Mismatch (8 page)

Wade rolled his eyes. “This from a woman who thinks Twinkies are a food group.”

Bronwynn shrugged the comment off. “I don’t have to eat right, I have a cast-iron stomach. But,” she added, shaking her fork at him, “if my doctor told me I had an ulcer, I wouldn’t pour hot sauce and scotch on it and set a match to it.”

His scowl was directed at the television because he knew her remark was justified. He’d heard the same thing from Dr. Jameson more than once.

Bronwynn watched him thoughtfully as they ate. She caught herself wanting to erase the little worry line between his eyes with her finger. When they’d finished with their food, Bronwynn placed the tray on a table near the television set. “You know,” she said softly as she walked back to the bed, “nobody would think you were a rotten person if you eased up a little and took decent care of yourself.”

Wade set his jaw. He refused to believe he drove himself hard to get the approval of other people. He was dedicated to his job, to his beliefs. Admiration from others was part of being a congressman, but he could take it or leave it. He gave her a black look. “Did you come here for any reason other than to henpeck me, Bronwynn?”

Her bicolored eyes lit up. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

She disappeared from the room, returning with a big white box adorned with a red bow.

“What’s this?” he asked, suspiciously eyeing the box she placed on his lap.

“I think they’d better go back and check your SAT scores,” she said, sitting anxiously on the edge of a chair. “First the sheep, now this. It’s a present, Wade, a gift.”

“You bought me a gift,” he said in wonder. Boy, did he feel like a louse. He’d purposely picked on her, hoping to drive her away from the property he wanted, and now she’d brought him a gift. “Why?”

Bronwynn squirmed on her chair like a shy little girl. “Because . . . not counting your nasty disposition, you’ve been very sweet and very helpful. I felt bad this afternoon for having such a chip on my shoulder about Foxfire—that’s the name of the house. Anyway, I wanted to repay you and apologize and say thanks.”

As she chewed on her lip, her gaze locked on his. Wade’s heart pounded against his ribs. She was so lovely and so sincere. Her sincerity was what struck him most about Bronwynn, he realized. That was the quality he hadn’t been able to put his finger on. Even though she came from a world of wealth and power and privilege, she seemed untouched by it, innocent in some innate way. She was guileless. It made him feel like a slug.

She broke eye contact, clearing her throat nervously. For a wild instant there she’d been hoping he would kiss her again the way he had Sunday morning. And since they were in such a convenient location, one thing might lead to another and . . . She was fantasizing about sex with a sick person. What was she turning into?

“Aren’t you going to open it?” she asked, breathless as she tried to push from her mind the image of lying tangled on the bed with Wade. “The box isn’t the best part.”

Wade pulled the lid off the box and burst into delighted laughter. “Jeans!”

“And a polo shirt and sneakers,” she said as she watched him lift the stone-washed denims out of the box. “I hope the sizes are okay.”

“They’re perfect,” Wade said, checking the labels. “You have a good eye.”

Bronwynn shrugged. “A trick from my modeling days.”

Of course, it helped that she had memorized every inch of his body. She’d practically gotten a hot flash in the store picturing him in the jeans and red knit shirt. She’d never had such a feeling when she’d gone shopping for Ross. “They’re supposed to help you unwind. I don’t think it’s physically possible to relax in pressed linen.”

Wade looked down at his crumpled trousers. He couldn’t honestly remember the last time he’d put on a pair of jeans. Denim was hardly
de rigueur
on Capitol Hill. He’d almost forgotten the soft, comfortable feeling of a well-worn pair of jeans. Bronwynn had given that back to him. What a wonderful, thoughtful gift. It touched him in a way nothing else ever had.

She was damn pretty sitting there trying to gauge his reaction with hopeful, exotic eyes, nibbling on the corner of her wide mouth. He had to admit, she was unlike anyone he’d ever known. She was squirrelly, but she was sweet, and other than the fact that they were total opposites and had nothing in common, he couldn’t think of a significant reason not to kiss her.

