Georgia's Daddy (4 page)

He had to get her off—she didn’t belong there. His mind needed to be clear, especially before tonight. So he hit the rest of his chores with the enthusiasm of a man who needed to work hard, tire out his muscles so that his brain would shut down. The thing was, even though he didn’t understand it, there was a deep-seated need inside him, and no matter what he did, he just couldn’t shake it. He had to be the one to take the lead in a relationship, to curb the attitudes of naughty girls and, when they deserved it, to spank their bottoms.

Sam craved that submission, whether he liked it or not. And in the moment, when he had a woman bent over and taking a much-earned punishment, he liked it quite a bit. When he was dealing with loneliness, well, those days he liked it less.

Georgia could be different
, a voice inside him whispered.

He slammed the logs he was gathering into the wheelbarrow with a loud grunt in order to silence it. He wasn’t a cradle robber, and no matter how cute or tempting, Georgia had
jail bait
written all over her sexy ass. Which was all he needed to know to end this—whatever it was—before it ever started. His subconscious would fall in line, eventually.

* * *

“You have
got
to be kidding me,” she groaned aloud. This wasn’t happening. It just wasn’t. Although the loud blare of sirens and the sight of billowing gray smoke dared to disagree, she just couldn’t believe that the night she’d finally worked up the wherewithal to go to the grocery store, she’d find it in flames.

Well, not flames exactly. But those were
definitely
firefighters rushing inside while customers poured out of the open doors.

“Damn,” she swore to herself. Yet, she didn’t crank up the car and turn around. What was the point? She had come all this way first; might as well have a smoke before heading for home, empty handed. She wondered if she could find somewhere to pick up a pizza on the way home. She highly doubted in a Podunk town like this one that anyone delivered.

Well, at least her dad wouldn’t get mad. After all, a fire was a crazy coincidence, right? It wasn’t like she should feel bad for putting it off and not going earlier—no matter what Mr. Bossypants might have to say about it.

She shook her head to clear the thought. Her dad wouldn’t feel that way about it, she knew that, and no one else mattered. Not even if that someone was tall, dark, and ruggedly handsome.

Her eyes flickered toward the firefighters. Hmm.
Speaking
of handsome…

She
would
stay for a few minutes. She’d have a quick smoke, and enjoy the show. Not that a fire was entertaining or anything, but it looked like they had it well under control. It wasn’t like there were leaping flames scaling the building or anything. So, what was the harm in taking in the sights? Especially if that helped to get her mind off… no one important.

Georgia had just lit the cigarette and taken her first, long drag when one of the firefighters came out of the building. She’d counted three, so far. Definitely not an emergency situation. Which meant that there was certainly no harm in a little man—um, people watching.

Was it her imagination, or was that firefighter looking over at her? Nope, he was definitely looking. She blew the smoke out of her mouth and gave a jaunty little wave that she hoped was sexy. Then, much to her surprise, she saw him begin to venture toward her.

She fought the nearly irresistible urge to check her hair in the side mirror. Damn, if she’d known she would be entertaining males, she would have taken more care with her outfit. But it had been hard enough to convince herself to stop procrastinating and go to the grocery store in the first place, so she’d thrown on a baggy t-shirt and a pair of shorts she’d had since high school. She
had
put on a quick coat of mascara on her lashes, so that was something, at least.

“You should really put that out,” the fireman said as he drew near.

“Oh?” she asked lightly, defiantly taking another puff.

“Ma’am, as a firefighter I find it my sworn duty to tell you that smoking can kill you.”

Wait a minute. Her belly did a little flip, even though she knew better. She’d know that voice anywhere.

“Yeah, so I’ve been told.”

“You mean to tell me you
know
and you still put that garbage in your body?”

His face was hidden by the shadow of his helmet, but she could make out the disapproving frown.

“Seems like it.” She moved the cigarette toward her mouth once more, but then to her surprise he reached forward, plucked it from her fingers, and tossed it onto the asphalt. Then, without a second’s hesitation, he ground it into the road with the heel of his boot. “Oh, my hero. Now I’m cured.”

