Coming Home (11 page)

Sam laughed. “Hold on to that thought—once we start tearing the place apart and construction starts—and all the unexpected troubles and holdups that come with it, you may be singing a different tune.”

She shook her head. “Nope. I'll just find somewhere quiet and tell myself it'll all be worth it.”

“Good plan.” He'd slid into his car and pulling away called out the window, “Have a nice weekend. See you Monday.”

Alone finally, Roxanne had turned and walked slowly to the A-frame. She'd fixed herself a can of tomato soup and a fried egg sandwich for dinner, concentrating fiercely on the simple tasks to keep her thoughts from dwelling on Jeb Delaney and what they had done together this morning. As she walked out of the kitchen on her way to the deck, her gaze skittered across the countertop and she stopped and stared at its scratched surface, still unable to believe that she'd actually had sex on it … with Jeb Delaney. She even managed to keep thoughts of him at bay while she ate outside, but once the food was demolished. …

She took another sip of water. She couldn't believe what had happened between them. They'd been like animals. Coupling like minks, she thought with a sour smile. And unprotected. Stupid on both their parts. She bit her lip. She'd have to tell him that he had nothing to worry about catching something from her and find out if she had anything to be concerned over. She grimaced, imagining the expression on his face. Oh, man, she really didn't want to have that sort of conversation with him—with anyone, for that matter, but with him in particular. She touched the cold bottle to her forehead. What had gotten into her? Into them?

One thing was for damn sure—she hadn't come home to start a torrid affair—with anyone. She had no intention of getting herself entangled in a complicated situation with the opposite sex. She wanted to concentrate on her house, her new life; there were many things that she wanted and men were presently at the bottom of the list. And that it had been
Jeb
who'd rocked her socks left her floored.

On one level she'd always been aware that Jeb was an attractive man. OK, very attractive. Very virile. And maybe, before the incident with the marijuana joint, she'd had a few daydreams about him. She made a face. Which put her in league with most of the women in the valley. Maybe that was it, she thought slowly. Maybe because so many females fell all over him, coupled with her chagrin and humiliation over the way he'd treated her involving the marijuana joint, she'd been determined that
she
wasn't going to worship at his feet. Of course, she hadn't been about to forgive him for embarrassing her the way he had and to prove that he hadn't cowed her, that she wasn't the least impressed by him, she'd started sniping at him, letting him know that she didn't think he was so cool and handsome. That he was dirt beneath her feet. All the others could run after him, but not her. Not Roxanne Ballinger.

Her gaze narrowed. Naturally, he hadn't helped matters, she reminded herself. Calling her “Princess” and looking down that bold nose of his at her like he'd just stepped in a pile of cat shit. He'd always been a bit of a pig with her; the marijuana joint incident had been neither the first nor the last time they'd locked horns with each other. It stuck out the most in her mind, but she could remember other times when he'd ream her out for little infractions, while the other kids just got a smile and friendly warning. Yeah. He'd always picked on her, gone out of his way to be annoying and insulting—no wonder she didn't like him. And once she'd become famous and there'd been all those ridiculous stories about her love life … The disapproving look he'd get on that handsome face of his whenever their paths crossed had made her want to smack him! You'd think she was a modern-day Jezebel, seducing men left and right and leaving ruined lives and devastated families in her wake. Who the hell was Jeb Delaney to sit in judgment on her?

By the time Roxanne went to bed that night, she was certain she had her head firmly on her shoulders when it came to Jeb Delaney. Lying in her twin bed she stared at the ceiling reminding herself again what a jerk he was … But thinking he was an arrogant pain in the ass still didn't explain what had happened this morning on that kitchen countertop. She frowned. Had to be PMS, she finally decided. That worked. Sure. Her period was due and she was a bundle of hormones—they'd all ganged up on her and she'd gone sexually nuts. OK. That sounded good. And maybe, maybe, she thought sleepily, because of all that hormone activity her body had put out an odor that had driven Jeb sexually nuts, too. She nodded and half smiled in the darkness. Yeah. That worked. PMS explained it all. And she'd make damn certain that she was never alone again with Jeb Delaney when her period was due!