He reached a hand out to touch her cheek, his thumb tracing down the soft hollow beneath her high cheekbone. “Thank you very much.”

Bronwynn blinked at him, stunned by the feelings his touch set off. He could just as well have reached out with both hands and cupped her breasts. The idea made the air seep out of her lungs.

Rein it in, Bronwynn. You’re closer to the edge than you thought,
an inner voice told her.

She meant to heed caution. She meant to scoot back on her chair when Wade leaned toward her. Instead she leaned forward and met his lips with her own. He threaded the fingers of one hand into the soft, fine hair at the nape of her neck, sending a shower of tingles down her back as he gently urged her lips apart. She braced a trembling hand against the headboard, a soft moan escaping her as Wade’s tongue lazily explored her mouth.

When at last he ended the kiss, Bronwynn slumped back on her chair, convinced that she no longer had a single bone in her body; they had all dissolved, she was sure. A pleasant buzz filled her head. She knew if she was to stand up, she would drop like a stone.

Wade studied her reaction, amused and charmed. For someone who was swearing off men for a year, she didn’t have much in the way of steely determination. Of course, he wasn’t exactly proving to be a pillar of strength himself. He had vowed more than once to steer clear of her. Suddenly that didn’t seem to be a very pressing need. The only need he was interested in was the need to take Bronwynn in his arms and kiss her some more. Touching her was like being plugged into an electric current. She made him feel alive and strong. She made him ache in places that weren’t even remotely related to his ailing stomach.

“Thank you,” he murmured again, his gaze never leaving her blushing face.

“Oooh . . . you’re . . . welcome.” It seemed a huge effort to form the words and exhale them on a thready breath. Wow, Bronwynn thought, if he could bottle that kiss he’d have the world at his feet. The man should have had his lips insured with Lloyd’s of London.

As her head began to clear, she shot him a speculative glance. “Aren’t you going to say that shouldn’t have happened?”

“I won’t if you won’t,” he said cautiously.

What was that supposed to mean? She told herself she didn’t want to know at the moment. She wasn’t ready to make a decision about their relationship. All she wanted to concentrate on was her self-appointed role of overseer of Wade’s vacation. Nervously she glanced at the enormous man’s Rolex she wore strapped to her delicate wrist. “I’d better get going. Muffin will be anxious to get home.”

“Muffin?”

Bronwynn nodded as she eased herself up on slightly wobbly legs. “She’s out in the yard playing with Tucker.”

Wade got up and followed her out of the room. “You left a sheep loose in Dr. Jameson’s lawn?”

“Don’t get your shorts in a knot, Wade. Think of it as a free mowing and fertilizing job.” She stopped inside the screen door and glanced out. Her heart fell into her stomach.

Tucker and Muffin were covered with dirt. The dog sat in a newly dug hole, panting happily. The sheep stood munching on one of the many uprooted shrubs, basking in the glow of the setting sun.

Bronwynn could feel Wade standing behind her. Not because he was touching her, but because the anger was rolling off him in waves of heat. She bit her lip and stepped outside to get a better look at the damage, then she calculated the distance to her truck—just in case Wade flipped out.

“Perhaps I’ll think of it as a freezer full of mutton,” he said in a tightly controlled voice. He stepped down onto the lawn in his bare feet, his shirttail flapping in the pleasant evening breeze. Muffin abandoned the bushes in favor of nibbling at Wade’s shirt. He yanked the fabric out of the sheep’s reach, sending the animal a fierce look.

“Now don’t go blaming this all on Muffin,” Bronwynn said. Her pet trotted up to her to rub her head against Bronwynn’s leg and stare up at her with adoring brown eyes. “I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure sheep don’t know how to dig holes. Dogs, on the other hand—”

Wade lifted a finger at her. “Don’t even say it. Tucker is too lazy to instigate a disaster of this magnitude. The most diabolical thing he’s ever come up with is getting into the garbage.”

The dog dropped his head on his paws and adopted a look of innocent suffering.

Wade stood with his hands on his hips and scowled at the dirt-covered Labrador. “I know that look. You’re as guilty as sin.”