“Careful,” he warned, his voice a low, rumbling warning. “It seems to me that you’re asking for another spanking.”

She cleared her throat and ducked her head to hide the color that leapt to her cheeks. “You didn’t ask me who told me.”

“I’m sorry? Who told you what?”

“That smoking kills you.”

“Probably every teacher you’ve ever had, I’d wager, and your dad. But I’ll bite—who?”

Feeling that she’d regained enough of her composure, she looked up and met his eye. “You did.” Then, without another word, she opened the door to her car, climbed inside, and cranked the car. She was very proud of herself for being able to drive away without a backward glance.

* * *

“Do you want to have pizza again tonight?” Georgia called out as she stared dejectedly at the empty cabinets.

“I guess we’d better.”

“I hope the store is back in order before we get tired of pineapple and ham.”

“Anything’s better than smoke-flavored peanut butter,” her dad called back, chuckling.

Georgia rolled her eyes. She’d laughed the first time he’d said it, and even the second, but now he was just pressing his luck. She opened the freezer, as though something edible would have somehow popped in there since yesterday when she’d looked last. No such luck. Guess she didn’t have a choice but to run out. She had just put her shoes on when she heard the doorbell ring.

“Peach? You ‘specting someone?”

“Nope. I’ll get the door, though.” She did a double-take when, upon opening the door, she came face-to-face with Samuel Taylor.

“Hi,” he said, as though his being on her doorstep was nothing unusual. As though he’d done it a million times before.

Actually, he looked good on her doorstep, but she wasn’t going to let him know she thought that. “Hello. I was actually on my way out.”

“Oh. Well, that’s OK. I just thought I’d bring some supplies.”

When she looked at him blankly, he held up the bag that, until that moment, she hadn’t noticed him carrying.

“My gran sent over some food when she heard about your, ah, predicament.”

Was it her imagination, or did his eyes twinkle at her?

“I know you still can’t get to the store, so she thought she’d whip something up for you and your dad to have for dinner.”

“Oh. Well… well, that was nice of her, but—”

“Georgia? Who’s at the door?”

She winced as she heard her father’s voice. If she didn’t play her cards quickly and just right, she was going to have to invite Sam in. She might like the looks of him on the porch, but inside her house was another matter. She had a hard enough time getting him out of her thoughts as it was and if she let him anywhere near the threshold, she wouldn’t be able to even manage that much. Which meant when this went nowhere—and it was headed there fast, as far as she was concerned—that she’d have to have a witchdoctor come and remove his essence from the house. And if that didn’t work, well, they’d just have to move.

“Thank her for me, but actually, we’re just going to have pizza. Thanks again.”

“The nearest pizza place is fifteen minutes away,” he said, as though he was telling her something she didn’t already know.

“Yes, well, I just so happen to have a craving for pineapple and ham, so, like I said, thanks, but—”

“Well, why don’t you just take it and save it for later? If I come back with it, my grandmother’ll have me shot. She doesn’t think I’m neighborly enough.”

“Wonder where she would have gotten an idea like that,” she quipped. As soon as she’d said it, she could have kicked herself. Not because it wasn’t true—it was and she didn’t mind him knowing that she thought so. But she should have just taken the bag and shut the door. If she had, then she might have noticed that her father was creeping up behind her
before
he actually had a chance to interact with Sam.

As it was, he startled her when she heard his voice behind her. “Howdy there. Who is it, Georgia?”

She closed her eyes so that her irritation would be hidden from them both. When she spoke, her voice was just one level below frenzied. “No one, Dad, he was just about to go. He just stopped by to drop some food off.” She tried to block his access to the door, but he was taller than her and had no trouble peeking over her shoulder.

“Hey there, Sam! Food, you say? That was mighty thoughtful of you.”

“Hello, Mr. Miller. It’s been a long time.” Sam stepped forward with his hand stretched out and Georgia had to grudgingly step aside.

“It sure has, it has at that,” he agreed as he took the hand and pumped it. “How is your grandma? Doing well?”

“Yes, sir.”

