Entice Me Box Set: The Truth About Shoes and Men\Cover Me\My Favorite Mistake (18 page)

I had then barricaded myself in my room against snakes and seducers, stripped my ruined clothing, and soaked in a tub of hot water until the distinctive scent of horses had been poached from my pores. After dutifully checking in with Helena and facilitating another conversation between her and Angel, I’d booted up my laptop to begin outlining the article that was supposed to reorder my career.

An hour later, all I’d been able to come up with was an orderly column of Roman numerals. I was disgusted with myself because I’d dreamed of getting a break like this, and now that I’d been offered the chance to write an article
for the magazine, I was coming up empty. My fickle attention had kept straying to the drawer that held the homemade dildo. Instead of giving in to the temptation of “enjoying” the toy, I had walked over to the window to stare at Sam’s house. Light flooded the first floor, and through the large windows, I had caught sight of him in jeans, bare-chested, walking from the kitchen to the living room with a beer in one hand and a magazine in the other hand, his pack of barking dogs moving behind him like…a pack of dogs. (I was going to have to brush up on similes before completing the article.)

I couldn’t see what Sam was reading, but I was certain it wasn’t the copy of
Personality
magazine that bore his picture. Most likely, it was a medical trade journal of some kind—stacks of them cluttered his office. The man’s complete lack of vanity coupled with his noble nighttime reading material made my heart curl up at the pointy end. This man was
real
. I had the sad suspicion that I would spend the rest of my life comparing guys to Dr. Samuel Long.

I’d looked back to my blank computer screen and decided to pay Sam a late-night visit, just to clarify a few details for the article. I’d reasoned it would jumpstart my creativity.

Unfortunately (or, in hindsight,
fortunately
), just as my feet were on the verge of moving, car headlights had appeared. A white sports car had parked on the other side of Sam’s truck, and I’d watched with morbid fascination as Val Jessum had unfolded her long sexy self from the interior and made her sway—I mean,
way
—to Sam’s door. She’d knocked, then turned to look in the direction of the clinic, straight at me, I’d felt. I’d dived away from the window, then crawled back and peeked over the sill. I’d missed their greeting, but it couldn’t have been too contentious since he’d invited her inside.

Sure, she’d left twenty-three minutes later, but that was enough time to…stake her claim. Maybe twice.

Due to Val’s visit, I had opted to skip the late-night interview. I’d climbed into bed and donned a sleep mask against the light of the lamp that I’d left on, but I hadn’t slept well. For two days I’d been mulling Sam’s answer to Val’s question “
What is she to you?
” At the time, eavesdropping had seemed rude—and risky. I hadn’t wanted to hear him say that I was a one-night stand that wouldn’t go away. Then after our…
interlude
Sunday, I had allowed myself to think that maybe his answer had been…something else.

Now I knew it hadn’t been, else Val wouldn’t have felt welcome to drop by.

With Jacki’s advice to come home ringing in my ears, I lugged my pathetic self out of bed, splashed my face with ice-cold water and dressed with care. My yellow wool slacks and my beloved mohair sweater would be comfortable and warm. I donned my most sensible shoes, suede Via Spiga loafers. I had learned my lesson with the jewelry, and chose small understated pieces. I had to use more foundation than usual to cover the circles under my eyes, which led to more mascara, blush, et cetera. To keep my hair out of the way, I rolled it into a French twist and secured it with a dozen little butterfly pins and a half can of hairspray.

I finished early enough to drop two halves of a bagel into the toaster, but while I chewed, Angel started whining and pawing at the door for her morning walk. Strange, since I’d had to take her out last night for an uncharacteristic late pee. I reasoned she was still acclimating to these bizarre surroundings. I pulled the snake-proof stuffing away from the crack under the door and listened for telltale slithering on the other side before opening the bedroom
door armed with a stick I’d found outside. Satisfied that nothing had escaped its cage and made its way upstairs, I walked to the lower level and let Angel out to do her thing.

“Good morning.”

I gasped and raised my killer stick, then relaxed when I saw it was only Sam walking toward the clinic wearing jeans and a long-sleeved white jersey and carrying an armful of reading material.

“Easy now, I’m not going to get you.” Then he grinned. “Unless you want me to.”

