hair as he rubbed the lather up one forearm and down the next.
Sunlight gleaming through the window above the sink caught the bubbles that jumped to life from his brisk rubbing and turned them into hundreds of tiny rainbows. Mesmerized by the iridescent bubbles and the sheer manliness of the act, Mary Claire watched in growing fascination as he rotated his arms beneath the water to rinse off the soap. Cupping his hands, he dipped his face low over the sink and splashed water over his face and neck, then growled liked a bear, shaking droplets from his head as he groped blindly for a towel. The feral sound sent a quiver of sensation shooting through Mary Claire’s abdomen.
The cold cuts forgotten, she snagged the towel and pressed it into his hand. The thick terry cloth muffled his thanks as he dragged it down his face, across the back of his neck. He turned, but stilled; his hands locked on the ends of the towel, when he found her watching him.
Something electrical passed between them as their eyes met, something charged with so much force that it shocked every nerve in Harley’s body to life.
Before he could decide whether to stand or run, Mary Claire caught the corner of the towel and wiped at a stray droplet that clung to his mustache, her nervous movements as fleeting as those of a moth at a flame. But the brush of her fingers across his lips did something to his insides, making his heart do a slow somersault while his blood warmed in his veins. It had been a long time since a woman had touched him in such a way. He’d forgotten the tenderness, the comfort rendered in so simple a gesture.
On a sigh, he closed his eyes and caught her wrist in his hand. He held her palm against his cheek, absorbing the softness of her skin against his. Slowly, the thundering of her pulse trapped beneath his fingers registered in his muddled mind. Opening his eyes, his gaze settled on lips slightly parted and eyes filled with... Was it longing? Drawn by that look, he gathered her fingers in his and pressed them to his lips. He watched as her eyes widened, then darkened to a smoldering green, and his lungs burned with the need to pull her into his arms.
“Hey! What’s for lunch!” Stephie called as she skipped into the kitchen.
At the sound of Stephie’s voice, Harley dropped Mary Claire’s hand faster than he would a hot branding iron. He tore his gaze from hers and whirled to face the sink once again, his chest heaving as he grabbed for much-needed air. Mary Claire did her own job of covering up their actions by snatching up the platter of cold cuts. But Harley saw the tremble of her fingers on the plate’s edge and knew she was just as shaken as he by what had just transpired between them.
It seemed like an eternity, but he was sure it was only seconds before Mary Claire turned to greet her daughter, a smile on her face. “We’re having sandwiches, and no complaints,” she warned. “It’s too hot to cook.”
Stephie pulled out a chair and plopped into it. “That’s okay. I like sandwiches.” She patted the seat of the chair next to her. “You can sit by me, Harley,” she said shyly.
Harley wasn’t sure how he did it, but somehow he made it to the chair without his knees buckling beneath him.
“How’s your new neighbor getting along?”
Harley hunched his shoulders to his ears, already regretting the impulse to stop at the End of the Road for a beer. He didn’t want to talk about Mary Claire Reynolds. In fact he’d stopped at the bar hoping to drown her image in beer. “How would I know?” he replied sourly.
Cody bit back a smile. “I thought since you’d leased that land of hers, you might’ve seen her around.”
Harley frowned. In a town the size of Temptation, everyone knew everyone else’s business, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out how that bit of news had leaked out so fast. “How’d you know I’d leased the land?”
“June, over at the bank. She said the Reynolds woman made a deposit the other day. A nice fat check written on your account I just put two and two together and figured you’d talked her into that lease.”
Harley twisted his head around just far enough to scowl at Cody. “You’re a genius, Cody. A bona fide genius. It’s no wonder you’re the sheriff.”
Cody laughed good-naturedly and pounded Harley on the back. “Did you hear that, Hank?” he called out to the man behind the bar. “Harley here thinks I’m a genius. I think that calls for a beer.”
“Reason enough for me.” Grinning, Hank stuck a mug under the tap and pulled the lever, then decided, what the hell, and plucked up another to fill. Business was slow in the afternoon, and it was a rare moment when he had the opportunity to share a beer with his two friends. After topping off the mugs, he hooked a finger through both handles and rounded the bar. He slid one in front of Cody before hitching a hip on the nearest stool. He lifted his mug and tapped Cody’s before taking a long drink.
On a satisfied sigh, he set the mug down and leaned around Cody to peer at Harley. “Would you look at that face?” he said to Cody with a woeful shake of his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the man had woman troubles.”
Harley’s scowl deepened and he snatched up his beer. Hank hooted and gave Cody a poke in the ribs with his elbow. “I believe the man does have woman troubles.” Ready to give his friend a hard time, he puckered his forehead thoughtfully and pulled at his chin. “Now let’s see. Who could it be?” he teased. “Widow Brown,” he decided, while he tried his damnedest to keep a straight face. “She’s had her eye on him for years.”
The widow Brown was pushing eighty and only had about four teeth left in her head, but Cody was enjoying watching Harley squirm, so he decided to play along. “Nah,” he argued. “Widow Brown gave up on Harley years ago. I heard she was flirting with Duffy Smith at bingo last Saturday night. But there is that new neighbor of his,” he said, talking as if Harley weren’t even there. “A divorcée by the name of Mary Claire Reynolds.”
Hank let out a low whistle. “Whooee! That is one fine-looking woman. I saw her the other day over at the Mercantile.” He cupped his hands out in front of his chest. “She’s got boobs out to—”
Harley’s mug hit the bar with a thump, sloshing beer across the scarred wood as he bolted to his feet. “If you two don’t have anything better to do than sit around and gossip like a couple of old ladies,” he growled, “I sure as hell do!” He scraped his hat off the bar, jammed it on his head, then dug a couple of dollars from his pocket and tossed them next to his mug. He stomped out, slamming the door behind him.
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