Forever After (8 page)

If the citizens of Wynema County hoped to back him into a corner, they were in for a big surprise. Before he’d use intimidation tactics with teenagers, he’d sign that recall petition himself.

He was whistling when he headed toward home. In the morning when he called a contractor about a kennel, he’d give Meredith’s landlord a ring. Zeke was an ornery old coot and tight-fisted. But Heath had a few powerful persuaders in his arsenal, primarily a threat to testify in Meredith’s behalf if she fell through the floor and injured herself.

If anything would get Zeke’s attention fast, it’d be the possibility that he might get his ass sued off. When Heath finished with him, Zeke would be glad Heath was offering to do the work for free and would give him carte blanche to buy the materials. Meredith had already done wonders with fresh paint and cute little window curtains. With new floors, some linoleum, and a decent living room rug, the place wouldn’t be half bad.

Remembering the way she’d doused the porch light after showing him out, Heath chuckled. She’d have to wait a spell before she managed to get him completely out of her hair. And very pretty hair it was, lying in dark, silky curls over her shoulders.

That was one thing about her he definitely liked, he decided—that wealth of dark hair.

The next afternoon
Sammy came running in the back door as if the devil were at her heels. Emptying potatoes from a bag into the sink, Meredith paused to glance up.

“Is something wrong, punkin?”

Sammy worked her mouth, then pointed toward the living room. “That sher’ff man is here. In his big white truck! He gots stuff all over the top of it.”

The sheriff man? Her stomach twisting into knots, Meredith set the potatoes on the drain to go investigate. Glancing out into the yard through the parted living room curtains, she saw Heath Masters’ white bronco in her rutted driveway,
WYNEMA COUNTY SHERIFF
emblazoned on the passenger door. Just as Sammy had said, there was a load of wood and other stuff on top of the vehicle.

Meredith frowned. An instant later, she heard footsteps on her porch, then the wall-shaking sound of a man’s fist connecting solidly with wood.

When she opened the front door, the man himself stood on her welcome mat, his booted feet spread, his large hands resting at his hips. As her gaze met his, a jolt ran through her. There was something about him, with his broad shoulders and dark good looks, that invariably rattled her.

Today he wore a dark brown Stetson cocked at a jaunty angle, the crown adding inches to his height. The wide brim cast a shadow over his face that did little to lessen the
impact of those penetrating slate blue eyes. In the afternoon sunlight slanting under the porch overhang, the badge above his left shirt pocket flashed every time he moved.

Prying her tongue loose from the roof of her mouth, Meredith managed a tinny, “Hello.” She nearly added, “May I help you?” At the last second, she bit back the question and settled for saying, “How are you today?” That scored low on originality as well, but at least it didn’t make her sound like a truck stop waitress.

Jabbing a thumb in the direction of his vehicle, he flashed her a crooked, purely masculine grin that was so devastatingly attractive she wondered if he practiced it in front of a mirror. “Your landlord enlisted me to do some repairs on the house.”

She glanced at his rugged looking four-wheel drive, the tires slightly compressed from the load it carried. “He did what?”

Evidently her stunned reaction must have shown on her face, for he quickly added, “I’ll stay out of your way. At least until I have to move inside.”

“But—” Meredith broke off, her mind a jumble of half-formed protests.

He bounced on one foot, making her entire porch rock. “No way around it. You or Sammy could fall through. It isn’t safe. And the floors inside aren’t any better.”

“I bought some particle board. I already laid some on the utility porch.”

“That’s a stopgap measure, at best, not to mention that an abrupt edge like that in the center of a room is a good way to trip and fall.”

Meredith couldn’t argue the point. She’d already stubbed her toe in the utility room once and undoubtedly would again if something wasn’t done.

As if that settled the matter, he swept off his hat, touching his shirt sleeve to the beads of perspiration on his forehead. Looking into the sun, he said, “I can’t believe this weather. You ever seen the like? Not even June yet and it feels like midsummer.”

The warm weather was the least of her concerns. He whacked his Stetson against his leg, making her jump.

“I’m going over to my place to change before I start. I’ll be back at”—he glanced at his watch—“oh, probably four-thirty. If you hear a bunch of noise, you’ll know it’s me.”

Her mouth still slightly agape, Meredith watched him vault off the porch with surefooted agility. He cut across her yard and started up the road in a loose, long-legged jog. It occurred to her as she gazed after him that she’d just been bulldozed. Very cleverly and politely, to be sure, but bulldozed, all the same. He hadn’t bothered to ask if she minded his doing the repairs on her house or tried to schedule his visits at her convenience. He was just going to barge in, and if she didn’t like it, too bad.

