Downhome Darlin' & The Best Man Switch (6 page)

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Authors: Victoria Pade

BOOK: Downhome Darlin' & The Best Man Switch
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“COME ON OUT, GIRLS,” Cal urged. “I have a date and you all can't stay here while I'm gone. Sorry.”
It was seven-fifteen that evening, and he was just about ready to leave to pick up Abby to watch the sunset. He only needed to choose a shirt. And get rid of his houseguests.
“Come on, you three little vixens. I'm not kiddin' around. We've had a good time all afternoon, but that's it for now.”
He went into his walk-in closet and surveyed his options from among the shirts hanging there, wondering why it was so all-fired important to him to look good. He usually didn't put much consideration into what he wore. Date or no date.
But there was something special about this date. About this woman. Something that made him feel there was a higher standard to be met. A level of respectability he hadn't dabbled in before.
Strange to be feeling that way about a woman who'd gotten drunk in a bar and had to be taken home to his house because she couldn't even tell him where she lived.
But he didn't doubt for a minute that had been a fluke for Abby Stanton.
Nope. Watching her reaction to finding herself in his bed this morning, seeing her with her face scrubbed, talking to her, had only served to convince him that she was as wholesome as corn on the cob.
And he'd bet everything he had that he wasn't the kind of man who usually came calling on Miss Abby Stanton.
He finally settled on a fire-engine-red Western-cut shirt. Maybe to warn her.
“Lady beware,” he muttered to himself as he slipped it on. “I've been around the block.”
He was still standing in the closet, buttoning his shirt, when one of his houseguests attacked him from behind. She landed on his shoulder, lost her footing and tumbled forward. Quick reflexes allowed Cal to catch her, and the furry ball ended up hanging half inside, half outside his shirt.
“Cats are supposed to be surefooted,” he told the tiny tabby, holding her up to look her in the eye. “Now, where're your sisters? You all are supposed to be barn cats, not house cats, remember?”
He tucked her against his chest and held her there with one hand while he scanned the shelf from which she'd sprung. Wherever one of them was, the other two were likely not to be too far behind.
Sure enough he spotted the other kittens—one perched atop the hatbox his newest Stetson had come in, and the other peeking at him from around the back of the box.
“Look, girls, I know this has been home since your mama passed on givin' birth to you and you think you can just take over in here. But my turn at playin' mother cat is about up, and you three are old enough to stake out some territory of your own in the barn. Got that?” he lectured as he lifted down the peeking kitten and held her against his chest with the first one, then took the hatbox kitten down, too.
While he cradled the first two in his left hand, he stared eye to eye with the hatbox kitten. “You're the culprit, aren't you?” he said to her. All three were nearly identical silver-gray in color. The two against his chest were hard to tell apart unless he turned them over to search for which of them had a white spot on her belly. But the hatbox kitten had one white ear. She was the mischief maker.
“You led the troops in here to hide, didn't you?”
The kitten licked his nose.
“Kisses are not gonna cut it, honey.”
He stepped out of the closet and set all three cats on the bed while he finished buttoning his shirt and tucked it into his jeans.
Good thing none of his brothers knew he was keeping kittens, he thought as he watched the trio rolling around on the mattress, playing with each other. There'd be no end of unmerciful razzing if any of the Ketchums got wind of it. Especially if they knew that most nights since he'd found the kittens trying to nuzzle up against their dead mother in his barn, it had been these females with him between the sheets instead of any of the two-legged variety.
Things really were changing.
And that was what he wanted. That was what he'd set out to do—use his share of their good fortune to have a life he'd never had before.
“But that doesn't mean you girls can stay in here,” he told his audience. “I have better things to do in that bed than share it with pets, you know.”
An image of Abby popped into his mind just then. Of how she'd looked sleeping there. Of how much he'd wanted to be in it with her.
Not
sleeping...
What would she have done if he'd slipped under the covers with her?
Kicked him out, probably.
But it might have been fun trying.
On the other hand, if he had pushed things he might not be about to see her again. And he would have hated that. Because he hadn't looked forward to spending time with any one particular woman this much since he was a boy and being with a woman was a novelty.
So rather than push anything, he was determined to go easy with Abby. Not to scare her away. Get to know her. Let her get to know him before he tried to convince her to try out his mattress again. With him in it.
The trouble was, just the thought of getting her into his bed was enough to set off a whirlwind of responses inside him. Enough to throw his determinations to behave himself right out the window.
“But this one's a lady,” he told the kittens. “That makes her worth a little wooin'.”
Or maybe a lot of wooing.
He just didn't know if he was up to the challenge.
It had been a long time since he'd denied himself a woman he found attractive. A long time since a woman had denied him.
And he'd never had one hanging on to the sheets with both fists, looking up at him with wide eyes, the way Abby Stanton had.
Just the thought made him smile.
“Turnin' over a new leaf. Startin' a new life. Guess that means learnin' how to treat a new class of woman.”
It ought to be interesting.
It was definitely a challenge.
But it was worth it, he decided.
She
was worth it.
He could feel it in his bones. And those bones weren't too often wrong.
Hunches. Instincts. Whatever a person wanted to call them, so far they'd served him well. Made him a rich man. So he wasn't likely to ignore them now.
Especially when they were telling him to go for it with this woman. To reach for that higher standard. That new level of respectability.
Or maybe it was just one bone in particular that was pointing the way to her....
Nah. He wanted more than a tumble with her. First, anyway.
And then, when he did get around to tumbling her?
Even that would probably be different than what he'd known before.
“And you three aren't gonna be here to watch when the time comes—that's for sure,” he told the kittens.
Because this was going to be a new experience for him all the way around.
And he didn't want anything messing it up.
 
