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He had another think coming.
Because he expected her to surrender, she still had surprise on her side.
Quickly, she expelled all the air in her lungs. Mentally made herself heavy and reed thin. Raised her hands over her head and sank like a slippery eel through his light grasp. As she slid away, her fingertips grazed his rock hard chest, his lean hips, his thighs. She almost regretted pulling away.
Almost.
But the thought of him, just seconds ago, assuming he’d won the prize made her feisty. After Paul, her ex-husband, she’d be no man’s trophy ever again. Not even in a kids’ game.
With all her might, she kicked, reached out and touched the safety of the pool wall. Her lungs empty and burning, she kicked once more with enough effort to propel her over the side onto the decking. She lay gasping and grinning, her fist raised.
“Power to the minnows!” she declared gleefully before her words dissolved in a fit of coughing.
My, my. Hank watched her from the middle of the pool. For a little bitty thing she had some fight in her. He liked a woman with some gumption.
The kids hooted.
“Another game,” Chris Russell demanded. “This time Miss Neesa should be shark. She’s awesome.” How fickle fame and favor.
Rising, Neesa reached for her towel. “Not right now.” Her smile dazzled. “This minnow needs a break.”
“Later?”
“Maybe.”
“Hank?” The kids pressed around him.
He’d played enough for the moment. “How do you think this defeated shark feels?” He pulled a face as the children groaned in unison. “Y’all play amongst yourselves. I’ll take you on in a little bit. Right now I need something cool to drink.”
Right now he wanted to find out more about Neesa Little. A woman with a laptop who’d come to the pool prepared to work, but who’d played—and played hard—instead. A woman with the face of an angel who must seem like a guardian angel to children without homes. A woman who, right from the moment he’d spotted her at the bus stop, seemed to exert some mysterious pull over him.
He hauled himself out of the water and onto the pool edge, mentally noting that he had no intention of starting anything—anything at all—with Neesa Little, the suburban beauty. He was just curious. Heck, he’d probably never see the woman again after he retreated to his ranch on Monday. Their worlds were that different.
But right now he was curious.
As he reached for his towel, she smiled up at him from her seat on the lounge chair, and his curiosity felt uncomfortably like attraction.
“So, sharkmeister,” she said, her blue eyes dancing, “what are you in the work world? Teacher? Cruise director? Game show host? If so, you’re good at what you do.”
He rubbed the towel vigorously over his chest and arms. “Rancher.”
In a small birdlike gesture, she tilted her face. “In Georgia?” Despite the question, she didn’t seem surprised.
“I raise draft horses and train them to be loggers.” Without the children about them, he’d gone unaccountably reticent. He didn’t want to talk about himself. He wanted to listen to her talk.
“Is your ranch near?”
“Not too far.” He didn’t want to give out too much information. Not even to an angel with blue eyes. His ranch was his business and his life, not a showpiece. And he was damned protective of his refuge. His solitary life. Damned choosy about the people he allowed beyond the front gate. Even in conversation.
A curious expression passed over her face. She altered the topic slightly. “What brings a rancher to Holly Mount subdivision?”
He sat, uncomfortable now, and scowled out over the pool and the kids frolicking noisily. “Evan Russell’s my cousin. I’m watching over his kids so that he and Cilla can...get away for the weekend.” He wouldn’t discuss Evan and Cilla’s marital problems. Blood loyalty.
“Well, you’re terrific with kids.”
Yeah, he was. He flat-out loved kids. Wished he could raise a whole bunch of his own out at the ranch. His scowl deepened. The problem was that kids were a package deal that came with marriage and happily ever after; in his experience, he hadn’t seen too much relationship happily ever after. His Pa had died of a broken heart. His own fiancée had left him, almost at the altar. And now Evan and Cilla’s relationship was in serious trouble. Hell, he knew the divorce statistics.
Pain. That’s what the flame of passion ended in.
Heck. He might harbor the nesting urge—deep down inside—but he remained realistic. Cautious. He planned to enjoy his cousins and nieces and nephews, for, as much as he loved children, he might have to forgo the pleasures of fatherhood to avoid the pain of commitment. Despite his longing for married family life, he knew the odds of finding the right woman.
A sour outlook if ever there was one. But practical. His scowl was now so tight he could see the shadows of his own eyebrows.
