Chapter Five
When Shane had woken up that morning, he couldn’t have guessed he’d find himself in a dark, cramped storm cellar about to kiss Meg Stoddard.
She peered at him, eyes wide open, moist lips parted. On her beautiful face an expression of desire, delight, and surrender. Sending a clear message. If you kiss me, I won’t complain.
He wanted this. Craved it. Had been aching for her from the moment they’d met.
Not smart, however. Not smart at all. His best friend was marrying her best friend. No two ways about it, they’d be seeing each other often. If they had a one-time fling, it would make for awkward moments at dinner parties, family celebrations, and holidays, when they were bound to run into each other.
And that would cause him to avoid going to events with Ellie and Brady that Meg might be attending and probably vice versa.
Think it through, Freemont. Calculate the risk. Is a few minutes of pleasure worth the damage that hot sex with Meg was bound to wreak on his relationship with Ellie?
Watching Meg moisten her lips with that sweet pink tongue almost tugged a whimper from his throat.
No. No, it wasn’t worth the risk.
In the nick of time, Shane reined in his self-control, lifted his head, straightened his spine, moved back.
Meg exhaled. Loudly. The sound signaling both relief and disappointment.
Me too, babe. Me too.
He cast around for something to say. Something that wouldn’t call attention to the fact he’d nearly kissed her. “Wonder how long this storm is going to last.”
“We could look it up on weather tracker. Where’s your phone?”
He pulled his phone from his pocket, turned it on. A weak signal. One bar. Switched it back off. “Not enough power for internet service. But from the sound of things, we’re here for a while.”
“I hope it’s only hail and a tornado doesn’t touch down. Your poor Jeep.”
He shrugged. “I have insurance. We’re safe. That’s the important thing.”
“I suppose.” She kept clasping and unclasping her hands.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Just worrying about the ranch.”
“You’ve got a great staff. I’m sure they’re taking care of it.”
“I know, but I tend to be a worrier. It’s in my DNA.”
“You need a distraction.”
Meg’s eyes widened and she audibly sucked in air, and he knew she was thinking what he was thinking. Making out would be one mighty fine diversion.
“We could play twenty questions,” she said quickly.
“I haven’t played that in years.”
“Me neither.”
“Hey, what about those questions you were telling me about? The ones from that dating service Ellie and Brady went to?”
“Um . . .”
“Are they too racy?”
“No, surprisingly, they aren’t racy at all,” Meg said. “I found that confusing. I expected racy.”
“Do you remember any of them?”
“There were three levels of questions, each level supposedly leading to greater and greater intimacy.”
“Wanna try it?”
“Increase our intimacy?” Her words came out high and airy, scared.
“No. No,” he rushed to say. “Bust the myth. Show it wasn’t the questions that caused Brady and Ellie to fall in love but rather they fell in love because they were looking to fall in love. It wouldn’t happen to us because we’re not interested in falling in love.”
“No, we aren’t.”
“I mean, we do have chemistry. We can’t deny that.”
“We do,” she admitted.
His pulse jumped and his body tensed involuntarily. “But that’s just sexual attraction. It doesn’t mean anything else.”
“No siree.”
“A few measly questions aren’t going to make us suddenly fall in love.” Shane rubbed his knee. Old football injury. Getting stiff from sitting too long.
She scoffed. “No way.”
“Do you remember any of the first-level questions?” he asked, perplexed as to why he was steering the conversation in the direction of love and intimacy. Playing with fire he was, and no good reason why except as a way to distract her from worrying about the storm.
And to distract himself from thoughts of kissing her.
Meg tucked one side of her lip up between her teeth. The sight of that plush pink lip sucked up against her pearly whites tightened erotic muscles below Shane’s belt and he was grateful for the camouflaging dimness.
“Let me see. I think there was a question along the lines of tell your partner five things you like about them already.”
“We’re not partners.”
“It’s just you and me here,” she said. “So yeah, we kind of are.”
“Partners-in-storm.” He chuckled, playing off partners in crime.
“Besides that, we’re partners in a nontraditional wedding. Man of honor and best woman.”
“Oh yeah. That too.”
“Who goes first?” Meg asked.
“Goes?” Shane blinked, so lost in her eyes he’d dropped the conversational ball.
“I’ll go first.” She glanced away, mumbling. “I like the way you walk into a room as if you own it.”
“Interesting.” He raised his eyebrows, perplexed that something as simple as walking into a room impressed her.
“Your turn.”
“I like how you stand up for yourself,” he said. “You don’t let anyone mow you down or take advantage of you.”
“I have a strong-minded mother. She passed it on to me.”
“Good genes.”
Meg stretched out her legs in front of her, the tips of her boots almost touching the lantern in front of them. “I like your appetite for life. You’re earthy. A paladin.”
“A what-a-din?”
“Paladin. It means a champion.”
“I like how you use big words,” he said, deepening his smile. “You’re smart. You would come in handy on Jeopardy!”
“I like how practical you are.” She laughed. “Thinking of ways to make money off my smarts.”
