Cowboy's Special Woman. Sara Orwig

the road from the fire and friends saw me and helped unload the pickup each time. I thought I’d go back and get it tomorrow.”

      “I’ll move it inside for you.”

      “Thanks, but not now. I’m exhausted and no rain is predicted for the rest of the week. We’ll do that tomorrow.”

      “Sure,” he said easily as they went inside. She switched on lights in a kitchen that had high ceilings and glass-fronted cabinets. Some appliances were new, and the place looked comfortable with plants, a large walnut table and yellow chintz-covered cushions.

      “Do you mind giving me Jeb Stuart’s phone number?” she asked. His gaze drifted down to her full lips and he wondered what it would be like to kiss her. Forget it, he told himself. The lady is definitely off-limits. Yet what was it about her that made him think of long, wet kisses and hot nights? She was Mom and apple pie, wholesome, uninterested in men at this point in her life. He shouldn’t give her a second glance or thought. But something happened every time he was around her or she looked at him, something that started his pulse racing. He wondered if the smoke and fire had done something to his senses. If it had, it would be a far less disturbing discovery than to know she could have that effect on him by doing nothing more than looking up at him with those big blue eyes.

      When she handed him a pen and a tablet, his fingers brushed hers. He was instantly aware of their fingers touching. Fingers. Nothing except the most casual contact. Except there was nothing casual about the effect on his system. What was it about her?

      At the hospital the nurse had blatantly rubbed against him, hip against leg, her body against his shoulder, her soft breast pressing against his back and none of her contacts had done to him what the slightest brush of his fingers against Maggie’s did. Amazement warred with fear in him. No woman had ever caused such an intense reaction. He didn’t want this one to.

      He scribbled Jeb’s number and gave the pen and tablet back.

      “C’mon. I’ll show you where the bathroom is and where the towels are.”

      Entranced by the slight sway of her hips and the faint scent of her perfume, he walked behind her through a wide hallway. Large, high-ceilinged rooms were on either side of the hallway. With paneling and beams and mahogany trim, the rooms looked livable and comfortable. The decor was chintz, patterned material and lace. Antiques sat on shelves and tables while pictures decorated the walls. The house held a cozy charm, and he could easily imagine her living in it.

      “Your home is nice. This was built by your grandfather?”

      “Yes, and then he married grandmother and added on to the house. When it passed to Dad, he built the family room, a bath and another bedroom. I love the old house. I’ve redecorated a lot of it, getting it ready to be a bed-and-breakfast.”

      She turned and walked down the hall and he moved beside her. “You’ll have strangers in your house when you have a bed-and-breakfast.”

      “That’ll be different,” she said, then bit her lip and her cheeks flushed, and his curiosity soared about her answer.

      “How’ll it be different?”

      The pink in her cheeks deepened. “Dad will be home then.”

      “He might not be here every night. And your daughter might be gone, too. I don’t think that’s what you meant when you said it would be different, Maggie,” he drawled softly, taking her arm lightly. “How’ll it be different?”

      He was aware of touching her, holding her arm so lightly because he didn’t want to frighten her. And he knew he was treading dangerous ground with his persistent question, yet he couldn’t resist. Sparks flew between them that kept the air and his blood sizzling. He wanted to kiss her and he wanted to hear the answer to his question.

      She looked up at him, wide-eyed, but in the depths of her eyes was something else, something age-old, a look from a woman to a man, and his pulse jumped.

      “You probably have this effect on every woman,” she said so quietly he had to lean closer to hear her.

      “What effect?” he asked, with his voice getting husky.

      She gave a toss of her head and sparks glittered in the depths of her eyes. “You know good and well what effect you have!” She turned and waved her hand toward an open bedroom decorated in blue. “You can have that bedroom to change in. There’s a bathroom connected to it and there are towels and wash cloths in the bathroom cabinet. Help yourself. I’ll be downstairs.” Her words were rushed together.

      If he wasn’t filthy, sweaty, burned and blistered from the fire he would have pursued their conversation, but right now he wanted a shower before he got one inch closer to her and delved into her remarks that set his heart racing.

      She hurried to the stairs and turned to look at him. “Would you like a salad and cold chicken and a baked potato?”

      “That sounds great. I’ll be down soon.”

      She nodded and disappeared and he wiped his hot brow as he turned to enter a large bedroom with a bright blue-and-white quilt on the brass bed. In minutes he was in the shower and he wondered if she was talking to Jeb for a reference.

      Downstairs, Maggie doodled on the pad while she listened to Jeb Stuart. Then her hand became still and she turned to look at the empty doorway while she listened, and her heart started drumming while her ideas about Jake took another sharp turn.

      Three

      Maggie listened to the deep voice on the phone tell her how reliable Jake was. Jeb told her in detail how Jake had saved his life in Colombia when they had been in the Airborne and on a rescue mission. Closing her eyes, she could visualize the image again of Jake running into the burning barn and then just minutes later, emerging with her father slung over his shoulder. So he was reliable and a wonderful person and she had insulted him and she was being ridiculous.

      “Thank you,” she said quietly, only a portion of her uneasiness erased. She replaced the receiver and stared out the window at the blackened field. She didn’t want Jake working for them, but it was that disturbing electricity she experienced every time she was around him that worried her. She didn’t remember feeling that way around Bart and she had been in love with him and had married him.

      She gave a slight shake of her shoulders. She and Jake had already discussed the situation. She would hire someone else, and he would go. He didn’t want to be tied down here anyway.

      She got out the cold chicken and swiftly set the table, putting potatoes in the microwave oven to bake, then getting out the loaf of homemade bread that was only half eaten. She sliced tomatoes and set them on the table.

      “What a picture,” Jake drawled, and she spun around. He stood in the doorway with his hair slicked back, giving him an entirely different appearance, revealing his prominent cheekbones more sharply. He had changed to a white T-shirt and wore jeans and his boots, a sight that made her pulse skip.

      “Picture?”

      “A pretty woman, scrumptious chicken and an old-fashioned kitchen.”

      “I wouldn’t think those would be the things that appeal to you. You sound like you like life in the fast lane.”

      He shrugged and strolled into the room, dark gaze on her, and a faint smile curving his mouth. “I like all of those things—pretty women, good food—I guess I don’t care one way or other about kitchens. Since I haven’t eaten for over twenty-four hours now, that food looks like a feast.”

      “I’ll pour water and we’ll eat.”

      As she reached into the cabinet, his hand brushed hers and he took a glass from her. She turned and he was right beside her, brushing against her shoulder. “I’ll get the drinks.”

      “If you look in the back in the bottom of the fridge, you’ll probably find a cold beer. Dad has one now and then.”

      “Thanks,