“I’m sorry if I touched on a sore spot.” Neesa’s soft voice startled him.
He glanced to his right and discovered her watching him. Great. He needed a pair of cloud-soft eyes prodding him like a horse needed wings. He’d known this weekend was going to be tough; no day at the ranch; taking care of the kids; the normal parenting routine. But the kids had been great. However, the suburban distraction—namely dainty Neesa Little—was doing him in. He wished it were Monday.
Neesa couldn’t get over the change in Hank.
Minutes ago he’d been grinning. Relaxed and playful. Flirtatious even. Now he looked liked a thunderstorm rising. What had happened? Had her few questions precipitated this change? The fact that she had a motive for her curiosity made her feel just the tiniest bit guilty.
“It’s nothing,” he replied, his words a barely controlled growl.
“Perhaps I’d better go.”
“No!” The force of that one word hung in the air. “I mean...” He reached in the cooler for two cans of soft drink and seemed to be reaching for an explanation—or composure—as well. “It was just some serious business that came to mind. Don’t let it spoil your time in the sun.”
He obviously had let it spoil his.
He handed her a soft drink. He didn’t smile, but his expression wasn’t quite as fearsome as before. “At least let the shark buy the conquering minnow a drink.”
He was certainly a complex one, this Mr. Hank Whittaker. Rancher.
Accepting the soft drink, she searched for a new topic of conversation. He wasn’t the easiest man to be with, but, with the deadline pressure for Kids & Animals, she needed him. Needed to keep him talking. Just now the subject of kids had, strangely enough, brought on his beetled-brow silence. She racked her brain for some new avenue of conversation. Something that would make her sound casually curious. Not prying.
“I think every girl loves horses at one point or another in her childhood,” she began. “I was no different. What’s it like to work with them? Especially the big ones. Draft horses that you train to be loggers, didn’t you say?”
He seemed to relax. Clearly animals were a safe topic. “Percherons,” he said with pride. “And red Suffolks. Real beauties.”
“And the logging training...is that for competition?”
“No, ma’am. It’s a living. Logging as it was done in the mountains a century ago. It’s a highly selective method that minimizes damage to old-growth forests.”
What a picture that brought to mind. Rugged Hank Whittaker behind a team of powerful draft horses. In control. Logging the north Georgia mountains. The great outdoors and one great-looking guy, to boot. “Now that would be something to see,” she said almost to herself.
“I don’t give tours,” he replied gruffly.
What a conversation stopper. It looked as if Kids & Animals was slipping into the netherworld of terrific yet unrealized ideas.
Saving Neesa the task of thinking up another change of subject, Chris and Casey came scampering up.
Rummaging in the cooler, Chris flashed her a grin. “You’re good at sharks and minnows.”
“Thanks.”
Casey wrapped herself in a towel as big as herself. “You can play with us anyday.”
“Yeah,” Chris agreed. “Like tomorrow.”
Hank scowled.
“I don’t think I’ll be coming to the pool tomorrow.” Neesa could read Hank’s admonitory frown loud and clear. For whatever reason, it was becoming obvious that he wouldn’t be overjoyed to repeat their meeting. Surely she could dream up a more biddable sponsor by Monday.
“Not at the pool.” Casey sidled up to Hank. “We’re having a picnic at Hank’s ranch tomorrow. Miss Neesa can come too, can’t she, Hank?”
Hank looked as stunned as Neesa felt.
“Oh, I...I...” Neesa stammered, conflicting feelings pulling at her.
“Pretty please?” Casey wrapped her arms around Hank’s neck.
“Please?” echoed Chris.
Knitting his brows, Hank cleared his throat. “It’s up to Miss Neesa.” His words sounded gruff as he shot her a pointed look, clearly warning her off.
“Sure,” she replied without further thought.
Oh, heck. He wasn’t the only one who couldn’t resist kids.
Chapter Three
She was in trouble.
Neesa maneuvered her car under the Whispering Pines sign. The bright May sunshine danced shadows over the empty passenger seat. Hank had neither asked for a ride nor offered to give her a ride with Chris and Casey. Heck. Yesterday he’d barely been able to growl out directions to his ranch. She was definitely persona non grata at this picnic. A troublesome addition. As welcome as ants and rain. Here only because of the two little Russells’ enthusiasm and persistent pleas. She should know better than to go where she wasn’t wanted.
