Only Skin Deep
Cathleen Galitz
HOW TO MAKE YOURSELF OVER IN THREE EASY STEPS:1. Find a new look2. Find a new apartment3. Find a new manLauren Hewett had done the near impossible. In one remarkable weekend, she had transformed herself from eternal bridesmaid to foxy female, found a cozy new home and attracted the attention of her longtime crush, Travis Banks. But now that she'd tempted him, what was a good girl like Lauren to do? Could she win over Pinedale's most notorious bachelor with her inner beauty…or would he teach her a thing or two about affairs of the heart?
“I Never Thought I’d See The Day When I’d Be Entertaining Travis Banks In My Bedroom,” Lauren Said.
“Why not?”
“Need I remind you that when you were a senior in high school, you couldn’t be bothered to give a little nobody freshman like me the time of day?”
Travis looked as if he were taxing his memory. “I don’t recall you ever asking me for it.”
“I didn’t have the nerve,” Lauren admitted.
“Actually, I do vaguely recall you just about melting into the floor the few times I tried to make eye contact with you.”
“I’m afraid you still have the same effect on me,” she confessed.
“You have a different effect on me now.”
Travis’s voice was laden with palpable implications. Lauren could not have dreamed a more delicious scene than the one that was unfolding right now.
Now was not the time for caution.
Dear Reader,
This May, Silhouette Desire’s sensational lineup starts with Nalini Singh’s Awaken the Senses. This DYNASTIES: THE ASHTONS title is a tale of sexual awakening starring one seductive Frenchman. (Can you say ooh-la-la?) Also for your enjoyment this month is the launch of Maureen Child’s trilogy. The THREE-WAY WAGER series focuses on the Reilly brothers, triplets who bet each other they can stay celibate for ninety days. But wait until brother number one is reunited with The Tempting Mrs. Reilly.
Susan Crosby’s BEHIND CLOSED DOORS series continues with Heart of the Raven, a gothic-toned story of a man whose self-imposed seclusion has cut him off from love…until a sultry woman, and a beautiful baby, open up his heart. Brenda Jackson is back this month with a new Westmoreland story, in Jared’s Counterfeit Fiancée, the tale of a fake engagement that leads to real passion. Don’t miss Cathleen Galitz’s Only Skin Deep, a delightful transformation story in which a shy girl finally falls into bed with the man she’s always dreamed about. And rounding out the month is Bedroom Secrets by Michelle Celmer, featuring a hero to die for.
Thanks for choosing Silhouette Desire, where we strive to bring you the best in smart, sensual romances. And in the months to come look for a new installment of our TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB continuity and a brand-new TANNERS OF TEXAS title from the incomparable Peggy Moreland.
Happy reading!
Melissa Jeglinski
Senior Editor
Silhouette Books
Only Skin Deep
Cathleen Galitz
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CATHLEEN GALITZ,
a Wyoming native, teaches English to students in grades six to twelve in a rural school that houses kindergartners and seniors in the same building. She feels blessed to have married a man who is both supportive and patient. When she’s not busy writing, teaching or chauffeuring her sons to and from various activities, she can most likely be found indulging in her favorite pastime—reading.
To Amber who has always been there for me no matter what.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
One
Lauren Hewett felt an eerie connection to the imaginary person playing the piano in the corner of the room. Like him, she too was invisible. Actually, the ghost pianist had the advantage over her. He could at least make himself heard, if not seen—something Lauren hadn’t been able to manage since shortly after her thirty-fifth birthday. She wasn’t sure exactly what caused this phenomenon, only that one day she woke up and found herself of an age when no one bothered to ask her opinion on matters of importance anymore, or treat her as anything other than an oddity.
As the background music ground to a halt, she gave the antique player piano another crank and reached inside herself for a smile. Smiling vacuously was, after all, one of a maid of honor’s many duties—especially when she was the daughter of the bride. Still, Lauren couldn’t help but heave a little sigh of regret when a figure clad in ivory lace made her way up the gleaming spiral staircase in the foyer. The bride was the focal point of a room tastefully bedecked with the very floral combination Lauren always envisioned for her own wedding: pink roses, miniature white carnations and baby’s breath.
“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride,” she muttered under her breath.
Fighting back a wave of melancholy, Lauren focused her attention on a montage of framed pictures hanging on the wall behind her. In her favorite, a little girl with wide green eyes and dark pigtails sat upon her father’s lap, blissfully unaware that he would pass out of this world before his only daughter would receive her high school diploma. The woman standing behind the two of them with a hand lovingly draped on her husband’s shoulder was a younger version of the smiling bride who was at the moment addressing her guests from halfway up the stairs.
Lauren touched a finger to her own lips before placing it to her father’s as if to prevent him from saying anything to ruin the moment.
“Don’t worry, Daddy. You’d like him. He makes Mom happy.”
Across the crowded room, she caught a glimpse of Travis Banks, looking just as bored as she felt. At six-three he stood a good head taller than anyone else in the room. In a tailored black Western suit, he looked even better than she remembered—a feat she hardly thought possible. Lauren was surprised to see him in attendance. It was widely believed that the county’s most eligible bachelor avoided all weddings for fear of contracting a highly contagious disease that he was fond of comparing to the plague: nuptialitis.
“Hurry up, everybody,” a voice called out. “Barbara’s about to toss the bouquet.”
Younger, prettier and far more visible bachelorettes pressed to the front of the crowd for a chance to catch the flowers that by tradition signaled the end of their single status. Too old and jaded for such nonsense, Lauren faded even more deliberately into the wallpaper and continued to covertly study the man she’d had a crush on since high school. She had been a lowly freshman when, as the senior quarterback for the Wranglers, Travis carried her heart—along with every other girl’s in good old Pinedale High over the goal line.
Not that he’d been able to see her back then either….
Lauren decided that time had only improved Travis’s boyish good looks. There was no sign of gray in his sandy blond hair, and the weight he’d put on looked to be mostly muscle. Although Lauren had little interest in catching a bouquet, she secretly fantasized about catching him. Unfortunately, she doubted she’d be lucky enough to claim a single dance with him all evening.
