Play Me (Barnes Brothers Book 2) Page 2

  “Good, since I’m not going anywhere.”

  Rolling her eyes, she glanced around the main room and into the bedroom beyond. The comforter was pulled up over the sheets. And for once she’d actually folded her socks and nightshirt before tossing both onto the pillows.

  “Why don’t you sit there,” she said, and pointed to the small brown-on-brown-plaid love seat. “I’ll”—she waved her hand—“make some coffee or something.” The kitchen was on the opposite wall. Good plan.

  But apparently, Tyler wasn’t one for taking orders. He took one of the table’s four ladder back chairs, spun it around, and straddled it. The movement put him in her space again. “This seat’s closer. You know, the better to hear you with.”

  “I can hear you fine from the love seat,” Sophie said as she filled the kettle with water, set it on the stove, and struck a match to light the burner.

  “Not over that wind.”

  He was right about that. The ancient boards of the cabin creaked and groaned as the strengthening wind whistled through cracks. Cowboy didn’t seem to mind at all. He’d passed out under the tiny table, right at Tyler’s feet.

  Her dog was taking the axiom of man’s best friend too literally. Turning away, she shrugged out of her jean jacket and hooked the collar over the nail on the back door. “Does it do this a lot around here?”

  “No. Just a couple of times during the fall. Sort of like Mother Nature’s reminder that she could give us a hell of a winter if she wanted to. Give it a couple hours to wear off. Another hour for the road to drain and I’ll be out of your way.”

  Three hours? Cooped up with a man possessing this one’s earthy appeal? Who smelled like wind and sunshine? Whose smile had no doubt broken more than one heart? Right. Like she didn’t know better than to court his kind of danger.

  Tyler reached down to scratch Cowboy’s ears. “I just hope it doesn’t get worse or go on long enough to throw off the hospital’s completion.”

  Okay. Three hours. She could handle three hours. Scooping coffee into the drip pot, she mused that he had no one to blame but himself if it did. “Then maybe you should have taken the weather into consideration when you contracted to build this time of year.”

  He was quiet for a minute, staring at her dog. Then he blinked and smiled as if a private thought had pleased him. “There’re some things that just won’t wait, you know? Like a dream?”

  Slowly, Sophie resealed the coffee can and thought about dreams. Hers was to find the father who’d vanished when she was five, to experience the familial bond of belonging she’d missed in her younger years, to put what was left of her family together again.

  She might have to wait a bit longer than Tyler but she would see her dream fulfilled. Only then would her restlessness calm enough for her to return to school and finish her master’s.

  “Anyhow,” Tyler continued, “I understand there’s plenty of time built into the schedule. The building should be finished the week before Christmas. I don’t want the construction workers to miss going home for the holidays.”

  He didn’t know much about the DayLine crew, Sophie thought, returning the coffee can to the metal shelf in the corner. “I don’t think bad weather delays are much of an issue at this point. The building’s walled in. The remaining work is sheltered.”

  Tyler looked up. “How do you know so much about the building?”

  Sophie shrugged. “I’m your electrician.”

  He straightened in the chair. “That’s where I’ve seen your dog. At the construction site. But I don’t remember seeing you.”

  “Most of my work’s inside now. Besides”—she grabbed her hard hat from the kitchen counter and settled it on her head to hide her nape-length hair—“these unisex uniforms make it hard to tell one guy from another.”

  His gaze took in the white turtle shell of a hat with the boxy green “D/L” lettering before moving down. And down. Over her chin and the neckline of her T-shirt to her breasts.

  Her shirt was worn thin. Thin enough without her jacket to reveal the simple lines of her bra. His gaze slipped beneath her camouflage of plain sexless underwear and her pulse raced.

  She wiped the sweat from her palms on her hips and Tyler’s gaze followed the motion, drifting lower, to her belly, lower, lingering, drifting again. Finally, he lifted his lashes and wordlessly told her he didn’t have a problem telling one guy from another.

