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Scrunching his forehead into a frown, he pulled away.
The sudden motion made her lurch again. “Sorry,” she murmured. “This darn gown…”
Without thinking, he bent and swooped her up, one arm under her knees, the other around her back.
Her arm involuntarily flew around his neck. Her face was inches from his, her eyes wide with alarm. “What are you doing?”
Good question. He was as shocked to find her in his arms as she was to be there.
There was that scent again. Jiminy—he didn’t care if it was partly mud, it still smelled downright delicious. She felt that way, too. Even in her sodden gown she was no heavier than a newborn colt, but the wet silk made her as slippery as a greased pig.
He bounced her slightly in the air as he adjusted his grip, searching his mind for a way to explain his purely reflexive action. “That blasted dress is a hazard,” he muttered. “My insurance company would cancel my liability coverage if they knew we had guests running around outfitted like that.”
Carrying her as easily as he’d tote a bale of hay, he strode rapidly to the covered porch and set her down outside the door. No way was he going to carry her across the threshold; he was having a hard enough time keeping his thoughts about her under control without acting like a surrogate bridegroom.
The imprint of her warm, wet body burned against him long after he released her, and he had a physical reaction to it. Jeezem Pete, he responded like a teenage boy every time he touched her.
So stop touching her, O’Dell, he chided himself sarcastically.
He fumbled in his pocket for a master key, then unlocked the door. It swung open. He reached in and flipped on a light. “Here you are. I’ll get your bags.”
She was still standing on the porch when he returned from the truck. He plopped the bags down by the door and eyed her warily. “You ought to get out of those wet clothes and into a hot shower before you catch pneumonia.” The last thing he wanted was to have her laid up convalescing, needing to be waited on hand and foot.
“I don’t want to track mud inside. I think I should take off the dress out here.”
The thought did strange things to his pulse rate. He cleared his throat and turned to go. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
“Wait!”
Now what? He swiveled around.
“I…I can’t undo the buttons myself.”
She turned and pointed over her shoulder. A long row of tiny buttons ran from the neck of the gown to below her waist—dozens of buttons, each about the size of a raisin, each fastened with tiny loops of thread.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake…”
“I’m sorry to be such a bother.” Her voice had a suspicious warble in it.
Oh, criminy; she wasn’t going to cry again, was she?
“I realize it’s beyond the call of duty, but I’m freezing, and…”
“I’ll call the housekeeper to help you.”
He strode into the cabin, picked up the phone and punched out Consuela’s number. No answer. No answer in the lodge kitchen, either.
Great, just great. He’d have to deal with this himself.
The screen door banged behind him as he rejoined Josie on the porch. “Turn around and stand still.” The words came out more harshly than he’d intended.
She presented her slender back to him. He stepped forward, pushed her veil out of the way and tackled the top button. It sat at the nape of her neck, covered by damp tendrils of shoulder-length dark hair. He brushed the wet strands aside, his fingers feeling huge and awkward, and tried to ignore the rush of arousal that tightened his body.
The woman was wreaking havoc with his libido. Maybe it was because this was supposed to be her wedding night— a night when her skin was supposed to be touched, her lips were meant to be tasted, those enticing curves were to be explored and caressed…
By another man, O’Dell. For heaven’s sake, get a grip.
His fingers fumbled, and the button tore off in his hands. “Sorry,” he muttered, moving on to the next one.
It had evidently been too long since he’d been around a woman. He hadn’t dated much since his divorce, and that had been five years ago. Judging from the way he was reacting now, it was time he got back in the saddle and started socializing again.
The button popped free. His fingers edged down to attack the next one. Josie shifted and sighed, and he struggled to rein in his thoughts.
This wasn’t the time to be thinking about dating, he reminded himself. Ever since he’d come back to the ranch, he’d had his hands full, trying to take care of everything his father had neglected when he’d opened that damn lodge. And without a lodge manager, he had that to worry about, too. He had a full plate in front of him without taking on something as time-consuming as trying to meet and get to know a woman.
Besides, he hated all the things dating involved—getting dressed up, making small talk, trying to figure out what was real and what was pretense, trying to keep from getting dragged down a wedding aisle.
