Her back stiffened. “What do you mean by that? I’ve worked the streets, stayed in some real dumps to get the story, and did a damned good job reporting the truth, too.”
“But you haven’t had to work the rough parts of the city in a long time. You’re out of practice, and really, what do you know about the country?”
“Damn it, Marge, you know I can do this. I won’t let a silly fluff story beat me.”
“If you think you can, then, by all means, stay. And Cal Braxton doesn’t know you’re a reporter. How could he? I haven’t told anyone-have you?”
Her forehead wrinkled. “Of course I haven’t.”
“Then he doesn’t know. I have to rush out, Nikki. I have an important meeting I can’t miss. If it gets too awful, just turn around and come right back to the city. I won’t think badly of you for giving up.”
There was a distinctive click.
Give up? Give up! She didn’t think so. She never gave up.
She snapped her phone closed before it dawned on her that she’d been played. Marge had known she would never walk away from a challenge.
Great, just great. She looked up in time to see Bandit waddle out of the barn and toward a tree.
Maybe Marge
Marge was right about one thing: Cal couldn’t possibly know she was a reporter. He wasn’t on the rebound, either, or he’d be flirting outrageously with her. There had been subtle nuances but nothing blatant. That Cynthia chick must’ve really done a number on him. At the moment, Cal didn’t seem too pleased with the female population. Damn, there went her wild nights of hot sex.
She paused halfway up the path from the outhouse. Was she giving up on the sex?
Cal was a hottie with all those bulging muscles. When she’d lunged herself at him after going eyeball to eyeball with the raccoon, she’d had the chance to get up close and personal with all those muscles, and they’d felt as good as they’d looked.
And damned if he hadn’t caused her pulse to race when he’d leaned close to her right before he’d walked to his pickup and left.
Had he been flirting then? She wasn’t sure. Her hormones had been raging so hot they’d fogged her brain. Whatever he’d been doing, it had been nice.
No, she wasn’t giving up on sex, either-only regrouping. Cynthia might have done a number on his head, and possibly his heart, but Nikki was there to kiss and make it all better,
The Barracuda never lost.
She grabbed the broom off the hook before she went back inside. He didn’t think she’d last.
“Cal hasn’t seen nothin’ yet. I might not be country, but that doesn’t mean I’m soft. I’ll show him just what this city girl is made of.”
A cloud drifted in front of the sun and the room darkened. Cold washed over her as though…as though what? A ghost had reached out and touched her?
Okay, the room was just a little too dark and dismal. She really hated the dark. And that’s all this was. Some illumination and she’d be fine.
She reached toward where a light switch should be. It wasn’t there. Nor was there one in any of the other rooms. Well, crap. She should’ve guessed there wasn’t any electricity, either.
This wasn’t at all funny.
She began to furiously sweep the wooden floor. Cal Braxton would not run her off, even if he was doing it because Cynthia had jilted him!
Nope, she was here to stay. She chuckled. He’d be in for a big surprise if he knew how she really felt about the cabin. But he didn’t, and she wouldn’t let him find out, either.
By the time she’d swept the last of the dirt out of the house, Cal was pulling up in front of the cabin.
She stepped to the front porch and leaned the broom against the side of the house. She pushed her hair out of her face as she watched him get out of his pickup, a hammer and tacks in one hand and a square sheet of shiny metal in the other.
“There’s no electricity,” she told him.
His grin sent tingles down her spine, and for a moment she could only stare, lost in a fantasy of them naked and in bed having hot, wild sex.
“And your point is?”
What was her point? Hell, she’d forgotten what she’d just said. Oh, yeah, electricity. Now he was smirking. She jutted her chin, refusing to back down.
“I’ll need a flashlight or kerosene lamp before it gets dark. That’s my point.” Wasn’t that what they were called? Kerosene lamps? The thought of having something so flammable in a weathered and worn cabin did not appeal to her. But she would have it, if it provided light, and even if it killed her.
Oh, not a good thought.
He looked surprised. “You’re staying then?”
“Why wouldn’t I? This is exactly what I was looking for. Rustic, just like the early days.”
“There’s a kerosene lamp in the kitchen and I have a flashlight in my pickup I’ll loan you.”
Her stomach growled, which reminded her of something else. “I’ll need food and somewhere to store it. Unless it’s delivered.” She tried to keep the hopeful note out of her voice. Meals brought to her door would be nice, and it would make it a lot easier to stay in this dump.
He laughed. “Now that wouldn’t be roughing it, would it? You’d only be defeating the purpose, and we want you to experience the country to its fullest.”
“I brought some things from the ranch that I thought you might need.”
She glanced past him and could see the boxes in the back of his pickup. Not one McDonald’s bag poked above the rest. She’d been afraid of that. So what did pioneer women eat? She had a feeling she would be expected to cook. Not good, since she always managed to burn toast.
He went inside and into the bedroom. It took him only a few seconds to tack the metal over the hole where Bandit had gotten inside.
When he stood, she noticed just how tall he was. She was five seven and a half, yet he towered over her. He had to be at least six four or five.
“Come on. I’ll help you carry your stuff inside.” He didn’t wait for her to respond but headed out the door, going straight to his pickup and hefting a box out of the back.
“Don’t do me any favors,” she mumbled but made sure she hadn’t spoken loud enough for him to hear. She didn’t relish this much physical labor. An air-conditioned gym was one thing; actually carrying in boxes was another.
She liked the way he hefted, though, but Nikki didn’t think he would let her get away with standing on the front porch and ogling his muscles as he carried in the boxes. She was, after all, roughing it.
Whoopie.
“This should give you plenty of research for your book,” he said as he paused with his foot on the bottom step.
They were almost eye to eye. He really was very delicious looking.
“You did say you were writing a book, right?”
She stepped around him and down the steps. “Research. Yes, a book. I’m a writer.” When she thought about it, she hadn’t really lied. Except about it being a book rather than an article. She had a feeling if she was here very long, she could write volumes about Cal.
“Then I’ll have to make sure you don’t go away empty-handed.”
She reached over the side of his pickup and grabbed a box. She could’ve told him that she was certain she would leave with plenty of information.
But she didn’t.
