The Quiet Seduction by Dixie Browning Page B

wine might make a nice hostess gift, but in this case, a truckload of fence posts would probably be more appreciated.
    Booker started to sit again, thought better of it and slouched against the wall, working on a ragged thumb-nail.
    â€œDo we have an understanding?” Storm pressed.
    â€œYeah, yeah. Soon’s Clyde gets back, me’n him’ll go fix the sonovabitchin’ fence, but I can tell you right now, mister, it ain’t gonna hold.”
    â€œIt’ll hold.” As long as he was bluffing, he might as well do a thorough job of it. “I’ll be riding out first thing in the morning to check on it. The job had betterbe done by then. Use baling wire instead of staples if you have to, but make it hold.”
    Not until he was halfway across the yard to where Ellen was standing did it occur to him that he knew how to jury-rig an old fence line. Hooray. One piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. Now all he had to do was find roughly a million more and fit them together.
    As if in need of support, Ellen waited beside Pete’s basketball standard for the visitor to negotiate her rutted drive. Her arms were crossed in a familiar posture. If he read her right—and he was getting pretty good at it—she was definitely playing defense.
    Shoving his anger to a back burner, he moved up beside her in case this turned out to be another creep who got his jollies from jerking women around. His heart was pumping adrenaline by the gallon.
    She moved a step closer, her arms still crossed defensively over her breasts, but otherwise ignored him.
    â€œYou expecting company?” he asked quietly.
    â€œNot this kind of company.” While he was still pondering that, she added, “Are you?”
    â€œWell now, I could’ve sworn the party invitations said half past four. Looks like I’ll have to hire a new social secretary.”
    After a brief, astonished look, she laughed, which had been the whole point of the lame joke. She’d been looking as if one more straw would have broken the camel’s back, and while he might not be able to slay all her dragons, the least he could do was provide a touch of comic relief.
    Turning his attention to the visitor, it occurred to him that this could be someone looking for him. The leap of anticipation was only slightly taintedby…disappointment? Hell, that didn’t even make sense.
    Instead of stopping beside the shed where the trucks were parked, the car pulled up in front of the picket fence, its gleaming presence distinctly out of place against the backdrop of shaggy shrubs and peeling white paint. Together they waited for the doors to open. “You think maybe this is another member of the silk-underwear-and-monogrammed-handkerchief set?” he inquired softly, still playing for laughs.
    Tongue in cheek, she looked him over, from the tips of his ruined cordovans to the top of his shaggy head, taking in the faded jeans he wore low on his hips to make up for the lack of length and her husband’s flannel shirt that didn’t quite accommodate his shoulders. “If it is, I’m not sure he’ll recognize you. Have any of your friends ever seen you before with a yellow and lavender forehead?”
    Standing close enough to feel the heat of her body, close enough to catch a whiff of alfalfa hay and the baby powder he knew she dusted down with after her shower, Storm waited for the visitor to emerge. It was probably just someone pulling in off the highway to check his map or to ask directions. It didn’t take a genius to recognize the make and model as one usually indicative of a seven-figure income. Whether that had any meaning or not, he couldn’t have said. The information just popped into his head.
    And then the door began to open and Ellen muttered, “Oh, hell.”
    â€œIs that good or bad?”
    Her fingers dug into his arm and he covered her hand with his own as a good-looking, fortyish blond guy