For the first time since moving to Ranger Springs, Robin felt excited about getting up every day. She wasn’t making as much progress as she usually did with a client, but at least the company was great. Even keeping her project secret from the citizens of the small town proved to be fun and challenging.
She’d never before heard as many thinly veiled questions about who she was working for as she had in the last several days. Jimmy Mack at the hardware store guessed a different person each time he saw her, which was often, since she kept going in for paint swatches and samples of molding. Thelma and Joyce, regulars during lunch at the Four Square Café, guessed she’d been hired by the Franklins, but Gina put a stop to those speculations. One day while she stood in line to cash a small check, Robin overheard the pastor of the Methodist church ask the banker if he’d hired her to redecorate his house.
All the mystery was really quite amusing…until she heard rumors that she and Ethan were dating. Apparently no one put two and two together and figured out he was her client. Or perhaps they just couldn’t believe the single chief of police would want his home decorated.
If his neighbors had seen her coming and going in the late afternoon or evening, what did they think she was bringing over in her overstuffed purse and binder? Massage oil and risqué photos? And what about that stack of magazines? Did they believe Ethan needed a little encouragement from Playboy? She had no idea how the mind of a small-town resident worked, but Robin found the process amusing, as long as Ethan suffered no repercussions.
Over the past three days, he no longer looked at her constantly, or made remarks that could be taken more than one way. She wasn’t sure if increased contact had made her less appealing to him, or if her first visit to his house had been just a fluke. Whatever the reason, she felt much more relaxed when they met to discuss a decorating strategy.
At least they’d finally decided on one: Southwestern country. Ethan had discovered an old arrowhead collection in his closet, and remembered a favorite Native American blanket from his childhood. He’d called his mother, and she’d located the piece at the family home in West. Robin was looking forward to seeing the blanket, which was to arrive in the mail today. She hoped some of the paint colors she wanted to use would compliment the vivid design so common in the woven works of art. A combination of heavy pine furniture and “homey” touches would bring life to the bland interior of the house.
Today, now that they’d chosen the basics, they were going on their first shopping excursion to see if they could find appropriate accessories. Ethan’s fear of being caught shopping at an antique mall or gift store was almost comical, except that Robin could understand his misgivings. He simply didn’t want to become the topic of conversation for folks in town, whether they were speculating on who he was dating or whether he was redecorating his house. As a public figure, he was automatically in the spotlight, but he also had a right to privacy.
She pulled into his driveway and parked beneath the low branches of a cottonwood tree, out of sight of the road. Ethan pushed open the back door, apparently in a hurry to be on the road.
Or in a hurry to have this task over, she thought with a smile. She knew many men viewed shopping as slow torture.
“Ready?” he asked, jingling his keys as he headed for the Bronco.
“I’m ready. Did the blanket come yet?” He opened the door for her, ever the gentleman, and she slid into the passenger seat. At least in his larger vehicle, they’d have enough room to bring home any treasures they might find.
“No, but it should be here this afternoon.”
“Great. I’m looking forward to seeing it with the colors we’ve chosen.”
Ethan walked around the Bronco, his posture a bit more tense than usual. Robin wanted to ask him why, but she felt the inquiry would sound too personal.
“Are you sure this place in San Marcus will have something I’ll like?” he asked as he slid behind the wheel.
“You can never be certain of specific inventories, but they specialize in Texas memorabilia and accessories.”
“Okay,” he said, sounding about as excited as if he were attending his own execution. He pulled out of his driveway onto the road.
Robin laughed. “Don’t overwhelm me with your enthusiasm.”
“Sorry. I’m just not good at this sort of thing.”
“How do you know?” She looked around as they passed many of the businesses she’d grown accustomed to in such a short period. Ranger Springs no longer seemed so foreign, although she did miss the amenities of the big city. And the money—she definitely missed having an income.
He frowned. “I don’t know. It’s kind of like picking out china and stuff, isn’t it?”
“Now, what do you know about picking out china patterns?” she teased.
“Not very damn much,” he grumbled. “Never mind. I’ll be fine.”
“I have faith you’ll be fine once we get there. How long will that take?”
