Kate Little – The Millionaire Takes A Bride (страница 4)

“Hmm, we’ll see.” Georgia tugged the quilt up over his small body and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

As she descended the stairs again, she realized that Noah was correct, as usual. The only way Jackson Bradshaw could get back to town at this hour was if she packed up Noah and drove him or lent him her vehicle. She guessed the time to be close to 2:00 a.m., and neither solution seemed appealing.

When Georgia entered the living room, Jackson was standing at the far end, gazing out at the rain again, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He turned to look at her with a bland, distant expression, and it was as if their intimate encounter had never happened.

Just as well, Georgia decided. She was quite happy to skip any commentary or analysis. The moment had seemed like a dream, a wild fantasy. She couldn’t begin to understand her reaction to him—no less explain it.

“Is your boy all right?” he asked politely.

“He’s fine,” she assured him.

“I’m sorry I woke him. I hope he wasn’t scared, hearing a strange voice in the house in the middle of the night.”

His consideration for Noah surprised her. Was it an act, designed to put her off guard? Had that impetuous kiss been a ploy, as well? she suddenly wondered.

“I explained that your car got stuck on the road and you walked here for help. He said he didn’t think you’d be able to get a ride back to town tonight.”

“From the looks of your town, I suspect he’s right. If I’d sneezed while driving down Main Street, I might have missed it.”

“It’s not quite that dinky,” Georgia protested. “But Sweetwater doesn’t have a twenty-four-hour taxi service. We don’t have any taxi service at all, actually,” she admitted.

“And I suppose that, even if I could find a ride somehow, there probably aren’t any motels around here, are there?”

“Sure, there’s a motel,” she replied agreeably. “The E-Z Rest. About thirty-five miles north on Route 6. The truckers seem to like it.”

She tried to picture Jackson Bradshaw spending a night at the E-Z Rest. The image made her secretly smile. Well, it certainly was not the Ritz….

“I might have guessed,” he replied in a grim, resigned tone. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Well, maybe you could kindly lend me an umbrella, then. It looks as if it’s still raining a bit, and I do have a rather long walk back to my car.”

“Your car? I thought you said your car wasn’t working.”

“That’s correct. And the rental agency can’t get a replacement out here until sometime late tomorrow. And that’s only if the rain stops.”

“Well then, why, may I ask, are going back out to your car? If you’ve left any valuables there, you needn’t worry. This area may be a backwater, but we are just about crime free.”

“I’m pleased to hear that, Ms. Price. At least I won’t fear for my life, sleeping out on the roadside. Do you have an extra umbrella or not?” he queried.

She suddenly understood. The poor man. He thought she was going to toss him back into the rain and make him sleep in his car. As if she could treat her worst enemy in that fashion. She almost wanted to laugh, but restrained herself.

“Don’t be silly. You needn’t sleep in your car. You can stay here, on the sofa.” As if on cue they both glanced over at her old couch. The lumps looked even larger than usual to Georgia and she had no doubt that his feet would hang well over the edge. She might feel sorry for him…if he wasn’t such a bullheaded pain in the neck. Besides, it certainly beat his alternatives. After the way he’d insulted her tonight—all in the name of his “quest”—he was lucky she’d allowed him to stay at all.

He must have been thinking the same. “Thank you. That’s a kind offer. All things considered.”

“Yes. All things considered, it is, isn’t it?” She brushed by and headed up the stairs to get some bedding. Then she remembered that his clothes were probably still wet and would be horribly uncomfortable. “Would you like a dry T-shirt or something?” she asked, stopping halfway up the stairs.

“Uh…sure. That would be excellent,” he replied, seeming surprised at her thoughtfulness. “That is, if you can find one that will fit me.”

“I think I can dig up something,” Georgia replied as she continued up the stairs. She had some super-large T-shirts on hand that she used for cover-ups while exercising or when she took Noah to the town pool. One of them should be large enough to fit her unexpected houseguest, she thought. There might even be some baggy sweatpants around, too.

