Talking After Midnight. Dakota Cassidy

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СКАЧАТЬ him bend over and scoop up his tool belt.

      When he lifted his head, Marybell tugged the brim of the hat down again, leaving only his lower torso for her eyes to feast upon.

      If she didn’t stop gawking, at any moment he’d realize who she was and her whole life in Plum Orchard, so carefully crafted these past months, would explode. She’d lose everything. Admiration turned to panic, clawing her gut, making her blood run cold in her veins.

      Tag turned to her, not as smiley as he was a few moments ago. “Where’s your water heater?”

      Instead of being gracious, or even just a little grateful Em had insisted out of the goodness of her heart that Tag come fix her heat, she pointed to the back of her small kitchen where a door led to the garage.

      In fact, she all but grunted the directions like some cave dweller.

      As Tag strode past her, his muscled thighs working beneath his jeans like well-oiled machines, he looked as though he was going to stop and say something, then thought better of it because he liked his head attached to his neck, and wandered out to her kitchen.

      When Marybell heard the door leading to the garage shut, she attempted a sigh of relief, only to end up thwarted by the crackle of her chest. Hopping up off the couch and grabbing her phone from the end table, she ignored the unbelievable ache of her muscles and the wheeze in her lungs and headed straight for the bathroom, where she took one look at her image and almost fainted dead.

      Closing the door, she gripped the edge of the sink until her knuckles were white. She was in no condition to apply her “people shield” tonight, so the ridiculous hat stayed. Pulling it from her head, she wet a cloth and pressed it to her flaming cheeks, bright with fever, her body still warring with chills and the sweats.

      You’re being incredibly rude, Marybell Lyman.

      Mercy, she was indeed. Yet better rude than revealed.

      A brisk rap of knuckles on the door made her jump, almost tripping on her work boots, carelessly discarded beside the bathtub when she’d come home last night.

      “Marybell?”

      Yes, Prince Gruff And Hot? She shivered, at war with his affect on her as much as her wish to remain hidden behind the door until he went away. “Yes?” she managed to croak. Think, think, think, Marybell!

      “I just need to grab a few things from my truck. I’ll be right back.”

      Her lips trembled, but she managed to force the words out. “Okay...and thank you,” she remembered to add.

      Tag’s footsteps rang in her ears just as she sank to the edge of her tub. What to do, what to do? Clearly, she had to leave the bathroom. She couldn’t hide in here the entire time he was fixing her heat. How ungrateful and rude would that appear?

      Lost in misery, she jumped when her phone rang, screeching out a Marilyn Manson tune. With shaky fingers, she rode her finger across the surface without even bothering to look and see the identity of the caller. “Hello?”

      “Oh, my poor, sweet angel! You sound just dreadful. If this keeps up, I’m calling Doc Johnson,” Em crooned into her ear. “Are you okay? Is Tag there with you?”

      She nodded as though Em could see her. Oh, yes. He was here. So very here.

      “MB, honey?”

      Marybell gnawed on the inside of her lip, perusing the shelves above her toilet, looking... “Yes! Yes, he’s here. Thank you, Em. I told y’all I’d be fine. You didn’t have to bother.”

      “Oh, hush. Friends are never a bother. So, has he figured out the problem?”

      Not yet, but when he does... She frowned. “Problem?”

      “Yes, dumplin’. The problem with your heat,” Em insisted.

      Oh, he has no problem with my heat. He’s got me plenty heated. Marybell cringed. Finding this man attractive was absolutely a no-no. “Um, not yet. He’s in...”

      “Are you all right, MB? What’s goin’ on over there?”

      Realizing she was distracted, Marybell pressed the heel of her hand to her head, massaging the incessant throb. “Everything’s fine, Em. I’m sorry. The cold meds are making me fuzzy, is all.”

      Em giggled into the phone, light and sweet. “Or is it Tag makin’ you fuzzy? He’s pretty cute, you know, respectin’ the fact that he’s the love of my life’s relative, of course.”

      Of course. Boundaries and such. “I didn’t really notice,” she muttered just as her eyes landed on a way to solve her problem, hoping to hide the fact that her pants would be on fire right now if her denial wasn’t for such a good cause.

      “Oh, you did, too. Why, surely you’re not blind from the ragin’ flu, are you, MB?” Em teased her, sliding into a thinly disguised, nosy inquiry. She was forever trying to set Marybell up with someone, declaring she just wanted everyone to be as happy as she and Jax were.

      “He’s been very nice.” There. No more discussion. She reached up, pushing her endless bottles of conditioner out of the way. The Lord was good. Eureka!

      “Nice? Is that how one describes men like the Hawthorne boys? Nice?” she prodded.

      Marybell fished out the large container, filled with green goo. “Em?”

      “Marybell?”

      Her sigh was ragged as she tucked the phone under her chin and tried to screw the lid off the jar, putting it between her knees and giving it what little she had left. “I look horrible. I smell like I’ve been swimmin’ in a mentholated pool, my eyes are swollen and goopy and my nose is red as your mama’s roses. What difference does it make how I describe this man? I can promise you this, as crazy bag lady as I look right now, he’ll just be glad to get out of here visually unscarred. He won’t give a hoot how I describe him.”

      Em sighed into the phone, the happy noises of her household full of children and assorted pets in the background. “Sorry. I was doin’ your dreamin’ for you, wasn’t I?”

      Because every girl dreamed of falling for a man who, if he knew her true identity, would rather spit on her than acknowledge her existence. End of dream. “I have to go now, Em. I don’t want to be rude to the very nice Tag Hawthorne while he fixes my heat.” Or heats my fix. Or something along those lines.

      “Now, you listen to me, MB. You get yourself back to bed the moment Tag’s done, hear? And you stay there until you’re better. Your clients won’t die for lack of you. LaDawn’s got you covered. Now, one of us will be over in the morning to check on you and make you some breakfast, okay?”

      Marybell nodded again, finally loosening the lid on the jar.

      “You hear, MB?”

      “Yes! I can’t wait. The more chicken soup for my flu-riddled soul, the better,” she chirped. “And thank you again, Em. I really do appreciate you.” She clicked the phone off before Em had her married to Tag and fixin’ her heat for better or worse for an eternity.

      Dropping the phone into СКАЧАТЬ