Southern Hospitality (10 page)

What, or who, was nice he didn’t care as he laid her on the bed. He watched in fascination as she wiggled to find a comfortable spot on the flowered comforter. When she frowned and shifted to another position, Logan knew he was doomed. Tory reached up to pull at the material of her jumpsuit.

“Being a gentleman doesn’t pay, Herrington. You should have hightailed it out of here the minute you put her down,” he told himself, rubbing the back of his neck and glaring at the cause of his problem. The jumpsuit that fit Tory like a second skin had silver spangles on it; spangles that were rubbing against her soft skin.

“You’re an absolute fool.” Reluctantly he bent over to begin the arduous task of undressing Tory. The way his luck was running she’d wake up during his mission of mercy and assume the worst. Luck, and possibly the influence of the wine spritzers, were on his side with the added help of the garment’s network of zippers. He made short work of stripping off the jumpsuit, trying not to notice the alluring figure beneath, or the scraps of satin and lace that were her only covering.

Before he could consider the alternative, Logan walked to the other side of the bed and quickly flipped the comforter over Tory. It was much safer than reaching across her and giving into the temptation to join her. With the comforter partially covering her glorious skin and bits of lingerie, he moved back around the bed to complete his task.

As a reward for his good behavior, he lingered for one last look. Tory was as desirable in sleep as she was awake. His new knowledge of the exact shape of her lovely breasts and the perfection of her hips and legs didn’t help matters. Stifling a groan and cursing his noble upbringing, he ducked his head under the fringed canopy to give Tory a chaste goodnight kiss.

He snapped off the lights on his hasty retreat from the cottage, making sure the front door was locked before he headed for the car. As he started the engine, he decided that apricot lace would haunt him for the rest of the night, if not his entire life.

The shrill ringing of the bedside phone roused Tory from an exquisite dream. Unfortunately, the phone was insistent, shattering the last remnants of sleep and the vision of a mysterious stranger carrying her in his arms. Without opening her eyes, she reached for the offending instrument on the Pembroke table.

“’Lo’,” was all she managed before subsiding back into the pillows.

“Tory? Is that you?” Leeanne asked anxiously after a brief hesitation.

“Mmmmmm.”

“You’re still in bed at eleven-thirty? Are you sick?”

“Eleven-thirty? It can’t be,” Tory exclaimed and shot up to a sitting position, opening her eyes only to shut them against the bright light of the room. Why were the shades open? Cautiously she opened her eyes again, looking around the room as her vision adjusted to the light. The shades weren’t the only thing wrong. She couldn’t understand why she was wearing her bra and panties and sleeping on top of the bed covers.

“Tory, are you still there?”

“Yes, Leeanne, I was just trying to clear my head. You sound upset. Is something wrong?”

“Not really. Curtiss asked me to call you because he has an emergency on his hands,” the other woman said in a rush. “He needs you to do him a favor. Oh, Ty Daniel, how could you? Hang on a minute, Tory.”

Tory didn’t have much choice since her sister-in-law put down the phone without waiting for a response. While she waited for her nephew’s latest crime to be handled, she tried to unravel the mystery of her sleeping apparel. She couldn’t remember going to bed and it puzzled her. Last night had been the Bush’s party. Logan drove them home and—

“Sorry about that, but Ty Daniel decided to cut his hair,” Leeanne said breathlessly into the phone. “I managed to catch him before he actually did any damage. Now, where were we?”

“Curtiss wants me to do him a favor,” Tory prompted,
and I was trying to figure out how I got to bed last night and what Logan had to do with it.

“Curtiss needs you to take Logan to Oklahoma tomorrow. He’s got a problem with one of the Atlinger’s quarter horses,” the other woman explained, then waited for a response. “Tory, is there a problem with that?”

“What? Oh, Curtiss wants me to do what?” Tory practically shouted the question into the phone as the meaning of Leeanne’s words sank in at exactly the same moment that she realized what had happened the night before. Logan Herrington undressed her, down to her sheerest underwear, and put her to bed.

