Totally Texan. Mary Lynn Baxter
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I also loved being outside, we bonded. I ended up majoring in forestry myself and spent all the time I could with Toby in East Texas, where he grew up.
“With the money I had inherited from my parents, after graduation I purchased several hundred acres in Lane County and built the log cabin where I now live. Soon after that, I formed my own company, and traveled around the world. And now, with the signing of this new contract for cutting timber, I’m as content as a pig can be.”
“That’s quite a story,” Kelly said.
“It’s my boring life in a nutshell.”
She laughed without humor. “There’s nothing boring about you.”
“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“There’s one thing you left out.”
“Oh?”
“Your personal life. Women.”
“Not much to tell there, either. What experience I’ve had with them taught me one important thing.”
“And what was that?”
“They like men who can offer them security—home, family, steady job, the whole package—a package that’s as foreign to me as some of the countries in which I’ve lived.”
“Do you really believe that?” He sounded like a throwback from the 1950s.
He paused and gave her a look. “Now you’re meddling.”
“Ah, so when push comes to shove, I’m not the only one with secrets, or is it baggage?”
“Touché!”
That word was followed by an awkward silence, then he rose. “Guess I’d better be going. It’s getting late.”
She didn’t argue, although she experienced a twinge of disappointment she couldn’t believe she was feeling about this impossible man.
“Thanks for the beer,” he said at the door, turning to face her.
“Thanks for the flowers.”
“Wilted and all, huh?”
He was so close now that his smell assaulted her like a blow to the stomach, especially when she noticed that his blue eyes were centered near her chest. She glanced down and saw that her robe had parted.
Before she could catch her next breath or move, the tip of his finger was trailing down her neck, her shoulder, not stopping until he had grazed the exposed side of her breast. Her mind screamed at her to push him away, but she couldn’t. She flinched, not from embarrassment but from the lust that stampeded through her, holding her rooted to the spot.
His eyes darkened as he leaned toward her. In that second she sensed he was going to kiss her, and she was powerless to stop him. He moaned, then crushed his lips against hers; she sagged into him, reveling in his mouth, which was both hungry and urgent, as though if he didn’t get it all now, he wouldn’t get another chance.
When they finally parted, their breathing came in rapid spurts. Her emotions, at that moment, were so raw, so terrifying, that all she could do was cling to the front of his shirt.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since I walked through the door of the coffee shop,” he rasped.
She wanted to respond, but couldn’t. She didn’t know what to say.
Grant spoke again, “Look, I’m leaving now, but we’ll talk later.” He peered down at her with anxious, searching eyes. She seemed on the edge, and he sensed that more than his kiss had propelled her there. “You’re okay, right?”
No, I’m not all right!
She swallowed, then nodded. After he had left, Kelly had no idea how long she stood in a daze before she made her way to bed, where she lay across it and sobbed her heart out.
How could she have let her guard down like that, betray her husband—the love of her life—by letting this stranger kiss her? What had come over her? She didn’t want to expose her heart ever again for fear of the pain and hurt she knew it could bring. She had promised herself that. And it was so important for her to keep that promise.
The sad part was she didn’t know how to right the wrong she had just committed.
Grant had just finished chopping and stacking more wood that he didn’t need. But who cared? If swinging an ax made him feel good and kept his frustrations at bay, then that was A-OK.
Unfortunately, his manual labor had not worked out as planned. He couldn’t get Kelly off his mind even though he hadn’t seen her in two days. He could still smell and feel her soft skin, as if his flesh had absorbed hers. Actually, he could damn near taste it.
That type of thinking could get a man in big trouble, because it had to do with dependency, need and becoming emotionally connected to a woman he barely knew. With Kelly Baker that was out of the question. She wasn’t going to be around for long, it seemed, and he could tell she had too damn many secrets.
Still, that one kiss had turned him inside out, made him feel higher than a kite. Who was he kidding? It had made him want more. He couldn’t get her breasts off his mind. Even though he’d only managed to peek at the side of one and barely touch it, he knew it would be as firm and delicious as a newly ripened peach.
Just thinking about tasting that white flesh made his mouth water.
Careful, man, he told himself. You’d best put the brakes on or you’ll scare her off for sure. If he ever expected to see her again he’d have to take it easy, use finesse. Even then, she wouldn’t be a pushover.
Yet he’d seen the desire in her eyes, felt the heat radiate from her body. She wanted him, too, only she might not want to admit it. Therein lay the problem. But he had no intention of giving up. If he weren’t mistaken, underneath that veneer of ice was a hot, explosive woman.
While she was here, why not test the waters and find out?
With that question weighing heavily on his mind, he cleaned up his mess, then made his way into the cabin, where he showered, dressed, then grabbed a beer. The bottle was halfway to his mouth when he heard a loud rap on the door. “It’s open,” Grant called out.
Seconds later, his foreman and friend, Pete Akers, entered, his weathered face all grins.
“Wanna beer?” Grant asked without preamble.
Pete’s grin spread as he quickened his pace. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Once the foreman had his beverage in hand, they made their way back into the great room and sat near the roaring fire.
“Damn, but it’s colder than Montana out there.”
“How would you know?” Grant asked, giving Pete a sideways glance. “You haven’t ever been out of East Texas, much less to Montana.”
“Makes no difference.” Pete’s tone was obstinate. “I know cold when I feel it.”
“Then get your bald head over here by the fire.”
Once Pete had done just that and sat down, they quietly sipped their beers, both content with their own thoughts.
“What’s with all that wood?” Pete finally asked. “Looks like you cut enough wood for an Alaskan winter. And here it is nearly March.”
“So you noticed?”
Pete quirked a thin brow and gave Grant a penetrating look. “How could I not?”
Grant shrugged. “Guess I just needed to work off some excess energy.”
This time both of Pete’s brows went up. “Surely you’re not stressed about anything, not when things are all going your way.”
“Can’t argue about that.” He wasn’t about to mention his fixation with the new