She couldn’t begin to speak of the depth of the anguish that had chased her through the last of her high school years. Girls scorned her and lots of the boys dated her and then lied about having sex with her.
Even now there were women who were reluctant to have anything to do with her, but her dance card was always filled. She’d never figured out a way to change people’s perception of her, and she’d finally stopped trying long ago.
“You haven’t exactly gone out of your way to try to change people’s view of you,” Brody said.
“What’s the point? People expect provocative behavior from me and so that’s what I give them. I’m kind of like a cow that has been branded, and once that brand is done there’s no way to get rid of it.”
She shrugged and then grabbed at the bedspread before it could slip downward. “Every town needs a bad girl and I guess I play that role in Bitterroot.”
He gazed at her for a long moment and then released a deep sigh. “It’s getting late. I suggest we both get some sleep. Hopefully the tow trucks will be out here early in the morning.”
“My clothes should be dry by now.” She got up from the bed, careful to keep the bedspread in place, and grabbed her clothing from the heater vent. “I’ll be right back.”
It took her only minutes in the bathroom to redress in the now warm and dry Santa costume. When she returned to the room, together they put the bedspread back on. Then he turned out the light and they got into bed. She snuggled under the covers and he remained on top.
Even in the dark she was acutely aware of him so close to her, close enough that she could swear she heard the steady beat of his heart. It was slightly thrilling even though she knew it shouldn’t be so.
“Brody?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for being so nice to me tonight.”
“Go to sleep, Mandy.”
“Okay.” She turned over and tried not to think about how much she wished that he would pull her into his arms, hold her for just a little while against his broad chest until she drifted off to happy dreams.
But if they walked out of here tomorrow morning and could be real friends, she’d be happy with that...because she suspected she’d have to be.
* * *
Something tickled at his nose. Something...fuzzy. No...furry. Brody opened his eyes to early morning light seeping in around the edges of the blue draperies at the window. Mandy’s fur collar was right under his nose and he was spooned around the back of her as if he belonged there.
Move, a small inner voice urged him, but he ignored it. For just a brief moment he remained perfectly still, enjoying the sensation of a warm, shapely female in his arms. It was a rare moment for him as it had been a very long time since he’d been in a position to hold a woman.
Amanda Wright was nothing like he had expected her to be. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but she’d been far more likeable and with a soft vulnerability that had surprised him. She was more like a beautiful playful puppy dog than a femme fatale.
Was her reputation overblown? Possibly. It was easy to be labeled in a small town, although she’d admitted she could be provocative in keeping with her role as the bad girl.
It had been obvious she loved her father and longed for a better relationship with him. A tight ball of tension filled his chest as he thought of his own father.
It had been Cass who had tried to make him understand that his father’s brutality and inability to love was his fault and not Brody’s. Still, Brody knew himself to be dangerous damaged goods, and that was why he would never marry or have children. He was a bad risk for any woman.
A distant growl of a snowblower replaced the silence of the room. He quickly rolled away from Mandy and stood, grateful that she didn’t awaken.
The last thing he wanted her to know was that in sleep he had cuddled with her. It had been bad enough last night when they’d talked and he’d tried so hard to keep his gaze away from her creamy naked shoulders and the spill of her long, dark, slightly wavy hair. He’d been on a slow burn for most of the night.
He raked a hand through his hair and walked over to the window. Moving one of the heavy blue curtains aside just a bit, he peered out.
The sun shone bright on the snow that had fallen the night before. There was less snow than he’d anticipated. Still, the ground was covered by about three to four inches of the white stuff.
Fred Ferguson manned the snowblower and was in the process of clearing off the walkways. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too long before Larry Jerrod called to say his team was on their way to pull Mandy and him out of the ditch.
In the meantime there was a coffee machine next to the sink and he definitely needed a jolt of caffeine to clear his head. Within minutes the scent of the fresh brew filled the room.
He’d just poured himself a cup and sat in the spindly chair near the window when Mandy stirred. She stretched like a contented kitten and then offered him a sleepy smile. “We survived,” she said, her voice slightly husky.
“We did,” he agreed. He stood and opened the curtains, hoping to get her out of the bed. She was far too much of a temptation in the bed, wearing that damned Santa costume that showcased her full breasts, small waist and long, shapely legs.
He heard the rustle of the sheets, and when he turned back around she was up and at the sink, pouring herself a cup of coffee. Hell, she was a temptation out of bed, as well.
She walked over and joined him at the window. “It looks a lot better out there this morning than it did last night.”
“I’m hoping it won’t be long before we can get on our way.”
“I’m sure you’re anxious to get back to the ranch. Thank goodness today is my day off at the café so all I have to do is get home.” A tiny frown danced across her forehead. “I guess I should probably call my dad.”
She set her cup down, went over to the nightstand and dug in her purse. She retrieved her cell phone and then sat on the edge of the bed and punched in numbers. She turned slightly to face away from him. “Dad, it’s me. I just wanted to let you know that I’m waiting for a tow. I slid into a ditch last night and had to stay at the motel.”
Brody wasn’t trying to listen in, but although he couldn’t make out her father’s specific words, he certainly heard the loud, rough tone.
“Yeah, Dad, I know it was stupid of me to wind up in a ditch and I’m sorry you had to make your own dinner last night. I’ll make it all up to you when I get home. I’ll fix you a terrific breakfast.”
Apparently her father hung up on her. She dropped her phone back into the depths of her purse and then turned and gave Brody a sheepish smile. “He isn’t much of a morning person.”
Brody had a feeling George Wright wasn’t much of a noon or night person, either. From what little gossip he’d heard about George, the man was a drunk who had more enemies than he had friends.
“What are you planning to make for breakfast?” he asked in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Her thick-lashed, caramel-colored eyes took on a sparkle and her lips curved into a smile. “I make this great peach French toast casserole with pecans and lots of cream and spices.”
“Hmm, sounds good.”
“Want to come over for breakfast?” she asked eagerly. “You know, just as a friend.”
Brody cast his gaze back out the window.