Screwdrivered (Cocktail 3)

“Always.” She leaned closer.

“I think I might be living in a romance novel.”

She looked confused. “What?”

“Yeah—like things are happening around me and to me, just like in a romance novel.”

“Uh-huh. And do you see any of these things happening right now, Viv?”

“No no, not like that. I’m not delusional. But think about it. Put yourself in a romance novel head for a moment.”

“I don’t have a bodice.”

“Neither do I, but I’m thinking about getting one. But seriously, think about it. I live on the other side of the country, and I get this mysterious phone call in the middle of the night. I inherit a house from someone I barely know, no strings attached. An opportunity to start fresh, start a new life—and then there’s a cowboy?”

“And Hank’s the cowboy, right?”

“Of course he’s the cowboy! He wears a hat and rides a horse!”

“Okaaaay. What else?”

“What do you mean, what else? That’s the beginning of a classic romance novel!” I said, thumping my fist on the counter.

“But the cowboy isn’t interested in you.”

“I know, so far. But that’s all part of it, right?”

“And there’s no one else in this equation?”

“Huh?”

“What if there’s a dark horse in this romance novel?”

“You mean Paula?” I asked, confused.

“Oh forget it. But here’s what I want to know. Where’s the happy ending?”

“Mmm, the happy ending.” I sighed, licking my fork.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Horny. There’s a difference. Sorry, Mr. Martin.” I nodded to my right.

“No, seriously. How can this have a happy ending, with Hank cast as the hero?”

I thought for a moment, temporarily puzzled. Truth be told, I’d thought something would have happened by now. I’d been here for weeks. A long time to wait for some touch.

A lightbulb went off. “A heroine can never know the outcome, otherwise why would she bother with the journey? The story would be boring if she just showed up with a mattress strapped to her back in the first chapter, right?”

“I don’t know, there’s something to be said for a quickie. Sorry, Mr. Martin. More coffee?”

“You girls are nutty,” he said, extending his mug.

I walked home, thinking over everything Jessica had said. I didn’t know how much longer I could be around Hank without flat-out pouncing on him. Like a junkie, I was jonesing for a romance novel coupling. I needed a pulsating pillar of passion, a mammoth male member, a cocky cobra ready to tangle with my vaginal mongoose.

I also needed to think about upgrading my reading. My imagery was actually starting to bother me.

When I got back to the house, I saw Hank feeding the chickens. I automatically added a bounce to my step. “Hey there, Hank,” I cooed.

“ ’Sup?”

“I’m leaving to go back to Philly tomorrow. Will you watch over everything for me while I’m gone?”

“That’s my job.” He tossed more feed to the chicken.

I sighed.

“Philly? Is that where you’re from?” he asked, and my heart damn near leapt out of my chest. An honest-to-God question!

“Yes! That’s where I’m from.”

“Oh,” he said, then looked me in the eyes. “I like their cheese.”

Huh? Their cheese? Oh! “Sure, Philly cream cheese. Good stuff. I like it too,” I said, grinning broadly.

“I like it on bagels,” he said. “But not on toast.”

Instantly my mind dreamed up a vision of Hank naked in bed, with a nice big bagel around his—

“Toast with jam is good, though. I like jam,” he said, bringing me back from my daydreams.

Ah. Okay. Still talking about breakfast foods.

“Jam is good.” What was not good was this conversation. How could I turn this into something a bit more sexy, a bit more sensual, a bit more turn-me-around-and-plow-into-me-from-behind, please, and thank you very much.

Talk about things he was interested in, something that might lead to him being interested in how interesting I was. “So. Hank. I was thinking. Maybe when I get back we could arrange a riding lesson?”

“Riding?” he asked, throwing the last bit of the feed to the chickens and heading for the barn.

“Yeah, take the horses out? I haven’t been riding since I was a kid, but maybe you could teach me? Get me comfortable again?”

He paused then, turned, and looked at me. Hard. My heart pounded. We stared at each other across the barnyard, chickens running here and there. They were obviously affected by the animal magnetism pulsing across the space between us, the man finally seeing the woman as she was. His stare was as hard as I hoped he’d be. He opened that perfect mouth to say—

Toot toot!

Dammit. Clark was stopping by this morning to go over the bid from the contractor I liked the best. Also the one who wanted to make the most changes, so I was ready for a fight.

He pulled into the driveway and sprang from the car, a scone in his hand and a smile on his face. Which faltered slightly when he saw Hank and me having a stare-off across some chickens.

When the Cowboy saw the Librarian? He approached, scattering fowl left and right. Slowly but purposefully he strode, even when he trod directly on a dried corncob. He stood right in front of me, his gaze drifting down to my now-heaving bosom, then meeting my eyes again from underneath his lashes. His look was heavy, and pointed, and smoldering. His lips parted, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You think you wanna ride, huh?”