Certainly not when I look like a cupcake whose frosting runneth over in this hideous pastel gown, she thought to herself. How can it be possible that my own mother can be married twice when I’ve yet to so much as be engaged? And all these years I thought I was the one doing Mom a favor by being there for her. Turns out that I’m the one who’s been holding her back….
Determinedly Lauren steered her thoughts away from self-pity to more practical matters. Like where she was going to live now that Cupid’s heat-seeking missile had found the target painted on the roof of her house. Not that her mother was kicking her out or anything so melodramatic. It went without saying that she was always welcome here. But while it was one thing to rationalize living at home when she had the excuse of taking care of an aging mother, it was quite another sharing a home with a pair of honeymooners. That they were in their sixties was inconsequential to the fact that Lauren’s mother was getting more action than she was…
“Catch, honey!”
Lauren spun around at the sound of her mother’s voice. She barely had time to shield her face from a projectile hurtling across the room at her. Barbara Aberdeen should have played high school football herself for all the precision and accuracy of her throw. The crowd cheered—and laughed—as a red-faced Lauren displayed her ill-gotten prize: one bridal bouquet compliments of a well-meaning, if not openly desperate, mother.
Later at the punch bowl, Lauren overheard a disappointed and tipsy Sylvia Porter describe the event as “A pity pass if I ever saw one.”
Lauren wouldn’t have thought such a petty remark would have the power to sting at her age. But it did. Maybe even more today than years ago when she and her girlfriends had labored under the misconception that popularity really mattered and dating the right guy was a one-way ticket to happily ever after. The raw wistfulness in Sylvia’s voice kept Lauren from confronting the nasty little witch who was so obviously distraught at the thought of ending up as ancient and alone as the day’s maid of honor.
Lauren took a deep breath and did her best to let it go. She certainly hadn’t made a conscious decision to live her life as the object of anyone’s pity. In fact, it wasn’t all that long ago she had imagined a life for herself that included a husband and children and the simple joys that so many of her own friends took for granted. As much as they assured her that she was the smart one, unfettered by an endless procession of soccer games and the astronomical price of fixing their children’s crooked teeth and having to clean up after chronically lazy husbands, Lauren suspected they were simply being kind. Somewhere between college and tenure in the local public school system, she had turned into the Old Maid in the card game that she so enjoyed playing as a child. If there was any way to reshuffle the deck now without somehow discarding herself in the process, she had yet to find it.
In retrospect, Lauren supposed she’d been too picky back in the days when she’d occasionally accepted a date. The few college guys she’d gone with had been too aggressive for her introverted nature. And after a couple of years of horrible blind dates arranged by well-meaning friends immediately following college, she’d gradually slipped into a routine of work and home and civic duties that distracted her from the fact that everyone else her age was either married—or remarried. Periodically Lauren updated her surroundings with new curtains and bedding so that the passing of years became as familiar to the room in which she’d been sleeping since childhood as the seasons routinely changing outside her window.
Had it not been for her mother’s recent revelation that she had fallen in love again and was actually considering Henry Aberdeen’s proposal of marriage, Lauren supposed she never would have been forced out of her comfy little rut. Above all, she wanted her mother to be happy. So she had put aside her own personal struggle about betraying her father’s memory and encouraged Barbara to follow her heart. After all, if someone as wonderful as her mom was lucky enough to find true love twice in one lifetime, who was her spinster daughter to stand in the way?
That wasn’t to say that Lauren wasn’t struggling internally with this latest turn of events in her life. If catching the bouquet at your mother’s wedding didn’t qualify as a defining moment in one’s life, she didn’t know what did.
Since she doubted there were any books written on reverse empty nests, Lauren poured herself another glass of champagne-laced punch and reconsidered her all too boring life. She wanted to be completely moved out of her mother’s house by the time the newlyweds returned from their Caribbean cruise honeymoon. Then she was going to actively start looking for Mr. Right.
Or even Mr. Close Enough.
The fact that decent rentals in the area were about as easy to find as eligible bachelors under the age of sixty-five was just one obstacle for Lauren to overcome. Another more formidable hurdle was her own innate tentativeness when it came to matters of the heart. She didn’t need a therapist to tell her that her fear of intimacy was rooted in the unexpected heart attack that killed her father when she most needed him. What she really needed was the nerve to overcome her insecurity—and a chance to revive her expired dreams.
As luck would have it, opportunity presented itself in the form of Fenton Marsh who worked up the courage behind a pair of pop bottle lenses to sidle up next to her and ask her to dance. Lauren ignored her first inclination to dismiss him. He was, after all, no Travis Banks. But then again, a girl had to start somewhere, and being standoffish hadn’t gotten her anywhere but miserable so far as she could tell.
“I’d be delighted,” Lauren heard herself say a little too brightly. She feared that all she was missing was the Southern drawl to make her feel as pathetic as poor Blanche DuBois from A Streetcar Named Desire.
Blessedly, her third glass of punch was doing what it was supposed to do: deaden her inhibitions. Heck, if her mother could overlook the groom’s balding pate and obsequious pandering for her affection, the least Lauren could do was close her eyes to Fenton’s obvious shortcomings and focus on his strengths—something he was more than happy to point out the instant they reached the dance floor.
“I’m guessing you already know that since we went to school together, I’ve become quite wealthy,” he said, crunching on her instep.
Lauren winced. She supposed the fact that his father had left him the only grocery store in town might have something to do with that, but instead she simply murmured how wonderful that must be for him.
Apparently giddy with the impression he was making, Fenton twirled her around like a multicolored chiffon top. Lauren hadn’t been expecting the move and consequently caught a heel in the hem of her floor-length gown. Flinging an arm out to steady herself, she connected with a mountain of a man who was doing his best to get his big fingers through the handle of a crystal punch glass. Liquid rained down upon them both.
As Fenton hurried off to get a wet rag, Travis Banks studied the red stain spreading down the front of his expensive white shirt. Looking like a victim of a drive-by shooting, he mumbled, “I’m sorry.”
Lauren was perturbed. After all, apologizing for something that wasn’t her fault was her specialty.