  She turned to stare at the water, willing it to boil, willing her heart to slow, her breathing to steady, the ache in her belly to subside.

  “Is there a reason you’re not stayin’ at Ford’s?” His voice reined in the silence riding wild through the room.

  The kettle whistled. She removed the hard hat and reached for the distraction, pouring the water into the perforated top of the old-fashioned drip pot. “For one thing, ten hours a day is about all the togetherness I can handle.”

  “And reason number two?”

  Sophie smiled. “I work with seven grown men who have convinced themselves that I can’t take care of myself. They tend to be a bit… smothering. Of course, they don’t have any trouble letting me mother them.”

  “I can see why they might be overprotective.”

  He was looking at her in that big bad wolf way again, a way she hadn’t been looked at in a very long time.

  Taking her mug from the drainer, a second from the cabinet, she carried both to the table and managed to bobble only one.

  “Well, there is one who considers me a pain in the ass. But the others treat me like a daughter. Or a sister.” Tyler had his grin turned up full power and Sophie’s stomach flip-flopped. “What are you smiling at?”

  “Sophie and the seven construction workers. I guess that means the only position left for me to apply for is handsome prince… unless the position’s already filled.” He paused, offering her a chance to make up her mind.

  For a moment she considered giving him an application, then decided his cocky attitude didn’t deserve an answer. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Black is fine.” After she poured her coffee and managed his without sloshing it onto his lap, he asked, “So, what’s a girl like you—”

  She shook her head, settling into the other chair. “Don’t.”

  “You’ve heard that one before, huh?”

  “At least twice on every job I’ve done.”

  “Been working construction long?”

  “A couple of years.” The work was easy. Most of her coworkers fun. The traveling she could handle since she’d never lived in one place long enough to grow roots. But there was one overriding reason she did what she did.

  This profession was her best chance for finding her father.

  “Seems an interesting career choice.”

  “For a woman you mean?” He lifted a brow at her comment and Sophie continued. “My father worked construction. I loved the sounds from the site.” The rat-a-tat of the air tools. The grind and roar of machinery. The twang of steel high in the air. She sipped her coffee then cradled her mug between her palms.

  She didn’t tell him about the sound of arguing, or the intensity of the fight that drove her father from her life, drove her mother into the arms of any available hard-hatted, hard body.

  She swallowed another sip. Thunder shook the tiny cabin, the timpani-like vibration making Sophie too aware of the humming in her body. “You think this is going to last much longer?”

  “Are we talking about the weather?”

  “Just making conversation.”

  Tyler slouched back in the chair, laced his fingers over his belt buckle. “No, we’re talking about the weather.”

  “I don’t like complications.” And she didn’t. But it didn’t stop her from enjoying the view. Or from asking, “Are you married?”

  His lashes lowered. “Not married. Not engaged. Not even involved. But I intend to be before the end of next year. What are you laughing about?”

  She couldn’t help it. He was a wolf in wolf’s clothing. �
�I’m trying to decide if that’s optimism talking or just plain conceit.”

  “’Bout eighty part one, twenty the other. I’ll let you pick the mix.”

  This time when the lightning cracked Sophie gripped the edge of the table. Tyler got to his feet, crossed the room, and pushed aside the muslin curtain covering the small window above the kitchen sink. “Aw, hell.”

  “What?”

  He turned back around and Sophie watched him study the cabin. He glanced into the tiny bedroom at the tiny single bed then back into the equally tiny main room at the tiny single love seat. She didn’t like his resulting frown.

  “Does that thing fold out?” he finally asked.

  She looked at the love seat and back. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  He was slow to answer. Leaning back against the edge of the small countertop, he braced his hands at his sides. The heels of his palms curled over the lip of the sink.

  The look he gave her was cocky cowboy and wicked wolf and full of the promise of sweet times. “The bridge just washed into Little Creek. Looks like I’ll be spending the night.”

