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“That’s pretty cynical.”
“But accurate.”
He wanted to argue, but he didn’t have a leg to stand on. Mellie had pegged him pretty well. “So that’s a no?” Never in a million years would he admit that her harsh assessment of his motives stung. Most women in this situation would be all over him.
But he was rapidly learning that Mellie Winslow was not most women.
She shrugged. “Let’s take it a day at a time. This flu isn’t going to go away overnight. Maybe you’ll have the opportunity to rethink your invitation.”
“Don’t go,” he said gruffly. He wanted her here...under his roof. In a way he hadn’t wanted anything in a very long time. “It’s not like I can seduce you. I can barely hold my head up.”
* * *
Mellie shivered, though the kitchen was warm. He was doing it again. Winnowing away her good intentions. Trying to pretend that he wasn’t the Big Bad Wolf and Mellie a wretchedly willing Red Riding Hood.
“I can’t stay the night.” That was a lie. She could. But she wouldn’t.
“A movie, then. I’m sick of lying in bed.”
“Such a touching offer. I’m better than boredom.”
“You have a smart mouth.”
She took pity on him. Beneath his masculine swagger, he was the color of milk. “I’ll stay for a while.”
“Good.”
When he got to his feet, she moved closer and slipped an arm around his waist, inhaling the smell of warm male. “I don’t want to scrape you off the floor again.”
He chuckled, the low sound making her catch her breath. “Is that how I got the knot on my skull?”
“Let’s just say that you were not the best patient last night.”
He kissed the top of her head casually, as if they were an old married couple wandering down the hall to watch a favorite TV program. “You’re more than I deserve.”
“Damn straight.” Making Case Baxter laugh was fast becoming her life’s work. But it was either that or give in to the urge to join the handsome, bad-to-the-bone cowboy in his bed.
They had their next argument in the den. Case collapsed on the expensive leather sofa and crooked an arrogant finger. “Come sit with me, Mellie.”
“I’ll be fine right here.” She snagged a spot on the matching love seat, a safe distance away from the heavy-eyed male. “Have you taken your medicine?”
He scowled at her. “Is that all you can talk about? You’re a broken record.”
“I’ll get it,” she said wryly. Clearly, he was feeling like roadkill and didn’t want to admit it.
When she returned after gathering what she needed from his bedroom and the bathroom, Case was holding the remote, his expression moody as he channel surfed. She put a hand on his forehead, not surprised to find it ferociously hot.
“Take these.” She shook a couple of caplets into her palm and held out a glass of water.
“I feel fine.”
His big body radiated tension. They had entered dangerous territory. Case was physically frustrated, not only from sexual arousal but because his brain was writing a check his body couldn’t cash. As far as she could tell, he was holding himself upright by sheer stubbornness.
She nudged his knee, keeping her tone light and gentle. “Be reasonable, and I’ll sit with you. You can put your head in my lap.”
It was the perfect opening for some of his sharp-edged sexual innuendo. The fact that he said nothing worried her. He must feel worse than she realized.
When he finished the glass of water—and in the process downed his meds—he stretched full-length on the sofa. Mellie sat down as promised, stroking the hair from his forehead. “Do you really want to watch a movie?” she asked.
He shook his head without opening his eyes. “No. I feel like hell.”
“Okay, then...”
After a few seconds, Case’s breathing deepened, and she knew he had fallen asleep. The old house creaked and popped as it settled for the night. On the mantel, a beautiful clock ticked away the minutes.
The moment was surreal. How had she and Case transcended so many social barriers so quickly? She was the hired help. He was the rich cowboy. He had one failed marriage behind him. She’d always been too afraid of loss to give marriage a try.
Yet here they were. As intimate together as if they had already become lovers.
With nothing else to command her attention, she traced the shell of his ear with her fingertip, trying to imagine what he would be like in bed. Healthy. Vigorous. Demanding.
She pressed her legs together, her insides shaking with what could only be described as lust. Delicious, quivery, melting need. Heaven help her when Case was back to his old self.