How could he
do
that? Manage to take me from fear to desire in the space of two seconds? I lowered my highly evolved weapon. “You startled me.”

His laugh rode on the morning air. “You should try to relax.”

“What’s on the schedule this morning?”

“I’m going to the pound to give immunizations. Are you up for it?”

“Sure.”

He looked up and down my clothes. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

I glanced down at my outfit. “Does yellow also incite stampedes?”

“No,” he said with another laugh. “And you look great.”

I tingled. “Thanks.”

“It’s just that…”

“What?”

“Well…do you own a pair of jeans?”

“Of course. Two pairs, in fact.”

“Did you bring them with you?”

“No.” In truth, I’d spent a fortune on my Seven jeans, and saved them to wear for the most special occasions.

He scratched his head. “Jar Hollow doesn’t offer much in terms of shopping, but there are a couple of places where we could pick you up some more casual clothes.”

“I’m fine,” I said primly.

“Okay.” He pointed toward the clinic door. “I’ll be in my office when you’re ready to go.”

I nodded and watched him walk up to the door, wipe his feet on the welcome mat, and disappear inside the clinic. This was his world, I realized with a sad resignation. Trees and animals and solitude. I couldn’t help but feel his talents and charm were wasted in this small town and wondered if he ever got bored with his life. It was a patronizing thought, I conceded, but Jar Hollow wasn’t exactly the epicenter of anything. I would go crazy living here. Where was the excitement, the stimulation?

The stimulation that Sam could provide notwithstanding.

I walked to the edge of the woods, keeping an eye peeled for Angel’s orange sweater. Sam kept the clinic at a sterile temperature, so I bundled her up every day to make sure she was warm.

The spring temperatures had regressed, and a light frost tinged the ground. My nostrils threatened to stick together as I breathed in the morning air—sweet and still. I was surprised to realize that I wasn’t nearly as frightened as when I’d first arrived, and in fact, the trees that surrounded Sam’s hilltop clearing now seemed…comforting. Granted, things were less intimidating in the early-morning light. Since Angel had ventured out of sight, I decided that even she must be getting braver. “Angel?”

Her answer was a deep growl off to my right. I spotted her orange sweater through the underbrush, then I saw a bush move nearby and the tail of a black cat swish into view. Another stray dropped off to make its way to Sam’s
clinic, no doubt. I smirked at the thought of Angel squaring off against a cat that was probably equal to her in size. “Angel, come out of there before you get scratched.”

But Angel’s growl only intensified, then she began barking frantically.

“Angel!” I chastised, taking a tentative step toward the pair, while keeping an eye out for creepy-crawlies on the ground. “Leave the kitty alone, and she’ll leave you alone.”

But the barking continued, loud and shrill. I wasn’t afraid because I was more of a cat person than a dog person, and was confident I could calm the poor feline if she’d let me get close enough. I forged ahead, stepping carefully to protect my pricey loafers.

“Hey,” Sam said behind me. “What’s all the noise about?”

I turned to see him standing on the porch. “Angel found a stray cat.”

“With all that ruckus, you’d think she’d never
seen
a cat.”

“Maybe she hasn’t,” I called over my shoulder, stepping closer. I had the vague sense of Sam hurrying our way. I used my stick to part the bushes. When the cat turned toward me, I realized that it was a strange-looking cat.

In fact, it wasn’t a cat at all.

15

“S
KUNK
!” I yelled stupidly, as if Angel would understand. I stumbled backward and fell on my tailbone. What I had thought was a fluffy cat’s tail shook violently, and Angel’s barking ended abruptly with a yelp. A wet spray caught me across the lower legs. From behind, Sam yanked me to my feet just as I was overcome with an indescribable odor so intense, my eyes burned and my lungs rebelled.

“Oh, man,” Sam said behind me, groaning.

Angel shot past us, and Sam half dragged me away from the skunk’s vicinity. We didn’t stop until we were at the side door of his log cabin.

“Stay here,” he said, gasping for fresh air.

My head was swimming from lack of oxygen. I nodded and gulped air, then tried to calm Angel, who pawed at her nose and rolled in the grass uncontrollably. I was considering joining her when Sam came back dragging a big metal basin behind him, and carrying a can of something.

He dropped the basin on the ground. “Put your clothes in here.”