“What for? Being in the wrong place at the wrong time?” she asked, drawing her gaze away from his muscled chest up to his bemused, twinkling gray eyes.
That they reminded her of fog lifting from the top of the Tetons didn’t help matters any. That they belonged to the most sought after—and elusive—bachelor in the county didn’t do a thing to put her at ease, either.
“For getting in Fred and Ginger’s way when they were in the middle of one of their crowd-stopping moves I suppose.”
The fact that his country drawl was thick enough to draw flies only served to underscore his charm. Although the music had stopped, Lauren remained frozen in place by a flash of Travis’s white teeth. Only when Fred Astair, aka Fenton, returned with a handful of dripping wet paper towels did Lauren realize her own hands were planted squarely on a rock-hard set of pectoral muscles. She drew back as if she were touching a wall of flame instead of all too human flesh.
How tempting it was to peek beneath that tailor-made jacket to see if there wasn’t something fake hidden beneath its folds.
Like a heart.
Even sheltered English teachers such as Lauren were privy to the local gossip about how Casanova had nothing on the infamous Travis Banks. How repeated attempts failed to convince him that not all women were like the ex-wife who reputedly had “ruined” him for married life forever. And how he was attempting to pay back the rest of the female race by using up lovers like so many tissues in a box. Not that such bad behavior on his part weakened his standing as the most “ooh-able” match in these sleepy parts. Even married women openly sighed over him.
Often in front of their husbands.
Fenton’s return to the scene of the crime had been swift, however, his fumbling attempts to dab at the punch on Lauren’s dress only made matters worse. Blushing to think that she looked like a nursing mother leaking through the bodice of her dress, Lauren blinked back tears. Not a woman given to hysterics, she felt herself precariously close to a public meltdown guaranteed to ruin her mother’s special day.
“Anything I can do to help, Lauren?”
Realizing that Travis remembered her name was flattering in itself. Years ago, she’d assumed this golden Adonis had been too busy leading the league in touch-downs and flirting with cheerleaders to notice yet another adoring underclassman in the stands. Since high school, she wasn’t sure they even qualified as passing acquaintances. Dismissing the warning bells sounding inside her head, Lauren managed a wobbly smile.
“You could be kind enough to dance with me until I dry off and get myself pulled back together.”
It was a presumptuous request, but all of a sudden the very prim and proper Ms. Hewett didn’t give a fig about propriety and what others might think. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking to pretend the reason her friends had never tried fixing her up with Travis was because of his well-known aversion to marriage. Perhaps knowing his reputation as a heartbreaker, they wanted to protect her. It was more likely that they thought that he was out of her league. Nevertheless, having just committed herself to meeting as many potential suitors as possible, she saw nothing wrong with starting with the best-looking one first.
Besides, being seen with the most notorious bachelor in the county could only promote the fact that Lauren Hewett was putting herself back on the market.
The last thing Travis Banks wanted to do was dance with the woman who had just ruined his best shirt. He’d planned on making an appearance and hanging around only long enough to toast the wedding couple before making a quick getaway. Weddings in general made him uneasy. At the present he was surrounded by so many female biological clocks ticking in synch that they almost drowned out the band.
Not that bookish Lauren Hewett struck him as the pushy sort. Just the opposite in fact. Even back in high school, she had been so painfully shy that none of the guys paid her much attention. Travis thought he remembered hearing that she’d been traumatized by the death of her father and afterward devoted herself to her mother to the exclusion of developing a life of her own.
There was something rather touching in the way she had so self-consciously accepted that silly bouquet earlier that challenged his sense of chivalry. Even the hardest-hearted rogue would be moved to save a damsel in distress from Marsh’s boat-size two left feet and endless self-aggrandizing. Dancing with Henry’s new step-daughter was the least Travis could do in the way of helping her feel more at ease on what he assumed had to be a difficult day for her.
“I’d be delighted,” he lied.
He prayed that the band would strike up a lively number. The way his luck was running, he figured that the two of them, covered in sticky punch, would dry together like glue during an agonizingly long waltz. Whatever the band played, he hoped Lauren didn’t expect him to make polite small talk. A man far more comfortable in the solitude of the open range than in formal affairs requiring a suit and tie, Travis found an old worn pair of jeans and work boots suited him better. Had he not so much genuine respect for his father’s old business partner and longtime friend Henry Aberdeen, he would have done his usual routine with the wedding invitation he’d received: tossed it in the trash and sent an expensive gift in lieu of attending.
His worst fears were realized when the band commenced to play a good old-fashioned, belt-buckle-polishing slow dance. A minute later Travis discovered that his partner actually had a lovely figure beneath all those filmy layers of fabric. Despite the fact that Lauren went out of her way to hide that from the rest of the world, he couldn’t help but notice when his body reacted of its own volition to the soft, womanly curves pressed against him. Her body fit his so perfectly that it didn’t take any stretch of the imagination to envision dancing horizontally with her.
It was a nice change to dance with someone who didn’t feel like a stick in his arms. He’d never had any luck trying to convince Jaclyn—or any other woman for that matter—that most men really didn’t buy into that dying heroin addict look that graced so many magazines. Full-figured women were never out of fashion in his book. Mentally clothing Lauren in the same white dress that Marilynn Monroe immortalized while standing over a city vent left him feeling suddenly more aroused than he’d like anyone to notice.
Rather than putting a respectable distance between them on the dance floor, Travis was drawn even closer by the scent of her perfume. In a room filled with an overwhelming assortment of fragrances ranging from cloying to girlish, Lauren smelled so good that it was all he could do to keep from burying his nose in the nape of her neck and indulging himself like a bee sampling the choicest flower.
Studying her up close, Travis discovered she had very nice features: wide-set eyes the color of emeralds, good cheekbones, silky dark hair pulled a little too severely away from a heart-shaped face and a generous mouth that curved up appealingly when she smiled. She just didn’t accentuate those features the way other women—like his ex-wife Jaclyn—did spending hours making themselves presentable to the world. The fact that Lauren didn’t appear to be that kind of high-maintenance woman was admirable in its own way.