Having solved the puzzle to her satisfaction, Roxanne slept deeply and dreamlessly. She was up early Saturday morning and discovered that she'd been right about her period. It had arrived—along with a severe case of cramps. Feeling sorry for herself, and wishing that men had to suffer through the same misery every month, she dragged around the cabin packing up the few things she'd brought with her. As she packed and double-checked the cabin to make certain she hadn't forgotten anything, she marveled again at all the damage the vandals had done.

When she'd first seen the place, the floors had been torn up, windows smashed, cupboards ransacked, holes punched into the walls—it had looked like a cyclone had gone through the place. And if Danny Haskell, one of the resident deputies, was to be believed, the trespassers had come back more than once, doing more damage each time. In a way it didn't matter because very little of the original structure would remain untouched, but the sight of the holes in the walls and the half-ripped-out insulation made her shake her head. All throughout the cabin, upstairs and down, there was the same sort of damage. She hadn'tbothered to fix any walls because of the new construction, but she had patched the holes in the floor by nailing down some pieces of plywood—the idea of a snake or a skunk coming up from under the cabin to visit during the night gave her the willies.

After she emptied out the few fresh things from the refrigerator and packed them in a cooler, she loaded everything up in her Jeep. It didn't take long, although she was swearing and sweating by the time she dismantled the bed and had jammed most of it into the back of the Jeep—a few feet of sideboard hanging out the window. The box spring and mattress she wrestled onto the roof of her Jeep and tied it down. She grinned. The Jeep looked like something from the depression era with the mattress on top, the lamp and nightstand perched precariously on the passenger seat, and her suitcases resting haphazardly on the bed rails in the backseat. She shook her head. If her fancy New York friends could see her now.

The Jeep finally packed, she took another walk around the A-frame. The new refrigerator would be moved to the old garage for the time being and just about everything else inside the cabin junked. It made her a little sad, thinking of Dirk Aston, the man who had built the cabin. It was going to be changed all out of recognition and very little of his handiwork would remain.

Telling herself not to get maudlin, she turned her back on the cabin and strolled to the greenhouses. They, had suffered some damage from the vandals, too, almost like an afterthought, but it had been minor stuff. They'd torn loose some of the planting trays and benches, knocked some counters over, but hadn't done any serious damage. It hadn't taken long to clean up.

She studied the greenhouses for several minutes. What in the world was she going to do with them? She could have them dismantled, but she resisted that idea. She'd always had a green thumb, although living in New York hadn't given her much chance to use it or prove it, and she decided that maybe, when things settled down, she'd see just how green that thumb of hers was. Maybe start a flower business. Hmm, she'd think about that.

Preoccupied, she walked toward the Jeep. She had just opened the door when she heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. Her heart did a funny little jig at the sight of an increasingly familiar big red truck coming around the turn. Jeb Delaney. Oh, great. Absolutely the last person she wanted to see.

An unfriendly expression on her face, all of her defenses up, she waited for him to get out of the truck, one foot tapping impatiently on the gravel.

Jeb wasn't thrilled to be here either if the look on his face was anything to go by. He'd put off coming out here this morning as long as he could, and he'd been halfway hoping that Roxanne wouldn't be at home. No such luck.

He'd brought Boss and Dawg with him and well-mannered dogs that they were, the moment he opened the cab door, both of them scrambled right over andleaped down to the ground. Smothering a curse, in his sternest voice, Jeb ordered them back into the truck. They both looked at him, wagged their tails, and then trotted over to check out Roxanne.

The frustrated expression on his face made her smile, that and the friendly greeting from the two dogs. Boss checked her out thoroughly before giving her a careless lick on her hand, while Dawg sat at her feet and wiggled all over, one black paw resting on her knee, indicating that a pat on the head would be greatly appreciated. Bending over, Roxanne did just that and got a slobbery kiss on the face for her efforts.

Laughing up at Jeb, she said, “Police dogs, are they?”

