The Accidental Bride. Christina Skye

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      “That’s another first.” The man shoved his hat back on his head. “He really does like you.”

      There was something about the man that interested as well as aggravated Jilly. She sensed a story here, something that would explain his detached manner and why he didn’t like sharing anything about himself.

      She gave a shrug. “Most dogs do. People not so much. And forget about skiing. I’m here for the cooking retreat.”

      The cowboy frowned. “Didn’t know they had cooking workshops at the resort. But then I’m way out of touch. I don’t get into town all that much.” He looked away, his eyes on the horizon.

      “Why not?” The words just slipped out.

      His shoulders seemed to tighten. Then he ran a hand along his arm, almost as if it hurt him. “Lot of reasons.”

      As she looked at that tanned, lean face, Jilly felt the little hairs stir along her neck. Probably it was from the cool mountain air. Or maybe it was exhaustion from traveling. But there was no mistaking the sharp sense of awareness that hit her when he turned, reaching down next to her to pet Winslow.

      Jilly could almost feel the heat of his body. Or was that her imagination?

      Did he feel this weird kind of sensation, too? No way to know. His face gave away nothing. He barely smiled.

      But his eyes tracked her, and Jilly thought they had darkened as they watched her.

      Again her skin prickled. She was usually excellent at reading people. She had a real radar for lies, secrets or bad juju. Her friends called it her crud-meter, and they relied on it frequently in tackling their ongoing renovation project in Oregon. It had saved Jilly from getting involved with bad business partners and shady construction offers on a number of occasions.

      But right now the meter was dead cold. All she picked up was distance and sharp intelligence. Not a single emotion or detail came across from his face or his manner. And that was downright impossible. Jilly could always dig up something.

      But the cowboy—if he was a cowboy—remained a cipher. By now most men would be impatient to be on their way, unless of course they were trying to make a move on her.

      Not this man. He stood as if he controlled the spin of the earth. He seemed to register everything around him but showed no emotion about how it affected him. Just being near him left her feeling oddly …

      Unbalanced.

      But grounded, too. That was the right word. As if he gave her weight and order and security.

      And he wasn’t coming on to Jilly at all.

      There were no covert stares at her legs or clever banter. No sly hints as he tried to mentally undress her. He simply wasn’t interested, she decided.

      Not that it mattered to her.

      On impulse she held out her hand. “I’m Jilly O’Hara.”

      His eyes narrowed. Then slowly he held out a calloused hand. The movement seemed awkward and a little unsure. “Walker Hale. It’s … nice to meet you, ma’am.”

      “Oh, call me Jilly. Everybody does, except when they call me worse things.”

      Their hands opened and met and Jilly felt awareness flare into something sharper. When his rough fingers opened, they seem to fit her hand perfectly, as if they had been made for nothing else. The jolt of contact made her bite back a sharp breath.

      Jilly released his hand so fast it edged on rudeness. Even then her skin seemed to burn. “Well, Mr. Hale, I do love your dog.”

      The dog’s eyes followed her, alert and liquid. The first hint of a smile brushed the man’s face, and the change stunned Jilly. In that moment his expression softened, open and loving as he stared down. Well, who wouldn’t love a big, wonderful dog like his?

      He touched the dog’s head and said a few low words. Instantly the dog was all energy, dancing at Jilly’s side, full of joyous excitement.

      “Impressive. He’s like a totally different dog now. And you are one lovely ball of fur, aren’t you, honey?” Jilly laughed as the dog nudged her hand, demanding more ear-scratching bliss. “What a gorgeous friend you must make.”

      The man rubbed his jaw. “Not many people call Winslow honey.”

      “Well, I’m not most people.” Jilly raised an eyebrow, irritated that she couldn’t read the man. Not even a hint. “And honey is an equal-opportunity endearment. I use it for animals or people I like, male or female.”

      Something zinged between them. Recognition and possibilities and just a hint of something deeper. Speculation. Man/woman stuff. Jilly’s meter spiked hard with that one. Unfortunately the feeling vanished before she could pin it down.

      A muscle moved at Walker’s jaw. “Give the lady your paw, Winslow. Show your manners.” The big dog barked once, rolled over, raced around Jilly and then sat down, one paw raised perfectly.

      “Isn’t that the smartest thing? You’re a real beauty.”

      Walker scratched his dog’s head. Jilly noticed that this time his fingers moved until they found the exact spot she had pointed out at the dog’s ear.

      Fast learner, she thought. Maybe she had been wrong about him. Again Jilly felt the little stirring along her neck.

      “Lost Creek is a small place. Maybe I’ll see you around,” he said. “Are you staying for the week?”

      “Ten days, actually. The classes are supposed to be pretty intensive.”

      “I see.”

      The attendant clearing the luggage area glanced over at them, clearly impatient to finish his work. Jilly saw a yellow taxi pull up out front.

      “I’d better go before I lose my taxi.” Jilly swung her small suitcase off the carousel and wrinkled her nose. The smell of chocolate was unmistakable. Caro and her friends had stocked up on her favorite junk food in vain.

      As she lifted the suitcase, two bags of chocolate candy fell out of the unzipped pocket. More candy spilled out, landing on plastic-wrapped bags of snack cakes in various flavors. Before she could turn the suitcase over, two sheer pieces of white lace fluttered to the floor.

      Jilly blinked.

      A ruffled lace camisole with matching bikini panties? Definitely not hers. She didn’t do lace, not in any shape or style. Ditto on the ruffles.

      “That’s some stash of chocolate you have there.” Walker looked down at the camisole that had drifted down onto his well-worn brown cowboy boot. A muscle moved at his jaw. “Nice underwear, too.” He reached down and lifted the fragile lace carefully. “Sheer.”

      “Civilized people call it lingerie,” Jilly snapped. “And hands off, if you please.”

      But she couldn’t take her eyes away from the strong fingers that cradled the frilly lace. The contrast was so sharp it made her feel hot and strangely СКАЧАТЬ