A Home of Her Own Read online

  The bath…She remembered, even though she could scarcely think for all the sensations bombarding her brain. Warm flesh. Hard muscle. Crisp sheets. The scent of clean male.

  “That’s what I said,” she whispered, breathless with the excitement and daring of what she was doing. She’d never initiated a sexual encounter in her life, and she’d actually had the nerve to approach Mike Hill.

  “Then—” he rubbed his lips across her cheek “—let’s see what I can do.”

  She turned her head, wanting him to give her the long, slow kiss he’d given Lindsey in the barn—the long, slow kiss she’d been waiting for all her life. But he didn’t seem very interested in her mouth. He relieved her of her panties. Then his tongue and his hands worked such seductive magic, she almost forgot about kissing him, at least in such a soulful way. He soon had her writhing and moaning, bursting with need and the absolute certainty that nothing he was doing to her could hurt, whether it was her first time or not. She wanted Mike too badly; she wanted what his fingers promised.

  But when he put on the condom he took from the nightstand near the bed and answered her eagerness with a powerful thrust, that illusion shattered.

  She stiffened as she tried to absorb the sudden shock of the pain, and he froze.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She tried to catch her breath so she could speak, but the desire she’d felt only a moment earlier was fading fast, and she wanted to cry. This wasn’t like the scene in the barn. This meant nothing to Mike except physical release. She was doing exactly what her mother had done so many times. Only she’d sold herself for nothing….

  “I’m…I’m fine,” she managed to say.

  “Lucky?”

  She could sense his bewilderment. “Are you, um, finished?” she asked when he didn’t move.

  “Am I finished?” he repeated as though it was the oddest question in the world.

  “It’s…it’s okay if you’re not. I…I’ll wait. I’m okay with waiting.” She figured it was the right thing to do, since it was her fault they’d come this far. Whatever regrets she had she’d deal with later, on her own. She couldn’t blame him for her own error in judgment. She’d visited his room, not the other way around.

  He remained hesitant. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I hurt you.”

  “No, I…It…felt great. Really.” God, she couldn’t wait until morning, when she could go back to her rambling, lonely house and never see him again. The anguish of her mistake stabbed into her heart just as he stabbed into her body.

  I’m such a fool. What did I think this would do? What did I think it would change?

  Suddenly, he cursed and withdrew.

  His displeasure stung like a slap in the face. For all his indifference, she’d never seen him lose his temper before. But she’d made him angry. She’d screwed this up so badly. “I’m sorry. I did it wrong,” she said. “I didn’t know. I—Is it too late? I don’t mind if…if you want try again.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Her emotions were so scrambled she wasn’t sure if she was kidding or not, but she realized it was too late to smooth over her blunder. Blinking against the tears stinging her eyes, she scrambled to get out of his bed.

  He buried his head under a pillow while she struggled to get free of the sheets. “Please tell me this wasn’t your first time,” he said, his voice muffled.

  She couldn’t answer. She had to get out. She’d ruined it. It was her fault, not his. She’d understood the rules when she came in here. She’d known from the beginning that she meant nothing to him. She’d just thought—she didn’t know what she’d thought. She’d just wanted to live the dream once. That was all.

  Finally free of the bedding, she leapt to the carpet, but he caught her arm before she could go anywhere. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I…I didn’t think it would matter,” she said, then yanked away from him and ran to her own room where she put on several layers of clothes and curled into a tight ball beneath the covers, trying to make herself as small as possible. She was shaking so badly she didn’t think she’d ever stop, and she wanted to cry. But the tears that had seemed so close a moment before suddenly wouldn’t fall.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AFTER LUCKY LEFT his room, Mike groaned. Never in a million years would he have guessed that she was a virgin. She was younger than he was by a good stretch—too young for him, really. But she was certainly old enough to know what she was doing when she came to his room. With Red as her mother, she must’ve learned more about sex by the age of ten than most girls knew at fifteen. She could cuss like a sailor. She’d rambled around the whole United States. She had a body most men would die for. How did a woman like that get to be twenty-four without ever having sex?

  And why the hell didn’t she tell him?

  He would’ve been gentler with her. From the abandon of her response, from the signals she’d been giving him, he’d thought she was ready. Had he known the reality of the situation, he would’ve made sure—

  Had he known, he probably wouldn’t have touched her. He’d welcomed her into his bed only because he assumed she’d take their lovemaking in stride—and maybe, after going to all the trouble of rescuing her, he felt somewhat deserving of a small reward. But this…He cringed. This was different. She’d been miserable, and he’d been miserable, and…and what had he expected? This was Lucky Caldwell. Of course getting involved with her would result in regret.

  He sulked for several minutes, but then had to admit that there was more to what he felt than sexual frustration and disappointment. Now he could no longer believe that she was exactly like her mother and had therefore earned his derision. Besides her lack of sexual experience, he’d seen something vulnerable and sweet, even giving, beneath Lucky’s tough-girl attitude. He’d hurt her and disappointed her—deeply, he suspected—and yet she’d worried about being a generous partner.

