Because of Jane. Lenora Worth
rooting boar.
Jane did as he said, while Lenny grabbed the bucket and threw it to ward off the attack.
“Now what?”
“Now, we run,” Lenny shouted as he pushed her toward the fence. “Go! Run now!”
She did, her loafers heavy with clinging mud, her breath leaving her body in a burst. She cleared the fence just as the male hog charged at Lenny. Lenny sprinted to the right, groaning as his leg apparently twisted. Jane went out the unlocked gate, turning to hold it for Lenny to pass through while Boy barked and ran in circles behind her. Lenny used some more of his impressive football moves to zigzag away from the angry boar, then ran through the open gate, grabbing it to push it shut just before the massive animal slammed at it. Jane saw the white of the mad hog’s eyes and smelled the stench of his breath, but now there was a fence between them at least.
“You did it. We’re safe.”
Winded and dirty, Lenny and Jane fell on the grass outside the dirt pen, looked at each other, then burst into laughter.
Then Lenny turned toward her, triumph replacing his earlier anger. “So, had enough? Are you leaving now?”
“No way,” she said, determination replacing her fear of hogs. Her family lived for taking dares. And Jane was up to this one. “I’m just getting started.”
He gave her a long, muddy look that turned from triumphant to calculating. “I tell you what, Coach. How ’bout you and me make a deal?”
Jane didn’t like the challenging dare in his eyes. The way he looked at her made her insides quiver like that mud they’d just fallen into. Because she was wet and it was getting cool as dusk descended on them, and because she was wearing one of his old shirts, she shivered. “What kind of deal?”
“You can stay for a little while—just a little while—and…uh…coach me back into shape.”
“I can?”
“If you let me do a little coaching with you.”
“I don’t need a coach,” she said, turning to get up.
His mud-splattered hand on her arm stopped her. “Oh, yes, ma’am, you most certainly do. You look as uptight as a porcupine.”
That unflattering image didn’t set well with Jane. “I am not uptight. I’m a professional.”
“Yeah, too professional if you ask me.” He pulled her up to her feet, his hands on her arms, his eyes a smoky blue now. “I think we could both learn from this situation.”
“You do?”
He nodded, then shot her one of his famous Lenny Paxton lady-killer looks. “Oh, yeah. You know, you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours? Could be fun.”
“I don’t like it,” she said. But the memories of his touch made her mind play little tricks on her. “I didn’t come here to fraternize, Lenny.”
He let her go, slapping his hands together to get rid of mud. “Suit yourself. In that case, you will be leaving the premises first thing tomorrow morning.” He whistled for Boy. The big dog came running from where he’d just taken a muddy dip in the pond.
“But—”
Lenny stomped away. “No buts. I might need help getting organized and maybe I need help with this mess I’ve made of my life, too. But it’s my way or the highway. Might as well mix a little pleasure with our business.”
The man was giving her an ultimatum?
Anger flared hot and fast inside her system. “Oh, that is so not fair.” She didn’t need him coaching her. That wasn’t how this was supposed to work.
He whirled with athletic ease in spite of the mud weighing down his clothes. “No, what is not fair is that you had to come here and harass me just because my agent thinks I’m having a midlife crisis.”
“Aren’t you?” Jane hurried to him, her mind clicking with precision. He thought he’d scare her away with all that charisma and charm and…nearness. But his challenge just made Jane more determined than ever. “All right. I’ll take you up on that deal. Then we’ll see who needs coaching the most.”
She was rewarded with a grunt and a look of utter shock that made his eyes turn from crystal to diamond-hard.
With what little dignity she could muster, considering she was dirty and reeking, Jane prissed ahead of him back toward the house.
LENNY WATCHED HER GO, the mad in him wrestling with the sad of his situation. He’d just made a fatal mistake, thinking he could out-dare the little life coach. She’d actually taken him up on that dare. Double-triple-trouble.
“She was right about the pathetic part,” he told Boy. Watching the wet, dirty dog bounce and bob around him, he said, “Maybe we both need help.”
Female companionship wasn’t so bad. Well, unless you married a female just to fill a void in your life. Especially if you married in haste and divorced in a lengthy, well-documented court battle. Three times.
He wouldn’t let that happen again, Lenny told himself. This was a little fun with a woman who clearly needed to cut loose and have some fun. And he was the perfect man for that job. He knew how to kick up his heels. He just didn’t know how to stay true to one woman. His one flaw, according to the many women who’d stomped out of his life, was not being able to open up and share the angst he carried in his heart. But a man had his pride. Lenny shut down because he couldn’t take anyone’s pity. He’d seen enough of that growing up and he’d seen it the day he’d lost the big game. And he sure wouldn’t open up to this cute little woman who wanted to analyze him and dissect him. No, sir. So he’d have a little fun, put on a good act. And do his best to drive her away. Why change his reputation now?
“So, Boy,” he said to his faithful, uncomplicated dog. “How ’bout we let the little life coach unclutter us while we teach her all about throwing caution to the wind?”
Boy’s bark indicated it was a solid plan. Lenny wasn’t so sure. He might get cured or this little exercise could drive him even deeper into seclusion.
AN HOUR LATER, Jane sat waiting for Lenny to come back from practice but she hadn’t wasted her time. She’d gone into a work-related blitz, making more notes and jotting down a list of things she wanted to go over with him. Earlier, after taking a water hose to the worst of the gunk plastered on her borrowed shirt and her dirty shoes, she’d finally managed to get upstairs to take a hot bath in the old-fashioned claw-foot tub in the bathroom next to the frilly bedroom. And realized this was probably the only room in the house that was neat and clean.
The room wasn’t very big, but the soft mattress on the four-poster bed seemed to float like a flying carpet each time she sank down on the yellow chenille bedspread. The pillows were covered in lacy white cases embroidered with dainty yellow roses and ribbons. The room smelled of sunshine and fresh air. A high-backed chair with a cane seat sat in one corner near a beautiful ornate armoire. A tall white bookcase brimming with all sorts of literature bespoke someone who loved reading. All the classics were there—from Little Women to Pride and Prejudice to the Brontë sisters and Flannery O’Connor, as well as several bestselling women’s fiction books. And displayed all over the room on every available tabletop and armoire were beautiful porcelain dolls of all shapes and sizes. Someone certainly was a hopeless romantic.
Or had been. Bertie?
Marcus had told her about Lenny’s grandmother. Bertie had died of Alzheimer’s in February, a week after the Super Bowl game. The game Lenny and his team had lost.
That’s all she knew at this point. Lenny valued his privacy a lot more than he seemed to value his public image. Or maybe he had just valued his grandmother’s privacy.
Thinking about Bertie’s influence over this house and her grandson, Jane tried to imagine Lenny running through the halls of this dainty,