“Miss Lemon?” He gestured to a black truck heading toward them.
Her eyes got wide and she fumbled for the column shift. “Darn it, Mabel. Give me some room before we have another accident.”
Nathan winced. He saw she was growing more nervous and jerking on the stick. The car lurched to the rear. “I think you have it in Reverse,” he said, releasing his load back into the bed and putting a warning hand up to the driver of the approaching truck. As soon as Nathan reached the sedan, he crouched to check the steering column through the open window.
Miss Lemon found Drive. The Chevy pitched forward, and he jumped back, stumbling out of the way. He sensed Bethany behind him. Felt her hands grip his shoulders.
“Oops.” She slid her palms down both sides of his spine, trying to steady him. Then she ducked her head around his body, keeping an arm wrapped across his back, and said, “Go ahead, Miss Lemon, steer toward the right lane. You’re doing fine.” She gave him a brief glance. “You okay? All body parts accounted for?”
“I think so.” He hadn’t actually lost his balance, but he liked having her so close he could smell her floral-scented hair. Feel the warmth of her skin through his shirt. “Might have to take inventory, though.”
Her gaze snapped back to him. She gave him a long look, then let out a laugh and lowered her arm. Stepping away, she watched the Lemon sisters inch down the street.
Already regretting the inventory crack, he couldn’t tell if she’d decided the words were innocent or loaded with a message he wasn’t sure he could deliver on. Playing with fire without a means to extinguish it was plain dumb, and he knew better. He had to get sex off his brain. What he needed to do was get his ass home and quit eyeing hers.
“Don’t they have kids or grandchildren who could drive them around?” With a worried frown, Bethany was still looking after the car.
“I don’t think either of them married, but I’m not sure. They’re in their eighties, right around my grandmother’s age. She knows them.”
“Does she still drive?”
“Not for a while. But she lives on the ranch with my parents and two brothers. Plenty of people around to take her wherever she wants to go.”
“At the Lucky 7?”
“No.” He noticed the increasing number of vehicles crowding Main Street and knew he was in for a lot more small talk if he didn’t keep his head down. “On my parents’ ranch,” he said, moving away from the street. “About twenty miles from me.”
“Wow, that’s great having your family so close.” She reached the truck ahead of him and picked up two boards. “Assuming you get along with them.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, or if he even should. Today was full of surprises. He’d kept to himself and the Lucky 7 for so long, he’d forgotten how to be social. How to talk to a woman and not second-guess himself. He’d been joking about the McAllister boys. Like them, he’d been one of the popular kids, the quarterback who’d led his team to the state championship twice, the guy who could’ve had a date every night of the week if he’d wanted.
College would’ve been no different if he’d had the time to socialize. He’d played football only to keep his scholarship alive, but spent the rest of his free time working to make his dream a reality. From the day he’d turned thirteen he’d wanted his own ranch. And at seventeen he was so confident of what lay ahead he could’ve carved his future in stone. At least the part about the Lucky 7. And marrying Anne.
“Nathan?” Bethany had already taken her load to the porch, and she stood there looking at him with troubled eyes. “Sorry, if I said something wrong. I know family stuff can be tricky.”
Not until three years ago.
Shaking his head, he forced a smile.
After the accident, the well-intended lies and hidden truths had come out in force. Even before the funeral, everything around him, including his relationship with his family, had started falling apart. He’d never felt so helpless in his whole life. But you couldn’t fix a marriage once the other person was in the ground.
“Hey, you still want that water?”
He blinked at Bethany. She hadn’t moved. Her smile was brighter but her eyes were even more troubled. Her hands were tightly clasped, her fingers entwined. Great, he’d dragged his black cloud with him.
When he noticed she was slightly up on her toes, he didn’t have to pretend to smile. He’d seen earlier that she was one of those high-energy types who tended to rock back on the balls of her feet when she wasn’t in motion. The complete opposite of Anne. Even he was more laid-back these days. He used to be full of ambition, hated that there weren’t more hours in the day. Maybe his new interest in breeding Arabians would bring back some of that drive.
“Ice cold, if you have it,” he said, glad to see relief pass across her face. “I bet you were a bouncer when you were a kid.”
She backed up to her new green door, wrinkling her nose. “A bouncer?”
“Not that kind—”
“Oh.” She snorted a laugh and tried to cover it up. “How did you know?” Abruptly she looked down at her feet. “I don’t still do that.”
He smiled but kept working. The sooner he transferred the lumber to her porch, the sooner he could get back to the Lucky 7. Sure, he’d admit it, he was enjoying Bethany’s company. Even knowing this little thing brewing between them would end right here. He glanced at what was left on the truck bed. In about twenty minutes, to be exact.
Ten if he worked faster.
* * *
BETH COULDN’T DECIDE if she should be insulted, mad or confused. Or perhaps she should just feel grateful that she had her wood for tomorrow and quit being a crybaby because she hadn’t expected Nathan to want to leave so quickly.
The whole time she watched him pull up the tailgate, jam it in place and yank off his gloves, she tried to think of a reason to make him stay. But she’d already asked him if he wanted a tour of the inside, which he’d declined. Then she’d offered to buy him a beer, which he’d also declined. She’d even suggested she whip them up something to eat since they’d both missed lunch. He’d declined that, too, which was for the best, now that she thought about it. As her niece had pointed out, Beth’s cooking sucked the big one.
The thing was, it had taken her no time to get his water. Just two minutes. Okay, maybe four, but only because she’d wanted to check her hair and see if she could use a dusting of blush. She’d resisted putting on lip gloss. Too obvious.
She couldn’t shake the feeling she’d said or done something wrong. Probably because he’d worked like a madman to get so much done in her short absence. Clearly he was anxious to leave. Admittedly, it had to be annoying to deal with all the nosy, intrusive questions from passersby, but she wasn’t suggesting they stay outside.
When he started to turn, she lifted her gaze from his butt. She’d been staring at it, too busy thinking to really enjoy the muscular roundness, and that pissed her off. He picked up the uncapped bottle of water he’d left on the bumper, tilted it to his mouth and drank.
She tracked a stray drop running down his chin and wondered what it said about her eleven-months-and-counting dry spell that she was seconds away from dragging him inside and seeing what else that mouth could do.
Of course, she knew he couldn’t actually read her thoughts, but when he swung a sudden glance at her, her struggle not to squirm turned pretty epic.
“Well, all right, Cinderella,” she said. “I know you’re worried about the whole pumpkin threat, so don’t let me keep