Something tightened in his chest when she glanced up at him. She wore no makeup this morning and her skin was glowing, her hair waving around her shoulders. She was very, very appealing, he thought uneasily, in blue jeans and red gingham shirt as she laughed at him and ruffled Dawg's ears. Her eyes were dancing and that fabulous mouth of hers … Jeb swallowed. She looked good. Too good. And he was a damned fool. This was Roxanne, remember? The infamous, half-naked model who posed so provocatively in countless magazines. Darling of the jet set. Used to living the good life—changing her men like she changed her sheets. The topic of every tabloid in the nation. His mouth tightened. How could he forget? Or that he was just some country yahoo, a two-time loser, who thought pizza-to-go was living high. He scowled, disgusted with himself.

Aware of his gaze and feeling shy, she buried her head in Dawg's fur and asked lightly, “So, are they police dogs or not?”

Jerked back to the present, and glad to be, Jeb shook his head. “Nope, not these two. What they are is a pair of ungrateful mugs who think their mission in life is to eat me out of house and home.”

She asked their names and for a few minutes they talked about the dogs, watching the pair of them as they raced around to sniff and dig at various spots that appealed to them.

“I always wanted a dog,” Roxanne admitted, “but living in New York and all the traveling I did didn't make it possible.”

“Well, I wasn't looking to be a dog owner when these two showed up. I don't know, for some reason—I just couldn't turn them away.” That sculpted jaw of his hardened. “If I hadn't taken them, I knew that they'd starve or get killed or end up in the pound and be put down.”

Roxanne glanced at him, liking this side of him. She'd never figured him for a soft touch, but to have adopted two such unlikely creatures as Boss and Dawg showed that he might be human after all. OK,
almost
human, reminding herself that it was in her best interests to keep thinking of Jeb Delaney as a big jerk. Much, much safer.

Nodding toward the stuffed Jeep, he asked, “Moving?”

“Yes. You know construction is going to start on Monday. It wouldn't be practical for me to try to live in the place with all the work that is going to be going on.”

“Practical,” Jeb murmured, “now that's a word I wouldn't normally associate with you.”

His words stung and her eyes narrowed. “I know that we decided to be 'not friends' yesterday, but don't tell me you drove all the way out here just to insult me.”

He held up his hands. “Hey, I'm actually here on a friendly mission.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, I am.” He took off his black Stetson and ran a hand through his hair. He hadn't slept much last night, thinking about yesterday and all they hadn't discussed—diseases, babies … He'd woken up determined to speak with her, but he wasn't enthusiastic about it. In fact, he'd rather leap from a plane into a forest fire than talk about it. Still he had to do the right thing. He took a deep breath.

“About yesterday …”

“I thought we decided that yesterday didn't happen,” she said sharply, her eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder, embarrassment and shame roiling through her.

His mouth tightened. “I know. But there's a few things that we do need to talk about before we forget about it.”

She glanced at him, her expression wary. “Like what?”

Bluntly he said, “Diseases and babies.”

Startled, she looked at him. “Oh,” she said, feeling embarrassed for different reasons. “You're right,” she admitted, “we should talk about those things.” She hesitated, not comfortable with blurting out to him that her period had just started. Mortified by the entire situation, especially yesterday's madness, her cheeks burning, she muttered, “About babies— you have nothing to worry about—I won't get pregnant. And as for the other"—her chin lifted and there was a challenging glitter in those lovely eyes—“I'm not as promiscuous as you'd like to believe. You don't have to worry about catching anything from me.”

“Good. Good,” he replied awkwardly, wishing he were ten thousand miles away. As she gazed at him expectantly, one slim brow arched, he added, “Uh, urn, and you don't need to worry about anything from me.”

“Well, good,” she said briskly. “Since that's out of the way, can we forget about yesterday now?” “Sure, sure, whatever you want.”

The sound of a vehicle grinding up the hill made them both look in that direction. The dogs heard the sound too and enthusiastically began to bark, running over to the blue pickup as it pulled up next to Roxanne's Jeep.

Jeb had recognized the truck immediately and he growled, “What the hell is he doing here?”

Her spine stiffened. “Since when is it any of your business?”

Oblivious to the man staring down at the leaping dogs, Jeb grabbed her arm. “Listen, Milo Scott is no good—he's not someone you should be hanging around with.”