ABBY TOOK ONE LAST LOOK in the mirror on the back of her bedroom door. Baggy, pleated-front jeans. White cotton blouse with a covered placket and a collar that reached to her chin. The natural curls of her hair were held back by a denim headband, and her makeup was a bare hint of blush—her usual color—a scant layer of mascara and plain lip gloss.
No false messages tonight.
This was the real Abby Stanton.
When the doorbell rang she headed downstairs, knowing she was alone in the house because Emily and Bree had gone to a friend's home for the evening.
Abby paced herself to hide her anxiousness as she descended the steps. From Cal, at any rate, who was standing on the other side of the screen door. But a leisurely descent of the stairs didn't change the fact that she was eager to see him again. No matter how much talking she'd done to herself all day and through the whole process of getting ready for this moment.
Yes, she believed this was a one-time thing.
Yes, she was convinced that when Cal realized what she was really like he wouldn't want to see her again.
Yes, she was certain he would be bored to tears with her tonight.
And yes, that was how she wanted it so whatever was going on between them could end in the next couple of hours.
But deep down she couldn't help the bubble of excited anticipation that kept rising up inside her all on its own anyway.
“Hi,” she said as she unlatched the screen door and pushed it open for him, trying not to notice just how terrific he looked. And smelled. He had on cowboy boots and jeans that were just tight enough. A bright shirt. His face was clean shaved. His wavy, wavy hair was combed carelessly. And he was giving off a faint, heady scent of the aftershave she'd spilled that morning, which definitely smelled better on him than it had on her.
He returned her greeting and stepped into the entry, ignoring their surroundings to take a good, long, concentrated look at her.
“No wild woman tonight, huh?” he said with that lopsided grin creeping up one corner of his oh-so-sexy mouth.
“Sorry.”
“Don't apologize. I like this better. A lot better.”
The funny thing was, he sounded as if he meant it. And Abby felt more pleased than she wanted to be to hear it. Especially since his appreciative gaze stayed on her rather than switching even then to the house, which was usually what happened because the place was an attention grabber all on its own.
But Cal seemed oblivious to everything but Abby.
“Shall we go?” she asked, beginning to feel uneasy beneath his study of her.
He turned on his heels and held the door open for her this time. Abby ducked out in front of him, and he pulled the big door closed behind them as if he were right at home.
“Where to?” he asked as they went to his car.
“I think the best place is out by the lake—Palmer Lake. It's about five miles outside town.”
She'd given this a lot of thought today, too. Palmer Lake was undoubtedly the spot for sunset watching, since it was away from town and any artificial lights. But it was also fairly secluded, and she'd debated with herself about whether or not it was safe—or wise—to go out there alone with this man she hardly knew.
In the end she'd decided that if he hadn't done her any harm the night before, he probably wouldn't tonight, either, so she'd discarded the concern for safety.
But was it wise to go to a quiet, romantic spot alone with a man who made her blood boil? Who aroused her every sense and left her nerve endings too close to the surface of her skin for her own good? After all, it wasn't only that she could see how attractive he was. She could feel it. Deep inside. In stirrings that shouldn't be happening. Particularly for a stranger.
Yet there she was, wise or unwise, getting into his car, giving directions as he slipped behind the wheel himself and started the engine.
And if someone had asked her at that moment what had come over her, what had caused her to throw caution to the wind...?
She didn't think she could have given a rational answer.
“How's the head?” he asked, shooting her a sidelong glance once they were on their way.
“Mine? Fine
.
Now.”
“And the stomach?”
“Fine. I'm fine,” she answered, a bit uncomfortable at being reminded of her previous evening's antics.
“Did your sisters give you a hard time this morning?”
“They were worried. About last night and tonight.”
“They didn't think you should go out with me tonight?”
“They weren't too sure about it.” She didn't mention that they'd been less concerned than she was, though. And instead she used the segue to put the evening into perspective. “I told them this was just a friendly payback. Nothing to think twice about That I'd probably be home by ten.”
Cal took his eyes off the road long enough to look straight at her. “Is that your curfew?”
“Curfew? No, I'm too old for a curfew. I just meant that this isn't really a date or anything. It's just sort of a welcome to Clangton, one good turn deserves another.”
“Is that all it is?” he asked, sounding amused that she might think so.
“What would you call it?”
“A date. I've been callin' it a date.” His eyes were back on the road, but she could see him grinning devilishly, enjoying the fact that he was thwarting her attempts to put a mundane spin on this. Then he added, “And if I have anything to say about it, we're gonna break that curfew.”

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