Then again, Travis was paying Jaclyn an obscene amount of alimony each month and he had never given Lauren Hewett a second glance before today.
“I feel awful about ruining your shirt. You have to allow me to pay for your dry cleaning bill,” she offered.
Travis protested that the offer was unnecessary, but she refused to accept no for an answer.
“Really, I insist. There’s only one problem….”
Travis found the way she worried her lower lip between her teeth oddly mesmerizing. And unbelievably sexy. Feeling a stab of awareness in his belly, he stared at her hard as she continued in a halting voice.
“I’d tell you to mail me the bill, but I don’t know where I’m going to be. All I know is that I won’t be here much longer….”
Travis noticed Fenton out of the corner of his eye. He was waiting his turn at the edge of the dance floor, eager to take up where he’d left off before hurling his dance partner into another man’s arms. Strangely enough, Travis wasn’t nearly as ready to give up Lauren as he thought he would be at the beginning of the song. He steered her in the opposite direction.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” she blurted out, looking almost claustrophobic.
Travis wondered how much champagne Lauren had consumed over the course of the afternoon.
“Are you sick?” he asked.
“And tired,” she admitted, “of my life in general.”
Once again Travis found himself staring into a pair of wide, hypnotic eyes and asking almost against his own free will, “I don’t suppose there’s anything I could do to help?”
Lauren hiccupped daintily.
“You could always marry me and put an end to this misery.”
Travis stumbled. All of a sudden he understood exactly why poor old Marsh had fallen over his own feet and baptized Travis with punch. To date, it was the quickest proposal he’d ever received from a woman he barely knew.
His reaction caused Lauren to blush a furious shade of pink. Nervous laughter intended to underscore the fact that she had only been joking cracked beneath the strain of her explanation.
“Don’t worry, I’m only teasing,” she told him. “Short of committing to anything so drastic, you could always help me find a place to stay. Under the circumstances, I really don’t want to stay in this house any longer, but the only rentals available in town look like they should be condemned.”
Her eyes glistened with the hint of tears, chipping away at the wall Travis had worked so hard to erect around his heart. Feeling her tremble in his arms, he cursed his insensitivity. Clearly, Lauren wasn’t nearly as accomplished at hiding her feelings as other women. She wore them right there on her puffy bridesmaid sleeves for everybody to see. He imagined that she was feeling particularly vulnerable today.
In fact, the last time Travis had seen such a defenseless creature, he’d been looking at it from behind the barrel of his Colt .45. And even though that pesky raccoon was destroying his mother’s garden, he hadn’t the heart to put it away. To add insult to injury, the darned thing was so happy to have continuing free reign of the backyard, it had practically adopted Travis as its master.
A warning signal exploded inside his head. Bells, lights and whistles all at the same time. Travis was a man who worked hard at keeping a wide emotional distance between himself and the opposite sex. Ever since his divorce, he tended to categorize the entire female gender as cold, calculating and manipulative. Somehow, it was hard to paint this plainspoken English teacher with the same broad strokes as the woman who had pulverized his pride and his wallet four and a half years ago.
Just because Lauren didn’t strike him as either a gold digger or the kind of woman who would cheat on a man just for kicks, he hesitated to get involved with any woman who might easily mistake his kindness as something more. Especially someone who made him feel as though she intended to correct his grammar while attempting to waltz him down the aisle toward a waiting preacher.
Catching himself wondering how Lauren might look with her hair freed from that constraining bun, he fought the urge to undo the pins and run his fingers though her dark tresses. When she dropped her head against his shoulder and leaned against him for an instant, he was instantly transformed from a reluctant dance partner into her willing protector. Feeling the warmth of her breath against the crisp open collar of his shirt, he held her close as the final strains of the waltz faded away. When she looked up from the top of his shoes, he noticed that her eyelashes were suspiciously wet. Something hard inside his chest rolled over.
Setting aside his own paranoia for the moment, Travis did what any gentleman with a vacant mouse-infested cabin on his property would do. He rushed in for the rescue without thinking of the consequences of his actions.
“I actually might be able to temporarily solve your housing problem,” he said, tipping her head up with the calloused pad of his thumb and falling once again into the verdant fields of those green eyes. “But I can assure you that I’m the last person in the world to help anybody find a husband.”
Two
No one was more surprised when Lauren threw her arms around Travis’s neck and kissed him in front of all the invited guests than apparently Lauren, herself.
Except maybe for Travis.
One minute he was doing his best to describe the modest little cabin next to his own house on the homestead that his grandfather staked out back when the government was eager to give away land to any hardy soul who could survive even one brutal Wyoming winter on it. And the next he was on the receiving end of a kiss that knocked him right out of his cowboy boots.
Had there been a single disinterested observer in the room, he or she might have dismissed the gesture as one of overwhelming gratitude mixed with too much champagne punch. In all actuality, Lauren did little more than press her mouth against Travis’s for an instant before drawing away and turning an enchanting shade of pink.
Indeed, it was no open-mouth, long, drawn-out Hollywood kiss that left Travis wanting so much more. He never imagined that a brief sampling of those surprisingly sweet lips could destroy all his illusions about the prudish Ms. Hewett. She tasted of champagne and wild temptation. Behind that unadorned, bookish exterior lay a promise of passion. And the unexpected thought that she might be wearing something seductive under all that fabric was as intriguing to Travis as the kiss itself.
Dissatisfied with such a chaste peck, he was tempted to ravage her mouth with the kind of kiss that would let her know beyond all doubt that he was not a man to be toyed with. He wondered if the timid little mouse would run back to the safety of her hole. Or would such an inappropriate public display transform her into a virtual wild cat—and him into her eager prey?
Travis stood in the middle of the dance floor looking at Lauren as if he were seeing her for the very first time. It was his own startled reaction to her kiss, more than the act itself, that shook him to the very core of his being—a being who had obviously denied himself the pleasure of a woman’s companionship for too long. Not that he could think of anyone else who had such a peculiar effect on him. All of a sudden Travis was feeling so hot that he wouldn’t have been surprised if Fenton rushed over to put him out with another dousing of punch.
“When can I see it?”