“About a half-hour.” He scowled at the road ahead. “Slump down in your seat, okay? We’re about to pass Susie, and she’s coming out of Joyce’s beauty shop. If she sees you with me, I’m dead meat.”
Robin giggled as she hunched down as far as the seat belt would allow. “This town has you wrapped around its finger,” she observed with good-natured criticism. “And I’ll bet most people think you’re really in charge, don’t they.”
“I have no idea,” he said nonchalantly. “I’m just trying to avoid more gossip.”
“More?”
“You can get up now. We’re on the state highway, so we probably won’t see anyone else who’ll be able to recognize you.”
“Seriously, have you been the subject of a lot of gossip?”
He paused before answering the question. “I don’t know. Not a lot, but there was a time…Let’s just say that the people of this town took an interest in my personal life a few years ago and haven’t let go since.”
“Will you tell me why?”
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
Robin pursed her lips and settled back into the seat. Another facet to Ethan’s character she had yet to uncover. She’d thought she’d created a pretty comprehensive inventory of his traits the other night, but obviously her list wasn’t complete. He had secrets he wanted to hide from her. Apparently everyone else in town knew the story.
Of course, he had said “not yet” instead of shutting her out completely. Maybe he was planning on revealing more to her later. Robin decided to wait for Ethan to tell her.
They traveled in silence for several miles. Robin enjoyed watching the countryside pass by quickly. This drive wasn’t as scenic as the one they’d taken to the German restaurant the other night, but she enjoyed seeing the rock-strewn hills, occasional cattle and ever-present, scrubby cactus that grew alongside tall prairie grasses and scattered clumps of red and yellow wildflowers.
Soon they neared San Marcus, a picturesque college town that also boasted Aquarena Springs. When she was younger, she remembered, she’d seen travel brochures featuring Ralph, the diving pig. She’d always wanted to see Ralph, but her parents hadn’t considered a trip from Houston to San Marcus a top priority. Later, Great-aunt Sylvia had explained that there wasn’t just one Ralph, but a series of piglets who dived into the clear springs to cheering audiences. She’d said Robin could go later because there would always be a new Ralph, but Robin wondered if that was true.
She was going to ask Ethan about Ralph, but he looked even more grim as they approached I-35. The antique mall was located on the service road, not far away.
She wanted to place her hand on his arm, to comfort him, but his expression kept her from acting on her instincts. She settled on verbal reassurances. “Ethan, I hope we can enjoy ourselves.”
He looked doubtful. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. Just don’t expect a lot of input from me.”
“You need to tell me what you like.”
“Hey, I’m the guy with the boring beige sofa and white walls, remember? Doesn’t that tell you something about my taste?”
“No, not really.” She watched as he maneuvered into the parking lot. “You didn’t have many options before.”
“What makes you think I would have chosen something different if I did have other choices?”
She frowned as she considered his question. Why was he putting himself down? She’d seen far more atrocious furnishings than his rather bland living and dining rooms. “I think you’re just nervous about shopping.”
He turned the key, shutting off the engine. “I’m not nervous. I’m just not good at this sort of thing.”
“So you’ve already claimed. And I’d just like to say that you’ve never been shopping with me.”
“You may be real disappointed.” He unbuckled his seat belt and opened his door.
“With you? I doubt it.” But he was already walking around toward the passenger side.
“Don’t say you weren’t forewarned,” he said as he opened her door. “I’m not exactly Mr. Excitement, you know.”
She slipped down from the seat and met his tense gaze. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I wish I were.” He frowned, forestalling her comments as he urged her toward the entrance. “Let’s go shopping.”
“I think I’d rather talk about you.”
“No such luck,” he said with finality. He opened the glass door. “Come on. Let’s go find some accessories I’ll love.”
Robin shook her head and frowned. Ethan was in a strange mood today, but at least she’d gotten him to the antique mall. With a little luck, they’d find some great items. With a little skill, she hoped to talk him out of his dark mood before it was time to return to Ranger Springs.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THIS?” Robin asked, holding up a framed Texas flag about the size of a diploma.
