that a man would have liked you in grade five? It didn’t mean he liked you now. Only a person without an ounce of pride would even pursue such a thing.
“What makes you think you would have liked me in grade five? I’m very strict. I think some of the kids think I’m mean.”
He snorted, and she realized he was trying not to laugh.
“I am! I always start off the year at my most formidable.”
“And I bet that’s some formidable,” he said, ignoring her glare.
“Because, you can’t go back if you lose respect from the start. You can soften up later if you have to.” She sounded like she was quoting from the teacher’s manual, and Ben Anderson did not look convinced by how formidable she was capable of being!
“Well, I would have liked you because you were cute. And relatively young. And obviously you are into the Aristotle school of learning, which would mean really fun things like have everyone making a fall leaf with their name on it to hang from the roof.”
He hadn’t just used the tree to flatter her, which she had suspected at the time. He’d actually liked it. Why else would he have noticed details? She could not allow herself to feel flattered by that. Weakened.
He’d been a marine. He was probably trained to notice all the details of his environment.
They arrived at the pond. As she had tried to tell him, the whole area around it was muddy and damp.
But it wasn’t him who nearly slipped and fell, it was her. She found his hand on her elbow, steadying her.
His grip, strong, sure, had the effect, again, of making her feel tiny and feminine. A lovely tingling was starting where his fingers dug lightly into her flesh.
She stopped and removed herself from his grip, moved a careful few steps away from him and scanned the small area around the pond with her best professional fifth-grade-teacher look.
As good as her intentions had been in coming here, and even though she had placed Kyle first, she had challenged herself as much as she intended to for one day.
“He’s not here,” she said. “I should go.”
But Ben tilted his head, listening to something she couldn’t hear. “He’s here,” he whispered.
She looked around. Nothing moved. Not even the grass stirred.
“How do you know?”
With his toe, he nudged a small sneaker print in the mud that she would have completely overlooked.
“It’s fresh. Within an hour or so. So is this.” His hand grazed a broken twig on a shrub near the pathway.
She didn’t even want to know how he knew how fresh a print was, or a broken branch. She didn’t want to know about the life he had led as a warrior, trained to see things others missed. Trained to shrug off hardship, go where others feared to go. Trained to deal with what came at him with calm and control. She didn’t