“I like the way you don’t take offense at my practically.”
“And I like the way you fill out a pair of jeans.”
“Well, if we’re going there, I like that you’ve got rockin’ hot legs.”
“Leg man, are you?”
He let his gaze linger on her breasts. “Among other things. Your turn.”
“Hmm,” she purred. “I like the way you make me feel sexy.”
“Same here.”
They stared at each other. Breathed in sync.
“Well, that was pretty painless,” he said. “I don’t feel increased intimacy. Do you?”
“If you don’t count being jammed into a tiny storm cellar alone with you and talking about our sexy bodies, no.”
“That’s physical. Nothing mental or emotional for me. You?”
“Me neither,” she denied.
“Good.”
“Great.”
“Terrific.” Why did he feel so unsettled? “Do you remember any more questions?”
Meg tapped her chin with her index finger. “Oh. This one’s easy. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?”
“Chuck Yeager.”
“Why?”
“He’s the Yeagermeister,” Shane said.
“And that means . . . ?”
“He inspired me to become a pilot.” Shane notched up his chin. “How about you? Who would you invite to this dinner party?”
She paused, reflected on that. “Living or dead?”
“You want a ghost at your party?” he asked.
Her giggle surprised him. He hadn’t pegged her for the giggly type. “Let’s assume because this is a fictional dinner party, the deceased guests can appear as they did when they were alive. No ghosts.”
“I can roll with that. Who’s your pick?”
“My grandmother.”
“A sentimental choice. Maternal or paternal?”
“Maternal. Gram was amazing. A single mom after her husband took off and never came back. Raised my mom and uncle while working as a chuck wagon cook on this very dude ranch. She’s my hero.”
“She’s the reason you’re a cowgirl?”
Meg nodded. “Absolutely. If she hadn’t started working for the ranch, my mom wouldn’t have met my dad. Hawk Creek’s been in my dad’s family for five generations.”
“Now that’s some deep family roots.” The old emptiness he felt over his lack of family crept in, but he pushed it aside. He’d made peace with his orphaned status a long time ago. “How long has your grandmother been gone?”
“Five years. She died two days before I graduated from TCU with my degree in ranch management. Cancer. What I wouldn’t give to hug her one more time.” Meg sighed, sadness tugging her mouth down. Her hand strayed to her heart.
Watching her, a flick of something knifed Shane’s gut. A feeling he had no name for. He’d never known his grandparents, but he missed the loss of something he’d never had.
“Let’s take relatives off the table,” he said, wanting to erase the sorrow from her eyes. “What prominent person would you most like to have as a dinner guest?”
“Hmm.” She paused, thinking. “How about Margaret Thatcher?”
“The Iron Lady?”
“Yes.”
“Any particular reason why?”
“She was tough.”
“So are a lot of women.”
“Honestly? I’d like to ask her about the quote: ‘To wear your heart on your sleeve isn’t a very good plan; you should wear it inside, where it functions best.’”
“Why?”
“I want to know if she really believed you can’t be warm, caring, empathetic, and strong at the same time.”
“Ah,” he said.
“Ah what?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s something or you wouldn’t be looking like a smug cat who got the last bit of cream.”
He shrugged, almost too casually. “Nothing. It’s just that you want to have your cake and eat it too.”
“Huh?”
“You want to be soft and feminine but tough as nails at the same time. Sorry. You can’t have both. Thatcher would tell you as much.”
“Channel Margaret Thatcher’s ghost, do you?”
“No. But I know leadership. You can’t be a strong leader and also give in to your emotions.”
“Ever?”
“Not if you want to win.”
“And winning is everything?”
“What else is there?”
She shook her head, pursed her lips, clicked her tongue. “My grandmother was strong and loving.”
“She wasn’t Margaret Thatcher. She didn’t run Great Britain.”
“Thank God. Can you imagine the Iron Lady as your grandmother?” Meg asked.
“I can’t imagine anyone as my grandmother because I never had one.”
Silently, she reached over and took his hand, squeezed it. The gesture was kind, generous. It made him feel vulnerable. He moved his arm, pretended he needed to scratch his cheek. She settled her hands back in her lap. He couldn’t tell if he’d bruised her feelings or not.
“What were some of the other questions?” he asked.
“Hmm.” She tapped her chin. “Would you like to be famous? And if yes, in what way?”
“My goal is to be the best pilot I can be. If that brings me fame somehow, I’m good with it, but fame isn’t something I chase.” He studied her. “How about you?”
“Same thing. Fame seems more annoying than anything else. My main concern is doing my job well.”
“Look at that.” He smiled. “We have one thing in common. We put a high premium on our jobs and doing them well.”
“We’re both workaholics. I wonder if we have anything else in common.”
“Do you want a mint?” he asked, pulling a tin of lemon mints from his pocket.
“Thank you,” she said. “Don’t mind if I do.”
They sat sucking mints and listening to the storm rage. Taste buds buffeted by tangy sweet lemon. Eardrums pummeled by howling wind.
