Wild in the Moment

Six

Teague railroaded her to the front porch of the Cochran house before she could balk-although she was thinking about it. “Teague, we can’t just walk into someone’s place.”

“We’re not going to just walk in.” He rapped hard on the door, rang the bell, then stuck in a key and yelled out a yoo-hoo.

“Teague-”

“They know I come in at all hours. They want to get the job done, so they gave me a key. Just hold up for a second so I can tell them you’re with me this time.”

He bolted up a staircase before she could respond. So she stood there, feeling ill-at-ease in a stranger’s house-even if she did know the Cochran name from her childhood-and more restless than a wet cat in a downpour.

Teague was being easy to be with. Too easy. He hadn’t asked why she was living over the café. Why she hadn’t contacted him after the blizzard. Surely he was going to ask some difficult questions sooner or later?

He bounded back down the stairs, carrying his jacket this time and making a motion for her to hand over hers. “They’re home. They’re happy we’re here, and they’re even happier that I brought someone to give me some advice.”

“You’re talking about the swatch problem advice?”

“Yeah. Come on, so you can see what I’m doing.” He led her through a hall to the back of the stone two-story house. Obviously, the family was living upstairs for now, because the downstairs was too chewed-up to function in. But Daisy sucked in a breath when she saw what he’d been up to.

Even before he switched on a glaring overhead light, she saw the slate walls and white marble fireplace and the shiny dark tiles. It wasn’t like any place she’d seen-not corny country, not citified either, but wonderfully unique without being in-your-face elegant.

“They had beige carpeting in here before. Two cramped little rooms. The fireplace was in the same spot, but it was brick, kind of a dirty red color. It seemed to make good sense to use Vermont white marble, then contrast it with slate-you like?”

“I’m not going to give you compliments for being brilliant. They’d go straight to your head,” she said.

He chuckled. “Okay. So you like it. But now you can see the problem.” He motioned.

On both sides of the fireplace were two huge, new bay windows. The Cochrans’ backyard looked over a ravine, with overgrown woods to the west and a meadow drifting off to the east-a meadow Daisy could so easily imagine in springtime, coming in pale green and then turning lush with wildflowers. “Mrs. Cochran doesn’t want curtains,” she said absently.

“No?”

“I’m assuming that’s why she wanted a swatch, because she thinks she’s supposed to have some kind of draperies. A ‘swatch’ is a piece of fabric so she could see different designs, see how the fabric worked in the room. But she doesn’t want to cover these windows, Teague. There are no neighbors to see in. The view is part of the beauty of the room.” Daisy wandered, touched, looked. “What she’s probably more afraid of is that all these new textures could come across as cold. Attractive, but not warm, not like a home.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And the truth is that the textures are cold. Beautiful, but cold.” She touched the marble fireplace, the slate wall. “The thing she needs to work with, though, is the furniture. No wood, no arms or legs showing. All upholstery. She needs to choose soft fabrics, like ultrasuede or micro fiber. And then colors bright enough to attract the eye-colors with courage. No grays, no colors with gray in the paint. Yellow would warm it up. Or red. Or prints with warm colors. And then she needs a throw rug-just one-round, not rectangular or square. The rug also needs to have some kind of thick texture, like sheepskin or fur or fake fur-something with body and depth…” She could picture it. Her fingers itched to get into the colors, the fabrics, that could make this fabulous room come to life.

“Um, you wouldn’t mind telling Mrs. Cochran this stuff, would you?”

Daisy glanced back at him, startled. “I can’t imagine she’d want to listen to a stranger’s advice. I was just woolgathering to you.”

“Trust me. This is exactly the stuff she wanted me to tell her. Only, I didn’t get it. I understood how to make better use of the space, how to make the view come to life, showcase the fireplace, all that kind of thing. Hell, I love those kinds of problems.”

“And you did fabulously. If this were a room in my house, I’d hang out here and never leave.”

