Southern Hospitality (14 page)

“You think I’m going to get into bed with you tonight?” Tory demanded, telling herself that she had to remain in control. She couldn’t afford to lose her temper now, no matter what the provocation. This was what she’d been preparing herself for all day.

“Thanks for the compliment, sweetheart, but I think you’re being a little optimistic.” He gave her an apologetic smile, and ruefully shook his head. “Even if my mind was willing right now, my body just isn’t going to cooperate. Sorry.”

Tory was dumbfounded as Logan turned his back on her and pulled the sheet over his shoulder. If he was trying to drive her crazy, he was doing an excellent job. After fretting and worrying all day about what to do about tonight’s sleeping arrangements, she never imagined he’d calmly go to sleep. Her first impulse was to stalk over to the bed and give him a good shaking. She realized, however, that would be stupid. This was what she wanted.

Dragging weary fingers through her hair, Tory took a deep breath. She had to think this through. Exactly what was Logan Herrington up to this time? Was this another ploy? He’d been offhand last night, casually saying goodnight, then returning an hour later. A short woofing noise from the infuriating man seemed to mock her suspicions. He’d actually gone to sleep, and was too upper crust to even really snore.

A jaw-popping yawn interrupted her train of thought. Whatever strategy Logan was using tonight, she wasn’t accomplishing anything by falling asleep on her feet. She would have to deal with him in the morning, and that meant she needed a decent night’s sleep. She couldn’t sleep in the chair.

By only removing her shoes and socks, she was ready for bed in five minutes. Tory hesitated at the side of the bed, wondering if she was falling into a trap, but decided she was too tired to care at this point. She’d been up for over eighteen hours.

Staring down at the cotton plaid bedspread, she had a flash of inspiration. She rolled the thin material into a bolster and laid it in the center of the bed, parallel to Logan’s back. Satisfied with her handiwork, she gingerly eased herself down onto the mattress. There was a good four inches of space between her and her companion. Closing her eyes, she smiled and relaxed her tense muscles. Logan was under the covers and she was on top. Everything was under control.

“Okay, let’s head ’em up and move ’em out,” Tory exclaimed as she climbed into the passenger seat of the Winnebago. “I’ve paid for the gas, so we’re ready to roll.”

Logan closed his door and gave her a jaundiced look before turning the key. “Now I know you spent most of the day lounging around the motel during the rally. You couldn’t be this cheerful after only six hours’ sleep. I think I need at least another twelve hours to feel human again.”

Biting her lip, Tory occupied herself with unfolding the road map. She’d had very little sleep, her nerves were stretched to the breaking point, and she hadn’t had an ounce of caffeine yet. But, she was going to be happy and carefree if it killed her. As far as Logan was concerned, she didn’t have a care in the world.

“You definitely aren’t a morning person,” she said, continuing to study the map, plotting a new route back to Little Rock. She wanted Logan to concentrate on something else besides her. Driving the twists and turns of the Ozarks on a two-lane road through northwest Arkansas should keep him from discussing more personal matters.

Personal matters like why she’d been draped over his body this morning when he woke up.

“What’s so fascinating?”

“I’m plotting the scenic route for the ride home. We’ll go back by the northern route, although it’s much more spectacular in the fall when the leaves are turning.” She was starting to babble, but it was for a good cause. “New England has nothing on the autumn colors of the Ozarks, just a better P.R. person.”

“Those are fighting words, lady. No one impugns the honor of our trees,” Logan shot back, seemingly willing to keep the conversation on safe ground.

Tory slouched down in her seat, relaxing a little, but still on her guard. She couldn’t forget opening her eyes an hour ago to stare into Logan’s amused, blue gaze, only millimeters away from her own. Sometime during the pre-dawn hours the bedspread had disappeared from between them. Her body had been plastered against Logan’s, her fingers stroking his bare arms.

And she wasn’t the only one who’d been taking liberties. Logan was a willing participant in the game. His hand was splayed across her rib cage. As her body came fully awake, she realized the heat from his hand was touching bare skin.

