A Way With Women. Jule McBride

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of his heated gaze making her aware, a second too late, that the action caused her breasts to lift. “I believe you are laughing. I bet you and Ansel Walters struck a wager or something. I bet he said you wouldn’t have the nerve to advertise. Why else would you do it?”

      “Because I want to get married?” suggested Macon.

      “Oh, please,” she scoffed. “There’s got to be more to it than that. You’ve been back in town two months, Macon, and…well, I’ve heard you’ve already slept with every available woman in town.”

      He had the audacity to chuckle softly. “Maybe some of the unavailable ones, too.” Before she could respond, he added, “Besides, how do you know who I’ve been sleeping with, Harper? I don’t remember seeing you in my bed.”

      “You have so many women you wouldn’t remember,” she returned, offering a disgusted shake of her head. “And how can you make light of this? Do you expect me to believe you’re going to become monogamous just because a pregnant teenager or an illegal alien shows up on your doorstep?” Before he could answer, she shook her head adamantly. “Oh, no, I don’t think so, Macon.”

      He squinted at her. “Why not?”

      She found herself recalling his male appetite. “Because I know you.”

      His voice turned silky again. “You most certainly do, Harper.”

      Her heart was pounding too hard, and her lungs were nearly empty. If she didn’t take a deep breath soon, she’d get dizzy. She forced herself to do so, gathering strength. Someone had to stop this lunacy. “To be perfectly blunt, working at the post office puts me in a position to hear all the gossip, Macon.”

      Unfortunately, he looked intrigued, not contrite, as if he couldn’t wait to see what she’d say next. “When it comes to me, I bet it’s juicy, huh?”

      “I don’t ask to hear the gossip,” she said, not gracing his question with a response. “Nor am I saying any of this for your amusement.” She suddenly gaped at him. “C’mon. Are you denying you and Nancy Ludell didn’t leave Big Grisly’s Grill until four a.m. last Saturday night? Or that you and that new teacher, Betsy, had breakfast the next morning, before you took your mother to church?” She paused, staring at him hard. “Or that you and Lois Potts didn’t also go bowling in Opossum Creek?”

      “Serious charges,” Macon returned solemnly. “Bowling should get me the electric chair. And church…why, that should rate a lethal injection, don’t you think?”

      “I should be so lucky,” she muttered. “Can you honestly tell me you weren’t teaching an underage girl to drive a stick shift last week, and that when she drove your truck into a ditch—”

      Macon’s disbelieving chuckle stopped her. “Harper,” he said in warning, peering at her as if she’d just stooped lower than the human eye could see, “that was Diego’s niece.”

      She ignored the rush of relief. “Maybe that time,” she countered. “But that’s not the point. Everybody in town knows what you do, which is probably why you’re trying to find a—” somehow she couldn’t force herself to say bride “—woman from out of town.” When Macon’s jaw tensed, Harper’s eyes lingered a second too long on its firm, clean-shaven line. For a second, she was sure he was considering grabbing her, and she had no idea which way she’d run—out the door or into his arms.

      “Dammit, Harper.” The sudden rasping curse hardly offered any comfort. “Since when are you so interested in what I do with other women, anyway?”

      “I have no choice! Someone has to take an interest!” The words rang with conviction. “Don’t you understand, Macon? Some of these women don’t even speak English! What kind of relationship could you have with them?”

      Anger had begun stoking the fire in his eyes, and now they looked lively, burning into her. “A relationship based on something other than talking?” he suggested, his tone deceptively mild.

      She sighed ruefully. “I’d hoped you’d changed over the years.”

      “Over the years? I’m only thirty-four, Harper. Hardly over the hill.”

      “Your adventures around Pine Hills make that perfectly clear.” Swallowing hard, she mustered her most controlled tone. “Which is why I wrote those women. Macon, the simple truth is, you’re not ready to marry.”

      He stared at her. “That’s not for you to decide.”

      Throwing up her hands, she glared. “You really want to make an honest woman out of someone? You want kids?” The words honest woman echoed in her mind, filling her once more with guilt since she’d never told him about Cordy.

      “You have a problem with that?”

      Damn him! Of course she had a problem with that. Was she really going to live in the same town with Macon McCann while he married one of those young, pretty women who kept answering his ads? “You’re going to marry a stranger, Macon? Have a family with her?”

      His smile vanished, and she had the distinct impression she’d finally gotten through to him. “You have a child,” he muttered, “so you must know how fulfilling it can be.”

      Our child, Macon. Haven’t you realized Cordy’s ours? She could barely find her voice. “What you’re doing doesn’t even make sense,” she managed to say. “You’ve known plenty of women, so why write to strangers? And why come back from Houston, anyway?” For years, she’d prayed he would—and prayed he wouldn’t. “Everybody said you loved it there. They said you were never coming back.”

      He hesitated, and as sunlight shifted through a window behind him, a shadow fell, erasing the grooves around his mouth and wrinkles around his eyes, making him look so much like the boy she remembered that she could have cried.

      “Cam’s health isn’t what it used to be.”

      “Oh, Macon.” Instinctively, she stepped forward and touched his arm. A heartbeat later, when his flesh gave a quick quiver beneath her fingers, she knew getting this close to him was a mistake. Seeing male awareness come into his eyes, she stepped quickly back, edging toward the wall. “Macon, I’m sorry.”

      “He’s had a stroke already. Lost some mobility in his left arm. Now he’s got to watch his blood pressure, Harper. He’s got to slow down.”

      So do I. She was still feeling the hot touch of Macon’s sun-warmed skin. “You think he’ll be all right?”

      “If he quits working the ranch.” For a long moment, Macon was silent, his gaze trailing unabashedly to where two thin straps held up her sundress. His expression hardened. “I’m getting married, Harper,” he said, his gaze returning to hers. “I’m settling down in Pine Hills, and I’m not doing it alone.” Sounding gruff, he added, “I want a woman.”

      The raw statement of male hunger made her knees weak, and as their gazes meshed, she felt oddly disoriented. Determined to ignore the palpable energy coursing between them, she kept her voice even. “I guess I didn’t want one more poor soul to get stranded in Pine Hills, the way my mama did.” It was as close to an apology about writing the letters as she could get.

      “You could have left, Harper.” He glanced around. “Looks to me as if you did right well in this

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