That was obviously too much praise. Whether consciously or unconsciously, he backed away a few steps, looked out at the snow-covered woods. “I like it okay. It isn’t my best. Mostly what I like about carpentry is studying someone’s house, figuring out what works for what they want, what they need, what would make the most of their specific living space. So each job is individual to the person or couple, you know? Except…”

“Except what?”

“Except that I just can’t handle the decorating-stuff part of it.”

The way he shivered in mock horror made her chuckle. “What, you’re afraid of curtains? A great big lug like you?”

He turned, pinned her with a look that was suddenly quiet, suddenly intense. His eyes seemed to catch fire. “And what are you scared of, Daisy?”

She didn’t immediately answer, simply because she didn’t have to. They both heard the clip of footsteps, and then the Cochrans walked in. Introductions followed, and faster than two women could smell a sale, she was sharing decorating ideas with Mrs. Cochran.

It was well over an hour later before they left the house-with the Cochrans still trailing them, coaxing them to stay for another glass of wine.

By then the temperature had fallen a good dozen degrees and snow glistened in the air. She was warm enough, with fur mittens and a fur scarf, but Teague was hunched in his jacket.

“You goof, where’s your hat?” she teased him.

“The town’s decorated with my hats. I don’t like them, so I seem to unconsciously leave them wherever they get tossed.”

“You’re going to freeze.” She hooked her arm with his, snuggling closer. They’d been getting along like brother and sister, she told herself. Teasing. Talking. Just being together. It was only three blocks back to the café.

Unfortunately, it just wasn’t long enough to delude herself. She didn’t feel like a sister with Teague. He didn’t look at her like a brother would. It wasn’t working, the pretending, no matter how hard she tried.

When they reached the café, it was closed tighter than a drum. An occasional car dawdled past. Streetlights turned red and green with no one to see. The overhead security light helped her find the key in her purse. She plucked it out, looked at him and then hesitated. “Would you like to come up?” His expression changed so fast, she added swiftly, “Not for the reason you’re thinking.”

“What, you think I planned to jump your bones the instant we walked in the door?”

“I wasn’t worried about you, Teague. I was afraid I might jump you, not the other way around.” She could see he liked it, the teasing, but as she led him up the dark stairwell, her heart seemed to be suffering sharp pangs of nerves.

He’d allowed the easy familiarity between them. Hadn’t asked her a single question. Hadn’t implied in any way that they’d spent one wild, long night naked together, hadn’t pushed in any way.

It wasn’t natural, a man being that nice. In fact, it was so unnatural it was nerve-racking.

It wasn’t that she owed him an explanation of her life or anything else, just because they’d slept together. But there was something about the damn man that made her want to be honest with him. At the top of the stairs she opened the door, but before she flipped on a light, she turned and said seriously, “If you see my place, I think it’ll explain a lot. Enough so that you just might not want to jump my bones the way we did before. That was a blizzard. A wild moment in time.”

“As compared to this moment, which is…?”

“More like straight old real life.” She flipped the light switch. Without looking at him, she slipped off her coat and scarf, tossed her bag on a chair and aimed for the wine. She wasn’t trying to create a cozy drink-together atmosphere, but almost anyone could look at her current “home” and need some whiskey to absorb the shock.

Moments later she handed him a glass of Merlot. Not good Merlot. For damn sure, not French Merlot. Just the stuff she’d found in the grocery store-which was even then too expensive. Of course, air was too expensive for her these days.

“What in God’s name was this place when you moved in?”

“Some kind of storage attic. Which is undoubtedly why Harry was willing to give it to me rent free,” she said dryly.

She watched him look around. He’d shed his jacket, but he hadn’t sat down yet, didn’t look as if he was necessarily going to.

Her first week here was right after the blizzard-when she’d realized the farmhouse furnace needed a complete overhaul. That wasn’t her expense problem. It was Violet’s. And Violet could afford it just fine. But it was going to be another three weeks before the plumber could even get to the problem, and by then she’d realized how much it would cost her to live home…and how bad her financial situation really was. That same day she’d seen the Temporary Help Wanted sign in the café window.

