Lips That Touch Mine (11 page)

In love?

In lust.

Interchangeable words that simply meant he
desired to see more of the real Claire Ashier.

A lot more.

The cold wind cut through his jacket as he
followed Sailor to the back of the house. He'd thought about Claire
all weekend, about her irrational fear, about the way he'd
frightened her last Friday afternoon. Four days had passed, and he
still hadn't found a proper way to apologize. What could he say?
I'm sorry I let my wounded pride rule my head?

Sailor barked and barreled through the open
shed door.

Claire's laughter drifted outside. "Do you
really think I would leave you out here in the cold?"

Boyd stepped into the small room.

A flash of fright crossed her face and she
took a step back.

"I'll leave if you want me to," he said. He
couldn't bear to frighten her.

Sailor pushed between her thigh and the door
frame, scurrying into her kitchen as if he owned the place.

"I thought I'd fill your wood bins while
Sailor tracks up your floor, but if you'd rather I didn't..." He
left the sentence unfinished, waiting for her to decide.

Her lips parted, but she couldn't seem to
make up her mind.

"I'm sorry, Claire. I didn't mean to frighten
you the other day. I was insulted that you thought I could have
written the note, but it was no reason to bully you." His breath
sighed out in a frosty cloud and he slipped his hands into his coat
pockets. "If I could erase my actions, I would."

She leaned her narrow shoulders against the
door casing. "So would I."

He waited for her to say more, but she seemed
as devoid of words as he was. Her honey-gold hair was uncovered and
swept back in a loose clasp of some sort. He wanted to pull the
clasp from her hair and let it spill across the shoulders of her
brown and black checkered dress.

"The kitchen bin is...if you wouldn't mind, I
haven't brought in any wood today." She flushed and lowered her
lashes.

"Thank you, Claire."

She looked up in surprise.

"For liking my dog and for accepting my
apology when you have every reason not to."

He turned away, giving her the opportunity to
disappear inside while he filled his arms with wood. But when he
turned back, she was still standing on the threshold.

"I'll manage the door for you," she said,
opening it wide so he could step inside.

He did his job in silence. It was enough that
she was allowing him into her home. He wouldn't press her for
more.

Not today. But tomorrow...tomorrow he would
start over and win her friendship in a gentler, more considerate
manner.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" she asked, as
he returned from carrying his final armful of firewood upstairs to
one of the guest rooms.

Her offer surprised him, and he stopped
mid-stride.

Sailor, who had been following him step for
step, ran into the back of his legs.

Claire smiled, and called the dog to her
side. His toenails clicked on the oak floor as he scrambled across
the room and butted up against her.

Boyd shook his head at the dog. "Tea would be
nice, if you're comfortable with your offer."

"Not completely," she said, "but I'll manage
if you promise to behave yourself"

"I'll be a prince," Boyd promised with a
smile.

To his surprise she smiled back. The flash of
her white teeth and blue eyes made his hands itch to capture the
image on canvas. But his talent wasn't painting. Hell, he had no
talent anymore.

"Do you take sugar in your tea?" she asked,
moving to the stove to retrieve the tea kettle.

"Only if you think I need sweetening."

Her lips tilted as she filled two cups. She
glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Have you considered
signing our pledge by any chance?"

To realize she was offering him tea so that
she could bend his ear about her temperance pledge was the most
deflating setback he'd ever experienced with a woman.

But damn, if he didn't like her
persistence.

He'd had enough easy conquests to know they
were generally unfulfilling. This woman offered a challenge. A real
challenge. She wasn't playing coy with him. Her agenda was to get
him to sign their pledge and close his saloon.

Nothing more.

Well, he had an agenda, too, and it had
nothing to do with making pledges. Feeling a tad mischievous, he
accepted his tea with a nod of thanks. "You know, Claire, your home
could earn you considerably more money as a saloon."

Her eyes widened and she gaped at him. He
laughed and nearly spilled his tea.

She pursed her lips. "You promised to act
like a prince and not a toad."

