Lone Wolf. Sheri WhiteFeather
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for a crime. “I didn’t feel it was my place. I don’t know anything about your relationship with your father, Hawk.”
“I don’t have a relationship with him. He’s never acknowledged me as his son. Surely Mrs. Pritchett told you that much.”
“Yes, but if you want to tell me your side of the story, I’m more than willing to listen.”
“What’s the point?” He pulled on the beer again. “It won’t change your mind about Archy.”
At a standstill, they stared at each other.
Jenny took a ragged breath and made the first move. “You’re the first person I’ve met in a long time that I thought I could be friends with. I’m not very social, and…” She paused to study his hardened features, stopping herself before she told him too much, before she admitted that she wasn’t allowed to have friends in the past, that her acquaintances consisted of Roy’s peer group.
“I don’t see how we can be friends,” Hawk said. “Not with the way you feel about Archy.”
She stood, the wobbly feeling coming back to her knees. “I know. But I can’t make myself dislike him.” The opportunity Archy had given her to come to Texas had changed her life. It had allowed her the chance to escape, to start over somewhere new.
Because Hawk remained silent, she walked to the door. “I should go home now. I’m tired and hungry.” And hurting. She hadn’t realized how important Hawk had become until this moment.
Their blossoming friendship had given her a glimmer of hope, a belief that they shared something unique. That she could spend more carefree evenings eating pizza and chatting with a man who wasn’t asking more from her than she was capable of giving.
But now he wanted her to choose sides, to pick him over his father.
It was an unfair demand and one she refused to be forced to make.
Jenny raised her chin and left Hawk’s house, determined to prove her point.
But as soon as she reached her front door, the familiar threat of tears stung the back of her eyes, reminding her of how lonely and isolated she really was.
Hawk hadn’t seen Jenny for nearly a week. And now he stood by the bed of his truck on a quiet Sunday morning, wondering what to do with the flat of flowers he’d purchased for her.
He’d gotten them to replace the geraniums Muddy had torn from the ground, but he didn’t know whether to leave them on Jenny’s porch or just go ahead and plant the damn things.
Hawk glanced at the dog. Muddy was loose on the lawn, playing in the grass, staying out of trouble for once.
He lifted the cardboard flat, deciding he’d leave them on Jenny’s porch. Why deprive her of the joy of arranging them? She liked planting flowers, and he would probably bungle the job, anyway. He didn’t mind mowing the lawn or pulling weeds, but decorative gardening eluded him.
Hawk carried the load with ease—until he reached Jenny’s steps, where he nearly stumbled.
She sat on the porch, occupying the swing, pretty as a spring picture. A simple white cotton dress draped her ankles, and her hair was loose and just a little bit messy.
He set the flowers near the rail.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.
“I told you I would replace them.”
Their eyes met, and for instant, he imagined touching her hair. A wild strand blew across her face, as rebellious as the South Texas wind.
He could smell the enticing aroma of citrus groves stirring in the air. Or was the fresh scent coming from Jenny?
Hawk wanted to tell her that he missed her, but he couldn’t bring himself to say something like that. They barely knew each other. He had no business missing her.
He frowned and she glanced away. She looked so damn vulnerable, so lost.
Like a dove with damaged wings.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Her gaze shot back to his. “For what?”
“For being an ass.” Why did women always make men explain themselves? Why wasn’t “I’m sorry” ever taken at face value? “For getting ticked off about your business association with Archy.”
“You’re not angry because he recommended me for a job. You’re angry because I like him.”
Hawk frowned again. He couldn’t stand the thought of Archy influencing her life. It just gave him one more reason to hate the man.
Frustrated, he fantasized about kicking the porch rail and splintering the wood, but he held his temper. He wouldn’t let Archy rule his emotions.
“We should spend more time together, Jenny.”
Her eyes grew wide. “We should?”
“Yeah. If you’re still willing, I want to be friends.”
“I’m still willing.”
“Good.” When he sat beside her, the swing creaked. She smiled shyly at him, and he inhaled her fragrance.
“It is you,” he said.
“What’s me?”
“The lemons I smell.”
“It’s another one of those body mists,” she responded, rocking the swing a little, her voice as shy as her smile. “I bought the variety pack.”
Suddenly Hawk got a craving for lemon meringue pie. Well, hell, he thought, maybe he wanted more than friendship. Maybe he wanted to explore the man-woman thing happening between them and see how good it felt to kiss her.
Silent, they both watched Muddy toss a new toy around Jenny’s yard. At some point the dog had followed Hawk onto her property.
“He plays fetch,” Hawk said. “But he’s not consistent. Sometimes he’d rather eat the ball.”
She laughed, but the silence that followed became awkward. That man-woman thing was creeping in, and he sensed it made Jenny uncomfortable.
She was attracted to him, but she didn’t want to be, at least not in a physical sense, he thought. But why?
“So you’re originally from Utah?” he asked, realizing he knew little about her.
“Yes. Salt Lake City.”
“Do you still have family there?” he asked.
“No.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty. How old are you?”
“Thirty-three,” he responded, realizing getting Jenny to talk about herself wasn’t easy.
Well, one of them had to open up, he thought. “Do you still want to hear my side of the story?” he asked.
She turned to face him. “You mean about Archy and you and your mother?”
He nodded.
“Yes, I’d like that very much. I saw your mother’s picture. She was very beautiful.”
So are you, he wanted to say, still itching to touch her hair, to brush her bangs out of her eyes.
To kiss her.
When she blinked those stunning blue eyes, he cleared his throat.
“My mom worked at the Lone Star Country Club. That’s how she met Archy. She was a riding instructor. Of course, Archy didn’t need to learn to ride, but he was around the stables quite a bit.” Hawk paused, then explained further. “The Wainwrights and the Carsons used to own the horses at the club. And I suppose they still do. Have you met the Carsons?”
“Most