“The frame looks a little beat-up,” Ethan said, eyeing the aged wood skeptically. The poor thing looked like it had been stored in someone’s tool-shed for about two decades.
Robin laughed. “It’s supposed to look that way. It’s called ‘distressing.’ The wood is sometimes old, like off a barn or fence, but sometimes new wood is chemically treated, scarred, hammered or just soaked in water and lye to make it appear aged.”
Ethan shook his head. “Whatever. You’re the decorator.” Actually, he found this whole shopping experience “distressing.” Robin chatted away, placed her hand on his arm when she wanted his attention, and even grabbed him occasionally when she found something that excited her.
Maybe he should have gone shopping with women before. He hadn’t realized someone else’s old stuff could be so exciting. Then again, he’d be competing for attention against metal trays, cut-glass candy dishes and old wood frames. The idea that women found those items more exhilarating than a flesh-and-blood man was a little disheartening.
Hell, it was a lot disheartening. He’d meant what he’d said earlier to Robin; he wasn’t particularly interesting or exciting to women. At least, that was the impression he’d gotten from women in the past—two particular women. They used words like “stable” and “solid” to describe him. In his book, those terms meant he didn’t set their hearts aflutter.
Maybe when he’d been an FBI agent, just because of the perceived danger of the occupation. But a small-town cop? No way had that improved his image as dating material. Or as marriage material—not that he was looking. The phrase “Been there, done that” applied doubly in his case.
“Ethan, I want you to approve of the purchases. After all, this is your house.”
“I know, but like I told you before, I’m not good at this decorating stuff. Give me a target range or a city council meeting, and I’m fine. Put me in an antique mall, and I’m like a duck out of water.”
“I understand,” she said with a sigh. “Just promise me you’ll let me know if you really don’t like something I’ve picked out.”
“I promise.” He reached out and snagged the framed Lone Star flag. “I’ll hold on to this for you.”
“Okay.” She turned her attention back to the row of booths, each rented by a different person. The proprietors seemed to specialize in different items. One might have lots of toys, while another had china plates and teacups.
His eyes settled on a booth at the end. “I’m going to wander down there,” he told Robin.
She nodded, caught up in assessing an old pickle crock.
A few minutes later, she joined him. “What did you find?”
“I’m not sure this would work, but I kind of like these old license plates.” He turned and smiled. “Kind of ties in with my law enforcement career.”
“Oh, I see. Patrolling the streets and all that.”
“And locking the bad guys up so they can turn out these babies in prison.”
Robin laughed. “An excellent choice. Which ones did you like?”
A few minutes later, she had an armful of the somewhat rusty, sometimes bent plates. He was about to take them from her, when one of the ladies he’d seen up front joined them in the aisle.
“Can I put those at the counter for you?” she asked with a friendly smile.
“Yes, thank you,” Robin replied. “We still have a lot of shopping to do.”
Ethan shook his head, rolling his eyes a bit to tease her.
The clerk laughed. “Husbands are always like that. They never want to shop, but they’re always ready to complain when we spend their money.”
Ethan opened his mouth to tell the woman he and Robin weren’t married, but she’d already turned and walked away.
“A common assumption,” Robin explained.
“Not for me,” he said, wondering just how much like a couple they appeared. He’d tried damn hard to make sure no one in Ranger Springs matched him up with a single woman. Even when he went to statewide meetings, he acted polite but professional around the women in law enforcement. He didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. One simple shopping trip, and this lady had him married to Robin Cummings.
He took a deep breath, then exhaled, pushing the image out of his mind. What a disaster they’d be together, with her fancy, city ways and his low-key, small-town life-style. He’d be surprised if she lasted the two months of her agreement, much less a lifetime.
No, women like Robin weren’t for him, at least in the long run. If he’d met her while he was in Houston, and she wasn’t connected through their aunts, then maybe…yes, definitely, he would have pursued her. Spent some good times with her. Maybe had a hot and passionate short-term affair.
But not like this. Not in his town, with many eyes on them. He couldn’t risk the concern people would show. He didn’t want to endure their sympathy when Robin left town with a chunk of his heart.
“Ethan?”
He turned his attention back to Robin, who was frowning at him.
