Hawk's Way Grooms. Joan Johnston

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      “Wait.”

      He turned back. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Jewel. I won’t talk about it. I won’t even bring up the subject.” His lips curled wryly. “Of course, I just brought up the subject to say I won’t bring it up, but I promise it’ll be off-limits. I need a place to rest and get better, and I thought you might not mind if I stayed here.”

      His eyes looked wounded, and her heart went out to him. She crossed to him, because that seemed easier than making him walk to her with the cane. His arms opened to her and she walked right into them and they hugged tightly.

      “God, I’ve missed you,” he said, his deep voice rumbling in her ear.

      “This feels good,” she admitted. “It’s been too long, Mac.”

      There was nothing sexual in the embrace, just two old friends, two very good friends, reconnecting after a long separation. Except Jewel was aware of the strength in his arms, the way her breasts felt crushed against his muscular chest and the feel of his thighs pressed against her own. She stiffened, then forced herself to relax.

      “You’re taller than I remember,” he said, tucking her towel-covered head under his chin.

      “I’ve grown three inches since…I’ve grown,” she said, realizing how difficult it was going to be avoiding the subject she wanted to avoid. “It’s a good thing, or I’d get a crick in my neck looking up at you.”

      He had to be four inches over six feet. She remembered him being tall at nineteen, but he must have grown an inch or two since then, and of course his shoulders were broader, his angular features more mature. He was a man now, not a boy.

      He was big. He was strong. He could physically overwhelm her. But she had known Mac forever. He would never hurt her. She reminded herself to relax.

      The towel slipped off, and her hair cascaded to her waist.

      “Good Lord,” Mac said, his fingers tangling in the length of it. “Your hair was never this long, either.”

      “I like it long.” She could drape it forward over her shoulders to help cover her Enormous Endowments.

      “I think I’m going to like it, too,” he said, smiling down at her with a teasing glint in his eyes.

      She gave him an arch look. “Are you flirting with me, Mr. Macready?”

      “Who, me? Naw. Wouldn’t think of it, Ruby.”

      Jewel grinned. In the old days, he had often called her by the names of different precious gems—“Because you’re a Jewel, get it?”—and the return to such familiarity made her feel even more comfortable with him. “Get out of here so I can get dressed,” she said, stepping back from his embrace.

      The robe gaped momentarily, and his glance slipped downward appreciatively. She self-consciously pulled the cloth over her breasts to cover them completely.

      “Looks like they’ve grown, too,” he quipped, leering at her comically.

      She should have laughed. It was what she would have done six years ago, before disaster had struck. But she couldn’t joke with him anymore about her overgenerous breasts. She blamed the size of them for what had happened to her. “Don’t, Mac,” she said quietly.

      He sobered instantly. “I’m sorry, Jewel.”

      She managed a smile. “It’s no big deal. Just get out of here and let me get dressed.”

      He backed up, and for the first time she saw how much he needed the cane. His face turned white around the mouth with pain, and he swore under his breath.

      “Are you all right?” she asked.

      “No problem,” he said. “Leg’s almost as good as new. Figure I’ll start jogging tomorrow.”

      “Jogging?”

      He gave her a sheepish look. “So maybe I’ll start out walking. Want to go with me?”

      She daintily pointed the toe of her once-injured leg in his direction. “Walking isn’t my forte. How about a horseback ride?”

      He shook his head. “Gotta walk. Need the exercise to get back into shape. Come with me. My limp is worse than yours, so you won’t have any trouble keeping up. Besides, it would give us a chance to catch up on what we’ve both been doing the past six years. Please come.”

      She wrinkled her nose.

      “Pretty please with sugar on it?”

      It was something she had taught him to say if he really wanted a woman to do something. She gave in to the smile and let her lips curve with the delight she felt. “All right, you hopeless romantic. I’ll walk with you, but it’ll have to be early because I’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

      “Figured I’d go early to beat the heat,” he said. “Six-thirty?”

      “Make it six, and you’ve got a deal.” She reached out a hand, and Mac shook it.

      The electric shock that raced up her arm was disturbing. It took an effort to keep the frown from her face. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to be physically attracted to Mac Macready. They were just good friends. Yeah, and horses come in purple and orange.

      She closed the bathroom door and sank onto the edge of the tub. She had always thought Mac was cute, but he had matured into a genuine hunk. No problem. She would handle the attraction the way she had from the beginning, by thinking of him as a brother.

      But he wasn’t her brother. He was a very attractive, very available man. Who once had been—still was?—her best friend.

      She clung to that thought, which made it easier to keep their relationship in perspective. It was much more important to have a friend like Mac than a boyfriend.

      JEWEL REPEATED THAT SENTENCE like a litany the next morning at 5:55 when Mac showed up in the kitchen dressed in Nikes and black running shorts and nothing else. The kitchen door was open and through the screen she was aware of flies buzzing and the lowing of cattle. A steady, squeaking sound meant that her youngest brother, Colt, hadn’t gotten around to oiling the windmill beside the stock pond. But those distractions weren’t enough to keep her from ogling Mac’s body.

      A wedge of golden hair on his chest became a line of soft down as it reached his navel and disappeared beneath his shorts. She consciously forced her gaze upward.

      Mac’s tousled, collar-length hair was a sun-kissed blond, and his eyes were as bright as the morning sky. He hadn’t shaved, and the overnight beard made him look both dangerous and sexy.

      Without the concealing T-shirt and jeans, she could see the sinewy muscles in his shoulders and arms, the washboard belly and the horrible mishmash of scars on his left leg. He leaned heavily on the cane.

      She poured him a bowl of cornflakes and doused them with milk. “Eat. You’re running late.”

      “Oh, that I were running,” he said. “I’m afraid walking is the best СКАЧАТЬ