Standing in front of him was a perfect example of what he most wanted to avoid and what was often so hard to detect—a marriage-minded woman with a lot of emotional baggage, still carrying a torch for another guy. At least with this one he knew what he was dealing with.
Another button came off in his hand. “I’m afraid I’m pulling off as many buttons as I’m unfastening,” he told her.
“That’s okay.” Her voice was muffled by the veil. “The dress is a loss, anyway. If it’s easier, you can just yank them all off.”
The thought of ripping off her dress had undeniable appeal—so much so that he deliberately resisted the urge, furrowing his brow in concentration and meticulously undoing the buttons one at a time.
“There,” he muttered when he’d finally unfastened the last one.
The fabric gapped to reveal something lacy and sheer underneath the dress. His imagination running wild, he swallowed hard and stepped back as she turned around.
She was shivering, he realized with a start. He’d attributed the trembling he’d felt as he’d unbuttoned her dress to his own shaking hands. “You need to get inside,” he told her. “Do you want me to carry in your bags?”
She rubbed her arms, her teeth chattering. “What I really want is to get thawed out as soon as possible. Would you turn around for a moment?”
Luke complied. Fabric rustled, the cabin door creaked and soft footsteps thudded on the wooden floor.
“You can turn around now,” she called from inside the cabin.
Her dress lay in a heap on the porch…along with two muddy, crumpled stockings. A trail of muddy footprints led inside the cabin to the closed bathroom door. He heard a rush of water from the shower.
Luke exhaled harshly and eyed the stockings again, wondering how she’d held them up. His tantalizing conjectures about her undergarments were cut short when his gaze fell again on the crumpled wedding gown.
It was a pitiful sight, all that lace and silk puddled in a muddy mess on the porch, and it sent a wave of sympathy surging through him. What had once been a beautiful dress was rumpled and ruined, and her dreams were no doubt in the same condition. What was supposed to have been the happiest day of her life had ended in heartbreak.
He wondered why the wedding had been canceled. Had she called it off, or had the groom? Obviously someone had—and at the very last minute, judging from the way she was dressed.
One thing was for certain: she was sure to be feeling awful. He should have been looking for ways to comfort her instead of leering at her like a cowboy Casanova.
A stab of guilt shot through him. No matter how much he disliked it, as long as the Lazy O was operated as a guest ranch, he had an obligation to care for his guests in a manner worthy of the O’Dell name.
The least he could do was take her luggage inside. And while he was at it, he might as well start a fire in the fireplace, too.
Wrapped in a large white towel, with another wound turban-style around her hair, Josie opened the bathroom door fifteen minutes later to find Luke squatting before the fireplace, laying logs on a blaze of kindling.
The tight ache in her chest loosened a little at the sight of him. She was glad he was still there; the idea of solitude had begun to lose its appeal. In fact, as she’d stood under the shower and castigated herself for ever getting involved with Robert in the first place, she’d dreaded spending the evening alone with her thoughts.
How could she have allowed herself to be pushed and persuaded into nearly marrying a man she apparently didn’t even know? All of the anger that had propelled her into action was fizzling into painfully familiar self-doubt.
Luke glanced up at her. She saw his Adam’s apple bob before he abruptly turned away and picked up another piece of wood. “I thought you might like a fire,” he said gruffly.
“Thanks.” Her face burning, Josie wrapped the towel more tightly above her breasts and angled her body against the door so that only her head poked out. The towel covered more of her than some of her summer dresses did, but she was acutely aware of the fact she wore nothing under it. Something in the way his gaze swept over her told her he was aware of it, too.
She saw her suitcases near the door, but didn’t want to parade across the room to get them. Her fingers tightened on the terry cloth. “Would you mind handing me the blue suitcase? I’ll throw on some clothes and be right out.”
Luke complied, and Josie ducked behind the door to rapidly pull on a sweatshirt, jeans and a pair of thick socks. Still toweling her damp hair, she stepped back into the living room.
The fire crackled and hissed, throwing a delicious warmth into the room. She walked up to it and gave a contented sigh. “This feels wonderful. Thanks.”
