Lone Wolf. Sheri WhiteFeather
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say you’re having some wild, crazy affair.” Archy’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think it’s necessary to mention your alleged partner’s name. We both know who he is. And we both know he has a seedy reputation. He could ruin a nice girl like you.”
“He’s a good person,” Jenny defended. “He’s my friend.” And this conversation was making her uncomfortable. Needing a breath of fresh air, she headed for the door, passing a row of box stalls on her way out.
Archy followed, and they stood beneath the vast Texas sky, a warm breeze stirring between them.
“You have no right to warn me about him,” she said.
“So the gossip doesn’t bother you?”
“Of course it bothers me.” It made her stomach roil; she didn’t want to be the subject of lewd speculation. “But I’m not doing anything wrong. And Hawk,” she added, using the name Archy was avoiding, “isn’t taking advantage of me.”
The older man held up his hand. “Then I’ll back off. But I swear to you, little lady, if he hurts you, I’ll come gunning for him.”
Jenny didn’t respond, but apparently Archy didn’t expect her to. He walked away without another word, which told her she was trapped between the father and the son, between two men who hated each other.
Hawk checked his watch, wondering if Jenny would come outside tonight. Meeting on his porch while Muddy played on the lawn had become their neighborly routine.
And now he was worried that she wouldn’t show.
Muddy raced around the grass, darting in and out of the shrubs. He still wasn’t the most well-behaved critter, but he had a personality that made him more human than dog.
The pup barked, and Hawk came to his feet. That was Muddy’s “Hi, Mom” greeting, which meant Jenny had decided to join them, after all.
Hawk crossed the lawn, then stopped when he saw her.
Her hair was pinned up in a messy style, her feet were bare, and her dress caught the rays of the setting sun. She looked at one with the elements, like a rose blooming right before his eyes. For an instant Hawk thought he could see her spirit, the beauty that lived inside her.
And then the image was gone, burned away by the frown in her eyes.
He moved closer. “Evening, Jenny.”
“Hawk.” She sighed, and he knew her distress involved him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I saw Archy at the club today. It was a personal meeting.”
He tried to subdue the blast of anger. “Personal?”
She nodded. “I vouched for your character. I told him what a good person you are.”
“You did?” Stunned, he could only stare.
“Yes. He found out that we know each other, and he warned me to be careful around you. But he did it in a concerned way, more out of respect for me than a grudge against you.” She paused, visibly uncomfortable. “It was so awkward. I feel as if I’m caught in the middle somehow.”
Hawk felt exactly the same way. He didn’t like Jenny being put in a position where she felt she had to defend him, especially to that son of a bitch Archy. But more importantly, her support pleased him. For the first time in his life, someone had stood up for him. Someone gave a damn.
“Thank you,” he said.
She nodded, but she didn’t smile. “There’s more, Hawk.”
He braced himself for another blow. His life, it seemed, was full of them. Hard knocks. Fists to the gut.
“There’s a rumor going around that we’re lovers. Mrs. Pritchett probably started it, but apparently it’s circulating all over town.”
He hadn’t braced himself well enough. This unexpected blow hit him straight in the groin. It was, he decided, a blend of discomfort and arousal, something he’d never experienced before.
He didn’t want the folks of Mission Creek gossiping about him and Jenny. He didn’t want his life to taint hers. But on the other hand, imagining himself as her lover had an appeal he couldn’t deny.
“They’ve got us sleeping together already? Jeez, I’ve never even been in your house.”
“I’ve been in yours.”
True, but she hadn’t been anywhere near his bed. Or near his body. He met her gaze, wishing she found a little humor in this. Something, anything to ease the tension. And the tightness beneath his zipper.
“I’m sorry, Jenny.”
“It isn’t your fault.”
Maybe not, but his arousal made him feel guilty as hell. “I think we should have a talk. I should probably tell you about my past. You know, since you’re stuck with the stigma of being my supposed lover.”
She twisted a strand of her hair. Stray locks spilled from the topknot pinned haphazardly on her head, giving her a tousled, just-out-of-bed quality.
“Are you going to tell me about those two girls?”
He nodded.
“Did you actually kiss both of them?”
“Yes.”
Her cheeks colored, and he figured her face would be flaming like a flamingo by the time he got to the sex part.
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