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Just a Little White Lie(25)

By:Lynnette Hallberg


“Ouch!” She’d punched him! He rubbed his arm and met Lucy’s glare. “What was that for?”

She turned and stalked out of the kitchen.

Damn.

Still rubbing his abused arm, he realized his shirt had never looked so good. Maybe he’d have it bronzed.





Chapter Eight




When the shower turned on, so did Jake’s imagination. Damned if he wasn’t right there in that shower with Lucy. The woman did crazy things to his equilibrium.

Bottom line, he’d better adjust. Forget how alluring she was. Beneath the tough-girl act, Luce was newly dumped and hurting. Right now, she should be lying on the beach in Bermuda. Or the Bahamas. Maybe Puerto Rico. One of those lush tropical islands. He couldn’t remember which one, and it didn’t make two cents worth of difference.

True, she’d been the one to leave, but what self-respecting woman wouldn’t after finding her fiancé in his ex’s arms? What had the guy been thinking? Money-grubbing Donald Kimball had to top the list of dumb asses. And Andrew Darling came in a very close second.

Elbows on the counter, he watched a bird fly into the oak tree in his front yard. Not thirty seconds later, a neighbor’s cat strolled up the walk. Close call, bird. It was all in the timing. But then so much of life was about timing, wasn’t it? What if he’d made another stop somewhere? Slept in another half-hour? He’d have missed being there when Lucy needed him.

The shower shut off. He held his breath.

When he heard the bathroom door creak open, he called out, “You do realize that now we have to go to Mom and Dad’s.”

“Of course.”

She stepped into his line of vision, and the glass of water he’d just poured sloshed over the rim. She’d pulled her hair up into some messy, hotter-than-hell bundle on top of her head, and tendrils of red curled around her nape and ears. Her cheeks were flushed from heat and humidity.

He seriously doubted he’d survive Lucy. What man could walk around with a constant pulse rate of a hundred and fifty and blood pressure that spiked through the roof? To say nothing of the ever-increasing discomfort behind his fly. The lady was going to kill him.

Yesterday’s jeans clung to her, emphasizing every curve. And he knew, beneath them, she wore that little scrap of lace he’d liberated from Sammy. One of his white dress shirts tied at her waist, the first three buttons undone.

Hell, he was undone. Dragging his tongue back into his mouth, he ordered himself to maintain his dignity. No begging, no groveling, no rolling on the floor to have his tummy rubbed. Or any other part of his anatomy, for that matter. Down, boy.

Lucy walked toward him, snagged a mug from the cupboard and got herself some coffee. “Tell me about Sammy’s dad.”

“Zane Logan. Great friend. He was the best thing about my time in Wyoming. Roughnecking is dangerous work, but Zane always had my back. Problem is, Birdie came out to visit me, and he had her back too—along with other parts of her body. And before you knew it? Whoops, baby makes three. They got married, but, well, it didn’t last.” Jake trailed his finger over the pattern on the table. “Zane is still in Wyoming, and Birdie’s here, raising Sammy by herself.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea. Neither of them has ever said.”

“Hmmm.” Lucy’s brows drew together. She reached for her coffee, took a sip. The sunlight played across the table, and she looked out the window. “Looks like a nice day. Do you mind if I take a walk before it gets too hot? I could use some fresh air.”

“No, not at all. It’ll do you good. Clear your head. And don’t worry about getting lost. I don’t think you could do that here in Pride if you tried.”





The house was quiet, too quiet. Jake turned his newest Daughtry CD up loud so he could hear it while he showered and changed. Life sure did have a way of throwing curveballs!

The doorbell rang. He swiped a towel over his face, removing the last traces of shaving cream. Towel draped over his shoulder, he laughed and opened the door. “Forget your key?”

“You never gave me one.”

Oh, brother!

His heart plunged to his toes.

Wanda Sue Baker stood on his doorstep, looking hot, sexy and raring to go.

A quick glance up and down the street showed no sign of Lucy.

“You going to invite me in?”

“Ah, sure.” He raked fingers through his hair and stepped to the side. “Come on in.”

Dressed in pale pink, her platinum-blond hair a sleek curtain framing sky-blue eyes, Wanda Sue was the epitome of femininity. And she paled in comparison to Lucy.

“I’m so glad you’ve come home, Jake.”