  TWO

  SOPHIE BARELY GAVE HIM TIME to get the words out before she spoke. “You can’t stay here.”

  “I can’t.”

  He hadn’t asked it as a question or stated it as a protest. He’d only repeated what she’d said.

  She hardened her heart. He had to be aware of the awkwardness of her position. Besides, it wasn’t as if he’d melt if he got wet. “No. You can’t.”

  His frown deepened. It must’ve been her determined tone of voice or the haste with which she’d made her ruling. Whatever the cause, her intuition told her the unthinkable had happened.

  She’d just rejected the heartbreak kid.

  He managed to grin anyway. “Well, now, darlin,’ that’s where you’re wrong. It’s gonna take more than that four-wheel drive out there to get me across Little Creek. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I’m a little rusty at walking on water.”

  His ego was entertainingly enormous. Refusing to crack even the tiniest smile, she considered her coffee and the situation. It wouldn’t do to be trapped here alone with this man. This cowboy. This wolf in wolf’s clothing.

  Slowly, she got to her feet, careful to place her chair between them. Flimsy as it was, she needed the barrier. “I don’t suppose there’s another way out of here.”

  “Well”—he narrowed one eye as if it helped him think—“Sam cut the road in far enough for Big Oscar to get his truck in and out. You go on past the cabin, you do it on horseback.”

  She curled her fingers around the chair’s top rung. “I guess swimming the creek is impossible.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, he reached back and lifted one edge of the curtain. The rain was now a solid sheet of falling water. It was like looking through a roll of plastic wrap.

  Sophie knew what he’d say before he said a word.

  “You dip a toe in that gully washer out there, you’re liable to end up a hundred miles downstream. Little Creek’s a might bigger than its name right now.”

  “And there’s not another bridge across?”

  “Only the one at the road into Camelot. That’s about five miles south of here.”

  “Camelot?”

  “My brother’s place. After that, the creek winds back deep into Gardner’s land.”

  “Five miles isn’t so far.”

  “Not if you’re walking down the county highway. But to get to the Camelot bridge you’d have to follow the creek bank and that red clay gumbo will suck you right down. Sam won’t even be able to manage it with that plow he calls a grader until the surface water runs off.”

  “Well, how long—”

  “Till I’m out of your hair? That’s up to Mother Nature. First, we gotta wait for the rain to let up and the ground to drain. Then we gotta wait for Sam to decide whether that ol’ bridge is worth rebuilding or if he’s gonna cut a new drive down past the bend in the creek.”

  Sophie grimaced. “Sounds like I’m going to be doing a lot of waiting.”

  “Hey, look on the bright side. You’ve got a nice place to wait in, nice company to wait with. I don’t see why you’d even want to get out in that mess.”

  She didn’t have the heart to tell him she wasn’t going anywhere. She’d been trying to get rid of him. “So, exactly how long are we going to be stranded?”

  He was looking her straight in the eye when he said, “I’d give it twenty-four hours.”

  “Twenty-four hours?” She took a step back. The chair’s legs scraped across the wood floor. Cowboy scrambled up from under the table and headed to the hearth, giving her a “what did I do?” look over his shoulder as he passed.

  “Might be closer to thirty-six. But don’t worry.” He crossed his arms over his chest, crossed one ankle over the other. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

  She caught back a laugh, started to ask if he was serious then stopped when he pushed away from the sink and moved leisurely forward. His stride was long, slow and easy, and alive with the sweet-time attraction she wanted to avoid.

  That one dimple in that one cheek deepened when he said, “Of course if you’re just itchin’ to get to know me better, it would be downright unneighborly of me to say no.”

  Her breathing quickened. She saw his gaze measure the rise and fall of her thin cotton shirt “Why would I want to get to know you?”

  “Well, let’s see. I’m highly intelligent” He took one step, took another. The next brought him to the opposite side of her chair. “I have a great disposition. I’m good with kids.”