For a moment Travis thought Lauren was actually making an indecent inquiry before realizing that she was just asking about the cabin that he said she could stay in until something better came along. A glance around the Victorian style living room of Barbara Aberdeen’s house made him doubt whether the Spartan accommodations he had to offer would suit her sheltered daughter.
“Don’t feel like you have to commit to anything until you’ve seen it,” he warned her.
“All I ask is that it has indoor plumbing.”
Lauren’s hopeful smile reached a pair of eyes shining with excitement. Travis didn’t want her laboring under any delusions.
“It was fitted with modern appliances a few years back, but I can’t vouch for how clean it is. There’s probably a layer of dust an inch thick coating everything.”
“I’m no stranger to a mop and a dust rag,” she assured him.
“The mice have set up housekeeping before you….”
Lauren didn’t so much as flinch.
“I’ll get a cat.”
The least likely candidate in the entire world had just offered her an opportunity on a silver platter and she wasn’t about to look that particular gift horse in the mouth. That she was mentally mixing her metaphors wasn’t nearly as disturbing as the fact that her hormones were mucking up her common sense. She could only assume that Travis Banks was no more attracted to her than she herself was to Fenton Marsh.
Still, for a moment there, when she had so impetuously pressed her lips against his, she imagined feeling his heart leap against hers. With eyes half-closed she could almost hear the rhythm of his heart beating. The thought that she just might have shocked the local playboy put a silly grin on her face. Lauren had a mind to shock the entire community before she was done transforming herself from a caterpillar to a butterfly.
“When would you like me to pick you up so I can show you around the place?” Travis asked.
It pleased Lauren immensely that the young “lady” who had spoken so disparagingly about her earlier in the day happened to overhear that question. When Sylvia Porter’s mouth flew open, Lauren was reminded of some luckless onlooker standing near enough to a slot machine that had just hit the jackpot to salivate over the money spilling onto the floor. She wondered if the silly goose would actually associate what sounded like a request for a date to the fact that Lauren had caught the bouquet she had so badly coveted.
Lauren wasn’t nearly so superstitious herself. But she was ready to make some major changes in her life that required a leap of faith.
“Whatever time works best for you. Since school let out for summer just last week, I can be ready any time,” she told Travis, doing her best to sound breezy.
“I’ll be out of town for the rest of the weekend, but I can pick you up here first thing Monday morning,” he replied.
It was perfect. That would give Lauren enough time to see the wedding couple off and catch her breath before starting to pack her own bags. Unless the cabin was an absolute hovel, she wanted to move in as soon as possible. The nicest wedding gift she could think of giving her mother was her privacy when she returned from her honeymoon cruise.
“It’s a date,” she said, just loud enough for Sylvia to overhear.
Though Lauren was exhausted after driving her mother and Henry to the airport then returning home to clean up after the gala reception, her brain was too busy making plans to let her fall asleep easily that night. Standing before her closet, she studied her wardrobe with a critical eye. It seemed everything she owned was a tasteful blend of blue, black or beige. As much as she loved and admired her mother, shopping with her over the years had clearly limited Lauren’s sense of adventure. All too often, she came home from a sale dressed like a much older woman.
Deciding there was no time like summer to reinvent herself without the added worry of what her students and colleagues might think, Lauren began piling stacks of her most matronly items to give to Good Will. The first article to go was a perfectly serviceable, lace-around-the-high-collar nightgown that her aunt Hattie had given her for Christmas. She might not be ready for a pink feather boa just yet, but she secretly longed for a satin negligee and matching robe to replace her old flannel one. Someday. For now she’d settle for getting rid of the unimpressive outfits populating her life. Soon, the pile included sedate cardigans, demure blouses, conservative skirts and well-below-the-knee dresses. The purge left just a few basics hanging on her closet but she felt more liberated than ever before.
And liberation called for a celebration. Alone in the house for the first time since she could remember, Lauren staged her first conscious act of rebellion against her boring, staid life by sleeping in the nude.
When she awoke from fitful sleep the next morning, she blamed her state of undress for an erotic dream about a man with thick blond hair and smoky-gray eyes the color of fog lifting from the Tetons….
That those eyes were just as impassable in real life as those mighty mountain peaks made no difference to the wanton creature in her dreams who did a whole lot more than simply brush her lips against his.
Lauren was not the type to count on her dreams as being anything more than wishful thinking. Still, when she called her friend Suzanne a little while later and confided that she was ready for a makeover, it was Travis she thought about making herself over for.
“It’s about time!” Suzanne exclaimed. “Dust off your credit card, and I’ll be right over.”
The last of her girlfriends to get married, Suzanne Venice was not one to make light of Lauren’s desire to make a new start for herself. A freethinker and true veteran of the working population, she was of the belief that a woman couldn’t know what she really wanted in life until she reached thirty. Eager and ready to help, she arrived on Lauren’s doorstep less than an hour later with a stack of fashion magazines. A young woman wearing a leather halter top and a denim miniskirt accompanied her.
Suzanne made the appropriate introductions.
“This is my niece Claire who’s visiting for a few days. She just finished cosmetology school. I told her you were ready for something new and different.”
Such a proclamation would have left a weaker woman trembling. Lauren’s experience with beauticians was limited to Mrs. Castone who had been cutting her hair since she was in high school—as well as just about every blue-haired woman’s in town. This left a goodly population of females in Pinedale looking much too much alike and sending the trendier among them elsewhere for a more modern do.
Claire’s look was definitely modern. Spiked out in all directions, her blond hair reminded Lauren of a porcupine. That it actually looked becoming on the neophyte hairdresser was of some comfort. While Suzanne flipped through a stack of fashion magazines, Claire studied Lauren’s face and hair with the intensity of a doctor performing her first surgery.
“Do ya trust me?” she asked, popping a wad of gum.
Lauren nodded dumbly and crossed her fingers behind her back as Claire positioned her in a chair in the middle of the kitchen and took a pair of scissors in hand.
“Not too short please,” she implored, squeezing her eyes shut.
Her hair might not be the height of fashion, but Lauren was just a smidgeon vain about her thick tresses. A half an hour later, she opened her eyes to see the floor covered with piles of glossy dark locks. She almost screamed when she ran a hand along the back of her naked neck.
