Branded by firelight, p.7
Branded by Firelight, page 7
“You will, though,” Ben said, messing with her a little.
Two delicate eyebrows shot up, but the blue eyes beneath them held enough interest to leave him optimistic. “You’re very confident.”
“Of course I am.” He quoted another line from the movie. “‘You should never underestimate the predictability of stupidity.’”
Claire laughed. It was an amazing sound, beginning in her belly and rolling from her throat like the chime of a choir bell, as beautiful to hear as she was to look at, and he enjoyed it a lot more than tears.
She’d kicked off her boots before the movie began and had one woolen-socked foot tucked underneath her. She bumped him with her shoulder. “You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl. Are you calling me predictable, stupid, or both?”
“The sweet talking has yet to commence. Trust me, you’ll know it when you hear it.” He shifted a little, trying to give his aching boys some relief. Their eagerness was premature. “I’m saying that we both have free time on our hands at the moment, and what’s the harm in spending it together?”
“I don’t really have a lot of free time,” she said. “I have plenty of work to do and deadlines to meet, and it’s been hard to concentrate while we wait to hear about my mother’s test results. I hadn’t planned to be here past the wedding.”
While of course he understood why her mother’s health would be an obstacle in getting her work done, her lack of free time was disappointing. He hadn’t expected to like her as much as he did. Neither had he expected to feel quite so protective toward her, because until he’d gotten to know her a little better, he would never have guessed she’d be in need of protecting. She seemed so... perfect. A little too much so. She reminded him of new, quality leather. It was pretty to look at, but stiff, not yet broken in, and it needed to be handled with care.
She’d be worth the extra effort.
“Since you aren’t getting any work done anyway, you could use a distraction. You tried horseback riding and hiking with me, and you watched a movie I like. Why don’t you choose an activity for us that you enjoy?”
She worried the inside of her lip some more. Her expression said she knew what his real objective was, and yes, she might be swayed. Anticipation beat in his chest.
“Do you mean that?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” he said, his boys jumping for joy.
Two afternoons later, Ben had cause to regret being quite so hasty in allowing Claire to choose their next activity.
This wasn’t at all what he’d had in mind. The closest he’d ever come to Sweetheart’s public library, to the best of his recollection, was driving by. It was possible he’d necked with Beverley Watters in the parking lot late one night after a school dance, back in the day.
He and Claire were crossing that same parking lot now, walking toward the revolving glass doors. She glanced at him over her shoulder. The sun caught the sky blue of her eyes and the curve of her cheek, and his heart stuttered to a halt in his chest at the sight. Man, she was pretty.
He was well aware she was slumming while she rebuilt her confidence in men. He could oblige that. If he got her alone in a parking lot late at night—but in his truck next time, not her fancy little compact where there was no room to maneuver—he’d be doing a lot more than swilling beer or necking with her while she got slumming out of her system. She’d be riding his thighs with her back to the steering wheel and he’d be buried inside her.
He wondered if she had any similar fantasies about him. If not, he’d make sure she did. Otherwise, what was the point in her cutting loose?
“Are you afraid you’ll burst into flame?” she inquired, and he realized he’d come to a standstill and was staring at her. He’d bet he had a big, goofy smile on his face too. “Because it’s not a church,” she continued, oblivious to the thoughts running through his head. “If you were going to spontaneously combust, it would have happened the night of the wedding rehearsal. Believe me. No one is more surprised than me that you didn’t. So. What kinds of books do you like to read?”
The deal was that he’d find a book to read while she did her work, and afterward, they’d go to dinner at the Montreau Hotel. How far he’d go to get a woman into bed should make him ashamed. Claire, however, was worth the extra mile. They’d keep things light, and fun for them both—so if he had to suck it up and put on a tie and read a book or two, then that was what he’d do. When she left Sweetheart, it would be with a smile on her face. Men who made women cry were dicks.
He tightened his grip on the laptop bag he’d insisted on carrying for her as he passed through the revolving doors behind her and into an atrium brimming with sunshine that warmed dark granite floors. The test results for her mother were in, and she’d been given good news. There were no cancer cells in the surrounding tissue they’d removed, so the disease hadn’t spread. If this was how Claire chose to celebrate, then that was her business.
“Ones with lots of pictures in them,” he said, in response to her question about his type of reading material.
She puckered her lips in a cross between disapproval and humor, managing to make it look sexy. “If you can sit through three hours of Les Mis and Hugh Jackman’s singing, then it’s time you progressed to books with actual words. You said I could choose,” she reminded him.
“Sure. But I thought you’d choose a mutually satisfying activity with nudity involved.”
“Quit being such a redneck. I know just the author for you.”
She took his hand and dragged him through a second set of doors on the left, past the circulation desk, and into a room with a staggering number of shelves filled with books. She aimed for a computer attached to a column supporting the high ceiling. A few seconds later, after a quick computer search, he followed her through the stacks to the L section.
If she’d chosen Louis L’Amour for him, he was leaving her here. He had nothing against Louis or his books. He didn’t like being stereotyped.