Closing the door with more force than she intended, Meredith whirled to go back to the kitchen and nearly tripped over a flowerpot.

“Hang it!” she said, her frustration making her voice shrill. “Between that man and his infernal dog, there’ll never be any peace and quiet around here!”

Pale and big-eyed, Sammy stood in the archway that led to the kitchen. Tugging on the hem of her pink T-shirt, she said, “Mommy? What’s he gonna do?”

Meredith took a steadying breath and went to kneel before her daughter. Gently smoothing a golden curl from the child’s cheek, she said, “He’s going to fix these awful old floors, sweetness. Won’t that be wonderful? And our porches, too!”

“How come don’t you feel happy, then?”

Good question. It wasn’t the gift Meredith had a problem with, but the packaging. “I’m just not used to having a stranger around, that’s all.”

Sammy rubbed her nose. “Me, neither. I don’t want him here. Don’t let him come in, Mommy. ’Kay?”

It wasn’t quite that simple. “We do need our floors fixed. Sheriff Masters is right about that. One of us could fall through and get hurt.”

Her expression glum, Sammy hugged herself. “I hope he don’t gots his gun when he comes back.”

Sammy got her wish. Ten minutes later, Heath Masters returned wearing faded jeans, a blue chambray work shirt, dusty cowboy boots, the same Stetson hat, and a leather tool belt slung low around his lean hips. Fanciful though it was, Meredith couldn’t help thinking he looked like a gunfighter straight off the set of a Western film, the only difference being that his side arm was a claw hammer instead of a Colt .45.

He immediately started unloading the lumber from atop his Bronco and stacking it on her patchy front lawn. For such a large man, there was a curious sort of grace in everything he did, steely muscle and bone working in fluid harmony.

When he started ripping up the rotten boards from her porch with nothing but the claw hammer and forceful precision, Meredith experienced an odd, tight sensation low in her abdomen. A purely knee-jerk reaction, she assured herself. There was something potently sensual about a well-muscled man in a sweat-dampened shirt with the sleeves rolled back over his forearms. It was only natural that her eyes were drawn to his anatomy. It was on a par with admiring a sensational sunset or studying a work of art.

Meredith soon noticed she wasn’t the only observant female in the house. Sammy was staring out the window as well, eyes wide with fascination. Sammy’s father Dan had been the suit-and-tie type, and the child had never had an opportunity to closely observe a man doing physical labor. It was an impressive sight.

Meredith’s heart kicked against her ribs when Heath paused to jerk the tails of his chambray shirt loose from his jeans. With deft flicks of his fingers, he unbuttoned the front placket. As he straightened to wipe his forehead, her attention shifted to his chest, a burnished copper only a shade lighter than his face. From there, her gaze dropped to the ladder of muscle that formed tracks across his ab
domen. A narrowing swath of dark hair ran from his navel to the waistband of his jeans. He reminded her of a carving done in seasoned oak, every line masterfully defined and rubbed to a rich, dark sheen.

As if he sensed eyes on him, he turned toward the window. His gaze locked on her. Caught in the act of gaping at him, she almost dove to the floor.

His mouth kicked up at one corner, and his flinty eyes took on a mischievous, knowing glint. Cheeks burning, Meredith turned away, nearly running over Sammy who stood partially behind her. She glanced back over her shoulder to see Heath grinning and winking at the little girl.

Grabbing Sammy by the arm, Meredith headed for the kitchen. “Come on, punkin, it’s not polite for us to stare. Let’s go fix supper.”

“But Mommy, he’s got a funny-looking tummy.”

Meredith wasn’t about to bite on that one. Funny didn’t begin to describe Heath Masters’ tummy. The man was a heart-stopper, no two ways about it, which was all the more reason for her to stay away from him. She’d fallen prey to a case of raging hormones once. Look where it had gotten her.

“How about pudding for dessert tonight?” she asked Sammy in a twangy voice.

“Is
he
gonna have supper with us?”

Heaven forbid. “No, sweetness. Just you and I, like always.”

Stepping back to the sink, Meredith began dumping potatoes out of the bag again. A light breeze came through the open kitchen window, cool against her cheeks. When she realized she’d dumped enough potatoes to feed a dozen grown men and one boy, she said, “
Confound it
,” under her breath and began shoving spuds back in the bag. Visions of Heath Masters still tumbling inside her head, she scrubbed the potato skins, then grabbed a knife from the wooden rack over the stove. After peeling the vegetables, she began quartering them into a pot sitting on the counter.

“Say, Meredith? About the front door.”

