Feeling uneasy for more than one reason, Neesa rang the Russell doorbell again. This was a pretty sneaky way to get Kids & Animals sponsored. She hugged the warm casserole tightly to her. With this little delivery she hoped merely to extend a neighborly hand...and have Mr. Whittaker admit to being a rancher. She could take the “coincidence” from there.
Normally she’d come right out and say, I heard you were a rancher. I need your help. But a faintly formidable look in this man’s eyes told her he wouldn’t appreciate her listening to gossip about him or asking for favors—very large favors—before the introductions were cold.
The door opened. At the sight of handsome Hank Whittaker looming above her, Neesa nearly lost her grip on the dish of chicken and dumplings. Oh, my, but the man was twice as imposing up close as he had been from a distance. And even without the Stetson to shadow his eyes, his gaze was dark and penetrating. Riveting her attention and rendering her speechless.
“Yes?” The hint of a smile played at the corner of his sensuous mouth.
“M-Mr. Whittaker...”
“Hank.”
“Hank.” She inhaled sharply. “I’m Neesa Little from up the street. I understand you’re caring for Carey and Chris for the weekend.”
The hint of a smile developed into a broad, sexy grin. “Word travels fast.”
“Yes,” she whispered almost inaudibly, extending the casserole. “I thought you could use some supper.” Under his grin and those devilishly dark eyes, she found it hard to concentrate, let alone form a coherent sentence. “Just being neighborly,” she added weakly.
“Why, thank you.” He chuckled, and the sound was even sexier than the sight of the grin. “Step in and let’s see if we can find room.”
“Room?”
He opened the door wider, then stepped aside to allow her to enter the foyer. She always felt a little uncomfortable when she visited her neighbors—except for Claire and Robert who were childless but “trying.” These homes were enclaves of kids and more kids and even more kids, and always drove home Neesa’s own unmarried, perennially childless state.
Sure enough, from the family room, she could hear the sound of a video game and childish laughter. Too, a delicious mixture of aromas filled the air. Clutching the dish of chicken and dumplings, she felt sheepish. He already had supper under control.
The he in question had headed down the hallway. Trying to concentrate on her mission and not the masculine sway of his broad shoulders and narrow hips, Neesa followed as Hank silently led her into the kitchen where, to her complete amazement, covered dishes filled every inch of counter space.
“Now, let’s see if we can find a spot for yours.” He turned, and she started at the unmistakable twinkle in his eyes. “This is one neighborly neighborhood.”
So it would appear.
Visualizing a line, a very long line, of well-groomed suburban moms bearing casseroles—winding toward the Russell house, she suddenly laughed out loud.
“My reaction exactly.” He reached for the casserole she carried. “Y’all sure do have Chris and Casey’s best interests at heart.”
Neesa nearly choked on the rising guilt. “What do you plan to do with all this?”
“I’m freezing most of it. That way Cilia won’t have to cook for a month.”
“Cool, huh?” Eight-year-old Chris entered the kitchen. He grinned. “Hey, Miss Neesa, what did you bring?”
“Chicken and dumplings.”
“Hank’s favorite.” The boy lifted the lid of a dish on the counter and extracted a breaded chicken leg. “Me, I like mine fried.”
“Don’t you dare take that back in the family room,” Hank warned. “Your mama would give me a tongue lashing and more.”
“I won’t.” Chris headed for the back door. “I’m going to eat it on the deck, then I’m going to the basement to dig out our swim stuff. Pool opens tomorrow, remember.”
“How could I forget?” Hank didn’t look thrilled at the prospect.
“I take it you’re not a swimmer?”
“The swimming part’s fine. I’m just not keen on doing it in a cement pond.”
“Cement pond.” Neesa laughed aloud again. “Why, you sound like Jethro—”
“Of the Beverly Hillbillies,” he finished for her. “I know. It’s a cross I bear.” He rolled his eyes dramatically.
She hadn’t expected him to be approachable and funny and self-deprecating. No. On the contrary, at the bus stop he’d seemed aloof and stern and very macho. Maybe the difference was in the Stetson. Right now, he wasn’t wearing it. And without it, he was still drop-dead gorgeous, but gorgeous in a way that didn’t push her away. That made her, instead, want to get to know him better.
A dangerous thought.
His dark hair was straight and a little too long to be manageable. His forehead was broad and intelligent. Under dark brows, even darker eyes took in everything. Didn’t miss a trick. Tonight his strong jawline and chin showed the blue of a five-o’clock shadow. Very masculine. Neesa wondered if a heavy beard meant...
Mentally admonishing herself to remember the point of this visit, Neesa took a step backward as if standing outside his considerable aura might protect her.
“Hank!” Little six-year-old Casey Russell hurtled into the room. “Nobody will play video games with me! I’m all alone in there. Chris left me. Nobody loves me.” In a piping voice, her blue-streak complaint held more drama than substance.
“How awful!” Hank scooped the girl into his arms. “I love you. If I ever had a little girl, I’d want her to be just like you.”
Casey blushed, clearly enjoying the compliment. Still she affected a pout. “But nobody will play pokey pony with me.”
“Did that fact make you lose your manners?”
Casey gave him a perplexed stare.
“We have a guest. Say hey to Miss Neesa.”
The child snuggled against Hank’s neck. “Miss Neesa isn’t a guest. She’s our neighbor. She gives real big chocolate bars at Halloween.”
Hank raised one dark eyebrow in question.
“True,” Neesa replied, chuckling. “My favorite.”
“Remind me to come back to the neighborhood for Halloween,” he said, his voice low and lazy, his eyes now a seductive shade of dark gray. “I love trick or treat.”
She just bet.
He lowered Casey to the floor. With one big hand he ruffled the little girl’s hair. “Let me walk Miss Neesa to the door. Then I’ll play pokey pony with you. Now scoot.”
The man obviously liked kids. That would be perfect in her professional scheme of things. It was an automatic out, however, in her personal relationships ball game.
When Hank turned to look at Neesa, it was with the same soul-searching gaze he’d sent her this morning. Only in the close confines of the kitchen, it seemed a hundred times more potent. Why did he throw her one of those looks when she was feeling most vulnerable? Her knees suddenly went wobbly. She felt color drain from her cheeks. Felt unexplainably giddy.
“Are you all right?” He reached for her. Encircled her upper arms with a strong grip. “You’re looking mighty peaked all of a sudden.”
His touch only increased the giddiness.
“I’m