See, this was exactly what she hadn’t wanted. She didn’t need them bonding.

“Thanks again, Sam.” She reached out and took the bag from him. “Tell your grandmother we say thank you.”

“I don’t suppose you’d like to join us for dinner, would you, son?” she heard her father ask before she could close the door.

“Dad, I’m sure Sam has things he has to do. He’s very busy. Now—”

“Actually,” he interrupted with a disarming smile. “I’m free. And I’d love to join you.” Then, bold as brass, he winked at her.

She was far from amused. Not that either of the men seemed to notice. They kept up a steady stream of chatter all the way to the kitchen until she had plates dished out for each of them. She had to admit that the rice, beef tips, and gravy
did
smell pretty good. And her mouth had begun watering at the sight of the skillet-fried cornbread that had been packed in the bag.

“Enough for all of us?” Sam asked as she approached, carrying the plates waitress-style, which meant one was balanced on her wrist.

“There’s enough food in there for a small army,” she admitted. She couldn’t deny that she was glad not to have to drive to town.

“Gran tends to overdo things a bit.”

“Well, if it’s as good as it smells, I’m sure you’ll be returning with our compliments to the chef.” Her father asked that they clasp hands to pray, and when he was done, he immediately dug in, letting out an over-exaggerated moan as he took his first bite.

“Don’t mind him.” She rolled her eyes toward Sam. “He does that every time he eats.” But as she began to eat, she had to question whether it had been overkill after all. She’d never known that rice could taste so fluffy or gravy so flavorful. It was hard to pace herself, even with Sam at the table.

“So, Sam, tell us about life at the ranch. I can’t believe a man that eats like this every day is so thin, so I reckon it must be hard work.”

“You haven’t tasted anything until you’ve had a few of Gran’s biscuits.” He grinned. “But, yes, sir, it is hard work. I don’t mind.” Then as they ate he began to regale them with what a typical day looked like for him. He had them both laughing before he was through.

“I didn’t have any idea it was so hard to shear a sheep,” her father guffawed.

“It might not be, if my gran didn’t insist on watching every time I do it. She always has to warn me to not hurt them, and then she doesn’t believe that I’m not because they start bleating.” He did a lamb impression that had Georgia snorting in laughter despite herself.

“But that’s not
all
he does,” she interrupted, warming up to the conversation. “He’s a firefighter, too, isn’t that right?”

“Only two nights a week.” He gave a modest shrug. “Just a volunteer.”

“Wow. That’s a full load, son.”

She couldn’t help but notice how impressed her dad seemed. She had to admit, it
was
kind of cool. Georgia felt her cheeks heat when, unbidden, an image of him from last night popped into her head. She hadn’t thought he could look any better, but she guessed what they said was true: nothing and no one could beat the attractiveness of a man in uniform.

“I wouldn’t say no to a second helping,” her dad said as he held out his plate.

She took it from him and rose to her feet.

“Make sure you save room for dessert. Gran made banana pudding especially for you two.”

“Did you hear that, Peach?” her dad asked as his eyes practically rolled to the back of his head in anticipated rapture.

Sam raised his eyebrows at her at the mention of her nickname, but didn’t comment.

“Banana pudding is his favorite,” she explained, ignoring the look he shot her and going into the kitchen.

A second helping and a bowl of dessert later, her father was as happy as Georgia had ever seen him. They didn’t entertain guests very often and he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

“Well, you two, I’m goin’ off to bed.”

Georgia’s brow furrowed. It was barely nine o’clock! Her dad never turned in before watching the evening news.

“Don’t feel like you have to rush off, now, Sam.”

Oh
. Her cheeks quickly colored as she understood.

“Have a nice night, Mr. Miller.”

“You too. And don’t forget to tell your grandmother that I’m mighty appreciative of her fine cooking.”

“I won’t, sir.”

Georgia watched his retreating back and wondered if she should fake being tired, too, just to get rid of him. It had been a nice time, sure. They’d laughed and talked, but suddenly, without her father around she felt nervous. Why was it that she had no problem saying exactly what she wanted until she was alone with him in her own home?