CHAPTER TWO

 

Cordell Overman had a really good idea of how a thirsty man felt staring at an oasis in the desert. The moment he laid eyes on her, his mouth went so dry, it almost hurt to swallow. When he tried to speak, he experienced a moment of sheer panic, because his tongue refused to cooperate. His pulse had been racing for two days at the mere thought of seeing Faith Goodacre again, but the real-life version of her literally took his breath away.

The beautiful girl he remembered—dreamed about, pined after, ached for—had become a beautiful woman. Her curves, already lush and feminine back in high school, had filled out in a way that made his palms sweat, and the upward thrust of her chin exposed the pale hollow under her jaw where he used to plant kisses just to hear the sweet noises she made. Those lips—

"I'm going to grab a glass of sweet tea," Faith said abruptly. "Can I—I offer you a glass?" She stumbled over the words, her cheeks growing pink when she caught him gawking at her.

Was he drooling? He wouldn't be surprised. He ran a hand over his mouth and along his jawline, just in case. He wasn't thinking about Whispering Hills, that was for sure, and from the look on her face, he could tell that she could tell exactly what he was thinking.

He glanced away, corralling his wayward thoughts. I know, I know. But I am just a man, Lord, and you made Faith Goodacre a very fine woman. He took a slow, steadying breath and counted backward from ten. At four, he braved looking at her again.

She kicked at a clump of tenacious fescue that had rooted itself in the gravel, her head down, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Don't shut me out, Faith. "Sure. I'd appreciate a cold drink." His voice held just the slightest rasp, but he cleared his throat, hoping she hadn't noticed. He took a step toward her, and she flinched, shifting backward and tripping over the leg of a sawhorse. When he reached out to steady her, she put an arm up as though to ward off an attack. Withdrawing his hand, he wasn't sure whether to be offended or not. "You all right?"

"Of course." She gestured down the driveway ahead of her. "Shall we?"

When Cord reached out again, she side-stepped a little and glared up at him. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Just grabbing the flowers." He picked up the jar from where it sat on the rock wall, grinning in spite of her indignant tone. He kinda liked the fact that she didn't seem any more immune to him than he was to her. "I'll carry them for you."

"Oh. Right. Thanks." She turned on her heel and started toward the house, not waiting for him.

He didn't mind, no, indeed. Not when she filled out those jeans the way she did. He paused to take in the wonder of it all.

He was having a hard time remembering why he'd walked away from her in the first place.

"You going to join me, Cordell Overman, or are you just going to stand there ogling my backside all day?"

Cord laughed out loud and caught up to her quickly, his strides sure and long. "How did you know?" he said, intentionally crowding her just a little. He held the jar of flowers out in front of him, careful not to slosh the water on their toes. "You got eyes in the back of your head or something? Or is that just a mom thing?" He nudged her with an elbow.

A strange look crossed her face, quickly followed by a scowl. "You were practically burning a hole in my Levis. Cut it out."

"I apologize. You're right. Totally out of line." He meant it, too. Oh, he wanted to stare at her all day, and not just her backside. He wanted to pull her up against him and kiss her until her eyes rolled back in her head. He wanted to— "Stop!"

"What?" Faith jerked to a halt and planted her hands on her hips, glaring up at him once again.

Cord squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head before opening them again. "Never mind. Sorry."

"Wow. Really?" When he only shrugged, she said, "You know, maybe you should just tell me what you need, and we can forget about the tea." She narrowed her eyes at him and waited for his response. "I really do have work to do." The toe of her right foot tapped impatiently, making him smile again.

"And I really could use that sweet tea. Might cool us both down some," he replied, appreciating the high spots of color in her cheeks. "You taking back your offer of hospitality, Miss Goodacre?" He lifted the columbines pointedly and cocked his head to give her a cajoling look. "Even after I brought you your favorite fairy dragon flowers?"

The right side of her mouth twitched just the tiniest bit. She was fighting back a smile, he could tell. A rush of satisfaction coursed through him and he reached out to tweak the brim of her hat. She leaned backward, pulling out of his reach, but her glare had softened. He was getting through to her.

"Then let's go. I don't have all day." She took off again, not bothering to check if he was following or not.

He did not look at her backside. Not directly.