"I was merely drawing a comparison, to show
you how ridiculous your question was."

"I suppose it was a ridiculous question." She
sighed as if she'd expected his answer. "I was hoping you would
understand what the saloon is costing the rest of us."

"I don't want my business to hinder yours,
Claire. I'll do my best to control the noise."

"Thank you," she said, but he sensed her
disappointment in him. And it bothered him.

Wednesday morning
brought Christmas Eve, the second most depressing day of the year
for Claire. Christmas Day would be the worst.

She buttered a piece of bread for breakfast
and took it to the parlor where she kept her grandmother's diary.
Reading was the only way she could escape the emptiness of her
house.

An impatient yelping sounded outside on her
front porch.

Claire smiled and set aside her plate. Her
visitor wasn't a paying boarder, but he was the next best thing.
Sailor.

When she opened the door, Sailor stood on her
porch wearing a huge red ribbon around his neck and a wide canine
grin.

"What's this?" Sailor bounded into the foyer,
wheezing and tracking a circle of wet paw prints on her parquet
floor as he stared up at her.

She laughed and knelt to hug the silly dog.
"You don't have to beg for my affection."

The dog let out a growly moan and pushed
against her side, nearly knocking her over.

"Who put this bow around your neck?" she
asked, holding him away from her to look at the red ribbon. A
rolled up piece of paper was attached.

Her heart convulsed.

Oh, no. No.
She rose to her feet.
Not another warning. Not today.

Boyd wouldn't threaten her. He wouldn't. So
who would have sent this note?

Any of Boyd's patrons on familiar terms with
Sailor.

The dog tilted his head and stared at her as
if trying to understand the sudden shift in her demeanor. Her
fingers fumbled as she untied the ribbon from around the note and
unrolled the parchment.

Merry Christmas, Claire.

Sailor and I would like to take you for a sleigh
ride to celebrate the season. Say yes and I'll close my saloon for
the night.

Boyd.

Her breath rushed out, and she sagged against
the desk.

It wasn't a warning. It was an invitation.
From Boyd.

Lord, she was nothing but a frightened
goose!

Sailor nudged her knees with his nose, as if
saying he needed an answer for his master.

She swallowed and tried to calm her erratic
heartbeat, her palm against her chest. It wasn't a threat, she
reassured herself.

Sailor barked twice, his front paws lifting
off the floor.

"A gentleman doesn't rush a lady," she said,
but she reached for a pen from her desk. She flattened the note on
the desktop, prepared to write a short regret, but the last
sentence caught her eye. "Say yes and I'll close my saloon for the
night."

She grinned. He'd finally seduced her into
saying yes to one of his proposals. His offer was too tempting to
pass up.

What a blessing it would be to have no noise
for one entire evening. Two, if she could finagle it. A smile
bloomed on her face as she wrote her reply.

Dear Mr. Grayson,

Close your saloon Christmas Eve and Christmas night,
and I will be ready in an hour.

She rolled the note, tied it to the ribbon,
then kissed Sailor's spotted head before sending him outside. He
ran across the street and bounded up the saloon steps where Boyd
was waiting.

She waved to her handsome neighbor, assuring
herself she was only going with him to help the temperance cause.
Getting out of her lonely house for a while would be an added
benefit.

But an hour later, when Boyd pulled up in
front of the house, her heart somersaulted. The white sleigh was
decked with red ribbons and silver bells. Two handsome bay Morgans
stood in full harness. Sailor—the silly darling—was perched on the
floor in front of the seat, still wearing the huge red bow around
his neck.

Boyd wore a heavy gray ulster, a
Windsor-style plush cap, and a white smile that melted the last of
her resistance. He hopped down from the sleigh, swept his cap off
his head, and executed a ridiculous bow that made her laugh.

"The Pemberton Inn is officially closed for
two evenings," he said, "which leaves me at your service for
forty-eight hours."

She warned herself not to be drawn in by his
flirting and his charm. Charm had nearly been the death of her
before. She knew men like Boyd didn't change their bad habits. And
women like her couldn't live with them.

