Lovin' a Good Ol' Boy Read online

  Buck laughed again and began to lead the way up to the house. There was a stone path that led to a big wraparound porch. The house was clean and painted white with dark green trim around the front door.

  Buck stepped inside first, to turn on the porch light for Bryce and a table lamp for Anne. The interior wasn't anything one would see in a magazine. It had the distinctive marks of male-only territory, with newspapers and beer cans scattered about and books piled high in the corners. But it was basically clean, fairly well tended, and very homey. The furniture was old, heavy, and comfortable looking. Again, it wasn't what she had expected.

  "You hungry?" Buck asked as he put her bags down at the bottom of the stairs across from the front door.

  "No. Thanks."

  "Tired?"

  Not as tired as she was jittery and strangely timid all of a sudden. She nodded.

  Buck leaned over and took up her bags again. At the top of the stairs he turned on a hall light that revealed four doors leading off the main corridor.

  "My room." He indicated the one at the top of the stairs to the right with a nod of his head. "You could eventually get some sleep there," he said, grinning at her. The teasing twinkle in his eyes gentled his remark to something playful, so Anne cast him a droll stare. "Okay. This is Bryce's room," he went on, undaunted. "You can have this one," he said when he reached a third doorway.

  He ushered her into a room on the right at the rear of the house. When the light came on Anne saw that the decor was at odds with that of the rest of the house. This room had pink-and-blue flowered wallpaper and frilly white curtains; it was very feminine. At the questioning look on Anne's face, Buck simply stated, "This was my sister's room."

  "I didn't know you had a sister," she said, amazed. And then it occurred to her that with all the revelations in the past twenty-four hours of everything he wasn't, she really didn't know much about who he really was. She felt an acute need to know. She wanted to know. "Where is she?"

  "She and her husband live in Covington," he said. She glanced up to find him looking at her, watching her. And when he spoke again, she felt as if he'd read her mind. "There's a lot we don't know about each other, Annie. But there's already a couple of things we're pretty sure about."

  "Such as?" She knew she was going to hate herself in the morning for asking that question.

  Putting his hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face him more squarely. With one index finger, he pushed her hair behind her ear, and then gently played with her lobe while he spoke. "Well, we know we’ll probably never agree on the future of the mill."

  Her heart was hammering in her throat, choking her when she tried to speak. "That's true."

  "And we know our lives and backgrounds are totally different."

  "That's true too." There seemed to be less and less air in the room, and his face seemed to be getting closer and closer.

  "We know that there might not be a whole lot of time for us."

  She nodded slightly. Speech was too difficult. "You know I want you."

  Half a nod this time.

  "And I know you want me."

  "I know," she uttered. Unable to stand the suspense any longer, she closed the distance between their lips. Buck met her greedily. His mouth warm, wet, and demanding. Without a thought in her head or a warning in her heart, she leaned into the strong, lean contours of his body. She hadn't realized how much she'd wanted him to kiss her until that moment. It was as if she had been hungry and thirsty and didn't know it. He aroused needs in her that she didn't even know she had.

  He may not have gone to college. He may not have seen much of the world. He wasn't the slickest, most debonair person she'd ever met, but the man knew how to kiss. He was a master at tantalizing sensitive nerve endings, drawing them into a frantic, frenzied state of excitement. His hands traveled her body, seeking out erogenous places, launching Anne's senses on a voyage of expectancy and hope. He teased and charmed her in turn, sweeping the ground from under her feet. The good ol' boy lavished her with kisses slowly, thoroughly, and to Anne's way of thinking, exquisitely.

  She felt her blouse being pulled away from the band of her skirt, and she tensed, waiting, waiting for the touch of his hands on her skin. When it came, her tension only increased. She yearned for a deeper, more intimate touch, and moaned her desire. Buck deepened their kisses, his fingers trailing gooseflesh over her back and up the sides of her body. But to Anne, it was as if he were only giving out samples. She wanted all of him.