“What’s wrong? You looked like you were a million miles away.”
“I’m fine,” he said, guiding her out of the booth and back into the aisle. Her arm felt warm and firm beneath his fingers, her skin so incredibly soft that he had a hard time keeping his mind on the task at hand. “Let’s finish shopping. I’m about ready for lunch.”
“They have a tearoom here at the antique mall.”
Ethan made a rude noise, then softened his opinion with a smile. “How about some real food? Barbecue? Tex-Mex?”
Robin laughed. “I should have remembered who I was with. No sissy food for you, right?”
“Damn straight, woman,” he said in a cross between a drawl and a growl.
Robin laughed, then stopped. “Seriously, Ethan, you’re doing great. I know how much men hate to shop, especially at places like this.”
Again, he was amazed by the warmth he felt when she touched him, or when he touched her. And her smell, so clean and lightly floral, drifted across the heated air separating them.
“I’m trying my best,” he said, looking down into the depths of her brown eyes. I’m trying my best to keep my hands off you, and to remember we didn’t meet in Houston and we aren’t going to have a short but hot fling.
Just then a big burly guy, wearing low slung jeans and a tan work shirt, looking as though he might drive an eighteen-wheeler or a tow truck, plowed down the aisle. As he passed, he scratched his whiskers with one hand as he clutched a delicate porcelain figurine in the other.
“Well, maybe some men like to shop,” Robin whispered, breaking the mood with her quip.
Ethan chuckled. “If that’s what it takes, I’ll try to be more of the sensitive modern male.”
Robin smiled. “I like you just fine the way you are.”
His heart beat a little faster as he walked beside her, but he didn’t dare say anything.
“For a client, you’re okay,” she added. He realized that once again he’d allowed his libido to outdistance his brain. He really had to get his thoughts and desires under control, or this decorating project was going to turn into a real pain in the…neck.
ON MONDAY after the shopping trip, Robin paused before knocking on Ethan’s door to adjust her royal-blue, sleeveless cotton sweater over the waistband of off-white pleated shorts. When she called on a client in Houston or the suburbs, she wore simple, stylish dresses, or slacks and tops. Since there was nothing hotter on the face of this planet than panty hose worn during a Texas summer, a wardrobe of shorts and sandals while working was an enormous bonus.
He finally opened the door after she’d knocked twice. Instead of the coolly composed Ethan she’d come to expect, he appeared frazzled. His dark hair looked as if he’d run his fingers through it again and again. His shirt wasn’t fully buttoned, exposing more of his broad chest than she’d seen before. A nice view, but she had to wonder what was wrong.
“Is this a bad time?” she asked, as he pulled the door wide.
“No, it’s not. I’ve just been on the phone since I got home. I hardly had time to change.” He looked down at his partially open shirt, then quickly fastened the two errant buttons. “Sorry. I guess I really didn’t have enough time to change.”
“It’s okay,” she said, stepping inside. She felt sympathy for anyone who was having a bad day, because she’d been there often enough herself. In the past three weeks, she’d made a major decision about her future, re-evaluated her relationships and decided to start over. She placed her hand on his bare forearm. “I can come back at another time if you’d like.”
He looked down at her hand, pale against his darker tan. Her nails, kept fairly short because of her work, rested against some very impressive muscle. The gesture had been instinctive, something she would do to any friend, but suddenly she felt as though she’d crossed an invisible barrier. He must have felt it, too, because he slowly pulled his arm away.
When she looked into his eyes, she saw heat that had nothing to do with the Texas summer. His cheeks appeared a bit flushed, and he held himself so very still that the two of them seemed momentarily frozen in time. She heard the sounds of the afternoon—a car slowly traveling down the road in front of his house, birds chirping all around them, a lawn mower buzzing in the distance—but she couldn’t have moved if her life depended on it.
Seconds later, he took a deep breath and broke the spell. She let her hand fall to her side as she felt a blush creep down her neck from her own hot cheeks. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay.” He stepped back, giving her even more space. “Come on in. Let’s get started.”
“Ethan, are you sure?”
“Positive.” He sounded impatient, almost angry. “I made enough dinner for two. If you haven’t eaten, you’re welcome to join me.”