“We both like lemon mints,” he said. “That’s two things in common.”
“Neither one of us is fond of short engagements and quick weddings,” she said after a long moment. “So that makes three.”
“Which means?”
“Absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things.”
She was right, but he found himself wishing the things they had in common held some kind of significance. “I doubt Ellie and Brady have three things in common.”
“I would be surprised if they did.”
“And yet they’re crazy for each other.”
“Lust,” Meg said. “Lust at first sight is easy enough.”
“You mentioned there were three levels of intimacy in the questions Ellie and Brady answered. What were some level-three questions?”
“I wish we had cell reception so I could look it up online. Let me think a minute.” She glanced sideways, screwing up her mouth as if it would help her recall. “Oh, I’ve got one. What does friendship mean to you?”
“Ellie,” he said succinctly.
“I’m not letting you get away with that. Elaborate.”
“I’m taking on maid-of-honor duties for her. That should tell you something about our friendship.”
“You love her.”
“I’d lay down my life for her,” he clarified.
“That’s what friendship means to you? Loyalty? Protectiveness? Altruism?”
“All of the above.”
“Wow.”
“Wow?”
“That’s a tall order for friendship. I’m impressed. Or maybe even jealous. You’d die for her?”
“I’d die for anyone I love. Brady wouldn’t do the same for you?”
“Oh I’m sure he would, but I was going with a lighter definition. To me, friendship is when you feel safe enough to say anything to another person, knowing they won’t judge you.”
“Agreed,” he said.
“We’re lucky,” she said. “To be able to have such great friends of the opposite sex.”
“We are.”
Silence stretched between them.
“Did you and Brady ever . . .” He trailed off.
“Ever what?”
Shane flapped a hand. “You know.”
“Hook up?”
“Yeah.”
“Brady’s like a sibling. The way it is with Ellie and you.”
“So no?”
“Well . . .” Meg swished her tongue around in her mouth. “We kissed once. In college. After a kegger. It felt too weird and we vowed never to do that again. Did you and Ellie ever—”
“God no!”
That brought another long silence, punctuated by the storm.
“I’ve got a question for you. It’s not part of the quiz.”
“What’s that?”
“How come you’ve never been married?” Meg asked. “You’re handsome, hot, and a military pilot. What’s wrong with you?”
“Never found anyone who could hold my interest for long. How about you? Why aren’t you married?”
“I was with a guy for five and half years,” Meg confessed. “We broke up last year.”
“What happened?”
“One night he made a reservation at the fanciest restaurant in Austin. I was certain he was going to pop the question. I spent two hundred dollars on a new dress. Waxed everywhere. Had my hair done.”
“It didn’t go as planned?”
“Instead of getting down on one knee, he broke the news he’d snagged his dream job. Offered a position with CNN as a war correspondent in the Middle East. He decided he wanted the job more than he wanted me.”
“Stupid man.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Not stupid. We had different priorities. That’s all. Or maybe we had the same priorities. Our careers. I couldn’t ask him to give up on his dream to stay here in Texas for me. And how could I leave the family business? I grew up on this dude ranch. My parents count on me to run it.”
“Do you miss him?”
“I’m over him. I have a full life,” she said simply. “Breaking up worked out for us both. I just sort of wish I hadn’t wasted five and a half years waiting for him to commit.”
“But you did love him.”
“Apparently not enough to give up Texas and my family.”
“You shouldn’t have to cut off pieces of yourself in order to fit into someone else’s life,” Shane mused.
Meg looked startled. “That’s precisely what I told him.”
“What was his name?”
“Grant Portman.”
“I’ve seen his reporting on CNN. You were with that guy?”
“Why do you say it that way?”
“He thinks a lot of himself. You can tell by the way he preens on camera. You could do much better.”
“Oh,” she said. “And who do you have in mind?”
He grinned and said, without thinking, “Me.”
“I forgot to tell you,” she said, blowing past that, but even in the muted light he could tell she was blushing.
“Tell me what?”
“There’s one more step to the intimacy thing besides the questions.”
“What’s that? Getting naked? Now it’s all starting to make sense.”
Playfully, she swatted his shoulder. “No, it’s not getting naked.”
“What is it, then?”
“I doubt you’d be game.”
“Never know until you ask.”
“The final component . . .” She paused, teasing him, the vexing woman.
“Yes?”
“Stare deeply into each other’s eyes for four minutes. And it has to be four minutes. No shorter.”
“Piece of cake,” he said, making a dismissive noise even as his gut torqued at the thought of staring into her eyes for four whole minutes without kissing the hell out of her.
“You’re up for it?”
“Are you?”
“Bring it,” she scoffed.
“I’ll set the timer on my phone. Hopefully the battery will last that long.”
“I’m in.”
“Sit on the ground by the lantern.”
“Let’s do it.”
Kindled with yearning, they scooted off the bench, settled cross-legged onto the ground opposite each other, started the timer on Shane’s phone, and began the stare down.