in impatience. “How much longer before we head home? I don’t like it here. There’s nowhere to go and nothing to do.” Her voice rose siren-like into a frustrated whine. “All my friends are going to school activities and their parents have promised to take them somewhere great this summer—and I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere in a creepy house that doesn’t even have Wi-Fi! It’s lame!”
“Get over it,” Bronte mumbled in return, ignoring her daughter’s petulance. Yawning, she settled deeper into her pillow. But her eyes had only been closed for a second when they popped open again. “What man is here?”
“Jack, Jess, Jethro . . .” She shrugged. “You know . . .”she mumbled, distracted by whatever game was on her iPod “. . . that guy who took us to the hospital last night. He’s downstairs making breakfast.”
“There’s a man doing
what
downstairs?”
“Making breakfast.”
As soon as Kari’s words sank into her consciousness, Bronte sprang out of bed as if she’d been touched with a cattle prod. “Do you mean Jace Taggart?” she asked frantically, searching for her overnight bag. “Jace is making breakfast? How long has he been here?”
Kari shrugged. “I dunno. Half hour maybe.” She paused her game and grinned, meeting Bronte’s gaze in a rare moment of eye contact. “But his hired hand is
hot
with a capital
H-O-T!
”
“Kari!”
“Just sayin’.”
“Where’s Lily?”
Kari shrugged, saying, “I dunno. It’s not my job to keep track of her.” Then, she wandered from the room with the same blind indolence that she’d begun using since Phillip had bought her that damned electronic device years ago. It was a wonder to Bronte that her daughter hadn’t fallen down a manhole somewhere. Kari seemed to take it for granted that the universe would protect her while her mind roamed the infinite diversions to be found in a sixteen-gig hard drive.
As soon as Kari disappeared, Bronte scrambled to gather her clothes and rushed into the bathroom. With the smells of food permeating even the steam of her shower, she made the world land-speed record getting ready. Granted, she’d never make the finals in a beauty pageant. But she managed to tame her dark, wavy hair into a ponytail and throw on some makeup. Since they’d been on the road for days, her wardrobe selection was limited, but her jeans were clean and the white T-shirt wasn’t too wrinkled.
She galloped down the stairs, slowing only on the last few treads so that she didn’t run headlong into the kitchen.
When she crossed the threshold, Jace looked up from where he was frying eggs in a cast-iron skillet, and theintensity of his gaze had the ability to bring her to a stuttering halt.
Geez
. The man had cut a powerful figure in the dark, but that was nothing compared to the way he looked in stark daylight. Jace Taggart was tall and lean with powerful shoulders and thickly muscled arms. His T-shirt was worn, clinging to him in a way that hinted at a chiseled chest and abdomen. Below the wrinkled hem, his long legs were lovingly sheathed in faded Wranglers.
Phillip wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing Wranglers. He was more a proponent of designer jeans, which was a shame. But then again, Phillip wouldn’t have looked nearly as good in the fitted denim. Jace Taggart had a tight ass and long, long legs and—
Stop it, stop it, stop it!
Tearing her gaze away, Bronte forced herself to concentrate on something else—the sunny yolks of the eggs in the skillet, the deftness of Jace’s fingers as he handled the spatula. The long, slender fingers, and the—
Seriously?
“Feel free to start eating now, if you want.”
Bronte bit the inside of her lip to keep her mind from leaping to an entirely inappropriate interpretation of Jace’s remark. But she must have betrayed herself somehow, because Jace offered her a slow smile that caused her stomach to flip-flop like a landed fish.
She yanked her gaze away
“Get over it,” Bronte mumbled in return, ignoring her daughter’s petulance. Yawning, she settled deeper into her pillow. But her eyes had only been closed for a second when they popped open again. “What man is here?”
“Jack, Jess, Jethro . . .” She shrugged. “You know . . .”she mumbled, distracted by whatever game was on her iPod “. . . that guy who took us to the hospital last night. He’s downstairs making breakfast.”
“There’s a man doing
what
downstairs?”
“Making breakfast.”
As soon as Kari’s words sank into her consciousness, Bronte sprang out of bed as if she’d been touched with a cattle prod. “Do you mean Jace Taggart?” she asked frantically, searching for her overnight bag. “Jace is making breakfast? How long has he been here?”
Kari shrugged. “I dunno. Half hour maybe.” She paused her game and grinned, meeting Bronte’s gaze in a rare moment of eye contact. “But his hired hand is
hot
with a capital
H-O-T!
”
“Kari!”
“Just sayin’.”
“Where’s Lily?”
Kari shrugged, saying, “I dunno. It’s not my job to keep track of her.” Then, she wandered from the room with the same blind indolence that she’d begun using since Phillip had bought her that damned electronic device years ago. It was a wonder to Bronte that her daughter hadn’t fallen down a manhole somewhere. Kari seemed to take it for granted that the universe would protect her while her mind roamed the infinite diversions to be found in a sixteen-gig hard drive.
As soon as Kari disappeared, Bronte scrambled to gather her clothes and rushed into the bathroom. With the smells of food permeating even the steam of her shower, she made the world land-speed record getting ready. Granted, she’d never make the finals in a beauty pageant. But she managed to tame her dark, wavy hair into a ponytail and throw on some makeup. Since they’d been on the road for days, her wardrobe selection was limited, but her jeans were clean and the white T-shirt wasn’t too wrinkled.
She galloped down the stairs, slowing only on the last few treads so that she didn’t run headlong into the kitchen.
When she crossed the threshold, Jace looked up from where he was frying eggs in a cast-iron skillet, and theintensity of his gaze had the ability to bring her to a stuttering halt.
Geez
. The man had cut a powerful figure in the dark, but that was nothing compared to the way he looked in stark daylight. Jace Taggart was tall and lean with powerful shoulders and thickly muscled arms. His T-shirt was worn, clinging to him in a way that hinted at a chiseled chest and abdomen. Below the wrinkled hem, his long legs were lovingly sheathed in faded Wranglers.
Phillip wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing Wranglers. He was more a proponent of designer jeans, which was a shame. But then again, Phillip wouldn’t have looked nearly as good in the fitted denim. Jace Taggart had a tight ass and long, long legs and—
Stop it, stop it, stop it!
Tearing her gaze away, Bronte forced herself to concentrate on something else—the sunny yolks of the eggs in the skillet, the deftness of Jace’s fingers as he handled the spatula. The long, slender fingers, and the—
Seriously?
“Feel free to start eating now, if you want.”
Bronte bit the inside of her lip to keep her mind from leaping to an entirely inappropriate interpretation of Jace’s remark. But she must have betrayed herself somehow, because Jace offered her a slow smile that caused her stomach to flip-flop like a landed fish.
She yanked her gaze away
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