“You’re very welcome.” The words stuck in her throat. She prayed her knees would hold. “I’d better be going.”
Concern flickering in those dark eyes, he walked her to the door, then opened it for her. “See you at the pool tomorrow?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She attempted a smile. “I’m not much for cement ponds, either.”
He smiled with enough wattage to blow a fuse. “Well, Miss Neesa. See you at Halloween then. Save me a real big chocolate bar.”
He winked and slowly closed the door, leaving Neesa standing on the Russells’ front doorstep, weak-kneed, flustered and frustrated. Flustered because she’d just experienced a full-blown case of attraction for a stranger who, for all she knew, had a wife and kids of his own back at the ranch. Kids. It was clear from just a few moments of observing him that he was a natural-born parent. Even if he were single, his obvious desire for children would eliminate him from her eligible bachelor list.
She was frustrated, too, because she’d paid good money for that chicken and dumplings at Myra’s Diner. Even as good as it had smelled, it hadn’t come close to getting Hank Whittaker to admit he was a rancher. Hadn’t provided the opportunity for Neesa to innocently say, Is that right? Funny, but I’ve been on the lookout for a rancher for my Kids & Animals program....
She harrumphed softly. Now she had to dig her bathing suit out of mothballs and visit that cement pond tomorrow.
Chapter Two
“Hank?” Poolside, eight-year-old Chris Russell stopped blowing air into the rubber raft. “Why aren’t you married?”
Why wasn’t he married?
Funny, but you could hem and haw and evade a similar question from an adult, but a kid deserved an honest answer.
From his lounge chair Hank reached for a soft drink in the cooler. The noises and bustle surrounding the neighborhood pool assailed him. He longed for the quiet of his ranch. But Chris’s stare didn’t waver, and his question remained unanswered.
“I almost was,” Hank replied simply.
“What happened?”
“Oh, she was a city gal, and I was a country boy. We just couldn’t agree on most of the things you need to go about your daily business.”
“Did you love her?”
“Yup.” Now, that was the godshonest truth. And it had hurt like hell when she’d left him. The memory of it stil did, at times. The pain provided a good reminder that he might search high and low, but it would take a very special woman to become a rancher’s wife.
“I could help you find someone new.” Chris grinned. “My teacher’s real pretty.”
“Have you been talking to Willy?” Hank growled playfully. Reaching for the rubber raft, he ruffled the boy’s hair en route. “Here. Let me blow this up for you. Otherwise it’ll be dark before you get in the water.” He began to blow up the raft, safe from Chris’s questions. At least if Chris asked them, he now had an excuse not to answer them.
Casey streaked by with a friend.
Hank lifted his head from the task at hand. “Casey! Slow down, darlin’. The lifeguard will kick us all out, and Chris here hasn’t even had a chance to dip his toes in the water.” He sighed heavily. Would he survive this suburban weekend?
“Looks like you have your hands full.” The voice was soft and sultry and very familiar. But he’d heard so many new voices in the past twenty-four hours.
Peering up from under the brim of his Stetson, Hank saw a shapely silhouette etched against the early-afternoon sun. Shadow obscured the face, however.
“I don’t need the raft,” Chris said suddenly. He leaned close and whispered in Hank’s ear. “She’s even prettier than my teacher.” Before Hank could answer, the boy dashed off, executing a cannonball in the deep end of the pool.
“This seat taken?” That unmistakably feminine voice again.
“It is now. It’s yours.” Tipping his hat, Hank gallantly rose from his lounge chair while inwardly bemoaning the loss of his privacy. “Ma’am,” he added to give the invitation a distancing formality.
“Neesa. Please.”
Oh, that voice. Neesa Little of the angel blue eyes and the tiny red sports car. His suburban weekend just got more complicated.
Having fully expected that he’d never see the woman again, he’d allowed himself to flirt with her—just a little—yesterday evening when she’d come bearing chicken and dumplings. Damned good chicken and dumplings. But now here she stood, intending to occupy the lounge chair right next to him. Perhaps for the rest of the afternoon.
Regrets settled over him like dusk over the mountains, even as his pulse picked up in her presence.
Her beautiful blue eyes were covered with dark sun glasses, but her other attributes, covered only by a short. silky top, were much in evidence. He noticed for the first time that she wore no wedding ring. Trying to swallow, he found his tongue and throat uncommonly parched.
As Hank returned to a sitting position, Neesa lowered a small canvas bag to the pool deck, then spread a towel on the lounge next to his. Kicking off sandals, she perched, ramrod straight, hands folded in her lap, on the very end of her chair. “Well!” Her voice became breathy. Despite the pool paraphernalia, she didn’t look as if she came here often.
In fact, with her creamy smooth skin and delicate build, she didn’t look as if she was much the outdoors type at all.
The kids in the pool had taken up a raucous Marco Polo chant. Water from a particularly messy belly flop lapped its way along the decking toward their chairs. They both reached out at the same moment to rescue her canvas bag; their hands touched. Hank felt a fool as his heart began to hammer like a schoolboy’s.
“Sorry!” they said together, both recoiling.
The trickle of water edged closer.
Again, at the same time, they reached for the bag.
This time Hank gripped her hand firmly, then with his free hand scooped the bag to safety. He grinned. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
She blushed.
Must be the heat, because he’d never considered himself a smooth operator.
To his surprise he found he still held her hand. Within his grasp her fingers were long and slender. Fragile. Her skin was warm and incredibly soft. Never before had he understood his parents’ constant hand-holding. Now he did. He could, quite simply, hold Neesa Little’s hand from now ill Georgians lost their drawl. It felt that good.
Glancing pointedly at their clasped hands, she cleared ier throat. Reluctantly he released her.
He wished she weren’t wearing those sunglasses. Eyes reflected much of what a person felt deep inside. As long is she kept hers covered, he felt at a disadvantage.
With abrupt businesslike gestures, she unzipped the can-was bag, then withdrew a laptop computer.
“Excuse me?” He couldn’t help himself. The hardware ooked so out of place amid the trappings of sun worship.
She gave a sheepish little shrug. “I thought I should get out and get some fresh air. But I was right in the middle of something.”
“Business or pleasure?”
“Business. But the fulfillment of it gives me pleasure.”
He found himself intrigued.
She flipped up the computer screen.