  I’m sorry…I did it wrong…Is it too late?

  The contrast between the two images he now held of her troubled him—but only because he was dwelling on a situation better forgotten. It was for the best that their lovemaking had turned out the way it had; he and Lucky didn’t have any business touching each other.

  With another curse, he got out of bed, kicked aside the sweatshirt she’d left behind and threw on his clothes. This night was so screwed up he was going to forget it was night and go to work. He wouldn’t think about Lucky again….

  But his footsteps slowed as he neared her room, and he couldn’t help poking his head inside, just to make sure she was all right.

  “Lucky?” he said softly.

  She didn’t respond. He could see her curled up beneath the blankets, but he couldn’t hear her crying or anything. She must’ve gone to sleep. Wishing that made him feel better somehow, he closed her door and went outside to check on the horses.

  MIKE WAS COOKING again. Lucky could smell the food, but she didn’t want to get out of bed. She didn’t want to face him. She felt incredibly stupid for ever believing that one night in his arms could change anything in her world. And she knew he had to be asking himself why he’d shown any interest in her. Going into his room had been as big a gaffe as flashing him—only more humiliating because this time she’d been hoping for a positive reaction.

  She rubbed her temples to ease the pounding in her head as she tried to convince herself that last night’s embarrassment didn’t matter. He’d never liked her to begin with, so she hadn’t lost anything. Except a pair of panties. She felt uncomfortable without her underwear, but she wasn’t going back to his bedroom for any reason.

  Getting up, she dressed and made the bed as perfectly as she could, wishing she could erase any trace of herself. The urge to leave town obsessed her. She wanted to get in her car and simply drive away. But she’d left Morris’s house vacant too long already, and the promise of those names in her mother’s journal held her fast. Besides, she might’ve
been naive and foolish to do what she did, but she wouldn’t be a coward about it now.

  After using her finger and a little toothpaste to brush her teeth, she raked her fingers through her unruly hair, which had reached almost wild dimensions, took a deep breath, and walked down the hall to the kitchen.

  Mike didn’t turn at the sound of her approach. She thought he hadn’t heard her until he spoke. “Morning.”

  Her nails curled into her palms. “Morning,” she said.

  “Coffee?”

  She hesitated. It felt so odd letting him take care of her. She hated the complexity it added to their relationship, hated the grudging appreciation that was getting mixed up with the resentment and everything else. But she didn’t have much choice. She could drink his coffee or she could go without. Providing for herself wasn’t an option at the moment. “Please.”

  He filled a cup and set it on the table, where a pitcher of cream and a bowl of sugar waited. “Breakfast is coming right up.”

  She was hungry, but she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep the food down. Her ulcer was aching, burning. She shouldn’t have stopped taking her medication. “Smells good.”

  He flipped the pancakes on the griddle, then leaned against the counter. She could feel his attention on her but refused to meet his eyes in case he wanted to initiate a conversation that went deeper than, “One pancake or two?”

  Unfortunately, that didn’t stop him. “So…” he said with just enough emphasis to warn her that she wouldn’t like what he was about to say.

  Ignoring his lead-in, she crossed to the window, distraught to see that the storm still raged.

  “Are you going to explain what happened last night?” he asked.

  She kept her back to him. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You should’ve told me you never had sex with anyone.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter. A guy should know when he needs to…to take a little extra care and—”

  She didn’t want to hear this. “You’re going to burn the pancakes if you’re not careful.”

  “How do you know? You’ve barely even glanced in this direction.”

  “I can smell them.”

  “I don’t care about the pancakes. I’m trying to tell you that—”

  She held up her hand. “I know what you’re trying to tell me. I was an idiot last night. I get it. But it’s not your problem. And I don’t need your advice because I won’t ever be in that position again. A girl can only lose her virginity once, remember?”

  When he didn’t respond she turned to see why, and found him looking stricken instead of mollified. “It didn’t have to be that bad,” he finally said.

  “It couldn’t have been any different,” she said flatly. “Anyway, I was wondering if maybe I could get a ride into town.”

  He frowned. “What’s the matter, Lucky? You itchin’ to run again?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “What is it you keep running from?”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Is it that you’re afraid?”

  She tried to throw him off with sarcasm. “Do you always analyze your bed partners?”

  “Only when something happens that I don’t understand.”

  “Forget about it,” she said.

  “Why, so you don’t have to face the truth?”

  “What truth? You rolled on top of me last night for a few seconds. That doesn’t mean you know anything about me.”

  “That wasn’t exactly what happened. First, you came into my room and asked for what you got. And maybe I know more than you think. At least I know what your actions tell me.”

  “And what do they tell you?”

  “You stay in one place for only a few weeks or months and leave about the time most other people begin to form friendships and put down roots. I’m guessing you do that because you’re terrified of growing close to anyone, of maintaining a relationship.”

  “If you’re applying that to this situation, we don’t even have a relationship.”

  “With me it’s something else.”

  She cocked a challenging eyebrow at him.