  Buck heard the footsteps before she did and reluctantly raised his face from hers. Her eyes were heavy and slow to open, but her efforts were rewarded with a quick, sweet kiss.

  "He didn't learn his timing from me," Buck said, speaking of his brother, as the two of them listened to the bedroom door close down the hall.

  Anne had forgotten all about Bryce. She was still breathing too heavily, her heart was still hammering too rapidly, and her bones were almost the consistency of pudding. She smiled at the stern, disapproving look on Buck's face, and said, "Maybe it's just as well."

  He pulled back a little to get a better look at her. He searched her face with gentle, intuitive green eyes. Something inside of him beckoned her. And again it occurred to her how easy it would be to let herself slip into Buck's soul and lose herself there, forever. It seemed as though it would be the simplest thing in the world for her to do, and yet it frightened her.

  "Scary, huh?" he asked, his voice hardly a whisper but reassuring at the same time. He appeared to understand the enormity of what they had found in each other. He seemed to know what it was, where it came from, and how it was going to change them. But he didn't give her the impression of being particularly frightened by it.

  Anne nodded self-consciously and smiled. "I felt safer when you were angry with me."

  He placed a kiss on her forehead, then held it there with his own. "Don't be afraid, Annie. We’ve got time. And I'm right here with you."

  Oddly enough, his comment was comforting. She liked the idea of having him around in times of danger or when she was fearful. In a world full of things that were instant, disposable, and temporary, Buck was as solid as a rock. He made her feel safe, and she trusted him.

  "Bathroom's downstairs, next to the kitchen," he said, pulling her close and holding her tightly. He released her, kissed her good night, and turned to go. "If you need anything, holler."

  "Thanks." She watched him edge toward the door, and for a moment she thought he might say something else.

  "Good night."

  "Good night, Buck."

  Five

  At least spring was as inconsistent in Kentucky as it was in New York. When morning came the sky was gray and cloudy, and a cool breeze ruffled the curtains in Anne's room as she stood looking out of the second-story window at Buck's backyard. There was a deer standing in the middle of it.

  Anne had never seen a deer out of captivity before. It awed her that the wild animal would actually amble out of the woods, only two hundred feet from Buck's back door, to eat the grass from his lawn. "You'd never see anything like that in the city," she told herself aloud, a wry smile on her lips.

  In fact she'd probably never see anything like this part of the country again. There were so many trees. Different kinds of trees. Without the benefit of a degree in botany, she knew the names of only a few, such as the maples and oaks. But it seemed to Anne that someone had done a fine job of mixing and sculpting the trees to the hills and valleys they grew on. If she angled her head just right, she had a breathtaking view of a valley that looked as if it were carpeted with the new green leaves of springtime.

  Buck's house was much older than it had appeared the night before. From the buildings and fencing that surrounded it, Anne gathered that it had once been a farm. There were no animals, but there was a small, newly planted garden to the right of the back door. And the house itself wasn't white as she had thought, but a faded yellow. The outside was in good condition but could use some fresh paint
.

  She'd been awake for over an hour, waiting for a sound that would indicate the brothers were up and she could go downstairs to take a shower. When it came, it was the roar of an engine from the other side of the house. The deer heard it too and bounded back into the woods. Anne listened as one of the trucks went down the gravel road, and she wondered how the driver had gotten up, dressed, and done whatever else he'd done before driving away, without her hearing him.

  She found Buck alone in the kitchen. His back was to her, his shoulders broad and powerful under a blue denim work shirt. His long lean legs were stretched out under the table before him. He was holding up the corner of a newspaper with one hand, in the other was a cup of something steaming hot that smelled incredibly like coffee. She'd spent so much time in her room that she could have arm wrestled him for his morning brew. Recalling his willingness to get down and dirty with her the night before, she decided against it.

  "Good morning," she said sweetly, hoping he'd be a good ol' boy and offer her a cup of coffee. "I just saw Bambi in your backyard."

