tight fist. “Look, Santos, this is kind of a bad time.”
Nick gave a snort of laughter while he rummaged through the refrigerator, clanking bottles against cans. “You’re in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to do, your best buddy drives twenty minutes in a downpour to come see you, and you tell him it’s a bad time. You’re a riot.”
“I’m serious.” Ian raked a hand through his still-wet hair. The woman had been quiet for all of sixty seconds. A record. Strangely enough, the silence worried him. “I’m a little busy right now.”
His quest successful, Nick pulled a cold bottle out of the refrigerator, then kicked the door shut while he twisted off the cap. “What, is it time for a poetry reading from the woodland nymphs?”
Amused with himself, Nick took a long swig from his bottle, then gave a loud sigh of appreciation. “Damn, that tastes good. Don’t mind me, buddy. I’ll just sit fight here and drink my beer and you can go right ahead and do whatever it is you need to do. Oh, yeah, and I’m supposed to remind you about the tux fitting on Thursday morning and dinner Friday night at Lucas’s house after the wedding rehearsal.”
Muttering an oath under his breath, Ian shoved the door closed as Nick plopped down on the sofa. “Speaking of your wedding, don’t you have to help Maggie pick out flowers or tablecloths or something?”
“I am helping. I’m staying out of the way.” Nick tossed back another swallow of beer while he put his feet up on the weathered pine coffee table. “I’ve got three hours to kill before I pick my son up from his grandma’s house.”
Ian couldn’t help but notice the pride in Nick’s eyes at the mention of his son. A son he hadn’t even known existed until a few weeks ago. Ian still couldn’t believe it. Nick had a five-year-old son and was getting married in a few days to little redheaded Maggie Smith, who wasn’t so little anymore. She was all grown-up and gorgeous.
And Lucas. Married to a blond beauty like Julianna Hadley, with twins. A boy and a girl. Damn if life didn’t work in strange, mysterious ways.
Thank God at least he had kept his sanity, Ian thought with relief.
“Hey—” Nick gestured with the bottle in his hand “—did you know you’re all wet?”
A noise from the bathroom, sort of a thump, had Nick turning his head.
The knot of tension in Ian’s shoulders worked its way up his neck to his jaw. He had to get rid of Nick. Immediately.
“Squirrels,” Ian said evenly. “They built a nest in the attic over the bathroom. I was on the roof trying to see where they got in when the storm hit. Listen, I’ve got to go into town and buy some screen to cover the vent up there. Meet me at Tanner’s in forty-five minutes. I’ll spring for the beer and pool.”
Never mind that Nick could have bought the pool hall fifty times over, it was unthinkable to turn down a free game of pool and beer. “Make that ten bucks a game and you’re on.”
“Five. Take it or leave it.” Ian knew if he gave in too easily, Nick might be suspicious.
“You’re on.” Not one to be wasteful, Nick took a deep swig from his bottle and started to rise. “I’ll call Lucas, see if he can get away from Julianna and the kids for a couple of hours.”
Another sound from the bathroom. A clank this time. Nick turned toward the bathroom. “Squirrels, you say?”
“They might be inside. I’ll check it out.” Ian started for the bathroom, but stopped at the distinct sound of water running from the sink faucet.
Nick swiveled a look at Ian. “They know how to turn on the water?”
The bathroom door opened, and she flounced out.
She’d stripped out of her wet khakis and was wearing a snug white tank top and tight jeans that exposed curves he hadn’t seen before. She’d done something with her hair—pulled it back and let a few wet strands curl around her freshly washed, heart-shaped face.
How the hell had she gotten out of that rope?
“Oh, Ian, honey, there you are.” She smiled brightly at him, but it wasn’t a smile that reached her smoky-green eyes—it was smug satisfaction. “I was wondering what took you so long. I’m afraid we’ll have to do this some other time. I completely forgot I have an appointment in town. I’ll call you later and—oh, you have company.”
Nick’s jaw had gone slack as he stared at the woman. If Ian wasn’t so furious, he’d be laughing his butt off at the expression on his friend’s face.
Hell, it had to be the same as the expression on his own face.
“I’ll just get my bag and be on my way.” She bent down to pick up her backpack and had started for the door when she stopped suddenly and turned to stare hard at Nick. Nick stared right back.
“Nick Santos?” Eyes wide, she whispered the name with reverence.
Nick managed an uncertain nod and continued to gawk openly at the woman.
“I’ve been a fan for years.” She moved toward him, her smile genuine now as she offered her hand. “Cara Sinclair.”
Nick stared at Cara’s hand, blinked twice, then slowly closed his palm over her long, slender fingers. “Uh, a pleasure, Miss Sinclair.”
“Cara, please,” she said, her voice soft and breathy.
This isn’t happening, Ian thought dimly. Five minutes ago he’d left this long-legged she-cat spitting and snarling in his bathtub. Tied up and gagged. Now she stood here as calmly as if she’d dropped in for tea, cooing that she was a fan of Nick’s, for God’s sake.
“I was at the Bloomfield County Speedway when you won Nationals three years ago.” She pulled her hand away and shifted the backpack on her shoulder. “You were amazing.”
Her eyes were soft now, almost dreamy, Ian noted, and he clenched his jaw so tightly he thought it might snap. If she asked Santos for his autograph, Ian knew he’d have to hurt someone.
“Just lucky, but thanks, anyway.” Nick seemed to have his composure back now. He flashed Cara the smile that had graced numerous sports magazines and several advertising campaigns for everything from motorcycles to jeans to milk. Charm had always been Nick’s middle name, and he laid it on heavy. Ian was certain it was just to annoy him.
Damn if it wasn’t working.
“I’m off the circuit now,” Nick said smoothly. “I’ve got my own place customizing bikes here in Wolf River. Maybe you’d like to see it sometime.” Nick grinned at Ian, who scowled back. “Ian can bring you by.”
Cara looked at Ian, and a slow smile spread over her lips, lips still slightly swollen and rosy from the kiss he’d planted on her. Or maybe it was from the sock he’d shoved in her mouth. Either way, the look she shot him said he’d better watch his back.
“Thanks. I’ll get back to you on that. Oh, and congratulations on your upcoming wedding. Ian couldn’t stop talking about it.”
“Is that right?”