She resisted saying “Are you sure?” again. Instead, she opted for a more professional tone. Something to diffuse the unexpected tension at the doorway just now. “That would be lovely.”
Since she was so familiar with the house by now, she walked into the breakfast area and placed her materials on the table. Ethan followed with an opened box he picked up from the coffee table.
“Is that the blanket?” she asked, when he placed it beside her things on the table.
“Yes. It’s a bit smaller than I remember, but I still like the colors.” He pulled the blanket from the plastic bag his mother had obviously used to store it for many years. “We bought this in Arizona when we went on vacation one summer. I must have been eight or nine. I remember my dad saying we had too much stuff in the car already, but my mother just kept negotiating with the owner of the shop.”
Ethan stopped to stroke the thick weaving. “In the end, my dad gave in, although he put on a show of grumbling. My mother usually got her way,” Ethan added with a smile.
“They must have been very close.”
“Yes, they were. Still are,” he said, shaking off the memories. “Happily retired in West. I’m just glad they didn’t decide to throw away all my old stuff. I’d almost forgotten about this blanket until you started insisting I must have something personal.”
“Most people have things of importance, but over the years they get pushed back in drawers or tops of closets and temporarily forgotten. It’s nice to bring them out and use them in the decor.”
“If you say so.” He shook his head and grinned ruefully. “If I tried this on my own, I’m afraid it would look like I stuck an old blanket on the wall.”
Robin laughed. “I’ll make sure the whole room looks good together. After all, that’s why you’re paying me the big bucks.”
Ethan looked surprised for a moment, then realized she was teasing. They’d already agreed upon a fee, which she’d kept at a minimum because of the “fringe benefits” of working with the sexy police chief. Not that she was going to acknowledge the attraction she felt any more than he was going to take any action to change their status.
He chuckled, but Robin felt his mind still wasn’t one-hundred percent involved in the decorating project, or even in their conversation. He must have had a bad day, but since his job was so often confidential, she didn’t feel comfortable asking.
Besides, saying the equivalent of “Honey, how was your day?” seemed way too intimate for two friendly acquaintances. Or a client and a professional.
Robin pushed the decorating materials and blanket aside, while Ethan finished preparations on the dinner. Within a few minutes, she had glasses of iced tea on his mint-green place mats, and he’d deposited a bowl of chicken and dumplings in the middle of the oak table. After adding a green salad for each of them, he took his seat.
“Is this one of Aunt Bess’s frozen meals?”
“No, I made this one myself yesterday afternoon. Every now and then, I decide to cook.”
“I’m impressed,” she said, as the steam wafted toward her. “Smells delicious.”
He looked at her sideways, a fork full of lettuce and cucumber poised near his mouth. “Surprised I didn’t scorch it?”
The obvious reference to her own disastrous “cooking” made her lift her eyebrows. “Not really. I know lots of men who can cook.”
“How about your ex-fiancé? Did he know his way around the kitchen?”
Surprised by the question, Robin paused before attacking her salad. “No, he didn’t. The only time he went into the kitchen was to get a beer out of the refrigerator or to add ice to his glass.”
“Hmm.” Ethan devoted his attention to his food.
“Not that he was a big drinker. Just socially. He simply wasn’t handy in the kitchen.”
“I suppose you two were planning on eating out a lot.”
“Well, yes, I suppose we were.” She wondered why Ethan was asking these questions, making these comments. He was in an strange mood tonight—different than on Saturday, but still more moody than usual—and she wished she understood why. “Is that so odd?”
“Not in a big city like Houston, I suppose. Here in a small town, yeah, it’s pretty odd.”
“Well, we didn’t live in a small town,” she said, getting irritated with his comments. “We were planning on living in his town house for several years. Perhaps moving into a larger house later.” If they’d decided to have children, which they’d never seriously discussed. She put her fork beside her plate. “Why are you making our lives sound like something…unnatural?”
He pushed away from the table, then carried his bowl of half-eaten salad into the kitchen. She watched him run his fingers through his hair again, leaving it even more disheveled.