“Here we go. Elmore Leonard.” She pulled a book from a shelf and handed it to him in triumph. “He wrote the story the TV series Justified is based on. He also wrote Get Shorty.”
“Exactly how big of a redneck do you think I am?” Ben asked, eyeing the book with suspicion.
He read—he was simply more into nonfiction. But yes, okay. He did like both Justified and Get Shorty, so she’d sized him up right. And at least she hadn’t gone with a typical cowboy Western.
She chose a table next to a window with an outlet beneath it so she could work and he passed over her laptop. Then he found a comfortable armchair in a corner not far from her and opened the book so he could ignore the speculative looks from one of the librarians whose name he couldn’t recall. He’d slept with her once, which was all she’d been after, but it hadn’t been long enough ago to make him feel comfortable about talking to her in front of Claire. The fact he couldn’t remember her name wasn’t likely to be a point in his favor with either woman.
The book Claire had selected for him was more interesting than he’d hoped and it wasn’t long before he was caught up in the story. A few hours flew past.
When he looked up again, the sun had shifted. Claire had a pair of wire-framed glasses perched on her nose and was staring at her computer screen with such intent focus that he had to smile.
He settled in, content to enjoy the pretty picture she made.
She’d shed her red, three-quarter-length twill coat. A plain blue Lycra tunic the color of her eyes topped a pair of matching leggings in a black-and-blue geometric design. A light-brown ponytail completed the image of young, upwardly-progressive professional. To look at her, most people would agree that Sweetheart wasn’t for her.
And they’d be wrong. Ben couldn’t shake the belief. He got why she didn’t want to return to Redmond. Most people found sleazy exes a deterrent. He hadn’t yet put his finger on why she wouldn’t set up her business here in Sweetheart though. He’d seen the way the mountains and the peacefulness soothed her. She wasn’t an extrovert either, so it wasn’t as if she cared about the lack of a night life. She’d chosen a library as a fun place to hang out.
That left problems with family, but he couldn’t see how. Damon was a great guy. Everyone liked him. Alayna was equally sweet and Claire seemed to adore her. She and her mother might not be the best of friends, but there was no doubt they loved each other, even if they weren’t close. Claire had been quick enough to jump in when she was needed.
She glanced up from her screen, saw he was staring at her, and checked the time. She lifted her eyebrows in a silent question over the top of her monitor, tapping the watch on her slim wrist. You ready to go?
And then she smiled at him, and his stomach took an express elevator ride to the top floor, where it got tangled into a knot with his chest. Hers wasn’t shy and sweet, like her little sister’s, but it held the same sort of warmth—the kind that slid into her eyes and made her glow from the inside.
He set the book down. He’d finished the first story in the anthology and could give the others a pass. He had more important things to attend to.
She packed up her laptop and handwritten notes, and then he held her coat for her so she could slide her arms in. She wrapped a fancy scarf around her neck, tucking the filmy ends underneath the collar. He took the laptop bag in one hand and settled his other palm on the small of her back in a universal male gesture that announced Oh yeah. This is mine.
He had a plan. He’d drop her off at her mother’s so she could change her clothes, then he’d head home to shower and put on a tie. Kill me now. They’d use her car to go to dinner at the Montreau. After, he’d convince her to come back to the ranch for a drink. He still had the key to Patterson’s cabin.
He was in a really good mood as they stepped out of the library and into the raw wind.
Until he saw who was standing next to his truck. Again.
All the fun disappeared from Ben’s face.
“Wait here,” he said.
Claire took a seat on one of the stone benches on the periphery of the small circular courtyard that fronted the building. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who the woman waiting for him had to be. It wasn’t that they looked so much alike. Rather, they had similar mannerisms in the way they moved, and held their heads. They had the same set to their mouths. Right now, they both appeared tense.
She’d known—or assumed, based on the local gossip—that Ben and his mother were estranged. From the grim manner in which he’d told her to wait here for him, she guessed no reconciliation was forthcoming. As he strode across the asphalt, her heart went out to the other woman. She had no idea what their story was, but for all Ben’s good-natured ways, he harbored a solid streak of stubborn that wouldn’t be easy to overcome. It could work for or against the people in his life. If someone had him in their corner, he’d have their back. It was one of the reasons women were so drawn to him. Claire was no different.
She’d never told anyone else about Dennis being married. That was a secret she’d thought she’d take to her grave. That same stubborn strength, however, could also be a difficult obstacle to overcome—as his mother was finding out at that very moment.
Ben’s back was rigid, his wide shoulders stiff. He did most of the talking, but Claire was too far away to catch any of it. When he was done, the woman got into a second truck parked nearby and drove off.
Pain tensed implacable fingers around Claire’s heart. Someday, if she ever reached out, would her daughter be this resistant?
Ben started toward Claire, six-plus feet of tightly-wound tension. His face, usually so sunny, was a dark thundercloud. Two ice-cold, kaleidoscope diamonds glittered from the midst of a brewing storm. She picked up her laptop and met him halfway.