Luke jammed his hands in his pockets. “No problem. I brought in some extra firewood for you. When you turn in for the night, just be sure the screen is in place.”
“I will. Thanks.”
“There’s a path to the lodge on the right side of the cabin. Breakfast is served from seven until ten in the lodge dining room. There’s a map of the ranch and some other information beside the phone.”
“Great.”
Luke watched her sling the towel over a chair and stretch out her hands to the fire. Man, she was pretty. Her hair fell in damp ringlets to her shoulders. Without the veil, he could see that it was the dark, rich color of a chocolate velvet cake.
He needed to get out of here. The sight of her in that towel had just about done him in. “Well, if you’ve got everything you need, I’ll—”
A knock sounded at the door, interrupting his words. He strode across the room and opened it.
“Consuela.” He pushed the door wider and stepped back, making room for a large, smiling woman who bustled in with an enormous tray.
“Manuel saw the lights on and told me our honeymoon couple had arrived,” the woman announced in a lilting Spanish accent. “So I brought the candlelight dinner over.” She gave Josie a sly grin as she set the huge tray on the pine plank dining table, then extended a plump hand. “Hello. I’m Consuela Perez.”
Josie shook Consuela’s hand. “I’m Josie Randall.”
The older woman looked around the room. “Where’s the lucky bridegroom?”
“I don’t—” Josie faltered for words. Silence hung awkwardly in the room.
Luke stepped forward. “Miss Randall’s wedding was canceled. She’s here alone.”
“Oh!” Consuela’s hands flew up, her face wrinkling with concern. “Oh, ¡Pobrecita! You poor darling. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Josie gave a self-conscious smile. “Thank you, but no.”
“Do you want to talk? I’ve got a good shoulder to cry on.”
“I’m fine.”
“It always helps to talk these things out. We can stay here, or you can come home with me—”
“That’s very sweet of you, but I’m fine.”
Consuela searched her face, her brown eyes large with concern. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“It’s not good to be alone at a time like this,” Consuela worried.
Luke watched the exchange, knowing Consuela would persist until Josie gave in or he baled her out. Consuela had the biggest heart in the world, but she was no respecter of privacy, and she was about as subtle as a gale-force wind. Her warm, mothering nature wouldn’t allow her to take no for an answer if she was convinced someone needed nurturing.
He decided to try to change the subject. “Consuela is the lodge’s head cook and housekeeper, Josie. She’s the person who keeps the place running. We couldn’t make it without her.”
Josie smiled at her. “I’m sure that’s true. I used to work in a hotel, and I know how important both positions are. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Consuela.”
Consuela preened, her stubby fingers smoothing her neat coil of gray-streaked black hair. “The pleasure is mine.” She motioned toward the tray. “Look—I’ve brought you a nice dinner.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have much appetite,” Josie admitted.
Consuela clucked like a worried hen. “But you must eat! The worst thing for a broken heart is an empty stomach, too.”
Josie managed a smile. “All right…I’ll try. Thank you.”
“How about you?” Consuela turned to Luke. “You haven’t eaten, either.”
“I’ll grab something later at the house.”
Consuela rolled her eyes. “A can of cold spaghetti is not a meal.” She glanced at Josie. “He lives alone and doesn’t take care of himself. His animals eat better than he does.”
“Why don’t you join me?” Josie offered. “After all, it’s a dinner for two. It’s a shame for it to go to waste.”
Consuela nodded approvingly. “That’s a wonderful idea! Then neither of you will eat alone.”
Luke suppressed a groan as Consuela -bustled around, uncovering fragrant dishes and setting the table with the ranch’s best china. He knew the housekeeper had set him up, but he couldn’t think of a decent excuse to get out of it.
Consuela leaned her hefty frame across the table and lit a candle. “There!” she proclaimed, clasping her hands over her ample bosom. “All set.”
She pulled out a chair and motioned to Josie, then handed Luke a bottle of champagne. “You can open this.”
Luke looked hesitantly at Josie. “Under the circumstances, Consuela, I don’t think—”
“I’d love some champagne,” Josie said decisively.
Consuela nodded approvingly. “Wine is good for a broken heart.”
“My heart isn’t exactly broken—”
