Wishes for Tomorrow: Westmoreland's Way. Brenda Jackson

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      Chapter 3

      Glancing out the window Pam saw Dillon’s car the moment it pulled up in front of the house. She took a sip of her coffee while watching him, grateful that the window was designed in a way that gave her a view of anyone arriving. From what she’d been told, her great-grandfather had deliberately built the house that way to have an advantage over anyone who came calling without their knowledge.

      Today she was making full use of that advantage.

      After he brought the car to a stop, she watched as he opened the car and got out. He stood for a moment to study her home, which gave her an opportunity to study him.

      He was tall—she’d noticed that last night. But last night she hadn’t had time to fully check him out. She couldn’t help but appreciate what she saw now. Nice shoulders. Firm abdomen. Muscled chest. Taut thighs. He was wearing jeans and a blue Western shirt that revealed strong arms, and a black Stetson was on his head.

      She sighed deeply, thinking that inviting him to come back today might not have been a good idea after all, just as Fletcher had claimed. She glanced down at her hand holding the coffee cup and couldn’t miss the diamond ring on her finger, the one Fletcher had put there a week ago.

      Okay, so she was an engaged woman, one who would be marrying a nice guy in a few months. But being engaged, or married for that matter, didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate a fine specimen of a man when she saw one. Besides, her best friend from college, Iris Michaels, would give her hell if she didn’t check him out and then call to give her all the hot-tamale details.

      She blinked as she nearly burnt her tongue on a sip of coffee when Dillon looked straight at her through what she’d always considered her secret window. How had he known about the side view? To anyone else it would appear to be a flat wall in the shadow of a huge oak tree.

      There was only one way to find out. She pushed her chair away from the table and stood. As she made her way out of the kitchen toward the living room, she decided maybe it would be better for him not to know she’d been sitting here watching him since he’d arrived.

      She slowly opened the door and was afforded an opportunity to watch him unseen some more when his attention was diverted by a flock of geese in the sky. While he studied the geese, she again studied him, taking in the angle of his face while his head was tilted slightly backward. He was standing with his legs braced apart and with his hands in his pockets. There was something about that stance, that particular pose—especially on him—that made her just want to stand there and stare.

      While living in Los Angeles for five years she’d been surrounded by jaw-droppingly, stomach-stirringly handsome men, many from some of the world’s most elite modeling agencies. But none could hold a light to the man presently standing in her yard. His features were distinct—sharp facial bones, firm jaw and full lips. His hair beneath his Stetson was close cut and trimmed neatly around his head.

      A moment passed. Possibly two. When suddenly he turned his head and looked over in her direction.

      She had been caught.

      And she was immediately enveloped in his intense gaze. She was unable to do anything but return his stare while wondering why she was doing so. Why were her senses, her entire being, homed in on everything about him? This wasn’t good, she thought.

      At least that was what her mind was telling her, but her common sense hadn’t gotten there yet. It was being held captive within the scope of the darkest pair of eyes she’d ever seen.

      Somewhere in the not-too-faraway distance she heard the sound of a car backfiring and the sound ripped right into the moment. It was only then that she was able to slide her gaze away from his to look over across the wide expanse of yard.

      After taking a deep breath she returned her gaze to his, wrestled with those same senses she had lost control of earlier, placed a smile on her face and said, “Good morning, Dillon.”

      She wasn’t just off the boat, and knew that during the brief moment when their gazes had held, something had happened. Just as it had last night. She wasn’t sure of what, but she knew that it had. She also knew she would pretend that it hadn’t. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” she added.

      “Yes, it is,” he said, turning to walk over toward her. Holy cow! she thought, swallowing deeply. The man’s strides were sure, confident and deliberately masculine. He had one hell of a sexy walk, and what was so disturbing about it was that it seemed as natural as the sun rising in the morning.

      He came to a stop in front of her and met her gaze fleetingly before glancing up at the sun. His gaze then returned to her. “It might rain later, though.”

      She nodded. “Yes, it might.” She knew they were trying to get back in sync and to lessen the intensity of what had passed between them.

      “I hope I’m not too early,” he said in a deep, husky voice, breaking into her thoughts.

      “No, you’re fine. I was just having my morning coffee. Would you like to join me?”

      With an ultrasexy shrug of his massive shoulders, he smiled as he removed his hat. “Umm, I don’t know. I feel I’m taking a lot of your time already.”

      “No problem. Besides, you want to know about Raphel, right?”

      “Yes. Is there something you can tell me other than he was your great-grandfather’s partner and that he ran off with your great-grandmother, Portia Novak?”

      Pam chuckled as she led him through the house and headed toward the kitchen. “Portia wasn’t my great-grandmother,” she corrected. “A few years after she’d run off, he met my great-grandmother and they married.”

      When he sat down at the table, she said, “I’m sure you’ve heard some stories about Raphel and Portia.” She proceeded to pour him a cup of coffee.

      “No, in actuality, I hadn’t. I’d always assumed my great-grandmother Gemma was my great-grandfather’s only wife. It was only after my Atlanta Westmoreland relatives СКАЧАТЬ