His Innocent Temptress. Kasey Michaels
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was the time he’d kissed Melody Pritchert when they’d both had teeth braces, and they’d gotten their hardware stuck together.
Kissing Hannah Clark would probably start with him putting his arm out to hold her and having her react like a startled mare, rearing up, and end with his arm in a cast.
“You look very nice tonight,” he said almost automatically as Hannah hesitated on the bottom step, looking at him as if she had no idea what came next and hoped to hell he had a clue or they were both in big trouble.
“Thank you,” she said formally, then pressed her lips together as if she didn’t trust herself to say anything more without giving away nuclear secrets or some such thing.
“You’re welcome,” he said, taking her hand so that she’d come with him out of this dark, confining hallway. Otherwise, he believed they might end up standing there all night. “I made reservations for six-thirty, so we’d better get a move on, all right?”
After a false start that called a halt until Hannah bent down to replace her left shoe, they actually made it out the door and into Alex’s vehicle without further mishap. He sighed as he closed the passenger door, hoping Hannah would put on her seat belt without incident, and wondered if he should be offering up the rest of the evening for some poor souls somewhere.
NERVOUS WAS SUCH A LAME WORD for the feeling that had invaded Hannah when she’d heard Alex’s knock. There should be a bigger word, one that sounded the way it felt—a real bam of a word. A ka-pow-ee sort of word that gave true meaning to the slam-in-the-gut sort of terror Hannah had felt, was still reeling from as she sat across the table from the man of her dreams and wondered, not for the first time, what had possessed her to order linguine with clam sauce.
With garlic.
But the garlic wasn’t the worst of it, especially since she certainly wasn’t counting on a good-night kiss.
It was the linguine that had proved a challenge too great for her and her trembling hands. Linguine twirling, to Hannah’s mind, could qualify as an Olympic sport, with degree-of-difficulty scores for picking the right amount to put on the fork, for twirling, for getting the slippery noodles into your mouth without dribbling the ends onto your chin.
She’d seen the grin twitching at the corners of Alex’s mouth when she’d finally figuratively thrown in the towel and cut the linguine into pieces. But anything was better than having to rescue another forkful of the stuff from her lap.
“So,” Alex said as the waiter cleared the plates, “what made you decide to come back to Bridle after veterinary school? I would have thought you’d get as far from here as possible.” As he said the words, he winced, adding, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You’re talking about my father,” Hannah said, believing she knew what he meant. “Dad’s getting on, and I thought he needed me. He married late in life, you understand, and I was born when he was nearly forty. Besides, I want to work with horses, and this is horse country with a vengeance. Your stables alone keep us pretty busy.”
“True enough,” Alex said, picking two slices of chocolate cake from the serving cart the waiter had pushed up to the table and handing one to Hannah. “Coffee?”
She nodded and the waiter poured cups for each of them.
“You know, Hannah, I stood in front of your apartment tonight and realized that you might have had it pretty tough, growing up there without a mother.”
“And with my father,” Hannah said, feeling disloyal, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Something about the look in Alex’s eye had kept her talking all through dinner, and telling the truth more often than not. In fact, the only flat-out lie she’d told was to say that college had been a lot of “fun.” College had been work, which she had liked, but it certainly hadn’t been fun.
“He’s very…direct.”
“Blunt,” Hannah translated.
“Maybe a little stern.”
“Rigid,” Hannah amended.
Alex grinned. “Opinionated?”
“If that’s your opinion,” she shot back, then almost gasped when Alex laughed. What was she doing? She was teasing with him, bantering back and forth. And it was fun. “Want to go for the gold?” she heard herself ask. “And number one of the top ten reasons Hugo Clark is not exactly a barrel of laughs is…?”
Alex’s grin faded as he sat forward, propped his chin on his hands and looked at her. Through her.
She waited, trembling, wishing she’d kept her big mouth shut.
“He doesn’t appreciate what he has?” Alex asked at last, his voice low, intimate.
Hannah bowed her head, concentrated on pleating her napkin in her lap, then mentally slapped herself for fidgeting and folded her hands on the edge of the table. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Wrong. Somebody should have noticed sooner,” Alex told her sincerely, then rocked her to her core by adding, “I should have noticed sooner. Life with Hugo hasn’t been a picnic, has it, Hannah-banana?”
He reached across the table, took her hands in his. “I’m glad you came home, Hannah. And I’m glad we’re here tonight, as adults, rather than as the sometimes rotten kids some of us used to be. Not you, but me. Let me make it up to you.”
“Make it up to me?” Hannah’s mouth was so dry she was surprised she could even form words. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I, exactly,” Alex said, releasing her hands and handing her a fork so that she could eat the cake in front of her. “And I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of do-gooder, or a penitent making up for past sins. Still, I do remember the way you were pretty much on the outside of things growing up, even if you were younger than I, and Cade and Mac as well. I remember you coming to The Desert Rose with your dad just about once a week, and I remember the way we used to tease you.”
Hannah poked the fork into the cake, breaking off a piece but not daring to lift it to her mouth just yet. “It wasn’t so bad. Except maybe the day Mac tossed me into the watering trough. It was hot, and he said I looked like I needed some cooling off. He was just having fun, and I couldn’t have been more than ten or twelve at the time. I think I thought it was fun, too, until everybody else started to point and laugh.”
Alex winced. “Where was your dad?”
“Standing there, laughing,” Hannah told him, remembering how her father had laughed with the boys, as if it had all been a very funny joke, until she’d stood up in the trough and everyone could see that her white T-shirt had become pretty close to transparent after her dunking. Then he’d grabbed her by the elbow, dragged her to the truck and lectured her all the way home about how real ladies don’t show everyone “their wares” like common sluts.
Hannah frowned now and decided maybe she’d been closer to thirteen the day of the dunking. She wasn’t sure, but she did know she woke up the next morning to see a training bra lying on the bottom of the bed. She’d looked at it, then cried for hours, wishing her mother would please come home and tell her what to do with it.
Some time after that, she’d wished her mother home again to explain what was happening to her body, why she was bleeding and feeling so sore and sick. She couldn’t ask her father, she already knew that. So she had searched his bookshelves until she found one that explained what “going into heat” meant. Until tenth-grade biology class, she’d actually feared that each time she “went into heat” the boys in her class would know and try to go after her like stallions.
What a fear-ridden childhood she’d had. Alone, lonely and filled with fear. And all the time made very well aware that she was as worthless and shiftless and potentially wanton as her mother.
“Hannah? Hannah, what are you thinking? You have such a strange look on your face.”
“Hmm?”