But, having seen Hank Whittaker interact with children, she couldn’t resist the opportunity to see his ranch. She had a feeling that if she minded her p’s and q’s today, she might provide her agency’s kids with a golden opportunity. If she found an opportunity to broach the subject, the Hank who liked children would come through for Kids & Animals. He had to.
Even if he did come through, she was still in trouble.
Emotional trouble.
This had not proved to be her normal weekend. Not at all. Her normal weekend consisted of trips to the library to research the latest child advocacy programs, or popcorn and milk in front of the stereo as she tapped out Web sites on her laptop. Occasionally Claire and Robert would come by and drag her out to a movie. But never in the past year had she spent two days playing.
And playing with children.
A tiny, well-disciplined pain tugged at her heart. She could handle working with the kids at the agency. They needed her. There simply was no question that she’d help them. But weekends in the suburbs were tough. Happy children. Happy families. Always reminding her of her inability to bear children. Always reminding her of Paul’s disgust at that fact. His leaving because of it.
Her need to protect her emotional vulnerability where children were involved was the reason the big For Sale sign stood in her front yard. A condo in an urban adult complex would be a much safer residence, considering her particular circumstances.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts and concentrated on the winding dirt road before her, the property spreading out on either side.
Such a piece of property.
Rolling pastureland, rimmed with tall pines. The biggest horses she’d ever seen, grazing contentedly just beyond the fence. Blue sky. Puffy clouds. Butterflies fluttering just above the grass. And the sweet smell of the earth. Hank Whittaker certainly had himself a little slice of heaven.
It wasn’t long before Neesa could see a sprawling house in the distance, a grove of pecan trees arched protectively about it, a barn not far from the house. This was a very private little slice of heaven. Her heart did a flip-flop at the audacity of her intrusion.
Finally pulling her car up close to the front veranda, she debated turning around and heading right back to Holly Mount, where she would plug in her laptop and salvage a normal weekend—Sunday alone and dedicated to work. But then Hank stepped onto the veranda from the interior of the house.
And Neesa found herself unable to move in her seat.
The tall, whipcord-lean man framed in the dark doorway, belonged to another time and place. A time of rugged individualists. A place that bred true grit and free spirits. Even in the veranda’s shadows his eyes flashed strength and determination.
Surely a determination to hasten her departure, Neesa thought as, with her own brand of true grit, she opened the car door and set foot on Whittaker land. He might not have extended the invitation, but she’d been given one, nonetheless, and she would make the most of it.
“Any trouble getting that roller skate over the bumps in the lane?” Sauntering down the front steps, he cocked his head at her sports car.
Her pulse performed a tiny riff at the sound of his gravelly voice. Why did she always seem in danger of losing her professional perspective when Hank came around?
Trying to pull her small frame taller, she engineered what she hoped was an enthusiastic and guileless expression on her face, then looked him right in the eyes. “Not at all. I’m an excellent driver. And I love a good adventure.”
His dark eyes seemed to go a shade darker. “I just bet.”
Well, now. The day was not off to a good start.
Stay on task. Stay on task Stay on task, she repeated in a mental mantra.
“Where are Chris and Casey?” she asked, discovering to her chagrin that her voice echoed the catch in her heartbeat.
“Helping Reba pack the picnic basket.”
“Reba?” His wife. Surely his wife.
“My housekeeper.”
“Oh.” She hoped her smile hadn’t suddenly broadened into a revealing smirk. “What’s for lunch?” she added lamely.
One corner of his mouth twitched. “Bubble gum and tortilla chips if Casey and Chris have anything to say about it”
She breathed a little sigh of relief at the lightening of his words. “Do you have time to give me a tour?” She might as well be bold. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And if she could get him alone, he might be less distracted. She might be able to ask him about Kids & Animals sooner than if the Russell children demanded their attention. At least, that sounded like good motivation.
Who was she trying to fool?
He stiffened. And scowled. Obviously the idea of spending time alone with her didn’t strike him as dandy.
“Of course he’ll give you a tour.” The sandpaper voice came from behind her.
Neesa turned to see a wiry old man surveying the two of them with profound satisfaction.
