Bound to Happen (10 page)

In keeping with what Leslie had come to know as his totally illogical and obnoxious character, Joe laughed merrily. “That’s it! That’s what I’ve been waiting for,” he said. He did a funny little two-step in the dirt and then advanced on her with long, purposeful strides. He swept a startled and angry Leslie into his arms and pressed her body close, molding it to fit his perfectly. He was grinning triumphantly. He was so close she could see the pupils of his eyes dilating and constricting as he cast his gaze over her face and down to her lips. “You see. I knew if you really set your mind to it, you’d find something to whine about. It’s time to pucker up, sweetheart.”

Leslie glared at him. She could feel his heart hammering. … No, it was her own heart hammering wildly in her chest. She was excited and anxious and her agitation was upsetting her stomach. “But this isn’t fair. Bathrooms are important,” she objected weakly.

“A deal’s a deal, Leslie,” he said as he traced her lips with his tongue, his voice low and intimate. “I want my kiss.”

There was a huge lump in her throat as she tried to swallow away her nervousness and what was left of her fury. She wasn’t crazy about the idea of having to admit that she’d lost the bet, but the idea of proving something else to this man became suddenly very appealing. She’d show him snooty. She’d show him someone who’d never been in love. She’d show him just how atypical a female she was.

With her courage bolstered by her pride, she liberated the resistance in her body and melted against him. Her lips brushed his, teasing and enticing. She nudged his nose with hers and tilted her head to take better aim at the target area. Slowly, meticulously she took his bottom lip between her teeth and sipped at it gently.

She felt the man’s body grow tense and heard him draw in a deep hissing breath as she continued to use every sensuous trick she’d ever discovered to worry his libido. Her fingertips moved like feathers over his bare chest. She felt his muscles quiver and laughed wickedly in her heart. When he groaned and deepened the kiss, taking her possessively, his arms tightening about her like a vice, she knew a moment of terror and panic and briefly wished she hadn’t tested his restraint. But it was a short-lived moment. She knew a feeling of dizzy breathlessness as he sapped the air right out of her. Her own muscles grew weak and tingled helplessly as his hands roamed over her body, looking for an entrance into her clothes.

When his lips left hers to trail slowly down her neck toward her open shirt front, her heart skipped several beats and a sense of fear rose up to help clear her mind. She took a staggered step away from him and looked straight into his eyes when they opened. Quite clearly, he was as shaken as she that the payoff to their bet had gone so far and been so kinetic. Their amazement was mutual and quite awkward.

His gaze was intense and thoughtful for several long moments before he spoke. “Cornell. I went to Cornell,” he said. Then, abruptly, he released her and walked away. But before he got too far, he turned to her again, saying, “You want to make any more bets with me?”

“I don’t think so,” she said, still a little short of air.

“Too bad, because I already know what I want when you lose again. And I gotta tell you, Leslie, I truly admire a loser who pays up with such enthusiasm.”

“Humph,” was her disdainful response as she tried to appear indifferent, which wasn’t too hard when he began to laugh at her haughtiness.

He continued to laugh and seemed quite pleased with himself as he walked around the end of the cabin and out of sight. A slow, even growl of rage erupted from Leslie. She wanted to stomp her feet but recalled their condition in time. Great kisser or not, the man was a pompous pig.

In frustration she turned to the cabin. No longer a castle, the structure now fell sadly short of her definition of rustic. In her present frame of mind, it didn’t look much better than a cave.

The door squeaked endearingly as she opened it and hobbled through. Joe Bonner seemed to have a place for everything and everything seemed to be in its place. To her left there was a vintage 1950s overstuffed sofa and easy chair, with wooden crates for end tables. Beyond them was the fireplace. There was a cooking area on her right with a dinette table and three chairs set out in the middle of the floor. And on the far wall, facing her, was another table and the fourth chair to the dinette set. On this table rested a small personal computer with a pile of papers and several books, stacked according to size, beside it.

“No bathroom, but he’s got a damn computer,” she muttered as she automatically looked to see the make of the instrument. Well acquainted with computers, she recognized it as a top-of-the-line battery-operated model and knew it to be expensive. At least his taste in high-tech equipment was good.

