make sure you don’t have a concussion.”
He liked to give orders, Lydia realized.
“Yes, sir,” she said, with a tinge of disrespect.
“Does your mouth ever get you into trouble?” he asked.
“Not anything I can’t handle,” she said, feeling flirty from his touch. Would he caress her again if she sat up? Could she tempt him into kissing her?
She sat, letting the top sheet drop to her waist. His gaze skimmed down her body lingering over the curve of her breast before he looked away.
“I’m sure,” he said, walking to the door.
“Evan.”
He glanced back over his shoulder; cloaked as he was in the shadows spilling from the opening doorway, his expression was inscrutable.
“Sorry.”
He crossed back to her, taking her shoulders in his hands, he leaned her back against the pillow. He pulled the sheet up to her neck, and his hands lingered on her body. She wanted to wriggle around and bring his touch closer to the aching parts of her body.
“Don’t tease me, Lydia. I’ll take what you’re offering and give you back passion like you’ve never found before.”
“I wasn’t teasing.”
“What were you doing?”
“I don’t know. But your touch…”
“Yes?”
“Your touch is like the sweetest imported chocolate I’ve ever had. One that I savored for months, coming back time and again for a tiny lick. I wanted one more lick.”
“Not right now,” he said.
“No, not right now,” she agreed.
He walked to the door again. Just as he stepped into the hallway, she leaned up on her elbow. “Evan, I don’t think I’ll be satisfied with just one lick.”
“Neither will I,” he said and disappeared.
“There’s a woman in the house.”
Evan didn’t look up from putting his tack away. “Yes, Dad, there is.”
“Why?” Payne asked.
“She had a wreck last night avoiding one of our cows.” Evan closed the tack-room door and started up toward the house. His father fell into step beside him. Evan watched the old man from the corner of his eye. He wondered if Payne ever got lonely living out here with just Evan and ranch hands for company.
“We’ve got insurance,” Payne said, interrupting his thoughts.
Evan nodded. “She has a head injury.”
“Concussion?” Payne asked as they entered the kitchen. Both men stopped to kick off their boots. One of Evan’s mother’s lingering edicts. No dirty boots in the house. She’d been dead for over twenty years, but they still wouldn’t track muck into her kitchen.
“I don’t think so. But we couldn’t be sure.”
“That’s good. When’s she leaving?”
“She’s broke. I’m going to put her to work at the sheriff’s office until she has enough money to pay off her car.”
“Do you know what you’re doing, son?”
Evan nodded.
“She looks a little like Shanna.”
“I know.”
“See that you remember that.”
Evan started breakfast trying to forget what his father’s words meant.
Shanna had been spoiled, and though she’d loved him at school, his hometown had been too much for her. She’d begged him to move back to D.C. with her. To go back to working with the FBI when it became apparent that ranch life wasn’t what she’d envisioned. But he hadn’t loved her enough to leave his family and his home. Nor had she.
He’d been a mess when Shanna had left him for the bright lights of D.C. But Evan had learned that lesson. He didn’t need a reminder. Fooling around with Lydia was all he had in mind. And that was more dreaming than anything else. If she stayed here, there were Payne and a dozen ranch hands to act as chaperones.
The two Powell men sat down to a cold cereal breakfast without speaking. The silence was comfortable to them and they both enjoyed it for their own reasons.
The phone interrupted breakfast, and Payne, closest to the wall unit, reached out his long arm to answer it. He nodded to Evan. Evan took the call in the other room.
“What’s up, Hobbs?”
“I ran the description of the car and the lady last night and nothing came up.”
“Okay, we’ll look into it when I come down this afternoon.”
Lydia passed by the doorway as Evan hung up the phone. “Lydia?”
“Yes?” she said.
He saw that the lights last night hadn’t fooled him, she was even more beautiful in the pure light of day. Her icy blond hair was pulled into a chignon. He knew it wasn’t a bun because his mother had explained women’s hairstyles to him when he was a boy.
“We couldn’t find your name in the computer last night to match to the car. I’m going to need you to write down the spelling.”
She hesitated a second before she looked away. “Okay.”
“Is this going to be a problem?”
Her face was transparent and her eyes, which were a deep sapphire this morning, wouldn’t meet his. She wore a stylish sundress with thin straps and a short skirt. She had knockout legs. He longed to feel them wrapped around his hips.
Dammit, get your mind back to business. The wound on her forehead had disappeared. She had a good hand with makeup, he thought.
“No. It’s just that well…the car isn’t registered in my name.” She was lying to him. And she wasn’t very good at it.
“You know we can find out who you are from the vehicle identification number, right?”
“Really?”
He nodded.
She moved closer to him. Her expensive perfume surrounded him, and he could think of nothing but searching her body to find out where she’d dabbed it. “Will you take my word for it that I haven’t done anything illegal and the car really is mine?”
She had innocent eyes; he didn’t think she’d done anything illegal. There was something about the eyes of a criminal that you never forgot. “Maybe.”