“It’s fabulous!” Suzanne assured her.
Lauren felt her throat close around a knot of regret. She knew her friend would be equally complimentary if her niece had given her a GI buzz. Claire held a mirror up to her face.
“Well, what d’ya think?”
Lauren wasn’t quite sure what to think. It was much shorter than she really wanted. Layered in the back for lift and tapered in the front to frame her heart-shaped face, the style did bring out the russet highlights of her hair. Longish bangs added femininity to a cut that few women could carry off without seeming somewhat mannish. It gave Lauren a pixie quality that made her look much younger and more stylish.
“I can show you how to spike it like mine if you want,” Claire told her.
Lauren swallowed hard at the thought. Until this very moment she hadn’t realized how much she had actually been hiding behind her long hair and conservative clothing.
“I like it just the way it is,” she announced, surprised to actually mean it.
Smiling broadly, Suzanne rubbed her hands together in glee. “Now to bring out those gorgeous eyes of yours.”
She pulled a small paper sack from her voluminous handbag and spilled its contents on the kitchen table. An assortment of cosmetics tantalized the eye. Lauren found them utterly daunting. For fear of looking as clownish as some of the girls in her high school classes, she generally limited her makeup selections to a layer of pale pink lipstick and a touch of mascara in a demure shade of brown to the tips of her eyelashes.
Today she gave herself over to her friend, gladly accepting Suzanne’s help. Lauren committed herself to taking good mental notes. Gray eyeliner, a tasteful combination of taupe and teal eye shadow and an application of darker mascara did indeed bring out Lauren’s eyes as promised. A dusting of blush also brought out a set of high cheekbones and a shocking mauve emphasized the fullness of a pair of lips that broke into a hesitant smile when Lauren surveyed the total effect of her makeover. The pixie in her mirror suddenly looked very grown-up.
She scarcely recognized herself.
“Now it’s time to go clothes shopping,” Suzanne announced.
Although the look on her friend’s face reminded Lauren too much of Dr. Frankenstein for her liking, she was nevertheless grateful for the offer. Claire refused to take a penny for the haircut, saying that she would appreciate a positive word-of-mouth recommendation.
“I’ll let you buy me a beer before I leave town though,” she added as an afterthought as she gathered up her belongings and headed back to her aunt’s house.
“It’s a deal,” Lauren promised.
All gratitude aside, she wasn’t too terribly disappointed to hear that Claire would be unable to accompany them on their shopping expedition. If what Claire was wearing at the moment was any indication, she probably did most of her shopping at a hip, urban out-fitters. As cute as the butterfly on the younger woman’s right shoulder might be, Lauren didn’t much care for the idea of being dragged into a tattoo parlor, either.
Suzanne wouldn’t hear of patronizing any of the local clothing shops and insisted they drive to the trendy tourist town of Jackson Hole where boutiques proudly displayed one-of-a-kind designs for a clientele of movie stars and local millionaires. When Lauren expressed her concern about the cost of such a venture, her friend promptly put things into perspective.
“Chic doesn’t come cheap. Besides, you don’t have to buy out any one store. Just a few dynamite outfits will be well worth the investment. Hopefully the next time we go shopping it’ll be for a wedding dress.”
That promise was enough to convince Lauren to go for it. Having saved most of her salary by living at home for so long, she felt entitled to a frivolous spending spree. A couple of hours later she placed a stack of purchases on the counter of a place aptly named Diva’s Digs. Only the thought of building a new life with a man who loved and appreciated her kept Lauren from complaining when the salesclerk rang up her purchases: an outrageously expensive pair of designer jeans, a brown checked sundress that made her feel rather like a debutante, a variety of leek tops, some classic tapered pants, matching shoes. And one timeless little black dress.
By the time they rolled back into town well after dark, Lauren felt like a movie star herself—a rather nervous movie star wondering when her leading man was going to make an appearance in her latest script….
As promised, Travis arrived bright and early Monday morning to take Lauren to his grandfather’s old cabin to see if she was even slightly interested in renting it. Claiming that she would be doing him a favor by simply keeping the mice at bay, he had already offered it to her for free, but she wouldn’t so much as think of staying there without paying something. Travis supposed she didn’t want anyon
e thinking that she was a “kept” woman or something equally archaic.
The thought brought a smile to his lips as he sauntered up the well-tended walk to Lauren’s front door. He couldn’t imagine anyone believing the conservative Ms. Hewett capable of such debauchery. After the wedding reception last Thursday, Travis had spent a little time thinking about that spontaneous kiss Lauren had given him. He’d finally come to the conclusion that he had greatly overestimated its impact. It was easy enough to blame his reaction on the fact that he had deprived himself of female company for too long. Having been taken by surprise, his testosterone had simply kicked into overdrive. He wouldn’t let himself be so easily ambushed today.
When Lauren met him at the door, he couldn’t have been more startled than had she greeted him wearing absolutely nothing at all. Mouth open, he stared at her in confusion.
“What did you do different?” he blurted out with uncharacteristic lack of tact.
He wondered if she’d booked an appointment on one of those extreme makeover television shows. Surely a pair of pants couldn’t make such an amazing change. The smile she gave him was nothing short of dazzling and made him feel somehow taller simply for having shown up on her doorstep.
“I cut my hair,” she said simply enough. “Do you like it?”
“As a rule, I don’t like short hair on women,” he admitted honestly enough.
Nevertheless, Travis certainly found hers a tremendous improvement. He was struck by an urge to run his fingers though it and see if it really was as soft and shiny as it looked. Watching the corners of her lips turn from a smile to a frown, he realized too late that he had hurt her feelings. He hadn’t meant to. His mother had raised him better than to insult a lady, and he hastened to remedy his blunder.
“It looks nice on you, though. In fact you look great.”
Glad he didn’t have to lie, he wondered if a haircut and new clothes could really transform this shy wallflower into a blossoming Cinderella. Finding no fairy godmother hovering in the near vicinity, Travis reminded himself that he was the last person in the world to question what a woman did to herself. His ex-wife had made it clear that any decision involving her own body was entirely the woman’s prerogative.