This room…well, it had taken her seven days of scrubbing before she could even stand it. Apparently no one had ever washed it before. Mice and birds and bees had set up housekeeping under the eaves, but nothing human. There was a utilitarian bathroom with a teensy shower; the white porcelain sink was rusty, but it was all usable. And there were two windows built into the slant of the roof.

When her boxes had arrived from France at the farmhouse, she sorted through and discovered that she had all kinds of “things.” The only thing she didn’t have was money.

So there was an original oil over the couch with no springs. The old iron bed was nothing to admire, but the quilt was convent-made, in rich purples and lavenders. She’d covered a hole in the wall with a Versace blouse, draping it as if it were intended to be a wall covering. She’d used scarves-Hermes, Dior, Chanel-to cover the paint-scarred tables. Her china was fine-boned, a pale cream with a rim of gold, even if the rickety card table was the only place to eat. A hot plate and small fridge functioned as her kitchen.

“If I tried to explain this to anyone, they’d never believe it,” Teague said.

“Yeah…well, that’s my reality. I’m dead broke. And I do mean broke.”

“That’s not what I meant or thought. You’ve made something original and interesting and even beautiful out of…out of God knows what.”

“It’s hardly beautiful.”

“Yeah, it is. All the color, the scarves and stuff…it looks intentional. Not like you’re covering up the horrible room. But like you were creating an artsy cool boudoir.”

She frowned, confused.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “You want me to take this more seriously. You’re not just broke. You’re really broke.”

“Yes.” She hesitated. “Teague, I don’t mind you knowing. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything around town, because my parents and family still communicate with a ton of people here. I don’t want word to get back to my family. Obviously, they know about the divorce, but not much more-and especially not what financial shape I’m in. It’s just…complicated. They didn’t know I was unhappy.”

Somehow she found herself sitting across from him, Teague on the couch, hunched over, playing with that wineglass, and her settled at the bottom edge of the bed. There was no other place to sit, not where she could comfortably face him. “Why?” he asked bluntly.

“Why what?”

“Why didn’t you tell your family how unhappy you were-or that you’re this strapped for money?”

“Because.” She lifted a hand in a sweeping motion, one of those gestures that was supposed to communicate there were a zillion reasons. “At the time I first realized the marriage wasn’t going to make it, my mom and dad were just retiring. I was in another country. They would have worried to death. And I didn’t tell my two sisters…”

“Yeah, they’re another question. I thought you said you were really close to your sisters.”

“We were. We are. But I’m the oldest, you know? I’m the one they always looked to for advice, to take charge.” She added, “In fact, I’m the one who did a little masterminding behind the scenes to help them hook up with the guys they just married. Good men. And they’re both totally happy-”

Teague didn’t exactly interrupt her, but he acted as if he had no interest in hearing how happy the rest of her family was. “I get it,” he said. “You didn’t want your family to know because of pride.”

She scowled. “All right. So I have a little issue with pride.”

“Little?”

“Okay. Big.” Cripes, she’d have denied it if she could. Unfortunately when it came down to it, except for all the designer clothes and accessories, she pretty much didn’t have a pot to pee in. And pride or no pride, she felt the oddest sense of relief to finally tell someone. Someone not her family.

And Teague could have judged her. Instead he just seemed to keep taking in information like a sponge. “The point isn’t your pride, sweet pea. The point is…where you’re going from here.”

“Well. Like I told you, I’m living free above the café, because Harry was hot to have someone in the place. Food’s free, rent’s free, electricity-it isn’t costing me a dime to be here. On top of which, I’m a little short on wheels temporarily.”

“You had a car,” he said with a frown.

“A rental car that I picked up at the airport. And that’s the thing. I don’t need a car at all for a few weeks if I live here. I can walk anywhere in town and eat downstairs.”