Logan flexed his hand against the steering wheel, still remembering the satiny texture of Tory’s skin. Damn, he’d been tempted to forget everything and throw caution to the wind. Only the wary look in her eyes kept him from covering her body and seeking her passionate response. Closing his eyes for a moment, he ruthlessly erased the image from his mind. Then, by staring fixedly at the road ahead, he finally managed the Herculean feat.

With a grimace, he realized his uncle would be delighted by the situation. Damned if Preston was going to find out about his difficulties with Tory. The older man already proved he had a perverse sense of humor by setting up this trip. His cup would run over if he ever discovered Logan’s inept attempts at seducing his friend’s daughter.

“Hey, earth to Logan! Do you want me to drive while you take a nap?”

“Pardon?” The amazement in Tory’s voice broke through his distraction.

“I’ve been explaining the new route to you for five minutes, and you haven’t said a word. I thought you might be one of those people who sleeps with his eyes open.”

“Sleep? I’ve heard that word somewhere before,” Logan returned, pretending to give the matter serious consideration. Idle conversation might just keep his mind off more dangerous thoughts. “It has something to do with lying down on a soft surface and closing your eyes, doesn’t it? I used to do something like that back home in Boston, I’m sure of it.”

“Oh, my. This calls for some serious, emergency measures,” Tory murmured. “Pull into that parking lot up there on the right.”

“What are you planning to do?” he asked suspiciously, but followed her orders and turned into the gravel parking lot. There were a few vehicles parked near the single story, brick building. A simple sign proclaimed Milt and Myrna’s Place.

“Administer the proper medication for your condition, caffeine and sausage biscuits.”

He was beginning to enjoy himself again. Tory Planchet wasn’t just the sexiest woman he’d met in a long time, she was also the most fun. He didn’t remember when he’d ever enjoyed talking nonsense so much. “Sausage biscuits?”

“Save me from ignorant Yankees,” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air and looking up at the roof for some kind of deliverance. “This is a breakfast delicacy, my man. You take a light and fluffy biscuit, warm from the oven, and cut it in half. Then you carefully place a piping hot sausage patty in the middle. Ta da—a sausage biscuit!”

“This isn’t one of your Aggie jokes, is it? Don’t you people eat things like corn flakes or plain, old eggs and bacon?”

“Trust me, Logan, you’ll love it,” Tory said with confidence, then scrambled out the door. “You have to experience every facet of the South while you’re here.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll survive my three months. I’m still trying to recover from experiencing every nuance of yesterday’s rally,” he put in dryly, noting that she had the grace to look slightly chagrined. Tod Blaylock had told him about Tory’s rationale for placing him in the fast sweep car.

“Well, as I was saying, the sausage biscuit is a regional delicacy that needs to be experienced in the pure form,” she continued as they entered the restaurant, using her best tour-guide tone. “There’s a fringe element that claims it has to be drowned in milk gravy to be palatable.”

“Milk gravy?” He wasn’t sure his stomach was going to handle southern cuisine so easily this morning.

“Relax, I’m from the purist group. Milk gravy only goes on biscuits
sans
sausage, mashed potatoes, or chicken fried steak,” Tory assured him. “I give you fair warning—never eat breakfast with Curtiss. He puts gravy on everything, including his scrambled eggs.”

“Howdy, folks, I’m Milt. What can I get ya?” asked a stout man. He looked like he belonged behind the wheel of a semi, except for the butcher’s apron that was wrapped around his generous waist.

“We’d like two orders of sausage biscuits, no gravy, and lots and lots of hot coffee,” Tory ordered without consulting Logan.

“Right away. You just passing through?” Milt asked with a friendly grin.

“We’re on our way back to Little Rock from the car rally at Grove,” Tory answered, her smile matching his. “Is this your place?”

“That’s me, one half of Milt and Myrna. The little woman is in the back cooking. You’re in for a real treat with her homemade biscuits.”

“Then you’d better get back here and give their order, you old fool,” interrupted a gravelly voice from the end of the room. A woman who matched Milt pound for pound stood in the doorway that led to the kitchen. “Leave those folks alone and fetch their coffee.”