Right now he was like some brilliant sun dimmed by a dust storm. The essence of the arrogant cowboy was still there but muted. The reduced kilowatts made it possible for her to keep up her guard. Maybe it was his vulnerability that stripped away her defenses and misgivings. Perhaps Case Baxter had seduced her without even trying.
The evening waned along with her need to hold him at bay. Would she end up sharing his bed? Why shouldn’t she? Becoming Case’s lover might well turn out to be the highlight of her adult life.
She knew most of the available men in Royal. Not one of them had sparked more than a fleeting interest in her over the years. So maybe she was destined to be happily single, a focused businesswoman, a dutiful daughter and a generous friend.
Living alone was not a dreadful thought. She understood Case in that respect. There was something to be said for peace and quiet and the chance to spend time with your thoughts. Case valued his privacy. Mellie valued her independence. It was a match made in heaven.
Temporary. Wildly enjoyable. Mutually satisfying.
Regretfully, the two of them were not going to get intimate tonight.
At nine o’clock she eased out from under her not-unwelcome burden and stood to stretch the kinks out of her muscles. Case never made a sound. He was deeply asleep.
His chin was shadowed with the beginnings of a dark beard. Even though she had seen him numerous times with his customary scruffy facial hair, now he looked far less civilized.
She felt guilty for leaving him like this. Still, he was a grown man and she was under no obligation, ethically or otherwise, to stay. Parker Reese would check on him eventually.
After tidying the kitchen and gathering her things, she slipped out the front door and locked it behind her. Unfortunately, when she arrived at home, she found her father sitting on the doorstep again.
Nine (#u047f3563-69a3-5384-8cea-74b4d0356db5)
She greeted him with a grimace. “It’s late, Dad. What do you want?”
He didn’t even offer to help her carry anything into the house. Which, unfortunately, was typical. Harold Winslow spent most of his time worrying about Harold Winslow.
“I need to borrow fifty bucks, baby girl. Just until Monday. I’m good for it.”
She’d long since given up keeping track of her father’s IOUs. His requests were always modest amounts. Fifty here, a hundred there. Even when she gently reminded him he owed her money, he was all smiles and apologies. But the repayment never took place.
It was her own fault. All she had to do was cut him off, and he would get the message...eventually. But regardless of his failings, Harold was her father. He’d helped raise her, and he’d been the one she’d clung to when her mother died. He was her own flesh and blood.
“Why do you need the money, Daddy?” She dumped everything on the kitchen counter and confronted him.
Harold gaped, his expression both astonished and cagey. She’d never before pressed him about where the cash went. She hadn’t wanted to know.
His bloodshot eyes stared back at her. “I had a lot of bills this month,” he muttered.
“Is that why you don’t have enough left for drinking tonight and tomorrow?”
“I don’t appreciate your tone,” he snapped.
She had definitely ruffled his feathers. But at the moment, she was so tired and dispirited she didn’t care. “I’m not an ATM. I have expenses of my own and a business to support.”
“Where have you been tonight?”
The change of topic caught her off guard. After a split second’s hesitation, she saw no reason to dissemble. “I took dinner to Case Baxter. He has the flu.”
“Well, ain’t that sweet.”
Her father’s colloquial sarcasm nicked her patience. “I’m tired, Daddy. And it’s late. Why don’t you go home and have a rum and Coke...without the rum.”
Harold’s face turned red. “What’s gotten into you, girl? If you think hangin’ out with that fancy-ass richer-than-God cowboy makes you something special, you’re wrong. Big-shot ranchers don’t marry women who clean their toilets.”
His deliberate crudeness broke her heart a little bit. Was this what they had come to? She refused him one time and he attacked?
Her chest aching with emotion, she reached for her purse, opened it and took out a handful of bills. When she held out her hand, Harold grabbed the money as if he was afraid she might change her mind.
Suddenly, her father was all smiles. “You’re good to your old dad. I won’t forget it.” He folded the money clumsily and stuffed it in his shirt pocket.
She dug her teeth into her bottom lip, trying not to cry. “I’m done, Daddy. This is the last time. I want you to get help.”