He said nothing to her about what had just happened, but opened the passenger door and helped her get in. He then hopped into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
“Do you mind if we skip dinner tonight?” he asked, checking both ways before pulling the truck into traffic.
Claire had to decide between giving him personal space to get his head back together and doing what was right. He hadn’t interfered in her problems other than to be kind, and she’d like to offer him the same courtesy. But, when she’d needed him to hold her, he hadn’t backed away, and instinct screamed that he needed her now. There was so much more to him than she’d first assumed. She took a deep breath and gambled on him knowing the difference between prying and a show of support.
“I do mind,” she said. “You promised me dinner and I’m holding you to it.” She edged the sleeve of her coat up her arm and looked at her watch. “Whatever it is you need to get out of your system, you have until seven o’clock. That’s when I’m coming to get you. And that’s two hours longer than you gave me,” she added, in case he missed her point.
The knot in Ben’s jaw slowly unclenched. The corner of his mouth twitched. “I deserved that,” he said.
“Yes. You did.”
Claire reached across the console between them and slid her left hand into his right. His hand was work-hardened, the skin rough, and incredibly strong when she compared it to hers. She squeezed his index finger. A few seconds later, he squeezed her hand in return. When he glanced over at her, the storm clouds had disappeared and the sunshine was back.
A small seed deep inside her began to sprout and take root, morphing into full-blown desire in response to the heat in his eyes. She was no longer immune to him.
She no longer wanted to be.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Any time,” she replied.
Chapter Seven
Claire examined her dress in the full-length mirror at the end of the narrow hallway outside her childhood bedroom, and frowned at her image.
When had she lost so much weight?
She’d chosen the standard little black sheath dress. It had a plunging vee neckline that left no room for a bra, and long, cutout sleeves that covered her arms but bared her shoulders. A border of black lace trimmed the hem. She’d left her hair loose and added a light touch of makeup to her face. No-nonsense, high-heeled black pumps completed the predictable picture.
Perfect. She didn’t want Ben to think she was trying too hard, and yet a girl liked to look her best. Plus, it was what she was wearing under the dress that gave her added confidence. He’d like it. Not a doubt in her mind. Whether he got to see it was up for debate.
“You look very pretty,” her mother said, coming out of the kitchen to stand behind her.
Claire could say the same for her mom. Relief from the stress of cancer hanging over Tessa Brand’s head had taken years off her physical appearance, leaving her a beautiful, mature woman.
It was the delicate, fluttery, helplessness that got on Claire’s nerves. Her mother, who’d always needed someone to take care of her, was the one who should be dating. In the past, five children had limited her options. Not anymore. If only they could get her out of the mom jeans and shapeless, thrift shop knit sweaters...
“My clothes would fit you,” Claire said. “You should go through them and take what you like.”
“I’d have no place to wear your fancy things in Sweetheart,” Tessa said. Defensiveness crept into her tone. “Besides, if I wanted them, I could make them myself.”
Claire didn’t argue, whereas at one time, she would have. She’d have pointed out that not all of her clothes were fancy. In fact, the majority of them were practical and suited a purpose. But her mother was a grown woman. She liked sewing pretty clothes for her daughters, not herself, and she liked to cook for her sons. That was how she showed each of her children she loved them. And what was Claire doing in return?
Making her own mother think she wasn’t good enough. The grit of remorse scraped Claire’s eyes. If the test results had been different, they might have lost her. She might not have been the most responsible mother, but Claire now had a better understanding of what seeing to a child’s welfare entailed, and Tessa had been left with five to look after.
“Do you remember my prom dress?” Claire asked.
Her mother smiled, crinkling her nose at the memory. She looked so much like Hannah when she did that. “You saw a picture in a magazine and asked if I could make it for you. You were always so particular. That dress was a nightmare to sew.”
“It was the most beautiful dress at the dance. I felt like a princess in it. You made Alayna feel like a princess at her wedding.” Claire kissed her mother’s cheek. “I’d like for you to feel like a princess every once in a while, too.”
“I don’t need to feel like a princess. I know you might find this hard to believe,” her mother said, “because your father wasn’t always the easiest man to live with. He’d had a lot of disappointments over the years.” Her wistful expression grew far away, as if she were looking deep into the past. “But he made me feel like a queen. I never had to worry that he didn’t love me.” She shook off whatever vision she saw. Her gaze returned to her daughter. “That’s what I want for my daughters. Ben’s a nice boy,” she added.
Her mother was behind on the gossip. Ben was a great guy, but not in the context she meant.
“We’re friends,” Claire said.
Except she’d worn a lace garter and thong under the dull, predictable dress, so that she’d feel like a different person than the one she’d become. He’d brought something inside her back to life that she’d feared was dead.
And if he tried to carry through on that heat his eyes promised?
She’d give it serious consideration. The garter and thong were a reminder that she lived and breathed. She had needs. Her skin itched with longing for a man’s touch in a way she’d almost forgotten—or chosen not to remember.
She imagined the glide of work-roughened fingers over her belly and hips. Between her thighs. Ben’s touch would be so different from what she’d been used to.