“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to pick a fight. I’ve just had a long day, and then I saw you…” He walked back to the table, took a seat and dished out the chicken and dumplings. “I shouldn’t take my bad mood out on you.”
“I agree with you. If you didn’t want to meet tonight, you could have said so.”
“I want to get this decorating project started. Heck, I want to get it finished.”
Robin began to understand. Ethan’s world was being disrupted. He was acting out, as many people did when they were in the midst of an upheaval. And as his decorator, she was the cause because she forced them to make decisions, then had their carpets ripped out, their walls painted, their cabinets stripped. “I understand. Decorating sounds like such a pleasant little diversion, but then reality sets in.”
He looked at her intently across the short distance. Steam seemed to rise from him as well as from the bowl between them. “You’re right. Reality has set in. I’ll try to keep things in perspective.”
“And I’ll try to keep your life from being too disrupted.”
Ethan nodded—even though Robin was already proving a disruption to his well ordered life.
IF ETHAN DIDN’T GET AWAY from her soon, he was going to do something he’d regret. He’d made it through dinner with her tonight. He’d survived the shopping trip to the antique mall, where they’d been mistaken for a married couple. For the past two days, he’d sat beside her on the couch and looked at magazines, swatches of fabric, chips of paint and various other decorative touches she thought might be good for his house.
But what was good for his house, he’d soon discovered, was killing him.
“I’ll arch the iron stars above the framed flag, then use the rest to anchor the corners of the blanket,” Robin said, laying out the rusty metal pieces on the coffee table. “How does that sound?”
“Fine.” He shifted on the cushions, wondering how long he’d have to sit here tonight and endure her soft fragrance and sexy voice.
“Now all we have to do is decide on the wall color.” She started sorting through the paint samples, bending over the coffee table. Her sleek, golden hair slid forward along her jaw, making his fingers itch to touch it.
He had to admit this truth: he couldn’t be around Robin without wanting her. Oh, he’d tried. He’d told himself a hundred times that she was a family friend. A newcomer in town. A lonely, recently unattached young woman in a strange place. There were a dozen reasons why he absolutely couldn’t become involved with Robin Cummings.
And then there was the issue of the ex-fiancé. When Ethan had first met Robin, he’d felt sorry for the jilted guy. Hell, he’d identified with him! Now all he could think about was some other guy spending his days—and nights—with Robin. The more he thought about it, the more angry he became. He knew his feelings were irrational. Dammit, the whole relationship with her was crazy! They were as mismatched as fine crystal and jelly jar glasses.
Unfortunately, his body wasn’t listening to all the reasons he couldn’t get involved with Robin. If he sat beside her for another five minutes, smelling her light perfume, listening to her soft, intelligent voice, he was going to take her by the shoulders and seal his lips over hers. To hell with good intentions, small town life, family connections and employer responsibilities. To hell with being chief of police.
“Ethan, what’s wrong?”
His eyes jerked open as he felt her put her soft but strong hand on his forearm, just as she’d done earlier this evening when he’d been in such a crabby mood. Lord, she was driving him crazy! He shook his head as he jumped up from the sofa.
“I’ve got to go,” he said, hoping she didn’t hear the panic in his voice. He walked to the mantel and reached inside the flowery little ceramic jar Aunt Bess kept there. Success and freedom! “Here’s a key. Feel free to look around all you’d like. Measure, match, do whatever you need to do. I trust your judgment. I need to…”
“What?”
He couldn’t lie to her, so he simply didn’t tell her the truth. “I just need to go somewhere. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Ethan!”
“Sorry, Robin. I’ve got to go.”
He glanced at her briefly, just long enough to see the shocked and worried expression on her pretty face. Dammit, he didn’t want to do this to her. But more important, he didn’t want to reveal his true feelings. She’d already let him know she wasn’t ready for a romantic relationship, and he could certainly understand her position. She wanted to be friends. She was working for him. He couldn’t abuse her trust by showing how much he wanted her.
He let himself out, then shut the door as quietly as possible. There was only one place to go at a time like this. He needed a testosterone-rich environment—one without any female distractions. A place where no one would ask him what color was his favorite, what style he preferred or what he thought about every tiny detail.