“I told you...I’m fine. Don’t know why you’re kicking up such a fuss about a little bit of cash.”
“I’ve been looking at the rental income. You could be living like a king.” She helped out with the Winslow Properties business, and though she wasn’t in that office very often, she knew enough to realize the incoming cash was substantial. And she also knew that Harold wasn’t pouring any of that money back into upkeep and development.
“You worried about your inheritance? Is that it?”
The insult barely registered. She had figured out a long time ago that her father would be lucky not to end up a pauper. “I’m worried about you,” she said quietly. “And though you may not believe me, I’m done. No more handouts.”
He backed toward the door, his posture hunted. “I may sell the Courtyard,” he said defiantly. “I’ve had inquiries from a company called Samson Oil.”
The Courtyard was an old renovated ranch several miles west of town. It included a large barn and a collection of buildings that housed a growing and thriving arts community, consisting of both studios and retail shops. The land on which the Courtyard sat increased in value day by day.
“You know selling would be a big mistake.” He was threatening her. Manipulating her. Classic addict behavior.
Harold shrugged. “That’s your opinion. I gotta go. See you later.”
Before she could react, he disappeared. Moments later she heard the front door slam.
She sank into a kitchen chair and buried her face in her hands. If she had stayed at Case’s house, she could have avoided her father tonight.
Scarcely five minutes had passed when her doorbell rang again. Damn it. If Harold had come back, she was going to have a little hissy fit. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and stood up, grabbing a paper napkin to use as a makeshift tissue.
Rarely did she let her father get to her. But as she blew her nose, she conceded inwardly that his barbs had hit the mark. He was often a mean drunk, and tonight was no exception.
It was a distinct relief to find Amanda Battle on the other side of the door. “Come in,” Mellie said.
“I won’t stay long. I know it’s late.” Amanda slipped past her, shivering dramatically. “What happened to the warm days?” The sheriff’s wife was tall and slim and full of energy.
“We’re headed toward the holidays. It was bound to happen. What’s up, Amanda? I doubt you came to see me for a discussion about the weather.”
Amanda chuckled. “The guys are playing poker at our house. I had to get out of there for a few minutes. Besides, I need a firsthand report. Nathan called Case a little while ago to see how he’s doing, but you know how men are. Case said he was fine.”
“You don’t believe him?”
“Parker told us Case was in bad shape. He said if you hadn’t shown up at the ranch to clean yesterday and found Case, he might have ended up in the hospital.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. I’m glad I happened to be there. I did take dinner to him this evening. He was grumpy but overall seemed somewhat better.” Better enough to flirt, anyway. Not that she was about to tell Amanda that.
“You’re definitely a Good Samaritan. But don’t worry. Several of his friends and their wives and girlfriends have put together a meal schedule. We won’t let him starve. You’re off the hook with a clear conscience. And Parker is going to keep tabs on Case’s flu symptoms.”
“That’s great.”
Mellie knew Amanda didn’t mean to sound dismissive...or as if she were kicking Mellie to the curb. Even so, the unintentional message was clear. Mellie was not part of that tight-knit circle of friends. It was ridiculous to let her feelings be bruised. Maybe because she had recently gone several rounds with her father, she was feeling fragile.
Amanda glanced at her watch and sighed. “I’d better get back. I promised Nathan I’d throw together some nachos.”
Mellie raised an eyebrow. “At this hour?”
“When this crew convenes, they like to pretend they’re all eighteen again.”
“You wouldn’t have it any other way. I hear it in your voice.”
Amanda shrugged, her expression sheepish. “Yeah. You know me—I love to cook for people. And these guys work so hard it’s fun to see them unwind.”
“Nathan is lucky to have you.”
Amanda’s grin was smug. “Yes, he is.”
Mellie walked her friend outside, feeling unmistakably envious of Amanda’s good fortune. What would it be like to be loved in such a way that you knew the other person would never let you down or disappoint you, at least not in any significant way?
Ila Winslow had been that person for Mellie. But once she was gone, Mellie had been forced to face a few cold, hard truths. Love, true love, whether familial or romantic, was rare and wonderful.
* * *