“He wants you to take Logan to the Oklahoma rally for him. The horse might have colic, and he’s Atlinger’s prize stud. They’ll lose a fortune if Morning Star dies. Curtiss has to stay here until the crisis passes,” Leeanne answered.

“Good Lord, is he crazy?”

“Please, Tory, you know he wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t absolutely necessary, and you’re the only one with the free time to do it.”

“All right, all right. I’ll call you back later for the details. Bye,” Tory said quickly, and hung up before Leeanne could lengthen the conversation. She had a lot to think about, and it all concerned Mr. Logan Herrington.

A brief glance at the undented pillow next to her gave her the small assurance that she’d slept alone. Tossing back the comforter she headed for the shower, hoping it would clear her head even more and bring back total recall of the previous night.

The quick shower and fresh clothing didn’t make any difference. Tory couldn’t remember a thing beyond a silly conversation in the car about magic tricks. Still tying the belt to her moss-green cotton romper, she headed for the main house in search of some answers.

“I knew I was going to regret being nice to him last night,” she grumbled, stomping across the lawn. “Who would’ve thought a properly bred Bostonian would turn out to be a voyeur? Yankee manners!”

She trotted up the back steps and through the back door, her temper escalating with each stride. When she spotted Arnette arranging flowers in the front hall, she demanded, “Where is he?”

“Oh, good morning, dear, or should I say good afternoon,” the older woman said, not bothering to look up from the carnations she was separating. “You just missed Mrs. Carter’s call. She wants to go with the all seafood menu after all, and she wants the salmon mousse with dill sauce as well.”

“Where is he?” Tory repeated and dismissed her best client’s wishes—a prominent member of the Opera Guild—as if she were a pesky gnat.

“Are you looking for Logan? He’s not here.”

“Not here? Where did he go?”
That rat’s hiding from me.

“He had an interview with a Mr. Kowalski,” Arnette explained as she stepped back to survey her handiwork. “I think he said something about blind hams and an interesting story. Does that make any sense to you?”

“Blind hams? Oh, the radio operators for the rally. One of the ham radio clubs has quite a few members who are blind,” Tory returned, but her mind still wasn’t on what she was saying. “Damn the man.”

“Victoria Camille.”

The reprimand brought Tory’s attention back to the other woman, who was standing with her hands on her hips, a frown marring her round face. The stance made Tory realize she’d sworn out loud.

“What’s gotten into you, young lady? You’ve been madder than a wet hen since Mr. Herrington arrived. You haven’t been this short tempered since you sent that Callahan fella on his way.”

“Trust me, Arnette, the two have a lot in common,” Tory answered, then decided she’d said too much. “I’ll be at the Park Plaza shop for the rest of the day. Tell
Mr. Herrington
that I’ll see him at dinner.”

She turned on her heels and left the house before Arnette could start asking questions. Her own words were echoing in her brain. Reed and Logan were poles apart in appearance, but they were both opinionated men. That was enough for her. She’d broken her engagement six years ago because she didn’t want a man running her life, and she’d been wary of any close relationships since misjudging Reed.

They’d met in college and shared interests. Although they knew they’d be separated for a year after graduation, Reed had proposed a week before commencement. He’d been set to go to his apprenticeship in California and Tory to Paris. The moment he put the ring on her finger, the trouble began. Suddenly, he objected to her trip to France, although he’d seemed enthusiastic about her additional training only the week before. He said he didn’t want his woman gallivanting around a foreign country without his protection. Tory went despite his disapproval. After battling T.L. during most of her formative years, she wasn’t about to let Reed sway her from her purpose.

The engagement lasted a year, most of which they were separated. Tory liked to think she had more brains than to remain tied to such a chauvinistic jerk. Her first week back from Paris, Reed came to Little Rock and found fault with everything and everyone. After two days, Tory knew she’d made a tremendous mistake. He treated her as if she only had half a brain and was put on the earth to fetch and carry for him. One evening they went out with some of her high school friends, arguing on the way to the restaurant, and returning home in separate cars. Reed was dripping wet from the beer Tory poured on him after one patronizing remark too many. She’d been extremely satisfied with her handy work.

