Hawk's Way Grooms (4 page)

“Same time tomorrow?”

She started to refuse. It would be easier if she kept her distance from him. But it was foolish to deny herself his friendship because she felt more than that for him.

She gave him a cheery smile and said, “Sure. Same time tomorrow.” She breathed a sigh of relief that she wouldn't have to face him again for twenty-four hours.

“As soon as I shower, we can go to work planning all those activities for the kids,” he said.

Jewel gave him a startled look.

“Changed your mind about wanting my help?”

She had forgotten all about it. “No. I…uh…”

He tousled her hair. “You can make up your mind while I shower. I'll be here if you need me.”

A moment later he had disappeared into the house. It was only then she realized he was going to use up all the hot water.

“Hey!” she yelled, yanking the screen door open to follow after him. “I get the shower first!”

He leaned his head out of the bathroom door. She saw a length of naked flank and stopped in her tracks.

“You can have it first tomorrow,” he said. His eyes twinkled as he added, “Unless you'd like to share?”

She put her hand flat on his bare chest, feeling the crisp, sweat-dampened curls under her palm, and shoved him back inside. “Go get cleaned up, stinky,” she said, wrinkling her nose.” We've got work to do.”

He saluted her and stepped back inside.

It was the right response. Just enough teasing and playful camaraderie to disguise her shiver of delight—and the sudden quiver of fear—at being invited to share Mac's shower.

“W
OW
! M
AC
M
ACREADY IN THE FLESH
!”

Mac felt embarrassed and humbled at the look of admiration—almost adulation—in Colt Whitelaw's eyes. Mac had just shoved open the kitchen screen door to admire the sunrise on his third day at Hawk's Pride when he encountered Jewel's fourteen-year-old brother on the back steps. He had known the boy since Colt came to the Whitelaw household as an infant, the only one of the eight Whitelaw kids who had known no other parents than Zach and Rebecca. “Hi there, kid.”

Colt was wearing a white T-shirt cut off at the waist to expose his concave belly and ribs and with the arms ripped out to reveal sinewy biceps. Levi's covered his long, lanky legs. He was tossing a football from hand to hand as he shifted from foot to booted foot. With the soft black down of adolescence growing on his upper lip, he looked every bit the eager and excited teenager he was.

“Mom said you were coming, but I didn't really believe her. I mean, now that you're famous and all, I didn't think you'd ever come back here. I wanted to come over as soon as you got here, but Mom said you needed time to settle in without all of us bothering you, so I stayed away a whole extra day. I'm not bothering you, am I?”

Mac resisted the urge to ruffle Colt's shaggy, shoulder-length black hair. The kid wouldn't appreciate it. Mac knew from his own experience that a boy of fourteen considered himself pretty much grown up. Colt was six feet tall, but his shoulders were still almost as narrow as his hips. His blue eyes were filled with wonder and hope, without the cynicism and disappointment that appeared as you grew older and learned that life threw a lot of uncatchable balls your way.

“Sit down and tell me what you've been doing with yourself,” Mac invited. He eased himself into one of the two slatted white wooden chairs situated on the flagstone patio at the back of the cottage. Colt perched on the wide arm of the other chair.

The patio was arbored, and purple bougainvillea woven within a white lattice framework provided shade to keep the early morning sun off their heads and a pleasant floral fragrance.

Mac was aware of Colt's scrutiny as he gently picked up his wounded leg and set the ankle on the opposite knee. When he was done, he laid his cane down on the flagstone and leaned back comfortably in the chair.

“I was watching the game on TV when your leg got busted,” Colt said. “It looked pretty bad.”

“It was,” Mac agreed.

“I heard them say you'd never walk again,” Colt blurted.

Mac managed a smile. “Looks like they were wrong.”

“When you didn't come back after a whole year, they said you'd never play football again.”

“It's taken me a while to get back on my feet, but I expect to be back on the football field in the fall as good as new and better than ever.”

“Really?” Colt asked.

Mac was fresh out of the shower after his second morning of walking with Jewel, and wished now he had put on jeans and boots instead of shorts and Nikes. The kid was gawking at his scarred leg like he was a mutant from the latest horror movie.