Bronwynn rubbed Muffin’s head affectionately as she cast an accusatory look at the dog. “Corrupting an innocent sheep.” She cleared her throat at Wade’s expression. “Well, okay, they’re both guilty.”

Dr. Jameson’s formerly immaculate, professionally landscaped lawn was a mess. It looked like the army reserve had conducted weekend war games on it. Wade raked a hand back through his hair. He shook his head. “Look at this mess. It’ll take me all day tomorrow to clean this up.”

Bronwynn had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. She patted Muffin’s head in a congratulatory manner. “Oh, no. All that fresh air and sunshine and physical exercise. You won’t be able to ruin your eyesight or aggravate your ulcer poring over all the paperwork you never should have brought with you.” She pressed her fingertips to her lips and gave Wade an apologetic look that was about as genuine as junk jewelry. “I apologize on Muffin’s behalf.”

Wade glared at her suspiciously. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

A little squeak escaped her as she pressed her fingers to her lips again in an effort to hold back her laughter. The brightness of her eyes was enough to give her away as she shook her head.

It would have been smarter to be angry with her, Wade told himself. He should have been angry with her, but he couldn’t look at the sparkle in her mismatched eyes and feel anything other than a bubble of exasperated laughter. It wasn’t like him.

She’s a dangerous woman, he thought.

The warning went in one ear and out the other.

“I’ll accept the apology on one condition,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What?” Bronwynn asked suspiciously, stepping protectively in front of her sheep. “It doesn’t involve mint jelly, does it?”

“No. It involves you driving that pretty little fanny of yours over here in that death trap of a pickup first thing tomorrow morning so you can clean up Lamb Chop’s half of the mess.”

“Absolutely.” She grinned, her mind busy going over all the possibilities. He practically was inviting her to keep an eye on him. She’d keep his nose out of that ton of paperwork or die trying.

“In the meantime,” Wade continued, frowning at Muffin, “take that beast out of here before I decide to make a shearling coat out of her.”

“No problem. Come on, Muffin, into the truck. We’re on our way home.”

The sheep hopped into the back of the pickup. Bronwynn picked up the piece of chrome trim that had fallen onto the driveway and tossed it in the cab as she climbed in behind the wheel. “Don’t worry about us, Wade. Out of sight, out of . . . your hair.”

“Mind,” he said under his breath, knowing it wouldn’t do any good to correct her. The old saying was a crock anyway—at least where Bronwynn Prescott Pierson was concerned.

She may have gone out of sight as her truck’s taillights disappeared into the dark of the woods, but, dammit, he thought, she was never very far from his mind. Even now the latest kiss they’d shared was replaying in his mind. Hot. Sweet. They had at least one thing in common—mutual attraction. As it became stronger, their differences faded into the background.

As the sun dropped over the ridge in the west, Wade stood with his hands in his pockets and a speculative gleam in his eyes, his gaze fixed on the thicket of trees that hid Foxfire from view. “Swearing off men for a year, Bronwynn? We’ll see about that.”

SIX

“I
KNOW IT’S
only been a matter of days, but Ross seems like ancient history to me. I think it’s a sign that he and I were never meant to be. So I shouldn’t feel any qualms about getting on with my life, should I? I mean, it’s not as if I’m a widow and have to observe a decent period of mourning. And it’s certainly not as if I’m going to reconsider, forgive Ross, and take him back. The creep hasn’t even bothered to try to find me. He and Belinda are probably off sulking over the fact that they’ll never get their hands on my money.” Bronwynn paused to eat another handful of dry Frosted Flakes from the box. Stretching her long legs down the porch steps, she washed the cereal down with a gulp of orange soda, congratulating herself on buying the kind that was ten percent real juice.

Muffin looked up from her bowl of cereal to add her two cents to the conversation with a long bleat.

“You got that right. I’ll bet they’re in Mexico. I hope so.” A nasty smile lifted her wide mouth. “Ross will get a heat rash. A heat rash
and
dysentery. That’s mean of me,” she reflected, then shrugged. “I don’t care.”