  “I think you’re afraid that if you stay, we might end up in bed again—and next time you might like it.”

  He’d hit a little too close to the truth, and she couldn’t bear for him to know it, so she shot him a withering “as if” look. “There’s no danger of that. I may not have the best judgment in the world, but I generally don’t make the same mistake twice.”

  A muscle twitched in his cheek at the insult. She thought he might come back at her with something equally hurtful and much truer: Who’d want you anyway? But he didn’t. “We can’t take the snowmobiles into town because the roads’ll be plowed once we hit Third,” he said, “but we can try to get you out of here in the truck.”

  LUCKY GRABBED Mike’s arm as they passed the Victorian. “Wait—aren’t you going to stop?”

  He gave her an incredulous look, and she let go. “We’re in the middle of a blizzard. If I stop, there’s a greater chance of getting stuck.”

  “But I need a pair of my own shoes and money to pay for a motel room.”

  The wipers struggled against the snow and ice although he’d done his best to scrape the windshield clean. “My boots will keep your feet dry,” Mike said. “And I’ll front the money for the motel and lend you some cash.”

  “But the house isn’t secure with all those broken windows.”

  He redirected the heat blasting through the vents so it wouldn’t hit him dead on. He was warm enough with his big coat. “You’re afraid of getting robbed?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Whatever you’re afraid of losing, you can afford to replace.” He slanted her a brooding glance. “I should know. I send you your check every month, remember?”

  After last night, and the conversation that had followed this morning, Mike wanted to punish Lucky. For returning to Dundee. For destroying his peace of mind. If he couldn’t achieve some kind of resolution or come to grips with what had happened, he at least wanted to vent his displeasure. But Lucky had become so aloof and withdrawn over the past hour that, predictably, she didn’t react, which only frustrated him further.

  “What I want can’t be replaced,” she said stubbornly.

  “Why not?”

  She didn’t answer his question, giving him the impression that she wouldn’t even if he pressed her. “And there’s no need to risk my ID and credit cards,” she added.

  He drew a deep, calming breath. He rarely had to struggle to get along with anyone, especially a woman. But Lucky had always been trouble.

  “Are you going to let me out?” she asked.

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “I’ll jump if you don’t.” She opened her door. Because they were only traveling a few miles an hour and the snow looked deceptively soft, he believed she just might try it.

  With a grimace, he applied the brakes. “Make it quick. I have to stay in the middle of the road because the snow’s too deep on the sides.”

  She hopped out and hunched against the wind as she made her way to the Victorian. A few minutes later, she appeared with a little bag, probably filled with toiletries, her purse and a black book tucked under her coat.

  “That’s what you wanted?” he said, eyeing the book curiously as she climbed in.

  She slipped it farther under her coat, out of sight, and bent over to brush the snow off her jeans before closing the door. “Thanks for stopping.” Her tone let him know that she didn’t plan to explain.

  With a sigh, he managed to get the truck moving again, but the going was slow and tedious and they drove several minutes without speaking. “Why’d you come back, Lucky?” he asked, finally breaking the silence.

  Lucky knew better than to answer that question honestly. She might have grown up in Dundee, but she was sure Dave Small, Eugene Thompson and Garth Holbrook, if they were still ar
ound, had more friends here than she did. Some people might not appreciate her digging around in their pasts.

  She turned to stare out the window. “There’s something I have to do.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing that concerns you.”

  “Or my family?”

  She laughed bitterly. “Or your precious family.”

  “Will you be staying long?”

  “I don’t know. A few weeks—” she shrugged “—maybe a few months.”

  “And then you’ll be gone again?”

  “And then I’ll be gone.”

  The tension in his jaw seemed to ease with this news, which didn’t make her feel any better.

  “What about the house?” he asked.

  She studied his profile. “What about it?”

  “Are you planning to leave it empty?”

  “Maybe.” She’d promised herself that once she found her father, she’d sell out and put Dundee behind her forever. But she wasn’t sure she could let the Victorian go. It had come to represent the only love she’d ever known. Morris was associated with that place, along with all her childhood hopes and dreams, which was why she’d hung on to it for so long.

  “You know you don’t give a damn about the house or anyone here in Dundee,” Mike said.

  She said nothing.

  “So why are you being so obstinate? Why not sell it to me and forget about it?”

  He believed she’d refused his purchase offers just to spite him. In all honesty, Lucky knew her feelings toward Mike had played a part, but there was more to it than that. Morris’s Victorian meant a great deal to her because she’d never had a real home. But if Mike’s family wouldn’t relinquish their emotional claim to the property, she could never feel good about living there. So what was she hanging on to? The memory of a man Mike and his family felt they had first “dibs” on? Childhood dreams of warmth and belonging that would never come true?

  She thought of that kiss she’d witnessed in the barn, and juxtaposed it to the reality of last night. Mike had finally broken through her defenses when it came to selling the house, but she had too much pride to let him know she was ready to give it up without a fight. Lifting her chin, she met his gaze squarely. “How much are you willing to pay?”