off the sudden heat she felt as she recalled the sweetness of his lips on her breast. She looked straight
ahead, conscious of the blond head that turned toward her often now that they were on the little-used road.
Once she turned and gazed back into his eyes, so astonishingly blue in his tanned face.
Why does he keep looking at me?
She began to feel uncomfortable. She knew that her face was dirty and that the humid warmth had made a curly mop of her hair. Dimly she registered that her shorts were soiled, her shirt limp.
“Nelda.” The sound of her name coming from his lips made her heart lurch. “You never did say why you came back. I’d think that it would be pretty tame around here for you.”
She pulled in her bottom lip several times and stared straight ahead, mulling over in her mind what to reply.
“I suppose you would think that,” she said slowly. “But I can sum up my reasons in a few words. I got tired of the rushing, the noise, the backbiting, dog-eat-dog business of commercial decorating. I had a very successful year, so I could afford to come back to the farm to decide if I wanted to sell it or not. I also wanted to try my hand at a craft I haven’t had time for before.”
She waited for a reply, supportive or sarcastic; but Lute didn’t speak until they reached the house. He drove into the backyard and parked the car near the back door.
“You’d better see about getting the garage cleaned out so you can get the car into it this winter.”
C hapter F ive
N ELDA ’ S LEGS WERE TREMBLING WHEN SHE GOT out of the car. She started toward the house to open the door for Lute, then remembered that she had put the house key on the ring with her car keys. She turned back and ran full tilt into Lute, who had moved to open the back door of the car. His hands shot out to steady her. Her thighs and hips came into contact with his. She jumped back.
“Oh, sorry. I need the keys.”
Still holding on to her arm with one hand, he reached into the car and pulled them from the ignition. She took the keys, and, when she moved away, his hand dropped from her arm.
“Are you going to put him on the porch or in the house?” His voice sounded perfectly natural, but her poise had vanished, and she croaked out her answer.
“The house.”
“Fix a place for him. You’d better lay papers; he won’t be able to go out for a while.”
Nelda escaped into the house. Lute had the power
to completely disarm and frighten her, yet he thrilled her, too. Right now she fought to get a handle on her emotions before she made a fool of herself. Damn him! Why couldn’t he have just turned into a balding, potbellied, beer-swilling redneck that she could have dismissed from her thoughts at first sight.
Lute carried the groggy dog into the kitchen and gently placed him on the bed Nelda brought down from her bedroom.
“It would be cooler if he lay on the tile. You should have an air conditioner. It’s like an oven in here.”
“Oven! Oh heavens! I forgot my roast.” She hurried to the stove and pulled down the oven door. The light came on and she saw the small dark brown roast lying in a sea of juices. “It isn’t ruined,” she said with surprise. She looked over her shoulder at Lute. He was standing on spread legs, his hands wedged in the back pockets of his jeans. Something close to a smile on his face. Happiness suddenly filled her and she smiled too.”
“Here, let me get the pan out and you can turn the oven off.” He took a towel from the counter and lifted the roaster to the top of the stove. “It’s no wonder it’s hot in here. All the windows are closed.
“This type of storm window stays on, and the bottom slides up,” he explained, as he twisted the hook on the top of one window sash, effortlessly lifted the window, and reached out to slide up the outer pane and pull down the screen. “This winter, if you’re here, you’ll slide the screen up again and lower the storm.”
“I know how
ahead, conscious of the blond head that turned toward her often now that they were on the little-used road.
Once she turned and gazed back into his eyes, so astonishingly blue in his tanned face.
Why does he keep looking at me?
She began to feel uncomfortable. She knew that her face was dirty and that the humid warmth had made a curly mop of her hair. Dimly she registered that her shorts were soiled, her shirt limp.
“Nelda.” The sound of her name coming from his lips made her heart lurch. “You never did say why you came back. I’d think that it would be pretty tame around here for you.”
She pulled in her bottom lip several times and stared straight ahead, mulling over in her mind what to reply.
“I suppose you would think that,” she said slowly. “But I can sum up my reasons in a few words. I got tired of the rushing, the noise, the backbiting, dog-eat-dog business of commercial decorating. I had a very successful year, so I could afford to come back to the farm to decide if I wanted to sell it or not. I also wanted to try my hand at a craft I haven’t had time for before.”
She waited for a reply, supportive or sarcastic; but Lute didn’t speak until they reached the house. He drove into the backyard and parked the car near the back door.
“You’d better see about getting the garage cleaned out so you can get the car into it this winter.”
C hapter F ive
N ELDA ’ S LEGS WERE TREMBLING WHEN SHE GOT out of the car. She started toward the house to open the door for Lute, then remembered that she had put the house key on the ring with her car keys. She turned back and ran full tilt into Lute, who had moved to open the back door of the car. His hands shot out to steady her. Her thighs and hips came into contact with his. She jumped back.
“Oh, sorry. I need the keys.”
Still holding on to her arm with one hand, he reached into the car and pulled them from the ignition. She took the keys, and, when she moved away, his hand dropped from her arm.
“Are you going to put him on the porch or in the house?” His voice sounded perfectly natural, but her poise had vanished, and she croaked out her answer.
“The house.”
“Fix a place for him. You’d better lay papers; he won’t be able to go out for a while.”
Nelda escaped into the house. Lute had the power
to completely disarm and frighten her, yet he thrilled her, too. Right now she fought to get a handle on her emotions before she made a fool of herself. Damn him! Why couldn’t he have just turned into a balding, potbellied, beer-swilling redneck that she could have dismissed from her thoughts at first sight.
Lute carried the groggy dog into the kitchen and gently placed him on the bed Nelda brought down from her bedroom.
“It would be cooler if he lay on the tile. You should have an air conditioner. It’s like an oven in here.”
“Oven! Oh heavens! I forgot my roast.” She hurried to the stove and pulled down the oven door. The light came on and she saw the small dark brown roast lying in a sea of juices. “It isn’t ruined,” she said with surprise. She looked over her shoulder at Lute. He was standing on spread legs, his hands wedged in the back pockets of his jeans. Something close to a smile on his face. Happiness suddenly filled her and she smiled too.”
“Here, let me get the pan out and you can turn the oven off.” He took a towel from the counter and lifted the roaster to the top of the stove. “It’s no wonder it’s hot in here. All the windows are closed.
“This type of storm window stays on, and the bottom slides up,” he explained, as he twisted the hook on the top of one window sash, effortlessly lifted the window, and reached out to slide up the outer pane and pull down the screen. “This winter, if you’re here, you’ll slide the screen up again and lower the storm.”
“I know how
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