He swept his gloved hand toward the sleigh, a
Portland cutter with hickory knees, nickel-plated arm rails, and a
springback seat with a green, broadcloth-upholstered spring
cushion. "Your coach awaits, fair lady."

She laughed and trudged through the snow.
"Where did you get this sleigh?"

"My brother Radford and his wife Evelyn own a
livery. Evelyn and my niece Rebecca decorated the sleigh for
us."

"It's beautiful."

"I'll give your compliments to Evelyn and
Rebecca." He lifted her into the sleigh, climbed aboard and sat
beside her.

Sailor stuck his nose between their knees,
wheezing and panting and begging for attention. Boyd wrapped his
gloved fingers around Sailor's jaw and stared the dog in the eyes.
"Other side, pal."

Claire opened her arms to the dog. "Don't let
him bother you, Sailor. Come here and keep me warm. "

The mutt barreled onto the seat but lost his
balance, his wet paws scratching at the cushion as he scrambled to
stay in the sleigh. His clumsy, comical actions made her laugh.

"You are precious," she said, brushing his
nose with her wool mitten. Sailor settled beside her and gazed up
with his canine grin and adoring eyes.

Boyd laughed and nudged Sailor's jaw.
"Where's your pride?"

The dog ignored him, his attention riveted on
Claire. She laughed again and put her arm around the dog, pulling
him close to her side. "There's nothing wrong with showing your
emotions."

"To a point." Boyd opened a heavy lap robe
and laid it over their legs. "But groveling is shameful."

"For the groveler perhaps—but it's flattering
to the one on the receiving end." She lifted the robe and tucked it
around Sailor. "You're just being honest in your affection, aren't
you?"

Boyd shook his head. "He's making a fool of
himself."

Claire kept her arm around the dog, loving
his warmth and the feel of his heart beating against her side—and
her success at putting Boyd off balance. "Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise." Boyd winked and lifted the
reins. "We'll stay in town."

"Thank you."

His gaze lingered, his smile fading. "You're
so beautiful," he said, his voice so intimate it sent a tickle
swirling through her stomach. "I can't seem to keep my mind on
anything but you."

Her face heated, but she refused to look
away, to let him know how much his flirting affected her. She
hadn't felt this wicked thrill zinging through her since she'd
fallen head over heels for Jack. That "thrill" had led her straight
into hell.

But Boyd was only flirting with her. There
was no need for nerves. Still, she couldn't shake the need for
caution. "I only agreed to a sleigh ride."

"I understand. I guess open adoration only
works for dogs."

"I guess so." She smiled.

He smiled back.

If he were a gentle shopkeeper, or a pastor,
or a man without vice, she would welcome his flirtation as
harmless, flattering, sincere. She would never marry, of course,
not even one of those men, but she would enjoy their
companionship.

"Are you warm enough?" he asked.

She nodded, then looked away. Companionship
wasn't in her future either. If a man wanted companionship, he took
a wife. She would never be a wife. She would spend the rest of her
days sharing her house with strangers, decent strangers—travelers,
amiable people who left for other climes, troubled people for whom
she could be a wayside, young lovers on a honeymoon starting out
their married lives. All of them going somewhere. All of them but
her. She bit her lip to stop the tumble of her thoughts.

Sailor yawned and flopped across her lap. She
stroked his neck, wishing the clumsy mixed-breed mutt belonged to
her.

"How long have you had Sailor?" she
asked.

Boyd started the horses moving and pulled the
sleigh onto the snow-packed street. "A year or so. Found him on my
porch, drunk as a sailor, lapping up ale that was draining from a
cracked barrel."

"How shameful."

"I thought so. He was only a puppy."

Claire rolled her eyes. "I meant it was
shameful for you to leave alcohol lying about where an animal could
drink it."

He chuckled. "It brought us together, gave
Sailor a name and a home. What's so terrible about that?"

She couldn't argue his point so she scowled
at him. "Your mother must have had her hands full with you."