To the left of the computer table on the same side of the room was a bed covered with a patchwork comforter, a large wooden chest of drawers, and a nail in the wall from which he’d hung a suit and three neatly pressed dress shirts on hangers. Actually, as her anger began to ebb away, the cabin began to look somewhat nicer. Joe Bonner, it appeared, was a neat and tidy person. There were book shelves and cabinets in every available space. All were packed neatly and to capacity. There were even pictures on the pine-paneled walls, scenes of the Old West not to Leslie’s liking, but then she didn’t have to live here long, did she?

No, in a calmer state of mind and with Joe Bonner nowhere in sight, the cabin was quite homey. Well satisfied, she looked at her surroundings with an air of mild acceptance. In fact, as far as she could tell, there was only one little problem with it aside from the fact that there was no bathroom. There was only one room and one bed—both of which could lend themselves to some very sticky situations when dealing with a lunatic like Joe Bonner, she decided.

For example, who was going to get the bed and who was going to sleep in the woodshed? Not king or even queen size, the bed was just an average bed. But to Leslie it looked like a small square of heaven. She approached it in a state of reverence and crawled into the middle of the mattress. Firm and soft at once, the bed accepted her weight and encouraged her to lie back and get comfortable.

Nothing in her life had felt so good. She flung her arms out across the bed, her eyes closed automatically, and she exhaled a deep sigh of bliss. She became vaguely aware that Joe was stomping around on the porch outside the door. She wondered briefly if he’d be warm enough in the shed. Then, from far away she heard him call out to her. She answered but the response never reached her lips.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he said, although his voice was muffled and distant. “Don’t even think about getting comfortable on my bed. You’re sleeping on the couch. It’s too short for me and …”

Slowly, Leslie entered that time and space that was only half reality and half something else, that gap in consciousness between deep sleep and wakefulness that she usually lingered in and enjoyed. She tried to change positions but found her muscles stiff and cramped. Extending herself out in all directions, she stretched and twisted, lessening some of her discomfort and coming more fully awake. When she could move with relative ease, she rolled over and came face to face with Joe Bonner.

He’d been awake for some time it was easy to see. He looked very alert and very displeased. He came up on one elbow and seemed oblivious to the effect his bare chest had on Leslie’s nervous system, as he looked down at her in earnest. “As I was saying, this bed is mine. From now on you sleep on the couch.”

It may have been the way he said it, or it simply may have been the fact that it was indeed a new day and not an extension of the last two, or it may have been because Leslie was well rested and didn’t feel at all like an emotional basket case, but she took instant exception to his order.

“You know,” she said, looking him calmly in the eye, ignoring the hair and the tight brown circles on his chest, “I’m getting a little sick of this attitude of yours. I appreciate all you did for me yesterday, and I appreciate your taking me into your home, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to lie here and let you boss me around and brow beat me for the next two weeks … or however long it is. You can have your damned bed and—how come you’re clean?” she asked, abruptly ending her heated speech when she noticed that he was clean and shaven.

“
I
took the time to take a bath last night before I went to bed so I wouldn’t get the sheets all dirty. Which is also why I just threw a blanket over you instead of undressing you and putting you to bed,” he said, grinning as he watched her becoming shocked and pink cheeked at the thought that she’d left herself that vulnerable to him again. “That, and I knew you’d have me for breakfast if I even dared to touch you without permission,” he admitted, even as he audaciously splayed his hand across her waist, resting his thumb in the valley between her breasts. Even through the material of her gown, she could feel the heat of his touch. It spread through her slowly like sweet, warm honey.

She brushed his hand away as she would a pesky fly. “That’s very good. At least you’re not unteachable.”

“Don’t get snooty again, or I won’t tell you where you can take a bath.” He was looking smug, and Leslie wanted very much to slap him.

“Would you please tell me where I might take a bath?” she asked, smiling stonily.

“Certainly.” Thinking he was as naked below the waist as he was above it, Leslie gasped when he threw back the covers and got out of bed. When he stood there smirking at her, reading her thoughts and adjusting the tie string on his pajama bottoms, she once again had to curb the urge to do him bodily harm. “You can wear the tops tonight, if you want. Or do you sleep in the nude?”