She leaned back and looked out on the gorgeous morning, her freshly cut lawn, the lush forest beyond it, the worn edges of the Green Mountains in the near distance. The early morning air was fresh and cool and filled with the songs of woodland birds—thrush, finches, blue jays.

An incredible sense of peace enfolded Bronwynn in its arms and hugged her until every inch of her skin felt warm and tingling. Freedom. She had her whole life ahead of her and the freedom to choose any path she wanted, which brought her back to thoughts of Wade.

She wanted Wade Grayson and it had nothing to do with feeling rejected by her former fiancé. She had used her situation as a logical and convenient excuse, but she could see now it was a load of meadow muffins. What she felt was plain old-fashioned lust with a good measure of liking and caring thrown in.

It scared her a little bit. She had been so freshly hurt by a man, it was hard not to be a little gunshy. If only she could have figured out what had gone wrong with Ross, she’d have felt a lot better about getting involved with Wade.

“It’s not that I’m confusing Wade with Ross,” she said to her sheep, who had scaled the steps and was nibbling at the flap on the cereal box Bronwynn dug her hand into. “That’s not it at all. Wade just smacks of integrity. He likes to play the cynic, but I’d bet anything he never would betray a friend or callously use an innocent person for his own ends. Not Wade. Not in a million years.”

Muffin took advantage of the faraway look in her mistress’s eye, grabbing hold of the cereal box and bounding off the steps with it. She dashed around the yard with Bronwynn hot on her heels, running just fast enough so Bronwynn couldn’t catch her. Finally she sailed up into the bed of the pickup with the box still clenched between her teeth and a triumphant gleam in her eye.

Bronwynn leaned against the crushed-in bumper of the truck to catch her breath, rubbing Muffin’s ear with one hand. “We did all that running just because you wanted to take a ride in the truck? Well, we’re going for a ride all right, but I don’t think you’re going to like it. I’ll have to tie you up when we get to Wade’s.”

She scooted onto the bed of the truck, wondering what had ever become of the tailgate. “I know you and Wade haven’t exactly hit it off, but he’s a good guy, Muffin. He’s got a lot of potential as a human being—if we can manage to keep him from killing himself with work and bad habits. I know he’s a stuffed shirt, but you and I are going to do our level best to unstuff him.”

They drove into Shirely first, to the nursery, where Muffin was confined to the truck, tethered to the spare tire while Bronwynn did her shopping. The geraniums and ferns she bought to decorate her front porch went into the cab, out of the sheep’s reach. Planters and potting soil and garden tools went into the back. Muffin inspected each item, testing each with her teeth to see if they had snack potential. After several more stops in town, they headed out to the country again on the gravel road that led to Wade’s house and eventually to Foxfire.

Wade was out in the yard when they got there. Dressed in the jeans and red polo shirt Bronwynn had given him, he was the picture of the man of leisure. Bronwynn almost ran the truck off the edge of the driveway when she saw him. The only thing that saved her from swooning was his lack of a tan. If he’d been bronze under that snug red shirt, she’d have been a goner.

The polo shirt showed off the width of his shoulders and hugged his lean middle. The jeans showed off other parts of his anatomy in a way dress pants never could. Bronwynn thought women everywhere should offer up a prayer of thanks to the makers of men’s jeans.

Wade paused with his foot on the blade of the shovel as he watched Bronwynn unload her sheep. She lugged the spare tire out of the truck, tossed it in the grassy, shaded ditch, and tied Muffin to it with a long length of rope. She certainly had become attached to that four-legged ball of yarn in a hurry, he thought. He envisioned her walking into a swanky garden party with Muffin at her heels and had to laugh as he imagined what her upper-crust friends would have to say. It pleased him to think Bronwynn wouldn’t give a fig about their opinions. Like her rattletrap pickup, she liked her sheep and wouldn’t care who didn’t.