The unexpected sound of Heath’s voice coming through the window startled Meredith so badly that she jerked. Pain shot to her elbow, and almost instantly, blood seemed to be everywhere. She dropped the potato and knife into the sink and wrenched on the faucet handle to shove her hand under cold water. “Oh, my stars!”

Heath, who stood head and shoulders above the windowsill, leaned in and saw the blood streaming from her hand. “Jesus H. Christ!”

The next instant, he disappeared.

Sammy came running to Meredith’s side. “Mommy? What—?” The child’s eyes went wide with fright. “Oh, Mommy!”

“It’s nothing, sweetheart. Just a little cut.”

Using her other hand, Meredith pressed down hard over the wound, but it didn’t seem to staunch the bleeding. Gingerly, she assessed the damage. The cut had deeply severed the web between her thumb and forefinger and ran halfway across her palm.

Stay calm
. She shoved her hand back under the water, feeling as if she might vomit. For the life of her, she could remember very little of the first aid training she’d had. Black spots danced before her eyes.

“Sammy, love, I need a towel.”

The next thing Meredith knew, Heath was standing behind her, his muscular arms bracketing her shoulders like steel parentheses.

“I’m all right,” she said tremulously, craning her neck to locate her daughter.

All she could see was blue chambray. Heath had sandwiched her between his body and the counter, his hard shoulders hunched forward. When he saw how deep the cut was, he cursed again, this time under his breath.

“Really, I’m fine. I’ll, um…just wrap it. No big deal.”

“God, I’m sorry about this.” His voice gravelly with regret, he shoved her hand back under the water. “I just wanted to warn you about using the front door. With most of the porch missing, it’s quite a drop to the ground.”

Meredith blinked, trying to clear away the black spots. The rush of the water echoed inside her head. “Sheriff Masters, it’s not your fault.”

“Like hell. I should’ve gone to the back door. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The ragged edge of his breathing told her how worried he was. “I’ll be fine, really.”

A sudden brightness gilded the kitchen, and Meredith felt as if she were peering at everything through the illumination, her mind strangely separate from reality.
Big, tanned hands, one clamped over her wrist, the other applying pressure to the cut. The floorboards creaking under their feet. Sammy’s small face, as pale as a whitewashed picket, reappearing beside them. A deep, masculine voice saying the words “stitches” and “emergency room
.”

She forced her gaze away from the wound, which gaped open.

“You aren’t going to faint on me, are you?” he asked.

“No, of course not. Blood doesn’t bother me.” Seeing her own meat and muscle was another matter entirely, though. Every time she drew a breath, her lungs hitched. “It’s not really all that bad. Is it?”

“Well, it’s not exactly a nick.” He shifted behind her. “Sammy, can you get me a clean towel?” Meredith heard chair legs scrape the floor. “Don’t fall, sweetcakes.” A second later, the patter of Sammy’s sneakers came up beside them. “That’s a girl,” Heath told the child. “This towel will work great!” As he turned back to Meredith, he said, “Are you all right, honey? You’re pale. Maybe you should look at something else.”

Honey
.

Hearing him call her that, his voice so deep and close to her ear, made Meredith miss her dad. Right then, she would have given almost anything to have his strong arms around her. To feel safe and loved. To know that nothing could ever hurt her again.

“Meredith? You still with me?”

“What?” She glanced down to see that Heath had
cinched the towel around her palm. Crimson already seeped through the cheerfully striped linen.

He gave the towel a jerk, tightening it over the wound and applying pressure with the grip of his fingers. The faucet squeaked as he turned it off. Then he guided her to the utility porch and out the door, his broad chest like a boulder against her back. He held her with one arm clamped around her ribs, his hand splayed under her left breast.

She hoped he didn’t notice the padding in her bra. The thought made her stumble, and she had to execute some fancy footwork to get back in stride with him.

When they reached the fence she’d built to enclose Sammy’s play area, he jerked the wire loose from the house with one mighty tug. After assisting Meredith through the opening, he helped Sammy, cautioning her to be careful of the ragged edges.

“We don’t want you to get cut, too,” he told the child, giving her head a pat.

At the Bronco, he lifted Meredith onto the backseat, handling her weight as easily as he had the lumber. Once she was settled, he boosted Sammy up. Then, leaning in, he drew the seat belt strap across Meredith’s body. Startled by his touch, she clutched his wrist. The corded tendons in his forearm went hard beneath her frantic fingers.

He hesitated and glanced up, his gunmetal eyes filled with questions. Her cheeks went hot. It wasn’t as if he were taking liberties. She released his wrist. He fastened the buckle, then slipped his fingers under the strap to settle it between her breasts.