Mac figured it was time to change the subject, or he'd end up crying his woes to the teenager. He gestured to the football in Colt's hands and said, “Are you on the football team at school?”

Colt made a disparaging face and mumbled, “Yeah. I'm the quarterback.”

Most boys, especially in Texas, would have been ecstatic at the thought of being quarterback. “It sounds as if you don't care much for football.”

“It's all right. It's just…” Colt slid off the arm backward into the slatted wooden chair, with his legs dangling over the arm, the football cradled in the notch of his elbow. “Did you always know what you wanted to do with your life?”

Mac nodded. He had always known he wanted to play football. He just hadn't been sure his body would give him the chance. “How about you?”

“I know exactly what I want to do,” Colt said. “I just don't think I'm going to get the chance to do it.”

“Why not?”

“Dad expects me to stay here and be a rancher.”

“Is that so bad?”

“It is when I'd rather be doing something else.”

Mac stared at Colt's troubled face. “Anything you'd like to talk about?”

Colt shrugged. “Naw. I guess not.” He settled his feet on the ground and rose with an ease that Mac envied. “Guess I'd better get going. Now that school's out for the summer, I've got a lot of chores to do.”

Mac turned his eyes in the direction of the squealing windmill.

Colt laughed. “I'll get to it right away. Hope it hasn't been keeping you awake.”

“I've slept fine.” Like the dead. He had slept straight through the afternoon and evening of his first day here, and yesterday he had been exhausted after a day spent mostly sitting down, working out a crafts program for the camp with Jewel. He knew his body needed rest to heal, but he was tired of being tired. He wanted to be well again.

Colt began loping away, then suddenly turned and threw the football in Mac's direction. Instinctively, Mac reached out to catch it. His fingertips settled on the well-thrown ball with remembered ease, and he drew it in.

Colt came loping back, a wide grin splitting his face. “Guess you haven't lost your touch.” He held out his hand for the ball.

Mac looked up at the kid, an idea forming in his head. “How would you like to throw a few to me over the next couple of weeks, after I get a little more mobile?”

Colt's eyes went wide with wonder. “You mean it? Really? Hot damn, that would be great! I mean, golly, that would be great!” he quickly corrected himself, looking over his shoulder to see if any of his family had heard him. “Just say when and where.”

“Let's say two weeks from today,” Mac said. “I'll come and find you.”

Colt eyed Mac's injured leg. “Are you sure—”

“Two weeks,” Mac said certainly.

Colt grinned. “You got it.” He took the ball and sauntered off toward the barn.

Mac let out a deep sigh. He had given himself two weeks to get back enough mobility to be able to run for a pass, when it was taking him thirty minutes to walk a mile.

He turned as he heard the screen door slam and saw Jewel. She was just out of the shower, having been second again this morning, since she had gotten a phone call the instant they came back in the door from their walk. She must have blown her hair dry, because it looked shiny and soft enough for him to want to put his hands in it.

The only time he had ever touched her hair in the past was to tousle it like an older brother or tug on her ponytail. He couldn't help wondering what it would feel like to have all that long, silky hair draped over his body.

Mac turned away.
This is Jewel. Your best friend. You'd better get laid soon, old buddy. You're starting to have really weird fantasies.

She was wearing jeans and boots and a long-sleeved man's button-down, oxford-cloth shirt turned up at the cuffs with the tails hanging out. He wondered if the shirt had belonged to her fiancé and felt jealous of the man. Which was stupid, because Mac and Jewel had never been lovers.

Would you like to be?

He forced his mind away from that insidious thought. It would mess up everything if he made a move on his best friend. He needed Jewel's friendship too much to spoil things that way.

The shirt was big and blousy on her, and she wore her hair pulled over her shoulders in front to hide whatever there might have been left to see of her figure, which wasn't much.

He started to say “You look great!” and bit his tongue. It sounded too much like something a man might say to a woman he wanted to impress. “Hi,” he said instead. “Hope you had enough hot water.”