Including whether or not she wanted to carry his baby….
Jaclyn wasn’t one to strap herself to an endless pile of dirty diapers, or run after some ungrateful “rug rat.” Never mind the fact that she’d claimed to be on birth control when she wasn’t. Or that she’d used her pregnancy to force a proposal out of him in the first place. Or that she’d ultimately terminated it without his consent.
Travis had never felt so helpless in his whole life. Nor so angry.
Or hurt.
The memory of that tragic day swamped him. To this day, he had to turn away whenever he saw a father and son playing catch in the park. Or a dad teaching his “little princess” how to ride a bike. Or a happy young couple playing peek-a-boo with an infant. Sucked in by dark waters passing under the bridge of time, Travis tried to shake off his murky thoughts while waiting for Lauren to lock her front door behind her.
“Not many people around here bother with that,” he observed.
“I know, but nowadays you have to be careful about who you trust.”
Travis couldn’t agree with her more. Reminding himself that sometimes monsters wore pretty, deceptive faces, he redoubled his efforts to give his heart the same consideration Lauren gave her mother’s house. Such conscientiousness boded well for her reliability as a renter, but considering the isolation of his cabin, he assured her that such wariness would be completely un-warranted “out in the boonies.”
A gentle breeze carried the delicate scent of her jasmine perfume as they walked to his pickup. Opening the passenger door of his one-ton dually for her, Travis realized it was a fragrance that could get under a man’s skin. He hadn’t been able to get it out of his mind since the reception, and right now it was making him itchy from the inside out.
Standing just under five foot five inches in her stocking feet, Lauren needed a stepladder to climb into the truck. Seeing as he didn’t carry one around with him, Travis offered to help her up into the cab. He was glad she didn’t object when he put his hands on either side of her waist and gave her a little boost. And relieved that she didn’t slap him when they lingered there a moment longer than they should have.
Their gazes collided. Travis lost himself in a pair of eyes the color of aspen leaves at the first sign of spring. There was no softer color on the face of the earth. The air in his lungs got stuck there as he forgot to breathe.
Just the other day on the dance floor he’d had to fight his way through all those filmy layers of chiffon just to even find her waist. Today Lauren wasn’t bothering to hide her mouthwatering physical attributes. A crop top the color of pale lemon meringue was tucked enticingly into a pair of slacks. There was nothing particularly sexy about the pants that Travis could see—other than the way they hugged her hips made him want to peel them off of her.
Whoa! This is no frivolous little swinger looking for a good time. This is a woman who’s made no bones about the fact that she’s looking to settle down. Hell, I’m not so sure she was joking earlier when she asked you to marry her. And you, cowboy, are about as eager to tie that knot again as somebody standing on the gallows….
With that solemn reproof in mind, Travis purposely worked at keeping the conversation light as they traveled the five miles out of town to the Half Moon Ranch. Nestled into the base of the mountains and dissected by a picturesque river, it had been in the Banks family for generations and meant everything to Travis. That land was as much a part of him as the marrow in his bones.
Against his lawyer’s advice, Travis maintained that Jaclyn was welcome to anything she wanted in the divorce—except the ranch itself. A woman devoid of sentimentality or an appreciation of nature, Jaclyn had wanted to subdivide the property the instant she calculated its value by an investor’s standard. She simply couldn’t understand why anyone would endure the long hours and physical labor necessary to keep such a massive operation going when a killing could be made by selling it off. It hadn’t taken her long to discover that the life of a rancher’s wife was not the one of luxury that she’d expected. And to abandon it as quickly as she had her vows.
The scent of Lauren’s perfume, with its own subtle, flirtatious voice, filled any lapses in the conversation and kept him from traveling too far down old roads. Lauren seemed so excited about the prospect of having her own place that she was oblivious to the effect she was having on him. Travis was glad he’d paid someone to come over on the weekend to straighten the place up. He didn’t care whether Lauren actually rented it or not, but he didn’t want her mocking that which held a special place in his heart. The times he had spent with his grandfather in that old cabin were among his best childhood memories.
He didn’t need to worry. Lauren fell in love with it the moment she set eyes on it.
“It’s perfect!” she exclaimed as if seeing the Taj Mahal instead of the humble little cabin that his ex-wife considered an eye sore.
Sentimental value, and a certain measure of spite, had kept Travis from complying with Jaclyn’s repeated requests to tear it down. There was no denying that the place was a fixer-upper, but that only seemed to endear it to Lauren all the more. As she bubbled over with ideas on how to dress up the windows and what kind of furniture would be coziest in front of the rock fireplace, Travis couldn’t help but grin at her enthusiasm.
She turned her back to gaze out the window at the Bridger Wilderness in a moment of reverie. The pristine peaks in the background had nothing on the silhouette with which she presented him. It was surprisingly hard to keep his arms from encircling her curvaceous figure and sharing the view with her.
“This window is the focal point of the living room, don’t you think? Would you mind if I pounded a few nails in the walls? If I promise to use only small ones?”
Travis knew how much it would have pleased Grandpa to see someone appreciate the place enough to pay it any kind of loving touch. Only a few hardy perennials that Grandma Banks had planted years ago still bloomed in a neglected window box. He wondered if Lauren would bother to pluck the weeds that were choking them out.
“Pound away,” he said, fighting to keep his imagination from leading him to thoughts of undressing this woman right there on the old horsehair couch against the wall.
Lauren’s eyes shone as she thanked him, promising to keep the integrity of the place intact when considering a decorating scheme.
Travis didn’t think there was any way she could hurt the place. After all, those thick, old logs had weathered the years without giving up an ounce of character.
“You’re welcome to keep any of the furniture here. If you’re sure you want to move in, I’ll haul anything you don’t want to the dump. It’s been so long since anyone lived here, I can’t even guess what your electric bill will be. As little square footage as there is, it can’t be much.”
Not one to quibble over the price of answered prayers, Lauren brushed off his concerns with yet another blinding smile. The wink she gave him was so unexpectedly playful that it caught Travis off guard and left him wondering if he hadn’t, in fact, imagined it.