She gathered the necessary bedding, clean towels, some toiletry items she thought he’d find useful and also a large black T-shirt and grey sweatpants. She returned with her armload to find Jackson in the rocking chair, his head tipped back, his eyes closed.

He was breathing heavily—practically snoring, she noted. But in sleep, his stern expression had relaxed, displaying his appealing features to full advantage. He’d opened his shirt to the waist, and Georgia felt herself blushing as she surveyed the contours of his muscular chest, covered with whorls of dark hair down to his flat belly.

Easy girl, she coached herself, as she pulled her gaze away. She released a small, quiet sigh, dumped her burden on the armchair, then quickly made up the bed.

She left the towels and other necessities on the end table, then stood next to Jackson. He was sleeping so deeply, she wondered if she should wake him. Then she thought she should, since she knew he’d wake up with a permanent dent in his back if he spent the rest of the night in that rocker, which certainly would not improve his cranky disposition.

She leaned over him. “Jackson?” she called quietly.

He didn’t open his eyes immediately, though she did notice a small smile shape his lips and guessed he had heard her.

“Come on, Jackson. Time for bed,” she called again, leaning closer.

“Georgia…” he murmured. She liked the way he said her name. As if he’d been calling to her in a dream. But when he added, “Yes…let’s get to bed, honey…” She straightened to her full height.

He suddenly blinked, coughed and stared up at her, his relaxed, soft smile replaced by a guarded look. “Guess I fell asleep,” he mumbled. He rubbed his face with his hand.

“Guess so,” she agreed. “The couch is ready, and there are a few things you might need on the end table. The bathroom is that way, just go left at the kitchen.”

“Left at the kitchen,” he repeated groggily. “Don’t worry, I’ll find it. Thanks again for the bunk…. No need to tuck me in,” he teased.

“That’s a relief,” she replied under her breath. She turned on her heel and started for the stairs. “See you in the morning.”

“Yes, tomorrow,” he echoed ominously. He got up from the rocker and stretched his long arms and legs. “Your wedding day. Of course, maybe my arrival on the scene has put a damper on the plans? Either way, I’ll guarantee you that you won’t be rid of me until I find my brother. I’ll camp out in your living room if I have to.”

“What a thought,” Georgia replied. She met his determined gaze, then looked away. Oh, dear. He was back on that again, was he? She honestly didn’t know how long she could keep up the charade.

She was suddenly tempted to admit all, then decided to leave her confessions for the bold light of day. There was no predicting how he might react. He might take off in the dead of night, still determined to hunt Will and Faith down.

No, let him stay right here in her living room, where she could keep her eye on him. And let him believe that she was the hopeful bride.

After all, Georgia reasoned, a man like Jackson Bradshaw deserved at least one torturous night on her sofa for trying to prevent her dear sister’s wedding.

Two

When Georgia came down the next morning, the couch was empty, the bedding neatly folded. The bathroom door was shut, and she heard the shower running. She had dressed in jeans and a dark-blue T-shirt after a quick shower upstairs. Her short honey-blond hair was damp and curling from the humidity. She hardly looked like a woman who planned to be married shortly, she reflected. Of course, try to tell Jackson Bradshaw that. His suspicious mind would reason that she was merely trying to trick him and perhaps had a wedding gown on underneath her outfit.

Never one to wear much makeup, she had taken the time to cover the dark shadows under her eyes with a dab of concealer and slap on a bit of lip gloss. She needed a little boost to her self-confidence this morning in order to take on the “dragon” again.

She swiftly got the coffee maker started and pulled out the ingredients for breakfast from the refrigerator. She was a good cook—a great cook, some said—and she now strategized that Jackson Bradshaw’s temperament might be improved by a tasty meal.

She imagined that he hadn’t eaten during his long, arduous journey last night and would appreciate a good breakfast—crisp bacon, blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs and freshly squeezed orange juice. And even if the good food didn’t mollify his contentious personality, the distraction of chewing and swallowing would at least slow down his interrogation.

For Georgia fully expected another interrogation this morning regarding the whereabouts of Will Bradshaw. Or perhaps Jackson thought all he had to do was hang around Georgia in order to catch the slippery groom?