Sultry. Mary Baxter Lynn
eyes brimmed with unshed tears, but she held her ground. “I’ll leave it be for now. But I’m warning you, you’d best make things right at the bank. I refuse to be without money, even if it means borrowing from your sister or your daddy.”
“That’s not going to happen,” he snapped again, feeling as though the floor under him had shifted. He was losing ground fast.
“Then take care of the problem,” Eve said in an unsteady tone. “I’ve never been without funds, and I don’t intend to start now.”
With that, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving a trail of perfume behind that added to his queasiness. He fell into the nearest chair and stared into space.
What a mess he’d gotten himself into. His gaze fell on the telephone on the nearby table. He headed toward it, but his steps faltered. He had an alternative, but it wasn’t one he was overjoyed about.
In fact, he hadn’t planned on having to take this route at all. But one bad investment after another had taken its toll, leaving him no choice.
Lindsay was already on to him. Now Eve. He figured it wouldn’t be long until Cooper found out. There would be hell to pay then, for sure.
He couldn’t risk that.
“What the hell!” he muttered, forcing himself to move to the phone. With a racing heart, he lifted the receiver and punched out a number.
The second he heard the strong voice on the other end of the line, he didn’t waste time. “It’s Newman. I’ve changed my mind.”
“You won’t regret it.”
“I’m depending on you to see that I don’t.”
“Let’s meet.”
“You say where, and I’ll be there.”
Long after he’d replaced the receiver, Tim still hadn’t moved. He shuddered to think what he’d gotten himself into.
Mitch stretched, then flinched.
“What’s wrong, boss? You stove up?”
Mitch pinned one of his hands, Jesse Valdez, with tired eyes. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am. Every muscle in this old body is creaking.”
“It’s your own fault, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.”
“Damn straight it is, Jesse, but I wanted to do it.”
“Was no call for you to.” Jesse removed his sweat-stained baseball cap, then shoved a hand through a mop of black hair, all the while never taking his gaze off Mitch. “Me and the others coulda cut up that tree in nothin’ flat.”
“You’re right,” Mitch said without further explanation.
Jesse shrugged. “Well, as long as you’re not thinking we can’t do the job.”
“Give it a rest, Jess. You and the boys are doing great. I couldn’t be more pleased. But right now, I’m calling it a day and heading to the shower. I suggest you do the same.”
“Got no problem with that,” Jesse said, grinning.
“Tomorrow’s another big day. The material’s coming for the new greenhouse. If I’m not mistaken, the dirt’s coming, as well.”
“We’ll be ready.”
“See you early thirty, then.”
Jesse nodded, then sauntered off. Mitch couldn’t help but smile as he watched him, thinking the man was going to lose his breeches any second now, they hung so low on his hips.
Mitch merely shook his head, then turned and scouted the area. After seeing that no tools were left scattered about, he trudged toward his quarters.
Home sweet home.
He smiled, though it reeked with cynicism. He did consider the cottage home, despite the fact that it wasn’t much bigger than a popcorn fart, however the hell big that was. That priceless gem had been something his grandmother had said quite often. He’d asked her many times what it meant, but she’d never once told him.
“It means whatever you want it to, sonny boy.”
That explanation hadn’t made sense then any more than it did now, but it made him think with sad affection of his grandmother, who’d practically raised him.
Cramped or not, the cottage was the perfect home for him, consisting of a combination living room, kitchen and dining area. It even had a fireplace, an amenity that he probably wouldn’t use. The rest consisted of a bedroom and adjoining bath. But he didn’t demand much for himself. No unnecessary baggage for him.
He’d dropped that three years ago, when he’d simplified his life.
Thirty minutes later, Mitch was out of the shower and had a beer in his hand. Following a long draw on the cold draft, he set it down while he slipped into a pair of worn jeans, then tromped barefoot into the living room.
Once he was seated, Mitch swung his head toward the kitchen. He was hungry as a bitch wolf with nine sucklings. Yet he was too dog-tired to cook himself anything to eat.
This was when he missed his grandmother and his ex-wife, though he hated to admit the latter. Whenever Wendy had been at home for any length of time, she would cook for him.
He would bet she had cooked for her lover, too.
“Aw, shit,” he muttered, hating it when he thought about her, but hating it more when he talked to himself. Not a good sign.
Mitch polished off the rest of the beer, his gaze once again straying toward the refrigerator. Surely he had a TV dinner he could toss into the microwave.
His thoughts shifted to the big house and the feast that the boss and his daughter were most likely sinking their teeth into about now. Instead of tossing that absurd thought aside, Mitch’s mind homed in on Lindsay, and lingered there.
She had been the reason he’d used the chain saw all day. He had cut a huge oak that had fallen during a storm into fire logs. His intention had been to work out his sexual frustrations so that he wouldn’t think about anything or anybody.
Had it worked? Nope.
He could still remember every word Lindsay had said to him and the way she’d looked at him, her lovely naked eyes a mixture of sadness, curiosity and something else—that same something that he’d felt mirrored in his eyes: instant and liquid desire.
Ah, what a crock. She didn’t want him. She already had a stud to service her—the one he’d seen her with on the porch the other evening. Yet she didn’t look like anyone was making love to her. No one that lovely ought to be that hauntingly sad.
Maybe that was why he couldn’t get her off his mind, why he couldn’t stop savoring everything about her, especially the memory of her shiny, styled hair, those sexy freckles that dusted her nose, those pouty, Kewpie doll lips quirked in doubt, and her tight little butt.
When she’d whipped that butt around, he’d watched her run off, and been reminded of a lithe and classy Thoroughbred. He had stood there long after she’d disappeared, feeling like he’d just been karate-chopped from behind.
And he was still nursing that same painful feeling, because that last uninhibited gesture had left him with an unwanted ache in his groin—an ache he hadn’t had in a helluva long time.
As badly as he hated to admit it, that ache hadn’t subsided. In fact, he had a hard-on right now, just thinking about her. What was the deal? He was no longer in control of his emotions; that was the deal.
Well, that was just too bad. Lindsay Newman was a no deposit, no return sort of woman. He’d best keep that in mind.
Seven
“Gosh, it’s good to see you.”
Lindsay