Wild Mustang Man (17 page)

“That’s the problem. What if I make another mistake? I wonder if I’ve learned anything. How will I find him? How will I know if I’ve found him? I’m afraid to trust myself. To know who’s right and who isn’t. To separate the gold from the dross. The way I am, I want it all. I want someone honest and sincere and loyal and all that and I want to be swept off my feet too. He has to be the sexiest and the most exciting man in the world. I want to fall madly in love. I want to lose my head and my heart the whole nine yards. Is that asking too much?”

Josh felt his gut twist into a knot. He was not that guy. He didn’t have a chance with Bridget. Why did he think he did? Why did anybody think he did?

“No, it’s not asking too much,” he assured her. “You’ll find him.” But deep down he didn’t want her to find him. He wanted her to stop looking.

It was almost dark now, but he saw her shake her head, turn away from him and unlatch the passenger door. Before he could get out and help her, she’d hopped out onto the sidewalk. She didn’t thank him for the ride, she didn’t say goodbye. She just left. He sat in his truck watching her.

Women. Would he ever understand them? They were having a discussion. He thought he was holding his end of it. But suddenly she left, leaving behind only her haunting scent and the smell of fresh-cut grass that clung to her clothes. He inhaled deeply and leaned back against the seat What had made her jump out like a frightened rabbit? Was it something he’d said? He turned his head and stared at the window of the room above the shop, waiting for the lights to go on. They never did. He drove around the block. Then once more.

Bridget felt the tears coming way before Josh’s comforting words, “You’ll find him.” He’d meant to be comforting, but he wasn’t. What if she had found him, and he didn’t want to be found? She tossed her bag on the chair and threw herself down on her bed and let the tears flow. What had made her go on like that about the man she was looking for?

Another minute in the truck with him and she would have confessed he was the man she was looking for. She got out just in time, because she was about to throw herself at him and tell him she loved him. Which would have been a big mistake. He would have been kind. He would have been understanding. But it would have been awkward. Because Josh didn’t love her, and he never would. Even if he did, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to marry her or anybody else. Bridget admired the way he’d come out of his “black hole” and into the world of the living. He was a devoted father, a loving son and a wonderful brother. Those were the some of the qualities that made him stand out from other men. But dammit, why did she have to fall in love with someone so outstanding, with so many assets, who was totally out of her reach?

There was a knock on her door. Her heart pounded in her chest. She switched on the bedside lamp and sat up so suddenly she felt dizzy.

“Bridget, it’s me,” Josh said.

She took a deep breath, then she blew her nose, wiped her eyes and got up and opened the door. For a long moment he stared down at her. She knew her eyes were red and her hair was a mess. She was too strung out to care.

She didn’t expect him. He should have been halfway home by then. But he wasn’t. He was there, filling her small room with his broad shoulders, his large frame and his solid presence. Her heart sped up. Her knees wobbled. She should say something like “come in,” but her throat was dry, and the words didn’t come.

Why didn’t he say something, instead of standing there looking at her with that look he had? That look that asked questions she couldn’t answer.

Finally he did speak. “Can I come in?” he said.

“Oh, sure. Of course.” The room wasn’t that big, and it suddenly got a lot smaller with Josh leaning against the wall taking in the day bed, the desk and one overstuffed chair. When his gaze returned to her, she wished for the nth time that day that she hadn’t worn the Western shirt because of the way he was staring at it.

“I didn’t do a very good job taking it out.” He reached out as if to try again, and she jerked back instinctively. If he touched her again she’d be a basket case. She was just on the edge, anyway.

“You must find Harmony pretty dull. Here you are at ten o’clock on a Friday night in a room over a shoe repair store.” He laughed mirthlessly. “What would you be doing tonight if you were in San Francisco?”

She leaned against the arm of the chair. She knew what he was thinking. That she was some kind of party girl, some big-city girl who could never be happy in a small town, who thought Harmony was the sticks. Okay, if that’s what he thought, if that’s what he wanted to think, she’d give him something to think about.

“Hmm, let me see,” she mused, gazing off into space. “It’s June, just in time for the opening of the opera. I guess I’d be at some sort of gala in one of my dozens of ball gowns. Dinner first at the Tonga Room. That’s where everyone goes. Everyone who is anyone, that is. And after the opera, coffee on Union Street at one of those trendy little coffee houses. Just a hop, skip and a jump from my place in the Marina so after coffee—”

“You don’t?” she asked. “You don’t want to hear about my little black Versace or my fire-engine red Givenchy? Well, what do you want to hear about? What did you come up here for, anyway?”

His blue eyes glittered like ice. “You know what I came up here for.” His gaze dropped to her breasts and the fringe that covered them. Covered them, but not well enough. Bridget could feel her nipples tighten and press against the soft white homespun cotton. And she knew that he was only too aware of the effect of his penetrating gaze.

Before she could come up with some smart remark, his eyes had gone from ice blue to hot burning flames of passion. The tremors started in her spine and spilled over into all the little nerve endings she hadn’t known were exposed. If he hadn’t pulled her to him and held her like he’d never let her go, she would have fallen in a heap on the braid rug because her legs felt like rubber.

His lips captured hers in a fierce kiss. She staggered backward and they fell awkwardly onto the narrow bed together. He braced his elbows on the mattress. She arched forward to meet him halfway, but instead of meeting her lips in the torrid kiss she longed for, she yearned for, he stopped abruptly in midair.