A knot of desire tightened deep inside him as she crossed the lawn with a smile on her face. The morning sun turned her hair to flame, the breeze tossed it all around her head. Instead of reaching up to straighten it, she shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her baggy jeans. The faded purple T-shirt she wore bore the logo of an Irish pub in Boston. As she drew near he could see the pink tint the previous day’s sun had put in her cheeks, the spray of freckles it had produced across the bridge of her nose. No woman had ever looked prettier to him than Bronwynn Prescott Pierson did at that moment as she stood squinting up at him.

On impulse—something so rare he didn’t even recognize it—Wade dropped his head and brushed a kiss across her lips. It startled them both—the surprise of it and the burst of awareness it gave them. Wade recovered first.

“Good morning.”

Bronwynn looked away, fighting to keep from giggling like a teenager. She was enormously pleased by his kiss, but she tried to tell herself it was because Wade was in a good mood, that he was relaxed more relaxed than she’d ever seen him.

“Hi,” she said, staring at the toe of her battered sneaker. “How are you feeling today?”

“Great.” He discounted the slight gnawing in his stomach as being routine.

Over her rare burst of shyness, Bronwynn noted the healthy color in his cheeks. “Glad to hear it. Do you mind if we have breakfast before we start? I’m famished.”

“From what I’ve seen, that’s a perpetual state,” Wade said dryly. He checked his watch, an action that did not go unnoticed. He had hoped they could get the lawn taken care of right away. The report on the defense budget would arrive soon, and he needed to dig into it. “I’m afraid I don’t have much in the line of breakfast ingredients on hand.”

“Don’t worry. I did some shopping this morning. It’ll be my treat,” Bronwynn said, going back to her truck to get her grocery bags.

“Oh goody,” Wade said, teasing her as he tried to peek into the sacks. “What do we get, cookies or chocolate cupcakes?”

“If you’re going to get snippy, I’ll eat both omelettes myself,” she warned him in a prim tone, her freckled nose in the air as she marched to the house.

“Snippy?” he asked, out of habit reaching for the cigarettes in his shirt pocket, realizing there was no pocket on the shirt she’d given him.

“I happen to make an outstanding omelette.” It was the only thing she knew how to make, but she wasn’t going to spread that bit of news around. Part of her plan to help Wade included seeing to it that he ate properly. An herb and cheese omelette would have to do for starters, but she’d picked up a cookbook at the dime store in Shirley and fully intended to learn to cook a wide range of dishes.

Wade took a seat at the breakfast bar and watched as she stored her groceries away in his refrigerator. She had no intention of taking them home with her. She’d chosen fresh fruits and vegetables, lean meat, milk, all with Wade and his tender tummy in mind. She tried to look as proficient as possible as she brewed a pot of herbal tea.

“Do you know how to make a decent pot of coffee?” he asked, picking up half an English muffin she’d set in front of him.

“Nope,” Bronwynn lied blithely. She poured two cups of tea and set one in front of Wade. “I prefer tea. Give it a try.”

He made a face as he contemplated the tea, but he took a sip and decided it beat the heck out of the battery acid he brewed every morning. It actually had a pleasant, soothing quality to it. He was equally surprised by the quality of the omelette. It was light and tasty. He tried to remember the last time he’d had a decent breakfast but couldn’t. It had no doubt been at a meeting, and he would have wolfed it down without tasting a bite. It was nice to sit and chat with Bronwynn and linger over the meal.

“Delicious,” he said with a twinkle in his amber-flecked eyes. “Do you do windows?”

Bronwynn grinned. “As a matter of fact, I do, but you’ll have to take a number and wait. I have thirty or forty to do at Foxfire this week.”

“Why don’t you hire someone to do them?” he asked, reaching for the cigarettes he thought he’d left on the counter. They were gone.

“Why should I?” She refilled their teacups. “I’ve got nothing but time on my hands. Besides, I’m looking forward to it.”

“To washing windows?”

“And scrubbing floors and knocking down cobwebs. My first big project is going to be the kitchen.” Her face was glowing with excitement.

“Figures,” Wade mumbled, fighting a grin as she bounced a green grape off his head.