  He turned in his chair to smile at her, and the sun broke through the rain clouds to shine brightly in the sky. She wasn't sure if that actually happened, but it seemed like it for a moment.

  "I hope you invited him back for the huntin' season," he said, laughing at the horrified grimace on Anne's face when she realized what that meant.

  "You'd shoot Bambi?"

  "Only if he walked out in front of my gun." He laughed again at her moans of disgust as he got up and opened a cupboard to show her where the coffee mugs were kept. "How'd you sleep?"

  "Like a log. You and Bryce are very quiet people. I've been upstairs waiting for you to make some noise so I could come down." She held her mug out and let Buck fill it for her.

  He nodded and grinned. "We heard ya. Couldn't figure out what the hell you were doin' up there."

  They laughed, a little uncomfortable with the intimacy of their circumstances as they moved back over to the table to drink their coffee.

  Anne didn't miss the covert inspection he gave her nightwear, nor was she unaware of the way her body quickened when she knew Buck was looking at her. Part of her wanted to put a little extra sway in her hips and look more seductive, while another part of her just wanted to get her hips back to New York and out of harm's way. She pulled her robe more tightly around her and reminded herself not to get too deeply involved with Buck. Their worlds were galaxies apart, their time together would be short. It could never work out between them ... or so she'd been telling herself throughout the night and early morning hours.

  "I was looking out the window. I can't get over how beautiful it is here. I think I'm falling in love with Kentucky," she said whimsically, forcing herself to think of other things."

  "So stay," he said, as if it were as easy as that. "You wouldn't be the first Yankee transplant we've had."

  "No, probably not. But I bet I'd be the most unpopular," she said, thinking of the night before.

  "Hmm," he said thoughtfully. "That's probably true. Unless of course you'd like to reconsider your position on the mill closin' down."

  "It's not my position. It's Harriman's," she said as she sat down at the table.

  "But you're his representative here. You could talk to him for us."

  "Buck." She let the tone of her voice tell him that it was too early in the morning to have a reenactment of the workers' meeting with him. He seemed to understand.

  "Okay. Okay," he said, his gaze skimming down over the upper half of the satin robe and tailored pajamas she was wearing. The arm he had propped on the table fell toward her, his fingers catching themselves on the collar of her nightshirt. "What is this? Silk?"

  All she could do was nod as his hand moved down the lapel, slipping inside to test the quality of the fabric between his fingers. She held her breath as his knuckles gently grazed the top of her breast. She thought for a moment that her heart might have stopped except that there was something throbbing in her throat.

  She looked up and met his stare. It was knowing, confident, and satisfied. His voice was, too, when he said, "Nice fabric. Fine weave."

  "I—I've never known a man to be interested in—in cloth before," she stammered, all too aware that he was aware of what he was doing to her.

  "It's my business, remember? I make cloth," he said, as he slowly withdrew his fingers, gathering the front of her shirt in his fist. With a light tug he pulled her closer and closer until she could feel his breath on her lips. "As a matter of fact, in my business, we call this a material come on."

  She groaned over his silly joke, but that was all she got out before his mouth closed over hers for a deep lingering kiss. He hadn't lost his touch since the night before. Within seconds Anne felt like a weightless mass of charged energy. Her whole body seemed to pulsate, and yet at the same time she felt as if she weren't really there.

  She heard Buck sigh his enjoyment and felt his lips move lower, along her jaw and upper neck. The temptation to slide off her chair to the floor and to make wild, desperate love then and there was overwhelming. Lord, the things he did to her. . . . She was weak with wanting, but something was very wrong.

  It seemed strange to her that Buck's attention could swing so swiftly between her, the mill, and back again. It wasn't a complete thought or a whole feeling, only a niggling uneasiness in her that kept her teetering on the brink of total surrender.

  "Buck," she said, her voice husky with emotion as she tried to capture his attention. With her hands over his, she managed to loosen his hold on her nightshirt and pull away a little. "Buck. We need to talk."

  " Bout what?" he asked, trying to silence her with his mouth.