I frowned and lifted my arm. “This is mohair—you can’t wash it.”

He pursed his mouth and I decided I didn’t want to know what was running through his head. “I’m not going to wash it,” he said calmly. “I’m going to
burn
it.”

My eyes bugged. “Burn it?”

“All of our clothes will have to be burned,” he said, pulling his jersey over his head. “There’s no saving them.”

I was caught between mortification over losing my sweater and distraction over seeing Sam without his shirt. I looked all around and realized he intended for us to disrobe on the spot.

“Don’t get modest on me,” he said, sitting down to untie his boots. “The sooner you get out of those clothes, the less the smell will seep into your skin and hair.”

That got me moving. I pulled off my sweater and reluctantly dropped it in the basin on top of his shirt. He tossed his boots on the pile.

“Shoes too?” I asked with a moan.

He nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

Shivering in the cold, I slipped out of my shoes, slacks, and trouser socks, and dumped them with a whimper.

“Her sweater, too,” he said, nodding toward Angel, who lay on her stomach with her paws over her eyes. I disrobed her to the tune of whining complaints, trying not to think about how I looked, standing in my underwear in the middle of his yard. The icy cold of the ground seeped up through the soles of my feet. I hopped from foot to foot, which I’m sure made me look even more sexy.

Sam, on the other hand, looked like an underwear model in his snug briefs, pouring thick black liquid all over our clothes. He struck a match and dropped it in, igniting an instant low fire. The mohair sweater that had cost me a week’s paycheck caught fire and disintegrated.

“Let’s go inside and try to wash this off,” Sam said.

He was irritated, I could tell. I didn’t blame him—Angel and I had been nothing but trouble since the moment we’d arrived. Maybe Jacki was right—maybe I should just go home, for Sam’s sake and for mine. Pondering, I picked up Angel, whose coat reeked, and followed Sam into the
house. His motley collection of ugly dogs came running to greet us, but their barks became snorts and sneezes when they got a whiff.

“The tub in my bathroom is bigger,” Sam said, pointing. “Run it full of warm soapy water and get in.”

I walked into his bedroom and closed the door behind me to keep the dogs out. His room was stocked with clubby, masculine furniture, a colorful handmade quilt on his humongous bed, and a thick green braided rug on the wood floor. A fish with a mouth wide enough to stick my head inside was mounted on a board over his bed. Yikes. But fish or no, I could picture me and Sam in that big slab of a bed, playing hide and seek. The man was an unlimited source of fantasy.

Unfortunately, the thought of him and Val Jessum romping in the bed so recently gave me pause.

I shook myself into action and padded into his bathroom, a sparse but comfortable room featuring a glassed-in shower and a gigantic claw-foot bathtub situated next to a picturesque bay window. I inhaled, hoping to smell Sam’s scent, but my olfactory glands apparently had shut down. Angel squirmed in my arms and I set her down while I started the water running. I opened a closet door that was made out of the same raw planks as the walls with the express intention of looking for bubble bath or liquid soap, but I kept my eyes peeled for any indication of a frequent female visitor.

Yes, I was obsessing, but I couldn’t help it. And I told myself it really didn’t matter since, at this rate, Sam was probably going to send me home before I had a chance to burn down his house.

The closet revealed a stack of white towels and washcloths, plus an arsenal of rubbing alcohol and disinfectant soap, surgical gloves (?), cotton balls, swabs, razors, his familiar
sport-scent deodorant and other manly toiletries. Not a tampon or scrunchie in sight. Ditto for the medicine cabinet. I dumped the disinfectant soap in the tub and swirled the water with my hand to whip up some bubbles, then debated on whether to strip my underwear before getting in. The suds looked sufficient to cover me if Sam came in, and frankly, I wanted to start scrubbing off the skunk smell.

I stripped and stepped into the warm water, eased down and dunked my head, then worked a handful of shampoo into a lather. Unfortunately, the warm water seemed to intensify the skunk odor, and no matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldn’t seem to stay ahead of it. Angel stood with her front paws on the edge of the tub and cocked her head at me. I glanced at her defiled long silky coat and wondered how many doggie shampoos it would take to make her tolerable. If I returned Angel smelling like a country hound, Helena would kill me and
then
fire me.