“What’s wrong?” she gasped, aching for his touch. Ready and waiting for the kisses that could scorch her soul.

“Wrong? We’re wrong. You and me,” he said, raising himself off the bed and standing above her. “You’re ball gowns and opera galas, and I’m horses and dirt and wide-open spaces.”

“I was teasing about the ball gowns,” she said desperately, her cheeks burning.

“Yeah, right You haven’t got dozens, you’ve only got a few. It doesn’t matter. What matters is you don’t belong here. You’re looking for a temporary diversion. And I’m not interested in a temporary diversion. I’m not interested in any kind of diversion. I’ve been trying to tell you that since the first day you got here. I have my life, and you have yours.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands pressed tightly together. “I know that but—”

“Good. We both know that And we both know enough to stay away from each other,” he said, turning toward the door.

“Wait a minute,” she said, getting to her feet willing her trembling legs to hold her up. “I never thanked you for the ride, or said good-night.”

“Good night” he said, and then he was gone.

Bridget didn’t cry. She was cried out She didn’t sleep, either. She lay in her bed staring miserably at the ceiling as the minutes and the hours ticked by. What could she have said to make things better? What made him think she came from a different world than she did? The answers were “nothing” and “nothing.” He thought what he thought and nobody could change his mind. She was a fool if she thought she could convince him she would fit into his life. Her latest attempt had just backfired. Royally. She would remember not to try sarcasm or exaggeration again. She’d remember not to try anything again. Not with Josh Gentry. She’d also remember to stay away from him as best she could.

After a sleepless night she came to the conclusion that although she wasn’t destined to be anyone’s wife or mother, she could succeed, with a little luck, as a top-flight advertising account executive, and she was going to make Wild Mustang men’s cologne the hottest product of the year.

As a result, at the annual advertising awards ceremony in San Francisco next September, she was going to be standing on the stage accepting an award for most creative, most imaginative, sexiest TV commercial. She would beat out her former company, her former fiancé and everyone else in town. Yes, victory would be sweet, she told herself. And so would revenge against Scott. But would it be enough? Would it take the place of love?

Of course not, she told herself impatiently. But someday she’d have it all. Until then fame and fortune would just have to do. And the way to fame and fortune was to keep her cool, not let emotion get in the way of success, make the photo shoot the best she could—and get the hell out of town as soon as she could, without making a fool of herself by falling in love with the most unavailable man she’d ever come across. It sounded like a lot, but she could do it. She had to do it She had no choice.

The film crew was scheduled to arrive at ten in the morning on Monday. Josh had been warned by a brief phone call from Bridget. He was feeling remorse ever since their encounter in her rented room, and he’d been forming an apology in his mind. But she didn’t give him a chance to put it into words. He’d realized on his way home what mixed signals he’d been sending, coming on hot, then blowing cool, but on the phone she’d cut him off after telling him what to wear and what time to be ready. He vowed to make things right with her when he saw her, explain to her that she was the most attractive woman he’d seen in a long time, but...

But what? What if he’d given in to his instincts that night? He’d arrived at her door hot and bothered, ready to take whatever she’d give, but when she started blathering about her life in the city, it hit him all over again how really different they were and how impossible the situation was. And what a fool he’d been to even consider... What? A future with Bridget It was ridiculous. She knew it as well as he did.

He wondered over and over what would have happened if he hadn’t flown off the handle like that, if he’d kissed her senseless, then joined her in an escalating spiral of passion on that narrow little bed. What if they’d both peeled off their clothes, one by one, tossing them in a heap on the floor. He would have covered her body with his kisses until she was a sweet, sexy, overheated bundle of silk and velvet begging for him to fulfill her fantasies. She wouldn’t have to beg. Just thinking about it still had him hot and bothered all over again, and breathing hard.

That wasn’t the only reason he was bothered. After all these years of relative solitude, he was getting hooked on company—the company of his old friends and the company of one new friend. Her. He missed her when she wasn’t around. So did Max. That went without saying. His son was restless and irritable, and still itchy. Josh felt exactly the same, and he hadn’t even had chicken pox. He couldn’t concentrate; the hours dragged; and he and Max were at each other’s throats.

“Bored? When I was your age—” He bit his tongue. When Josh was Max’s age, he hated to have his parents nag him, and here he was behaving just the same way toward his son.

“Are they gonna take my picture, too?”

“Are you gonna smile?” Josh asked.

Max gave him a toothless smirk which made Josh smile for the first time in days. He ruffled the boy’s hair. “That’s it. They’ll like that. Go practice some more smiles in the mirror. And when they see you, they won’t be able to resist. You’ll be the Wild Mustang Boy.” Josh certainly had a hard time resisting his son, especially since he’d been sick.

When the three-man crew finally arrived in their van behind Bridget’s car, Max was an impatient basket case and Josh wasn’t much better. It was just a photo shoot, he told himself. All he had to do was get on his horse and ride and let them worry about the rest. What if Bridget ignored him? He might have hurt her. He forced himself to stop pacing back and forth.

Josh watched while the crew, all long-haired artistic types in stiff new jeans and wraparound sunglasses, piled out of their van and stared at the vast open spaces, the dusty red earth and the bare distant hills as if they were in the valley of the moon. While they unloaded their equipment, Max ran headlong for Bridget, threw his arms around her knees and almost knocked her over.