Once Upon A Mattress

Ben wasn’t a man who thought in terms of possession, hell, he prided himself on having as few as possible, but this morning there it was. His mark.

He could do nothing but stare, his body protesting the space between them. He was a fool.

The fog lifted from her gaze and her face froze in horror. “Mr. MacAllister,” she gasped, pulling her shirt down and gathering the covers around her. She looked the picture of naive innocence. Ben remembered the way she had stroked him earlier and thought the Victorian modesty bit was way overdone.

“I think you can call me Ben,” he said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Unfortunately, her eyes flashed sexual harassment. What was the law, anyway?

She pulled the sheet tight around her, an extra layer of protection over her shirt and shorts. “Let’s just forget this moment ever happened. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get dressed.”

Oh, please. “You are dressed,” he said in a calm, non-threatening voice. “Look, this was nothing more than a case of mistaken identity.”

She tried to climb out of the bed, but the sheet kept coming untucked, and she wouldn’t let go. He held a hand, but she scooted away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

As if he were some sort of monster. Jeez, who had climbed into bed with whom here? And why was she here? “Look, I’m sorry. Okay? But this isn’t that big a deal.”

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Then she braced a hand behind her on the bed and closed her eyes. For a second he thought she was going to faint. But not Miss Hilary Sinclair. She opened her eyes again, emerald sharp, and took a deep breath. “Not a big deal? You are such a man.”

He jammed his hands into his pockets. “A fact you were perfectly happy with about fifteen minutes ago.”

Direct hit. Her faced flushed fire-engine red. “I expect a co-worker to behave with a bit more decorum, but obviously in your case, that’s too much to ask. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m leaving.”

She shuffled out the door with quite a bit of dignity for a woman sporting humidity hair, dragging a sheet behind her.

BEN SPENT the early-morning hours locked in his office, waiting for a decent hour to make a call. Tonight, when he had a cold beer in his hand and a cold shower nearby, he would linger over the surprising aggressiveness of Miss Hilary Sinclair and her bodacious breasts, but right now he needed to put MacAllister Beds first. He picked up the phone and dialed, hoping he hadn’t screwed up too badly.

“Danny, this is Ben. Listen, I need to ask you a lawyer question.”

“Shoot.”

“It’s about sexual harassment laws.”

“Did you get yourself in trouble?” Danny asked quietly.

“God, I hope not. I don’t think so. It’s Dad’s company, not mine. Last thing I want is to mess it up.”

“Um, this a consensual situation?”

Now that was the million-dollar question. He had no idea. Ben told Danny what had happened and then sighed as he wrapped up the sorry tale. “Could I get her to sign a waiver or something?” he asked, and immediately thought of her nonexistent sense of humor, and figured it’d be easier to herd cats than get a signature from her, but he’d do whatever he had to.

“A waiver? Ben, relax. You’re fine. If she starts making noises, call me back. But I don’t see a case there.”

Ben let out a long sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Haven’t seen you since you got back in town. What are you up for next?”

“Cowboy.”

“Rodeo? Whoa, dogies.”

“Nope. Just roping and stuff.”

“Still, pretty cool. Hey, what are you doing tomorrow? The guys are going to OutdoorLand to check out their hiking gear. Got a big trip planned in a couple of weeks. You gotta come.”

Ben leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. Hiking, now that he could handle. “Sounds like fun.”

“See you on Saturday,” Danny said, and then hung up.

One bullet dodged.

Ben put down the phone and swiveled his chair to face the window. What was he doing here? Downtown Dallas. Rain. Buildings everywhere.

Being a businessman really was the pits so far. Out on the range, there was only the wind and the sky. And the last thing a cowboy had to worry about was sexual harassment.

Damn.

4

TWO HOURS LATER Ben was driving in the downpour, with squeaking windshield wipers and all. Miss Hilary Sinclair had disappeared from MacAllister Beds, last seen exiting to the parking lot, leaving one rumpled bedsheet behind her. He peered through the rain, scanning the painted numbers on the sidewalk.

Her personnel file listed her address as just south of the river in Kessler Park, a small community full of young families that were remodeling the older homes. Finally he found what he was looking for, although when he looked carefully, he wondered if he’d made a mistake.

The grass was knee-high and in sore need of weeding. Of the three concrete steps that led to the front door, two were cracked, and one was missing. The house was kind of cute, with an A-line roof and the dark red bricks so popular long ago. But still…

Ben knew Miss Sinclair was a little messy, but this seemed extreme. He pulled up the collar of his overcoat and then made his way to the front door.

He nearly laughed at the little horseshoe that was hanging over the door knocker. Jeez, this house needed more than a horseshoe, but he didn’t think Miss Sinclair would take kindly to having him laugh at her house. He put on his best poker face and rang the bell.

“Hello?”

“Miss Sinclair, it’s Ben MacAllister.”

She cracked her door open and peered at him suspiciously. “Mr. MacAllister, what are you doing here?”

“Could I come in?”

For a moment he thought she would refuse, not that he could blame her, but then the door swung open. She was dressed in an old terry-cloth robe, and her nose looked red and irritated.

Had she been crying? He started to touch her, and realized that’s what had gotten him in trouble in the first place.

“Are you all right?”

“Why are you here?” she asked, her voice raspy, and he realized she was sick. He felt the first stirrings of what he hoped was sympathy. It was a depraved man who felt desire for a woman who looked to be running 103° temperature. He cleared his throat. “I came to apologize.”

Hilary didn’t say a word, but when she walked inside, he assumed it was an invitation to follow.

And then stopped.

It was a nightmare of Bob Villa proportions.