After Reed, she’d evaluated exactly what type of man she wanted in her life. He’d be quiet, sensitive, and understanding. The man she married, if she married, would be supportive and caring. None of these characteristics had anything to do with a self-possessed Yankee who had the nerve to undress a woman when she was unconscious. That was something an amazing chest and bone-melting kisses couldn’t make up for, Tory decided.

Tonight she would lay down the ground rules for the rest of Logan’s visit once and for all. And if that didn’t work, maybe she’d resort to a pitcher of beer again—a full one this time.

Chapter Five

Logan took his eyes off the straight stretch of highway in front of him to study his traveling companion. Tory was slumped down in her seat with her feet braced against the dashboard and a new baseball cap pulled down over her eyes. She hadn’t said more than a dozen saccharin-sweet words to him since she arrived at the house with the Winnebago and handed him the keys. He knew she was angry with him and why, but his mind kept wandering to dangerous territory. Was she wearing another set of mind-boggling lingerie under her jeans and cotton blouse?

Clearing his throat as they passed a mileage sign to Fort Smith, he knew they couldn’t go on like this for another four or five hours. He also had to get his mind off the vision of Tory in her bedroom. “If I apologize, will you start talking to me again without smothering me with southern charm?”

She uncrossed her arms and tipped her cap back enough to uncover one eye. “I was just being polite.”

“Tory, you’re madder than hell about me putting you to bed the other night, and we both know it,” Logan said without hesitation. “I’m sure if I’d been around yesterday, or hadn’t gone out to dinner with Trevor, we’d have had this out already.”

“Okay,” she answered, sitting up and readjusting her cap. Turning to face him, she hooked her leg up onto the console. “I was spitting mad yesterday morning when I woke up and realized that an absolute stranger undressed me. Of course, it didn’t help that I’d just learned I was going on a three-day trip with the same person.”

“I really didn’t look, at least no more than necessary. The Herringtons have set the standard for good manners in Boston for over two hundred years.” Logan flinched at his own words, he’d gone from lame to pompous in a matter of seconds. “You
really shouldn’t worry so much, you have a beautiful body.”
Oh, Lord, that makes it even worse.

“I knew I should have taken Trevor up on his offer.”

Logan wished he dared look to see Tory’s expression, but he had to keep his eye on the car in front of them that was slowing for the exit. “What did he offer to do?”

“He knows some truckers that might be willing to break a few of your bones,” she announced quite happily. “You’d only shown up on my doorstep at midnight when he offered.”

“I can imagine. He gave me a rather cautionary brotherly talk last night.”

“He did?”

“Mmmmm-hmmmn. He explained that young women of the southern persuasion were delicate flowers that had been gently nurtured.” Logan schooled his features to be properly earnest, just as Trevor’s had been. He knew it was a red herring, but Tory was talking to him. It would also be nice to have her mad at someone else for a change.

“Tell me he didn’t, please?” Tory begged in a tone that told Logan he’d succeeded in diverting her.

“He didn’t mention any names, if that’s any comfort.” His lips twitched slightly at Tory’s answering groan. “And he had this curious habit of fingering his steak knife during the entire conversation.”

“It’s definitely time for Dwayne and Little Otis.”

“Who?”

“I have some truckers of my own, if necessary,” she said with a hint of pride.

“Does this mean you’re still mad at me?”

“Just don’t let it happen again,” she warned, but he could detect some humor in her tone.

Logan didn’t realize until that moment how tense he’d been, his body stiff as his hands clenched the steering wheel. He made a conscious effort to relax, but cautioned himself to be on his guard. There was the ever-present danger of putting his foot in his mouth again. “So, how does a delicate flower meet truckers?”