“Don’t worry about that. Hopefully, I’ll be out of here by the time winter rolls around since I only plan on being here until I’m married.”
Three
As odd a look as Travis gave her, Lauren might as well have told him that she was catching a ride on the next spaceship to Mars. That he was so taken aback by her announcement was insulting. For the first time all day, she stiffened in his presence. She may not measure up to the supermodel types with whom he was rumored to cavort, but over the past few days she had come to the conclusion that a man could do worse than be seen around town with her.
“I didn’t even know you were engaged,” Travis stammered.
Lauren waved her hand as if dismissing something inconsequential.
“I’m not. Yet.”
A firm believer in the force of language, she subscribed to the concept that a person’s words shaped her future. That is, if she were to ask God for help and accepted what came about as a natural consequence of that prayer, Lauren liked to think that everything she needed would come to her at the perfect time. With her mother firmly entrenched in a new life, Lauren was ready to ask a generous universe to bestow upon her the man of her dreams. Whoever was sent to her didn’t have to be particularly good-looking or have lots of money. She just wanted to finish out the rest of her days with a gentle and kind man who loved children and appreciated a good woman. Too bad if Travis Banks was above such humble dreams.
“Don’t worry,” she said dryly, hoping to wipe the stricken look from his face with the same flirtatious sense of humor that had seemed to work earlier. “I can’t say that I’ve met the lucky man yet. But I believe the secret of success is a good set of plans.”
Looking relieved to hear that he wasn’t presently in the crosshairs of her sights, he assumed the air of an amused Southerner as he drawled, “Why, Ms. Hewett, are you telling me that you are planning to entertain gentlemen callers on the property?”
Without missing a beat, Lauren batted her eyelashes at him in gross exaggeration. But the tone she employed was thoroughly modern. “That is exactly what I’m telling you. Do you have a problem with that?”
Her directness was disconcerting. Travis was surprised to feel a slight sense of relief to hear that she wasn’t engaged yet. Since he seriously doubted that a woman of Lauren’s sterling reputation was going to be throwing wild parties any time soon, he had no qualms about handing the key over to her—other than the fact that he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind ever since she’d laid that harmless little kiss on him a couple of days ago.
“Of course not,” he assured her with a wink of his own. “You can turn the place into a playgirl mansion for all I care.”
Ignoring the blunt edge of his verbal irony, Lauren held out her hand to accept the key he offered. Freedom glinted off its brassy surface. Five miles out of town may not be enough to keep the local gossipmongers quiet, but it should be far enough away to give her a sense of privacy and autonomy.
Her own place! What a sweet refrain those words were to a woman striking out on her own for the very first time. A world that only a few short days ago seemed parochial and plodding in its predictability suddenly sparkled with endless possibilities like so many diamonds glittering against a jeweler’s black velvet display cloth.
Lauren was quiet on the ride back to town, her mind too preoccupied with decorating plans to notice the way Travis kept casting surreptitious glances her way. He had certainly made himself clear enough on the matter of his precious bachelor status for her to disregard him as a potential suitor. Aside from the fact that he reacted the way a skittish colt did around a man with a heavy saddle whenever the subject of marriage came up, Travis Banks wasn’t exactly what Lauren would consider good husband material.
Just because he’d always had the power to turn her insides to mush whenever she looked at him didn’t mean she couldn’t separate rational thought from foolish fantasy. For one thing, he carried too much baggage from an apparently painful past relationship. For another, he was too handsome and sure of himself for his own good. Still insecure about her own appearance, Lauren didn’t like the thought of having to compete with the rest of womankind for a man’s attention. She liked even less the possibility of marrying someone who might very well cheat on her the minute someone prettier threw herself in his way. Lastly, a real cowboy like Travis would probably care more for his livestock than he did for any woman.
That settled in her mind, she turned to him as a confidant.
“Would you mind telling me where the best place in town is to pick up single men?”
Travis swerved to miss a jackrabbit.
“You mean other than church or the local Laundromat?” he asked.
Lauren rolled her eyes.
“I mean like a bar.”
From his reaction, one would think she was inquiring about a male escort service. Lauren refused to look away. If anyone would know the answer to that question surely it was the most eligible single man in these parts. After that jab about turning his grandpa’s cabin into the playgirl mansion, she saw no reason why he shouldn’t be completely forthright with her.
“The Alibi,” he said grudgingly. “If all you’re looking for is a one-night stand, that is.”
She wasn’t, but since Lauren was long past the age of having a coming out party, she could think of no better way to announce her intentions to the world than circulating in the most happening spots. In a small community, when one got stereotyped as a stick in the mud as far back as high school, drastic measures were required. And just because she might let a friendly guy buy her a drink certainly didn’t mean she had to go to bed with him. Marriage, not gratuitous sex, was her ultimate goal—although she sincerely hoped a good deal of the latter was thrown in with the former.
“There’s a church social scheduled for this weekend if you’re interested,” Travis suggested.
Lauren’s pulse leaped at the thought that he might actually be asking her to accompany him, but his overly nonchalant tone convinced her that she was mistaken. An unexpected wave of disappointment washed over her. Having allowed him to step all over her pride since before he’d even known she existed, she vowed not to let it happen. Besides, she’d been to enough staid church socials to know that the only eligible men in attendance were either horny teenagers or widowers collecting Social Security. Determined to shed her heavy cloak of invisibility once and for all, she tipped her chin defiantly up.
“I’m really not.”
A more experienced woman might have been better able to read the frustration in Travis’s face. As it was, Lauren simply tuned him out by turning her head to stare out the window and proceeded to shade her eyes against a future so bright it threatened to burn her if she wasn’t careful.
Travis was duly impressed with his tenant’s industriousness. Lauren took him up on his offer to take a load of old furniture that she didn’t want to the dump. By the time he returned she was in the process of polishing the old hardwood floors until they gleamed. With a gingham kerchief holding her hair away from her face, she looked the picture of domestic industry. On her hands and knees, she presented an enticing view that put the most indecent thoughts into his head. He struggled to find his voice.
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