  "About the mill. About us."

  "Later."

  "No. Now. I don't want any misunderstandings between us."

  He stopped his attempts at distracting her and looked her square in the eye. He seemed to be considering her words, considering her, and then finally appeared to agree. "Okay. But later. I mean, I wouldn't mind discussin' the us part now, but I never talk shop with a woman who isn't wearin' any underwear. It keeps me at a distinct disadvantage."

  "Yes, well talking about the two of us, dressed as I am, would have me at a disadvantage. So I think I’ll get dressed," she said, standing self-consciously, more aware than ever of her lack of underwear and the thinness of her nightclothes. "Well, If you feel you have to . ..." he said, disappointed. "When you're ready we can go for a walk, if you want. We’ll talk then."

  "But what if it rains?" she asked, glancing out the window at the dark clouds.

  "Then we’ll get wet." His gaze lowered once again to take in the outline of her breasts under the soft clinging silk. All over again, her stomach started jumping up and down, and her heart began to throb in her throat. Deep inside her, she admitted defeat and acknowledged a wish for rain.

  ~*~

  She should have gone to the mill and started her audit on the financial records, but Buck and his offer were too tempting. Besides, who worked on Saturdays if they could find an excuse not to? She planned to tell Calvin that Lily didn't work weekends and that she couldn't find anything without her. He'd understand this, since he was unable to find the executive washroom without directions from his secretary.

  When she'd packed her bags in New York three days earlier, a nature walk in the wilds of Kentucky hadn't even crossed her mind. The best she could muster on such short notice was a lavender cotton sweater, a full floral skirt, and espadrilles, the lowest heels she had with her.

  At first their "walk" consisted of ambling around the LaSalle property. Apparently, Buck's grandfather had "bought the land from the bank" when the original owners had moved away in search of better times during the Great Depression. Since then, it had stayed in the family through good times and bad because, as he put it, "you can't grow roots in land that doesn't belong to you."

  "My dad was sort of a wanderer," Anne told Buck, absently making conversation. "He'd get restl
ess in one place, at one job, and pack us all up and move us to someplace new." She laughed softly. "I was in college before I realized that some people actually spent their whole life in the same place."

  "That musta been tough," he said, surprising Anne with the sympathy in his voice. "Making new friends all the time, new schools, new towns."

  Anne had to pause and think. She'd hated it at the time. She'd never really felt comfortable anywhere because she knew that as soon as she did, she'd move away again. She could remember the pain of having to leave people she loved and things she knew. And she could recall the fear and the loneliness of being the new kid and getting lost on the way home from school. But that's the way it had been all her life, and since she'd never really thought it could be any different, she accepted it, until that very moment, when a pang of acute envy for Buck's sense of belonging passed through her.

  "It wasn't so bad," she said, too proud to admit her true feelings. "My dad always made a great adventure out of it. And if nothing else, it drew my brothers and me closer together. Because lots of times the five of us were all we had."

  Buck didn't look at all convinced that a nomadic life was in any way acceptable, but he didn't press the point. Instead, he went on to explain how his land had been a working farm at one time. But since neither he nor Bryce had the time, or inclination to be farmers, it now consisted mostly of the garden and a few animals that were slaughtered to supplement the meat they got by hunting and fishing. Anne thought butcher shops were a lot less trouble and not nearly as grisly.

  Soon they began to travel into the woods. Of course where Anne came from, this sort of walking was called hiking, but who was she to quibble? The scenery was as pleasant to look at as her guide, and she was enjoying them both very much.

  She asked about the different trees and flowers, and he pointed out the hickory, beech, and poplar; the rhododendrons, magnolias, and mountain laurels. He even stopped to show her a huge Kentucky coffee tree.

  Still, what may have seemed like a major expedition had a strong undercurrent of sensuality. There were accidental touches, chance eye contact, and other subliminal messages of their mutual attraction. Anne wasn't sure which electrical storm was more imposing or which would break first, the one gathering in the sky above or the one between them below.