Wrangling the Redhead - By Sherryl Woods Page 0,33
burned if you stand out there too much longer.”
Wade’s voice carried on the still night air, startling her. She could barely see him in the shadows, his feet propped on the porch railing.
“Sorry, I got sidetracked by Grady and Karen,” she muttered as she joined him.
“Which doesn’t explain why you were just standing out here,” he teased. “Scared to come inside?”
The accurate accusation grated. A flash of temper came and went in a heartbeat. “That just makes me smart,” she said.
“Oh? How so?”
She forced herself to meet his gaze without blinking. “Because of what happened in the barn a little while ago. We agreed we were going a little too fast. Now here we are alone together again, with all that energy still charging around in the atmosphere.”
He grinned. “Then it is still charging around for you, too? I was afraid it was just me. I took the coldest shower I’ve ever taken in my life, and then you waltz across the yard and I’m so hot I could haul you straight off to bed right now.”
Lauren swallowed hard at the temptation that shot through her. “We had a deal,” she reminded him.
He sighed heavily. “I was afraid you were going to bring that up. Leave it to you to test a man’s honor. Oh, well, come on inside and let’s eat. We’ll have a pleasant, quiet dinner and then discuss the rest.”
She grinned despite herself. “You, a man of action, intend to discuss whether or not we have sex?”
“Hey, I’m a reasonable guy. I’m willing to look at all sides of the issue.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
When he led the way inside, carefully keeping his hands to himself, Lauren looked around curiously. It was a typical, simply decorated ranch outbuilding—a cottage, really—with masculine colors and a few oversize pieces of furniture suited to big men. The only personal touch she could see was a small framed picture of a woman, her arms wrapped around the waist of a grinning boy. There was no mistaking that the boy was a younger version of Wade.
“Is this your mother?” she asked him.
He glanced at the picture, then nodded.
“She’s beautiful.”
The comment seemed to startle him. “Yeah, I suppose she is.”
“What about your father?” she asked, then saw at once that it was the wrong thing to bring up. His jaw clenched visibly at the mention of his father, and his hands bunched into fists.
“Never knew him,” he said tersely. “It was just my mother and me.” He turned away and began cooking the diced onions and peppers in the omelette pan on the stove. He focused so hard on his actions, Lauren was surprised all the circuits in his brain didn’t burn up.
“I’m sorry,” she said, hoping to smooth things over.
“Nothing to be sorry for. It’s just the way it was,” he said, his grim expression belying the casual tone. “We did okay.”
“Where is your mother now?”
“Still working at the same bar in Billings.”
Lauren debated her next question, then decided to ask anyway. She needed to know what made Wade tick, and the only way to get to the truth was to push the boundaries, even when the topic clearly made him uncomfortable. “Is that where she met your father?”
He turned and scowled at her. “Why do you care about this?”
“Because you’re not as blasé about it as you want me to believe. What do you know about him?”
“I know that he was a no-good son of a bitch who used my mother, then paid her off, rather than deal with the consequences. She wasn’t the first woman Blake Travis used and discarded, and she likely wasn’t the last. That’s what his kind do.”
Wade’s bitterness cut straight through her. “His kind?”
“The rich and powerful. They take whatever they want. They’re users. Give me someone who does an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay any time.”
Lauren felt her gut tighten at the depth of his anger toward an entire category of people. Worse, in his eyes, she was probably a part of that very category. He just didn’t know it. How would he feel about her once he learned the obscene amount of money she made for what must seem like play to the uninitiated?
“Grady’s rich, but he’s not like that,” she pointed out, testing the waters with an example less risky than herself.
“No,” he agreed. “Grady seems to be a decent guy. I have no complaints where he’s concerned, but I also have no illusions. He’s got money and he’s got