“In return for which, Harry hired you on as a cook?”

“Not exactly. Harry said he hasn’t got enough business at this time of year to hire anyone full-time. But we made a deal. Most days, I open and close the place for him-which is easy for me to do, living upstairs this way, and that way he can sleep in and leave early. And I’m putting in a few hours-as many as he’ll give me-baking. French pastries, fancy stuff. He said he’d give it a try, and even if it’s only been a week, it seems to be working to bring in new customers.”

“But he can’t give you more than part-time hours?”

“No,” she admitted. “On the other hand, with zero expenses, I’m putting everything away. It shouldn’t be that long before I can put a down payment on a used car. Then I can look at moving somewhere there’s some job potential.”

“But for right now, you’d like more money?”

She looked at him. That quiet, intense expression-Teague could be very hard to read. Obviously, she wanted more money. She just wasn’t sure exactly what he was asking. But before she could even try leaping to a wrong conclusion, he filled in what he was thinking.

“I told you, Daisy. I need help. Exactly the kind of help you could give me. I’ve got more carpentry work than I know what to do with, but I’m lousy on the decorating end. For a while, when you wanted to, you could work as a consultant. Even better, you could work when you had free time, because the specific hours wouldn’t matter to me.”

She stiffened. “Trust me. I don’t do charity.”

“I’m not talking charity.”

She pushed off the edge of the bed and started pacing-not that there was more than a few feet potential to pace with. The most walking she could get in was a circle around the couch. “Come on. You told me flat-out that you had trouble working with other people. You said that was how you ended up in White Hills, because you wanted a place where you could make a one-man business work. Trying to do a partnership didn’t work out for you, you said. You always want to be boss, you said. You-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know all that stuff I told you. And it’s all true. I’m a pain in the butt. Domineering. Single-minded. And it doesn’t help that I’m always right.”

She had to grin at his arrogance, even if she still couldn’t relax enough to quit pacing.

“But this is different,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s different. Because I admitted being broke right now, so you got the idea I needed a white knight. Only I don’t do white knights. And I didn’t tell you so you’d feel sorry for me. I’m not having any trouble living poor for a while, so don’t waste your breath thinking I need your charity.”

“It’s not charity I’m offering.” Now he was on his feet, pacing, too. There was something strikingly alert in his eyes suddenly-like she shouldn’t have mentioned not doing white knights, as if she had once, as if he were taking in that information like a robber learning a bank code. He didn’t make anything of that, though. Didn’t ask. He just started firmly arguing. “I need help, whether you do or not.”

“Sure you do,” she said dryly.

“I’m serious. And I told you straight, that I failed playing well with others in the sandbox in pre-K. But our situation’s different. I know you’re not going to stay in White Hills for long, so it’s not as if either of us have preconceptions about a long-term future. And for right now-you don’t know anything about carpentry, so you’d have no reason to fight with me about how I do things. And I have no interest in interfering with any ideas you’ve got about style or decorating whatsoever, so you’d have a free rein. It seems like a workable plan to me. You wouldn’t have to be pinned down to a set schedule. You could just work whatever hours you had free.”

Probably because she was looney, it was starting to sound like a good plan to her, too. Of course, she’d fallen prey to persuasive men before, and knew better than to just blindly trust her own judgment. She plunked her wineglass down by the minisink on one of her pacing rounds circling the couch. “It still won’t work. I don’t have a car, Teague. How would I get to wherever you were working?”

He plunked down his wineglass, too, which was still full. He really wasn’t a wine man. Just like her, though, he seemed to instinctively pace when he was thinking. “Hmm. Well. I’ve got both a car and a work truck. I need the work truck.”

“I hear a ‘but’ in your voice.”

He scowled. “Because there is one. I do have a spare vehicle. So in principle it’d make sense to let you use it for a while.”

“I still hear that ‘but’ in your voice.”

“Because it’s a Golf GTi.”