“I’m going to tear out the countertop and lay ceramic tile myself.”

Wade shook his head in wonder. She was something. He didn’t know many people—male or female—who would have been willing to tackle that monstrosity of a house alone. Bronwynn seemed determined to. He thought of the sketches he’d had done of the ski lodge he wanted to build and felt a pang of regret. “You really are going to tear into the old house and set it to rights, aren’t you?”

“I am.” She watched him carefully for signs of skepticism. None came. “Oh, Wade, you should have seen it when it was in its glory. It was so beautiful, elegant, but it was also warm and charming. It was a real home. I want it to be one again.”

The way she was looking at him, he would have promised her anything. She was full of wishing and hoping, like a little girl at Christmas. He felt his ski lodge slip a little further away from reality. “You love the old place, don’t you?”

She thought of Uncle Duncan and her family and all the wonderful memories Foxfire had given her. “As much as a person can love a place.”

They worked on the lawn the rest of the morning, repairing the damage their pets had done, while the perpetrators sprawled in the shade, watching. The sun climbed, but the breeze continued, keeping them from sweltering. Even so, Wade peeled off his shirt and tossed it on a lawn chair.

Bronwynn suddenly felt in dire need of a cold shower. She’d seen her share of male chests and Wade’s was no disappointment. He wasn’t heavily muscled, but he was in surprisingly good shape. She guessed it was simply his natural build, because she doubted he took the time to work out. Lean and lanky, there wasn’t a spare ounce on him. A mat of curls a shade darker than the hair on his head carpeted his chest and trailed down his flat belly. Bronwynn found the color contrast with his tawny blond hair incredibly sexy.

To distract herself, she asked, “How’s your stomach doing?”
It certainly looks okay.

“Not too bad. Thanks to the breakfast and the soup last night, no doubt. Thank you.”

She shrugged, looking down as she shoveled dirt around the base of a juniper shrub. “What are neighbors for?”

He was hoping this neighbor was going to do more than see to the needs of his troublesome stomach. Dawn had found him out on the patio, stretched out on a lounge chair, contemplating his growing attraction to Bronwynn Pierson. He had come to the conclusion that he liked her as a person in spite of her eccentricities. She made him crazy with all her quirks, but she was never dull. In fact, she was one of the most genuine people he’d ever met; nothing about Bronwynn was an act. And she was one sexy lady, he thought, eyeing her pretty little backside as she bent to roll up her pant legs.

In his typically logical, analytical way, Wade had decided there was no reason he and Bronwynn shouldn’t explore the mutual desire he’d tasted in their kisses. There was no reason except that she recently had had her heart broken.

It seemed like much more than just a matter of days since he’d held her in his arms and comforted her while she cried over her fiancé’s betrayal. She had been an emotional wreck. Was she still feeling the hurt? Did she still harbor any love for the man who had deceived her?

She seemed to have gotten herself back on track. She seemed to have put the disaster behind her. Diving into work at Foxfire seemed like a positive sign to Wade. He had to think she’d been telling the truth to herself and to him when she’d said she hadn’t truly loved Ross Hilliard. But was she ready to try another relationship?

Wade had decided he wanted Bronwynn in his life—and in his bed—but he wouldn’t take advantage of a vulnerable woman.

They sat down on the shaded patio to rest when the last of the shrubs was in place. Wade pulled his shirt back on. Bronwynn served milk and deli sandwiches she’d picked up in Shirley. Tucker sat at their feet pleading for a handout with his big brown eyes while Muffin stood under the maple tree staring at them, bleating her heart out.

“Poor Muffin,” Bronwynn said sadly.

“Poor Muffin,” Wade repeated. “Mutton stew on the hoof.”

“Wade!” she wailed, tossing a potato chip at him. He laughed and tweaked her nose. “You’re a horrible tease.”

“Poor Bronwynn,” he said, chuckling. He leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette, one of the last in a pack he could have sworn had been nearly full. Exhaling a stream of smoke, he studied Bronwynn through narrowed eyes.