“Well, she needs rescuing now.”
I sighed, peering through Hank Weller’s open door where the charming and mysterious Sarah had disappeared. “What’s going on?”
“Come to Jeanie’s,” Cletus whispered ominously, then promptly hung up.
I glanced at the screen of my phone and cursed quietly. I knew Cletus wouldn’t answer if I tried to call back. His custom of undersharing and treating everything as top secret was usually funny. But sometimes it was just plain irritating.
Slipping my cell into the back pocket of my uniform pants, I grabbed Sarah’s bags and carried them over the gravel and stone pavers of the driveway. I mounted the steps and rolled the largest bag into the spacious entryway.
“This is a huge foyer.” She spun in a slow circle, taking in the high ceilings.
She’d said the word using its French pronunciation, foy-ay. Cletus said it that way. The rest of us said foy-er, like it’s spelled, because we lived in the United States and weren’t pretentious nut jobs. Not that I thought Sarah was a pretentious nut job or made such a judgment about all people based on their pronunciation of that single word.
Just Cletus. He said foy-ay and was most definitely a pretentious nut job.
Sarah was from a big city so odd quirks could be overlooked and forgiven. I got the sense I’d be happy to overlook and forgive quite a bit of her quirks, should the situation present itself.
“Where would you like your bags, ma’am?”
Her attention settled on me, giving me a warm feeling in my chest, confused amusement playing over her features. “I’m back to being a ma’am? What happened to miss?”
Needing to do something with my hands, I hooked my thumbs on my tool belt and grinned down at her. “I’ll call you whatever you’d like, Miss Sarah. But I’ll need a phone number first.”
What are you doing? Yeah, I wanted her number. I probably wouldn’t call—because I shouldn’t call—but I wanted it nonetheless.
Sarah laughed at that, and I loved the sound just as much as I had earlier. “Real smooth, Ranger. Come on inside; Hank stocked the kitchen. Do you want something to eat?”
I shook my head, irritated with Cletus for his interrupting call. “Can’t. I’ve got to get back on the road.”
Her face fell a little, and damn if that didn’t make me feel good.
“Rain check?” I offered, tilting my head to the side and getting one last sweep of her. Something about her . . . made it hard to look away, or think, or talk.
She nodded, a lingering smile on her lips. “Sounds good.”
I tipped my hat, forcing my feet to uproot. “Well, Miss Sarah. Pleasure to rescue you.”
“Such manners,” she said with a hint of sincere wonder.
I felt my grin hitch higher, unleashing my best—though out of practice—flirtatious eyes. But before I could turn, she surprised me by stepping close and stopping me with a hand on my arm. Leaning forward and lifting up on her toes, she placed a feather-light kiss on my cheek. Her breasts brushed against my chest—not on purpose, but because she had a huge rack—and my body awoke with a start. All blood flowed south. The smell of something flowery, warm, and expensive curled around me, arresting my pulse.
She didn’t withdraw completely. Not right away. But rather stayed close, glanced up at me from beneath her long lashes, and whispered, “Thanks for being my hero.”
I swallowed thickly, another wave of warmth unfurled in my stomach, hotter than before, exhilarating. It felt like an echo of an old addiction.
“Anytime,” I managed to say, though what I wanted to do was grab her and find out what she tasted like. In fact, I was about to do just that when she backed away.
I watched her retreat, keeping my eyes locked on hers. She had me out of sorts. And by out of sorts I mean really, really wanting to put my mouth all over her body.
She gave me a wide, intoxicating grin, and I got a little lost in it until she dismissed me softly. “Goodbye, Jethro.”
I clenched my jaw, affixed a tight smile to my face, and nodded once, maybe even successfully hiding the inexplicable effect she had on me. I wasn’t used to this side of the equation. I was used to doing the charming, not being the one charmed.
I walked out the door. I admit, I was in a daze as I strolled back to the truck. I heard the house door click shut and I exhaled on a low whistle.
This woman . . . holy hell.
I needed a beer.
Or maybe seven.
CHAPTER 3
“Out of all the things I have lost, I miss my mind the most.”
― Mark Twain
~Jethro~
Claire didn’t require rescuing.
I did.
From my surprise birthday party.