She’d never heard of the car, but she knew men and their toys, and he had one of those Guy Looks on his face. “Ah. Your baby.”

“It’s not like an old Jag or anything that expensive. In fact, I picked her up last year for a song. But as old as she is, she’ll still go another seventy thousand miles if I take care of her. And she’s the MK 1 version. Cross-spoke BBS aluminum wheels. The golf ball gear lever-”

Daisy cut to the chase, her tone sympathetic. “You just can’t let anyone drive her but you.”

He didn’t immediately respond, probably because both of them were distracted. When Teague put down his wineglass, he’d seemed to forget their pacing pattern and reversed his direction. As a result, they found themselves facing each other in front of the couch-with no passing lane for either of them to get by.

She could have backed up. So could he. But suddenly they were barely inches apart. Close. As physically close as they’d been that wild night of the blizzard. Maybe they were both fully dressed this time, but for her, the same sensations welled up. She felt alone in the universe with just him. No one else in sight or sound.

No one else who mattered.

She saw his hand rise. Saw the fire in his eyes kindle-and then smoke. She knew, inside, that he was going to reach for her even before he did it, and she had ample time to pull away.

Instead her arms swooped around his neck at the same time his wrapped around her waist. His lips met hers halfway.

Ignition was faster than nitro exposed to a match.

She knew he was wrong for her. She just forgot why. In fact, why she was afraid of being with him disappeared faster than a sixteen-year-old with the car keys. Wicked heat seeped from his kiss to hers. Sinful hopes communicated from her tongue to his. Her pelvis so naturally ground provocatively against his groin. He shot up, hard, in the nestling privacy between her hips.

That single kiss darkened, richened. She couldn’t see, couldn’t think. No matter what he thought, she’d never taken up with a stranger, not like she had that night in the blizzard. No matter what anyone thought, she’d never been the wild girl everyone thought her to be, growing up in White Hills. She’d never even been the wild girl she wanted to be.

Except with him.

Something about Teague-the taste of his kisses, the sneaky stroke of his tongue, the scent of him-set off explosions of bad, bad ideas in her mind. And between her legs.

His mouth lifted…probably because both of them were gasping for breath. His eyes found hers, loved hers, expressed hunger and a fury of frustration…yet his voice was as lazy as a summer morning.

“Okay, okay. You can drive my Golf GTi. But it’s a hell of a concession. And don’t think I’ll just give in every time just because I’m dying from wanting you.”

She tried to recoup as fast as he did, tried to laugh, but her legs were shaky and her heart even more so. “Are you trying to suggest that kisses are part of this work deal?”

“Hell, no. I don’t make deals about sex. If there’s a ‘deal’ about working together-all I’d say is let’s be careful to put all our cards on the table. If an arrangement works for you and me, let’s do it. Sex is nothing like that.”

“You don’t put your cards on the table about sex?”

He raised an eyebrow, managing to look as if he were almost breathing regularly again…even if his pelvis was still rocking against her pelvis. “You know anyone who’s completely honest about sex?”

“Yeah. Me,” she said.

He chuckled. “Me, too. But the fact is-I don’t know how to promise guarantees on something as intricate as two people. From where I stand-I want to sleep with you. In fact, I’d like to have another two-week blizzard where no one could reach you in the entire universe but me. In fact, I’d like to spend the next five years in your bed nonstop. But who knows if that would be a good idea for you.”

“Quit making me nervous, Teague.”

He stopped smiling. Gently touched the side of her jaw with his thumb. “Somehow I don’t think many men have made you nervous. Maybe it’s good for you to be nervous. Maybe being thrown off base might be terrific for you.”

He wanted her to tease back, Daisy sensed. And she wanted to flirt. Wanted to play the way they’d been playing, wanted to want the way she fiercely, wildly wanted him.

But Teague had no way to understand. Being nervous wasn’t a joke for her. She simply couldn’t let a man throw her off base. Ever again.