Lies And Lullabies: Courting the Cowboy Boss. Yvonne Lindsay

      Her hair was hard to miss. Which was why she often kept it confined to a knot on top of her head or in a ponytail. Neither style seemed appropriate for tonight. She pulled the thick mass of red and gold to the side of her neck, secured it with a hairband and let it fall over one shoulder.

      As she examined her reflection in the mirror, she saw much more than a young woman dressed up for an evening that was definitely not a date. She saw uncertainty. Maybe a slice of anxiety. Most visible, however, was the undercurrent of excitement.

      Grimacing, she turned and fled before she could change her mind again about what to wear. She grabbed her coat from the closet by the front door, slid her arms into it, freed her hair and scooped up her car keys.

      The early evening had turned foggy. Case’s house appeared out of the gathering gloom like a regal old lady, sure of her place in the community. Lonely, perhaps, but unapologetic. A light beside the front door offered a welcoming glow.

      Mellie felt her pulse wobble as she climbed the steps to the porch.

      Case met her at the top of the stairs, the door half-open behind him. “It’s about time,” he said. When he grinned, she knew he was teasing.

      “You shouldn’t be outside,” she said. “It’s freezing.”

      He put an arm around her shoulders and steered her into the house. “I had to get some fresh air. It’s like a tomb in here.”

      As he took her coat, she smiled wryly. “Nicest tomb I’ve ever seen.”

      He shrugged. “I’m still running a fever. You can’t trust anything I say.”

      And wasn’t that the crux of the matter?

      She laughed because he wanted her to. Still, the irony was not lost on her. “Do you really have a temperature?”

      Case stopped short and bent his head. Taking her hand, he placed it on his forehead. “See.”

      He wasn’t kidding. “How long since you’ve had medicine?”

      “I don’t know. Four hours? Five? It’s probably time.”

      “Case...”

      “Don’t scold me,” he said. “It makes me hot, and I’m too weak to ravish you.” He urged her along the hallway and into the den. A roaring fire in the fireplace added warmth and color to a room that was sophisticated but comfy. A silver tray laden with an assortment of decadent treats was set up on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

      After surveying the chocolate-dipped strawberries, champagne and candied fruits, she shot Case an incredulous glance. “Where on earth did this come from? Your friends have outdone themselves.”

      He sat down rather suddenly, his face an alarming shade of white. “My friends brought fried chicken and green beans. I ordered this stuff online from a specialty shop in town.”

      “Ah.” The small luxuries seemed an odd choice for a man recovering from the flu. But then again, her personal experience with wealthy men was practically nonexistent. Perhaps for Case, this was the equivalent of buttered popcorn and jujubes at the movie theater.

      “Sit down,” he said gruffly, his eyes closed. “I’ll be okay in a minute.”

      “Did you actually eat any of the fried chicken?” she asked.

      “Not yet. I took a shower.”

      The unspoken inference was that getting his hand-delivered meal onto a plate was more than he could handle. Poor man. “Rest for a few minutes and I’ll bring your meal in here.”

      “Thanks.”

      He was trying so hard to act tough, but the flu was no respecter of persons. Even a broad-shouldered, macho, athletic guy like Case Baxter could fight back only so far before admitting defeat.

      In the kitchen she saw that Case had piled a few dirty dishes in the sink. On the granite-topped island she found a large disposable aluminum pan filled with an enormous amount of fried chicken. And it wasn’t from the chain restaurant in town. This was the real deal.

      Her mouth watered. So much for the yoga class. Ignoring her better judgment, she fixed two plates with crisp chicken breasts, home-canned green beans and fluffy yeast rolls with butter. Who knew what her host wanted to drink? But the truth was, he should have plenty of water.

      Balancing two bottles she plucked from the fridge, she picked up the plates and carried them back to the den. Her host had fallen asleep again.

      She stood there looking at him for long minutes, wishing she could put a name to the yearning that tightened her throat and forced her to blink moisture from her lashes. For years she had kept an eye out, always wondering if there was some special guy out there for her. But Prince Charming never showed up.

      Now...here...in the most unlikely of places, she found herself tumbling headlong into an infatuation that was sure to break her heart.

       Ten

      Case came awake with a start, jerking upright and wondering if he had dreamed Mellie. No...there she was. Sitting across from him. Looking young and sexy and prim, her knees pressed together and her hands folded in her lap.

      “Sorry,” he grimaced. “I keep doing that.”

      Mellie lifted a shoulder. “That’s the drill. Lots of rest and plenty of fluids.”

      He ran a hand through his hair, wincing when the restrained motion made his head throb. “How long have I been out?”

      “Only forty-five minutes.”

      Damn it. “And you’ve probably been sitting here starving.”

      “If I was that hungry, I wouldn’t have waited for you. Give me a minute and I’ll put everything in the microwave to warm it up.”

      “No.” Once Mellie left the room, he’d probably crash again. “I’m not that picky. Let’s do this.”

      “If you’re sure...”

      It occurred to him that sitting up long enough to eat was a daunting proposition, even though he was ravenous. Still, he washed the Tylenol down with the bottle of water and then started in on his chicken.

      Mellie ate quietly. She was a restful woman. At least when she wasn’t arguing with him. He managed half of the chicken breast, the roll and a few of the green beans before he admitted defeat. Pushing his plate away, he leaned back in the embrace of the sofa and rested his head, telling himself he was on the mend. Mind over matter. That was his mantra.

      His companion looked askance at him. “You need the protein,” she said.

      “I had a mother. I don’t need another one.”

      Mellie blinked, set down her fork and stood. “I’ll come back when you’re in a better mood.”

      The careful rebuke hit its mark.

      “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “Don’t go.”

      She crossed her arms at her waist. “I’m getting mixed signals, Case.”

      “I know.” It was true. He wanted to be alone to wallow in his misery, but at the same time, he was intrigued by Mellie Winslow and charmed by her matter-of-fact caring.

      Her hair glowed tonight, the long strands catching light from the fixture overhead. The sweater she wore was fitted but not tight. Even so, he was well aware of her ample breasts.

      “Sit down. Please. I have a proposition for you.”

      The expression on her face told him she was evaluating all meanings of that statement. “Um...”

      “Oh, hell, Mellie. I can’t even finish dinner. Do you really think I’m going to lure you into