  Curling his hands beside hers on the chair back, he leaned forward. Her chin lifted. Her belly fluttered. She fixed her gaze on his spring-green eyes and managed not to whimper or moan.

  “And I’m so well trained, I won’t turn up my nose at anything you feed me.”

  Ah, food. The universal distraction. She ruffled a hand through her hair and glanced past him into the kitchen. “I haven’t even thought about food. But now that you mention it—”

  “Yeah. I’m starving, too.” He straightened and let go of the chair but didn’t look away, confirming Sophie’s fear that neither of them had been thinking about their stomachs.

  “I’ll get dinner started.” She stepped around him, toward the kitchen, then stepped back behind the chair. She gestured with one hand. “It’s just…”

  “You worried about the sleeping arrangements?”

  “Who said anything about sleeping?” This time the small laugh seemed to relieve her tension.

  “Well, now, a good night’s worth never hurt a working man. But it’s not gonna matter much if you can’t get across Little Creek in the morning.”

  “And rain or shine Rico will be at the gate out on the highway to pick me up at six. He won’t know about the bridge. Rats. I need a phone.” She glanced hopelessly around the cabin.

  “I’ve got a radio in the truck. I’ll see if I can raise Sam. He can tell Lindy I won’t be along for dinner.” He sat back down in his chair, squared an ankle on the opposite knee, unlaced and tugged off his boot. “I’ll get him to give your foreman a call, too. What was his name?”

  “Rico.” She watched him reverse the process and tug at the second set of laces. “What are you doing?”

  Boot number two hit the floor. He pulled off both socks, dropped them down into his boots, and leaned forward to place his discarded footwear beside the front door.

  Then, barefoot and quite at home, he stood and popped open the placket of mother-of-pearl snaps. “You got enough fuel to warm up this place?”

  Sophie shivered. He hadn’t answered her original question. She was sure of that. Just as she was sure she shouldn’t be staring while he took off his clothes.

  He draped his shirt over the back of the chair and turned her way. His shoulders blocked the light from the kitchen, casting him in a strong silhouette. She took a casual step to the side and released a small breath.

  Mmm,
Much better. The power she’d sensed earlier was evident now, with veins visible beneath the smooth skin of his arms, and lean strength defining his abdomen and chest.

  The room’s dim light rode the dips and swells of his masculine lines, delineating the grids of muscles shadowed with soft swirls of dark hair.

  He was a powerful animal, the wolf she’d sensed. And feared.

  “Sophie? Fuel?”

  She nodded lamely, gestured toward the rear of the cabin, and finally found her voice. “There’s firewood under the tarp on the back porch. And Sam just had the butane tank filled.”

  “Then you might want to kick on the stove. What about blankets? Sam leave you any extras?” he asked, heading toward the front door.

  Sophie followed, resisting the urge to bury her nose in the center of his back and inhale. “On top of the bureau in the bedroom.”

  “Good. Grab me one to wear when I get back.”

  No. She hadn’t heard that right. “Wear? A blanket?”

  “The way that rain’s comin’ down, my jeans are gonna be soaked before I make it to the truck.” He opened the front door and gave her the biggest baddest wolfish grin so far. “This may be ranching country but we still dress for dinner ’round these here parts.”

  Then he winked and was gone.

  Sophie closed the front door and rested her forehead against the boards. The cabin walls receded, returning her space. The silence roared above the sounds of wind and rain. The air no longer buzzed electric but lay still and undisturbed.

  Tyler had been in and out in less than thirty minutes and the room remembered.

  From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of his boots. Pivoting her head, she spied his shirt, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply. It was the scent of rain heated with male skin and she knew sleep would not come tonight or the next.

  Life just wasn’t fair.

  Okay. She could do this. Spend the next two days cooped up in this cabin. This isolated cabin. This cold, isolated cabin—with a man whose smile warmed her from the inside out.