“Barely. I made it a quick shower. I'm definitely first tomorrow.” She took the seat next to him, leaned back and inhaled a breath of flower-scented air that made her breasts rise under the shirt. The sight took his breath away.

Whenever he had thought about Jewel in the years they had been apart, it was her laughter he had remembered. The way her eyes crinkled at the corners and her lips curved, revealing even white teeth, and how the sound would kind of bubble up out of her, as effervescent as sparkling water.

He couldn't imagine why he hadn't remembered her breasts. He could see why a man might stare. Had they been that large six years ago? They must have been, or close to it, because he had joked with her about them a lot, he remembered. And she had laughed in response, that effervescent, sparkling laugh.

He realized he hadn't heard her laugh once since he had arrived. She had smiled, but her eyes had never joined her mouth. A sadness lingered, memories of more than uncatchable balls. More like forfeited games.

“Who was that on the phone?” he asked.

“Mrs. Templeton. Her eight-year-old son, Brad, is supposed to be a camper during the first two-week session, but he was having second thoughts about coming.”

“Why?”

“She's not really sure. He was excited at first when his parents suggested the camp. She wanted me to talk to him.”

“Were you able to change his mind?”

Her lips curved. “Brad's an avid football fan. I mentioned you were here—”

“You shouldn't have done that,” Mac said brusquely.

She looked as if he'd kicked her in the stomach. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't think you'd mind. You always seemed to like spending time with the kids.”

He made a face. “It isn't that I mind spending time with them. It's just—” He didn't want them to see him hobbling around with a cane. He didn't want them feeling sorry for him. He didn't want to be asked a lot of questions for which he had no answers.

He would know in the next few weeks whether his leg was going to stand up to the rigors of running. He wanted time by himself to deal with his disappointment—if that was what it turned out to be. He wanted to be able to rage against fate without worrying about some sick kid's feelings.

“I'm sorry, Mac,” Jewel said, reaching out to lay her hand on his forearm.

The hairs on his arms prickled at her touch, and his body responded in a way that both surprised and disturbed him. He resisted the urge to jerk his hand away. That would only hurt her again.

This is Jewel. My friend. There's nothing sexual intended by her touch.

Jewel might be his friend, but his body also recognized her as female. This sort of thing—unwanted arousal—had happened once or twice when they were teenagers, and she had touched him at an odd moment when he wasn't expecting it, but he had always attributed those incidents to randy teenage hormones. That excuse wouldn't work now.

All right, so she was an attractive woman.

That excuse wouldn't work either. Jewel wasn't pretty. Never had been. Her nose was straight and small, her chin was square, her mouth was a bit too big and her eyes were Mississippi-mud brown. Ordinary features all. She did have an extraordinary body. Her long legs, small waist and ample breasts were the stuff of male dreams. But Mac was offended on Jewel's behalf to think that any man could want her because of her body and not because of who she was inside.

So, it's her mind you find attractive?

As a teenager, he had liked her sense of humor, her enthusiasm for life and her willingness to reach out to others. He hadn't seen much of the first two traits this time around, and he wasn't sure whether it was a continued willingness to reach out to others that had made her return to Camp LittleHawk or, as he suspected, a desire to retreat from the world.

Mac had no explanation for his response to Jewel except that he had been celibate for too long. What had happened when Jewel touched him was merely the healthy response of a male animal to a female of the species. The problem would be solved when he found himself a woman and satisfied the simple physiological need that had been too long denied. Which meant he had better make a trip into town sometime soon and find a willing woman.

“Do you want me to call the Templetons back and tell them your plans have changed and you won't be here, after all?” Jewel asked.

He shook his head. “I guess it won't hurt me to be nice to one little boy.”

“If you'd rather not—”

“I said I would.” He slid his leg off his knee and reached for his cane. “It's not that big a deal, Jewel.”

She rose and reached for his arm to help him up.

He jerked away. “I'm not an invalid. I wish you'd stop trying to help me.”

He saw the hurt look on her face, but that was better than having her know the sharp sexual response her touch had provoked. That would ruin everything. Better to have her think he was in a lousy mood than find out that he wanted to suck on her breasts or put his hand between her legs and seek the damp heat there.