Quickly checking under the covers to be sure all was as it should be, she jumped out of bed and stood scowling at him. “Are you going to show me where I can bathe or not?”

“If you’ll allow me some privacy so I can get dressed, I will,” he said, his tone intimating that it didn’t matter if she left or not, he was about to get naked anyway. She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her. “How are your feet this morning?”

Oddly enough she hadn’t thought of them yet. She looked down to find them cleaner than the night before and far less inflamed. When she looked up at Joe, he shrugged. “I cleaned them up a little last night. We can’t afford to have them get infected.” He paused briefly, then added, “That’s also when I decided to leave you sleeping on my bed. I figured anyone who could just lie there with her eyes closed while someone poured water over the open blisters on her feet was either dead or dead tired.”

“I was tired. Thank you.” There was a queer feeling in the pit of her stomach as she thought about Joe Bonner, at least as tired as she had been, taking the time to clean her feet so they wouldn’t get infected. It was a nice thing to do, and she was about to tell him so, when he tossed two dark objects in her direction.

“You can wear these,” he said. They were brown leather moccasins with a soft fur lining. Worn and more his size than hers, they’d be perfect to wear until her feet healed. Again, she felt a warm, beholden sort of feeling toward the man and wanted to express it. But when she looked up at him again, he was untying the string of his pajamas and smiling licentiously. “Pretty soon it’ll be your turn to show and tell.”

Grabbing up a blanket, she wrapped it tightly around her and went out to stand on the front porch. It was a relief to get away from him. She disliked the feeling of being his sole source of entertainment. She found him much more appealing when he was being kind and sympathetic and heroic. The trouble was, she never knew what he was going to do next.

It wasn’t long before he walked out into the cool, crisp morning air to join her. He was dressed much like he had been the day they met—jeans, T-shirt, and a blue-plaid flannel shirt. She followed him around the side of the cabin, and there, leaning up against it was a portable bathtub. Oblong, perhaps four or five feet long and two and a half feet wide, it was made of some sort of hard plastic and didn’t at all appear to be a luxury item. However, it would suit its purpose, Leslie decided.

“Inside or out?” Joe wanted to know, as if she knew what he was talking about. When she simply looked at him with a bland expression on her face, he explained. “Do you want to take your bath out here or in the cabin?”

Fool, she called him, from the back of her mind. In the cabin, of course, unless … “Where will you be?”

“I’m going back after the food, so you’ll have the whole place to yourself.”

“Inside, then. What’s this?” she asked, looking over a large patch of tilled and well-cultivated ground.

“My garden.”

“I see,” she said, taking in the fact that it was barren, wondering when he planned to plant it. Even a city slicker knew gardens didn’t plant themselves. And it was getting late in the season.

Joe carried the tub in for her and placed it in front of the fire. He apparently had anticipated her needs, as there was a large kettle of water already steaming on the stove. He told her it would take two or three kettlefulls depending on how hot she wanted the bath water, and to be sure to mix in some cold or she’d burn her little fanny.

Keeping a tight rein on her temper, she thanked him and assured him she could carry on. But instead of going straight to the door and leaving, he walked over to one of the cabinets and opened it. He drew out first a double-barreled shotgun and then, apparently reconsidering his choice, replaced it and took out a very lethal looking pistol.

“Here, you might need this. Do you know how to use it?” he asked.

“No. I hate guns.”

“Well, while you’re here alone you might want to develop a liking for one. You don’t have to shoot anything. In fact, I’d prefer it if you didn’t try to. You can shoot it off over your head or into the ground if you need to. The sound will scare most animals away. But if you aim and hit one, this won’t kill it. It’ll only wound it and make it mad. Understand?”

“Is it really necessary? I mean, well, wouldn’t a scream do just as well?”

He seemed to consider her question while he checked to see if there were bullets in the gun. Glancing at her, he then checked the aim of the gun, saying, “I don’t think so. I guess I could stay, but like I said, I planned to go back to get the rest of our food while you took your bath. But if you want to take the risk that I might peek at you while you’re bathing, well, who am I to argue?” His careful expression told her he’d definitely peek.