Milt was off in a flash, moving rapidly for a man his size, but not before giving Logan a masculine look of resignation.

Watching Tory glance around the unimposing decor of the restaurant, Logan made a decision. He needed to know when he would hold her in his arms again. She might not speak to him for the rest of the trip, but she wasn’t going to run off when he had the keys to the Winnebago in his pocket.

“I’ll eat sausage biscuits on one condition,” he began, speaking slowly to make sure he had her attention before he forged ahead. When Tory turned to face him, her brown eyes were wide with innocent curiosity. He almost swallowed what he was going to say, but forged ahead. “If we talk about what happened the other night, I’ll eat my breakfast without a single complaint.”

Tory was saved from answering by Milt’s return with a thermal carafe of coffee. She gave the man a weak smile, wishing she could sink gracefully under the table and disappear. Just when she thought everything was going so smoothly, Logan had to ruin everything. So much for her plan to distract him with a difficult drive.

“Well?” Logan prompted after Milt went back to the kitchen.

“Logan, what’s the point in dredging all this up again? We made love, it was nice and it won’t happen again.” Tory was proud of her control, her tone was calm and reasonable. He couldn’t know that her pulse was doing a two-step and that her palms were sopping wet.

“It was
nice?”
Indignation radiated from every inch of his body.

How was she going to get herself out of this one? Why did she always make a fool out of herself with this man? It was bad enough that he was determined to discuss their lovemaking. Now she had wounded his ego. Why couldn’t he have stayed in Boston where he belonged?

Boston. The word was an inspiration. Logan wasn’t the only who was going to get some answers. Repressing a triumphant smile, Tory quickly rehearsed her question, making sure that she had it just right.

“Tory, you can’t ignore what happened forever. This is—”

“I’ll be glad to discuss it on one condition.”

The startled look on Logan’s face was priceless. Tory could feel her lips twitching. He had that startled look that was so reminiscent of Ty Daniel caught in the act. Apparently he’d been prepared for a long, drawn out argument.

“What’s the condition?” His eyes narrowed in a speculative look. Now that his initial shock had passed, he clearly didn’t trust her.

“You tell me why you’re in Arkansas.”

The statement hung between them. If she didn’t know better, Tory would have sworn Logan was squirming in his seat. He wouldn’t look at her, showing more interest in the pattern he drew on his paper placement with his fork.

“Here ya go, folks. Myrna’s sausage biscuits straight from the oven,” Milt announced innocently. The atmosphere between Tory and Logan, however, was easy to read as he set down their plates. He leaned toward Logan, and after a quick glance over his shoulder at the kitchen, informed the other man, “Son, whatever it is, just apologize. Doesn’t matter if you’re right or wrong, you’ve got to be the one to apologize. It makes life much easier that way.”

Tory picked up one of her biscuits and bit into it as she waited for Logan’s answer. He looked at the kitchen door where Milt had disappeared, then slowly turned back to face Tory. Although she couldn’t identify the expression in his eyes, she suddenly had a lump in her throat. For a moment, she considered retracting her question.

“You drive a hard bargain, sweetheart,” Logan finally managed. He still needed to take a deep breath before he continued with his confession. Once he began, the words tumbled over each other. “My uncle decided that I didn’t have any emotions, or at least not enough for a relative of his. I’ve been exiled to Arkansas for three months to learn how to be a human being, instead of a preppy android. There, are you satisfied now?”

Tory was appalled. How could Preston Herrington do this to Logan? After his explanation, she knew what the unfathomable expression was in Logan’s eyes. He was hurt and bewildered by his uncle’s action. Preston might have a point in sending Logan south, but he apparently hadn’t handled the situation with much finesse.

Yes, Logan was slightly arrogant and too demanding at times, but he certainly wasn’t an android. She hadn’t made love to an animated computer; he’d been a passionate, virile male. As far as she was concerned, Logan was a little too human, but she wasn’t going to admit that to him.