isn’t permanent?” When he raised an eyebrow at her question, she brought her landlady back into the conversation. “Edith said you’d only be in town for the summer.”
Hunching his shoulders, he hooked his thumbs into his front pockets. “Don’t wanna stay. I mean, hell, California? Three months is about all I can take. Why Charlie picked L.A. to settle down in is beyond me.”
She assumed Charlie was his boss. “Burbank is the perfect town for a Western theater.” Windy knew Rodeo Knights was located between the Media District and the Equestrian Center. “I hear it’s doing well.”
“Yeah. Charlie thinks he’s gonna con me into staying longer, but it’ll never happen.”
Windy decided not to take offense, even if California was her home state. “I grew up here. Edith was my sixth-grade teacher. Sometimes it seems strange not to call her Mrs. Burke.”
He grinned. “Yeah, she told me you were one of her students. She also said you were a teacher now.”
Windy nodded. “Preschool.”
The grin faded. “You work with little kids?”
Why the distressed look? Was he worried she might bring a toddler home? “Don’t you like small children?”
His nonchalant shrug mocked the twitch in his jaw. “Don’t know any. Charlie has a daughter, but she’s older.”
Did he like Charlie’s daughter? “How old?”
“Twelve.”
She assumed from his simple response that he wasn’t interested in offering more information than he’d been asked to give. Windy didn’t mind expressing herself. She could turn small talk into important issues. “I love children, all ages, but teaching preschool isn’t my lifelong goal. I’m a psychology major. Someday I intend to make a difference. There are too many dysfunctional families out there.”
Although Sky smiled once again, his sparkling gaze had dimmed considerably. “That’s great that you’re following your dream, but this conversation’s gettin’ too deep for me. I’m a single guy. What do I know about dysfunctional families?”
Judging from the forced smile, plenty, she thought. The analyst in Windy snapped to attention. Taking a step back, she studied his features, then let her gaze assess his body language: a vacant stare; a twitching jaw; long, tanned fingers opening then closing into tight fists. Broad-shouldered yet vulnerable, with a smile far too lonely. Even his dimples were hiding.
Maybe the traveling cowboy wasn’t a drifter. Maybe he was running from his past. Running and afraid to look back. Suddenly his unlikely alliance with their elderly landlady puzzled her. How did the older woman and the dashing young cowboy come to be friends? And why were they together when that drunk driver skidded onto the sidewalk? Where were they going?
“How did you and Edith meet?” she asked.
Sky pulled the house key from his pocket, ran his fingers over the serrated edge. “Didn’t she tell you about the accident?”
“You mean that’s how you met? You were strangers on the same street corner? I assumed you were friends already.”
“Really?” He shifted his booted feet, jammed the key back into his pocket. “And here I’d thought Edith told you about—” He swallowed and glanced away. “That car hit me.”
Windy pressed a hand to her heart. “Oh, my God. Were you hurt?”
“Yeah…I…” He tugged a hand through his hair, then met her concerned gaze with a wary one. “I’d really prefer you talk to Edith about this. Besides, I should check out my room and get going. Charlie’s expecting me.”
Windy didn’t know how to respond, or how to feel. Unfortunately, she hadn’t asked Edith about Sky’s background. Although she had found herself impressed by his heroic deed, Edith’s description of the “nice young man,” had made him sound boring. Average. Yet the man standing across from her was far from ordinary. Not only had he saved someone’s life, he’d been injured in the process.
She smiled, hoping to put him at ease. Apparently he wasn’t comfortable discussing the accident.
“Your room is the second door on the right. The bed was delivered yesterday.” Windy knew Sky had called ahead and asked their landlady to rent him some furnishings—the landlady Windy intended to call for some answers.
Sky decided not to go home after work. At least not right away. But unfortunately, the loud, crowded bar was no consolation. He couldn’t stop thinking about his new roommate.
He reached for his jacket, then fingered the cigarettes in the front pocket. He’d quit smoking months ago, but keeping a pack handy kept the cravings in check. Sky knew he had an I-always-want-what-I-can’t-have personality. So with that in mind, he’d made sure forbidden pleasures weren’t too much of a temptation. And that’s why he had agreed to bunk with a woman—a pretty one. Meaningless sex was off-limits, too.
“Can I get you another drink?” The cocktail waitress smiled. Leggy and lean in a short red dress, she tossed a dark wave of hair over her shoulder.
He glanced down at the glass bottle. How long had he been nursing the same beer? “No, thanks, I’m fine,” he answered, conscious of the brunette’s body language. There was a day when he would have responded to her subtle flirtation. She was attractive, in a hard sort of way. Things like that never mattered much in the past. He would have taken her home, anyway. Another nameless, faceless woman. Another loveless sexual encounter. Loneliness.
What the hell was he doing? Trying to cool the heat he felt for his new roommate with a drink? After ten minutes they had ended up in each other’s arms. But instead of letting Windy go, he’d caressed her, held her close and enjoyed the feel of her slender body, sensual scent of her perfume. The woman smelled like his favorite dessert—her vanilla scent reminding him of ice cream melting over smooth, warm flesh.
Boy, some hero he turned out to be. Edith had asked him to protect Windy from vandals, not seduce her in the kitchen. Sky had expected her to be cute, but not sexy and innocent wrapped in one curvaceous little package. Although he used to bed a variety of women, he favored the tall sultry type, so Edith’s description of his future roommate seemed like a mild temptation. Petite and pretty, the old lady had said.
Try angelic. Sweet. Sensual. A breezy smile, honest eyes and long, stormy blond hair. The name Windy suited her well. Just thinking about her played havoc with his already frazzled emotions. Not to mention his eight-month bout with celibacy.
Sky tasted the imported beer and winced. Practically warm now. He motioned to the waitress, then slid the offending bottle away. “I think I will take a fresh one, honey.”
“Sure.” As she reached for the half-empty bottle, her bodice brushed his shoulder. His mind on another woman, he ignored the contact.
What would Windy think of him if she knew the truth? Would she have welcomed him into her home? Sky shook his head, an agitated frown furrowing his brow. Not likely. Sure, Edith would fill her in about the accident, but the old lady would make him sound like a modern-day Sir Lancelot rather than a no-good cowboy with amnesia—a man who wasn’t even sure about his own last name. Then again, Edith didn’t know the whole story. She didn’t know about things he actually did remember.
