Tight-Fittin' Jeans. Mary Baxter Lynn

      Four

      Garth stumbled into the cabin and onto the couch. Sweat poured off his face like a broken water faucet But the sweat was the least of his worries. His chest felt as if it were going to cave in on him at any second.

      He shouldn’t have pushed his horse at such a rapid clip through the woods. He’d been so pissed off over what had just happened that he’d let his temper overrule his sound judgment. Hell, he wasn’t used to taking it easy. Since he could remember, he’d gotten up literally at the crack of dawn, taken a shower, then headed to the office, where he’d drunk a pot of coffee while planning which corporations to take over and which not to.

      Now he couldn’t do any of those things, except shower. And on some mornings even that was an effort. If his health and his mood didn’t hurry up and change drastically, then he would just as soon bail out of this life. Movers and shakers like himself weren’t cut out to be ill.

      Garth leaned his head back on the couch and placed his hand over his heart. Maybe he should go to the ER. No, that was out. Hospitals were out. Besides, his heart rate had settled, though not exactly back to normal. Not only had anger at being in this situation and this godforsaken place sapped his precious energy, but embar-moment at having been banged on the head by that dizzy blonde had added insult to injury.

      “Damn!” he muttered, recalling the instant he’d turned and seen her standing there, knowing beyond a doubt that she was the one who had hit him. She’d had that guilty look written all over her. For a moment he’d fought the urge to grab her shoulders and shake her. But since he’d never put his hands on a woman in that way, the thought had died a natural death.

      Still, Garth couldn’t help but remember that even in his dazed state, it hadn’t been Tiffany Russell’s face that caught his attention, but rather the way her butt was made for those tight-fittin’ jeans she had on.

      Then, as quickly as that thought had surfaced, it disappeared. He hadn’t come here to get involved with a woman. However, if the circumstances had been different, he would have asked her out, despite the fact that he was sure her looks far outweighed her brainpower. At this juncture in his life, that point didn’t matter. He was only interested in the pleasure, without the permanency.

      Yeah, she was a looker, all right, with shoulder-length blond hair worn in a pageboy style, skin that reminded him of rich cream and deep-set green eyes that appeared so innocent. He almost choked on that though

      Still, it was the way her well-endowed rear had filled those jeans that seemed branded on his mind. Yet he couldn’t overlook her voice; even though she had given an apology grudgingly, it had come out sounding like silk.

      Unfortunately, the woman and her assets didn’t mean a hill of beans to him. Another woman in his life was the last thing he needed or wanted. What he did want was to recover both in body and mind and return to his work a whole man.

      Meanwhile, he was still breathing, which he had to think of as a gift and run with. If only he could let go of the notion that he had something to prove, not only to himself but to his stepfather, who had set him up in business. If only...

      Determined not to open that can of worms, Garth stood. When the room stopped spinning, he trudged into the kitchen, where he poured himself a glass of orange juice. Frowning, he gulped it down, pretending it was Scotch on the rocks.

      “Dream on, Dixon,” he quipped, setting the empty glass on the cabinet. His days of drinking as much booze as he wanted were gone, along with so many of the other pleasures he had enjoyed. He vowed that that would only be temporary.

      After his heart healed and he clinched the biggest business deal of his career, which was now on hold, then maybe he would give some thought to getting off that high-profile treadmill, even to semiretiring.

      Sure thing, he told himself, knowing that was never going to happen. He wasn’t like the majority of his buddies, who played golf as many hours a day as they could squeeze in and thought that was the ultimate challenge. He didn’t go for that.

      What he did go for was getting well, by far the biggest challenge he’d ever faced. Garth’s thoughts suddenly took him back to the time immediately after he’d been released from the hospital.

      He’d headed straight for the sanctuary of his office, where he’d sat behind his desk, numb with shock and despair, his head in his hands.

      He hadn’t heard his right-hand man, Max Lansing, come in, until Max cleared his throat and said, “What the hell are you doing here? You should be home in bed. ”

      Garth had stared at Max for a moment, taking in his stocky, muscled frame, his healthy, ruddy complexion, and felt green with envy. Then, feeling like a coward, he’d turned away.

      Max had pressed him. “Well?”

      “I couldn’t go home. It’s that simple.”

      “So what did the doctor say?”

      “In a nutshell, if I don’t slow down and take a few months’ leave of absence, I won’t live to see my fiftieth birthday.”

      “That’s a crock of crap. I thought all this modern medical technology could fix anything.”

      Garth smirked. “Me too. But I want my ticker fixed as good as new, which apparently no one can do.”

      “So what’s next?”

      He didn’t answer Max right off. He couldn’t. The words were jammed in his throat. He coughed twice; only then could he speak. “I’m hauling ass.” Bitterness underlined each word.

      Max blinked. “Where to?”

      “A remote part of Utah.”

      This time Max’s jaw dropped. “Utah? You’re kiddin’ me.”

      “I wish. My dad left me some land there with a cabin on it.” He paused, another smirk altering his features. “I’ve never even seen it.”

      “What about that big deal we have pending? I know the Japanese are known for their patience, but—”

      Even though his voice trailed off, Garth heard the panic in it. He couldn’t comfort Max, because he felt the same way. To walk out and leave the corporation that he’d built from the bottom up went against the work ethic that had been drilled into him.

      “Deal or no deal, what choice do I have?” he said out loud.

      Max sighed. “None.”

      “I’m