Stroke of Fortune by Christine Rimmer Page B

application?”
    â€œWell, yes, and a reference, but—”
    â€œLet me see them.”
    â€œFlynt—”
    He held out his hand. Grace gave in and passed him the papers. “Thanks, Ma. Go on and relieve Anita, will you?”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œI’ll handle this.” He had that look. Josie recognized it and she was sure his mother did, too. It was the look that said he would do what he meant to do. Nothing—and no one—was going to talk him out of it.
    Grace nodded, the slightest downward tipping of her round chin. She knew her own son well enough to see when she couldn’t win. “Josie,” she said quietly, “it is good to see that you are well.”
    â€œThank you, Mrs. Carson. I’m pleased that you found another housekeeper who seems to be working out.”
    Grace nodded again and then slid around the end of the coffee table and left the room. Flynt let her get through the doors, then he spun on his heel and went to make certain they were both firmly shut. Josie waited where he’d left her, staring down at the rug beneath her feet, her pulse racing so fast and hard it made a rushing sound in her ears.
    She should tell him, firmly, to open the doors. Thatshe was leaving. That she’d made up her mind. Coming here had not been wise.
    But she only went on, head down like some shy little miss, staring at the roses twining in the rug, thinking that this was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? That this was why she’d come.
    She watched his fine, tooled boots come at her. They stopped not two feet from her chunky-heeled black shoes.
    He dropped the papers onto the coffee table and then he spoke very softly, for her ears alone. “Okay, Josie. You have something to tell me?”
    She made herself look up. He was wearing blue jeans and a slightly faded Western shirt. He smelled of that tempting, expensive aftershave he always wore, and of saddle soap. He’d probably been out riding earlier in the day. Unlike Matt, who was the real cowboy in the family, Flynt dressed like a businessman more often than not. He ran the family interests, while Matt saw to the day-to-day workings of the ranch itself.
    Josie’s glance stopped at the top snap of his shirt. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to look into those eyes of his right then.
    He whispered her name, putting a question mark at the end of it.
    Something in his tone did it. She was able to raise her head and look into his face.
    â€œWell?” He put those hands of his on her shoulders oh-so-gently.
    Her knees turned to water. She wanted only to sway against him, feel the heat and hardness of him. Oh, she had missed him. They’d only shared that one night, and that had been eleven months ago, eleven months that felt like forever—and somehow, at the same time, like just yesterday. He was smiling, the most tender, gentle smile. “It’s all right,” he told her. “I’ll stand with you. I promise you. I just need the truth from you, and we can start to figure out how to handle all this.”
    She blinked. “How to…?” And then she understood.
    He thought she had come to confess about the baby.
    She had to press her lips together or else she would have burst out into a wild-woman shout of hysterical laughter. He just wouldn’t get it. Wouldn’t listen. He wasn’t a stupid man, but on this subject you would have thought he had a block of wood for a brain.
    Some of her agitation must have shown on her face, or maybe he felt her stiffen under his hands. “Shh,” he said soothingly, in the way a man would gentle a spooked horse. “It’s okay, settle down.”
    â€œFlynt.”
    â€œGo ahead. You can say it. Just say the truth and we can go on from here.”
    â€œFlynt, please.”
    â€œJosie—”
    â€œNo.” She stepped back. He resisted letting her go, but only briefly. Then he caught himself