Where There's Smoke (37 page)

“Hello?”

A man stepped into her line of vision. Haley’s mouth dropped open.
Good Lord!
This had to be the guy who invented tall, dark, and sexy! Her thighs quivered.

At least six feet one inch of pure testosterone stood on her porch. He had the dark good looks of a male stripper, only with clothes on. The stranger removed his black Stetson, slowly dragging his fingers through thick, coal-black hair. His deep blue eyes held her gaze before sliding down her body as if he could see more than the sliver revealed from the slightly open door.

Warm tingles spread over her like a Texas wildfire in the middle of summer. She could barely draw in a breath as her gaze moved past broad shoulders and a black, western shirt that hugged his scrumptious muscles. Then her eyes slipped right down to the low-slung jeans riding his hips, past muscled thighs, all the way to his scuffed black boots.

Oh, Lord, her every fantasy stood on her front porch!

She forced herself to meet his gaze.

I want him!
She felt like a kid in a candy store with lots of money to spend.
Mommy, Mommy can I have the hot sexy cowboy! Pleeeeeeeeease!

If only it was that easy. No way would she ever have the opportunity to have sex with someone who looked like that cowboy. What was he doing at her door, anyway? Lost?

“Haley, right?” he asked with a slow drawl that made her body tremble with need.

How did he know her name? She grasped the door a little harder. He smiled as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. Her world began to tilt. She remembered that breathing might not be a bad thing so she drew in a deep breath. “What?” the word warbled out. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Do you need directions or something?”

“You’re Haley.”

She nodded.

He smiled wider, showing perfectly straight, white teeth. “Mind if I come in?”

Her fantasy of this cowboy’s naked body pressed against
her
naked body shattered like rocks hitting a mirror. Oh, this guy was good, real good, but she wasn’t born yesterday. He’d obviously seen her name on the mailbox out front. She raised her chin. “I don’t need a vacuum. I have all the pots and pans I will ever use—including waterless cookware. There’s a complete set of encyclopedias on my e-reader
and
I have a double-barreled shotgun for protection. Now, do you want to tell me why you’re ringing my doorbell at this time of morning?”

“You prayed for a miracle. I’m the answer to your prayer.” He rested his hand on her grandmother’s old chair. Her rocker had always sat in that same spot on the porch for as long as she could remember. The cowboy lightly set the chair in motion. Back and forth, back and forth, his thumb lightly caressing the weathered wood.

Wow, her prayer was really answered? The man upstairs gave her more than she asked for. She reached up to smooth her hair about the same time reality set in. Had she lost her mind?

“Go away!” She slammed the door shut. Her pulse raced so fast Haley thought her heart would jump out of her chest. Who was he? Definitely the wrong house. Shoot, the wrong town. No one looked liked him and lived in Hattersville. Definitely a salesman. As if she needed another vacuum cleaner. Three were quite enough. Another magazine subscription might have been nice. One could never have enough magazines.

Her pulse slowed to a more normal rate. But wouldn’t it have been nice if he was sent in answer to a prayer? How had he known she’d prayed for a miracle? Not that it mattered since she slammed the door in his face.

Oh, hell!

What was she thinking? Haley smoothed her hands down the side of her robe, took a deep breath, and started to open the door. She remembered at the last minute to remove her glasses and stick them in her pocket. Rachael had said they made her appear more professional. Haley thought the glasses made her look like Buddy Holly. She wore them more out of habit than a need to see.

The cowboy wasn’t there.

Had she only imagined him? She closed the door enough so that she could slide off the chain. Her smile was firmly in place when she opened the door again. Nothing. Only Old Mrs. Monroe watering her lawn across the street. She looked up and waved as her crotchety husband came around the corner of the house, getting a face full of water. Mrs. Monroe quickly dropped the hose.

“Damn, thought we’d finally got some rain,” he sputtered.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She rushed toward him, raising her flowered apron as she went.

Haley smiled, then glanced down the street. Her smile dropped. Not a soul, darn it. Her fantasy lover, possibly an answer to her prayer, showed up on her porch and what did she do? Slammed the stupid door in his face.

Maybe she only imagined the guy. Really, who could actually look that good? She took a cautious step past the doorway. Maybe Mrs. Monroe saw the cowboy. But her neighbor had already turned off the water and they were going inside.

Haley stepped off the wide, covered front porch, her eyes narrowing as she looked up and down the street. Still nothing.

Chelsea, the former cheerleader, high school football sweetheart, beauty-queen-turned-slutty-bank-teller stepped out of her house next door, then gave a surprised jump when she caught sight of Haley. Chelsea’s gaze swept over her.

“You really should take a little more pride in your appearance.” She shrugged. “But then, I suppose nothing would help so why try?”

Haley’s lip curled. Why did her co-worker buy the house next door? To taunt her? Her ploy was working.

Chelsea closed her front door, but immediately returned her attention to Haley. Oh, no, Chelsea wore her fake pouty look. Haley braced herself.

“I’m sorry about last night. Ben and I happened to be working late at the bank, and afterward, we decided to have a drink. He totally forgot about his date with you until it was too late. I hope you weren’t too disappointed.”

She took a step back as Chelsea hurried down the front steps to her sporty, little, red Mustang. But Chelsea had to know about the date. Then it hit her. Of course Chelsea knew. That was exactly why she coerced Ben into taking her for a drink. Chelsea loved hurting people. It was a game to her—one she played very well.

Haley tried to think of something smart to say. “You… you…” Darn! Why couldn’t she think of a good comeback? She probably would that afternoon when she wouldn’t need it. “I hope you get a flat tire,” she finally sputtered. Oh, that was a real winning line. Sheesh!

Chelsea was right, though. Haley’s looks left a lot to be desired. But Ben was her date. Of course Ben would want to be with Chelsea rather than her. Chelsea looked hot with flaming red hair and she was cute.

Haley marched back inside and closed her door a little harder than necessary. Out of habit, she jerked the chain through the slot and turned the lock. Not that it mattered. An intruder would take one look at her frumpy froggy pj’s, her thick robe, and run screaming in the other direction. Which was probably what happened to the sexy cowboy and he barely got a glimpse. What would he have done if he saw the whole picture?

No, she didn’t want to think about his reaction. Her day was already depressing enough. She aimed toward the kitchen and grabbed a diet soda out of the fridge instead of the ice cream. She would get dressed, then figure out what she would do for the rest of her boring day.

She trudged into the bedroom and came to a dead stop. Her heart thumped so hard inside her chest she thought it would crack a rib. The cowboy was casually reclined on her bed with his back braced against her headboard, his booted feet crossed at the ankles.

Karen Kelley is the award-winning author of twenty books.
I’m Your Santa
spent three weeks on the
USA
Today
bestseller list. Karen lives in a small Texas town with her very supportive husband and their very spoiled Pekingese, along with many wild birds that can empty two large feeders in the course of a day. She makes jewelry as a hobby because she’s a firm believer that you can never have enough bling-bling. You can visit Karen at
www.authorkarenkelley.com
.