To Claim His Own

He wondered what she was thinking. If he were to hazard a guess, he probably wouldn’t like it. In no way would he come near measuring up to her expectations, remembering his reflection in his mirror this morning.

His hair was too long and his jeans and T-shirt both had holes in them. And his face—well, that was another story altogether. He knew he looked drawn and disheveled—not at all pleasing to the eyesight. But give him time, he told himself. When he had to, he cleaned up real well. He just hadn’t had the time or the inclination to do so.

“I understand he’s now on another route. I read about the vacancy in the paper.”

She leaned her head to one side and gave him a suspicious look, like she wanted to say more. She didn’t, though, at least not about Mickey. “So who are you?”

Cal hesitated for a moment, then shot out his hand, a hearty smile on his lips. “Bart McBride. But my friends call me Bubba.”

Three

Wow!

That was the first thought that came to Emma’s mind when she met his eyes, dark and direct. She’d had lots of delivery guys since she’d been in this business, but none had ever looked like this one. She couldn’t exactly say he was the best-looking thing that had come down the pike—that would be an exaggeration—yet there was something about him that definitely got her attention.

When it came to men, that wasn’t an easy feat.

Maybe it was the hard, dangerous look he seemed to wear so comfortably. Jeez Louise, Emma thought, swallowing nervously, feeling a fluttering of butterflies in her stomach. Who was he? More to the point, how could she have such an irrational reaction to a stranger? A truck driver, to boot.

She wasn’t a snob—that wasn’t it at all. It usually took more than a tall, tanned, muscular man with salt-and-pepper hair to make her take a second look.

This time she’d taken more than one look, for heaven’s sake. Her eyes were camped on him. Even though she felt color seep into her cheeks, Emma still didn’t turn away. Maybe it was those kick-ass dimples in his cheeks that were the culprit. Or maybe it was his even white teeth that appeared even whiter under his tanned skin.

So he was an awesome specimen of manhood. A moment’s worth of eye candy. So what? She’d been exposed to his type before, and it hadn’t come close to striking a nerve.

Why now?

He certainly wasn’t her type; that was a given. Much too rough around the edges, too menacing to suit her. In the mounting silence, instead of averting her gaze, however, she perused his body. Her eyes started with his faded and tight-fitting T-shirt, then traveled down to his jeans that had no chance of hiding the impressive bulge of his sex or the powerful strength of his legs.

Emma’s flush deepened, and her skin prickled.

Realizing how crazily she was behaving, how totally out of the norm this was, she jerked her eyes back up, but not before she caught the same look of blatant appreciation and interest mirrored in his.

To her dismay, the air around them turned suffocating with sexual tension.

“I’m assuming you’re Emma Jenkins,” he said, finally.

His low, sandpaper-edged voice now seemed as sexy as his appearance. For another moment, she was speechless, trying to assimilate her feelings. What was this all about? What was she all about?

Nothing, she told herself, feeling a surge of defiance flood through her. She was just reacting to a good-looking man, that was all—something she hadn’t done in a long time. While that felt good, it also scared the bejesus out of her as her sister’s lifestyle flashed before her eyes.

Emma cleared her throat and forced herself to say, “Uh, that’s right.” He didn’t extend his hand again, which was good in light of her crazy reaction to him.

Nope, touching him would definitely not work, mainly because she wanted to. Emma gritted her teeth, then pasted a smile on her face. “I hope everything’s okay with Mickey,” she commented, trying to lessen the tension that was threatening to mount again. “He was here so often, we actually became friends.” She paused. “I’m surprised he didn’t tell me he’d been reassigned.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll get around to that,” Bubba drawled, peering down at his clipboard, then back up. “Everything in my truck belongs to you.”

“That’s not a surprise.”

“You must have a super business.”

“I do.”

Bubba grinned, which played more havoc with her insides. “Can’t beat that. So I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

Oh, brother. “Not if Mickey comes back.”

“I don’t think there’s much chance of that, at least not for a while.”

“If you see him, tell him to stop by and see me, okay?”

“Sure will.”

A silence.

This time Bubba cleared his throat and was apparently about to say something when Emma heard a noise behind her. She swung around and saw Logan, pursued by a harassed-looking Janet, come toddling toward her.

“I’m sorry, Em, but he got away from me.”

Emma smiled, reached for Logan and swept him into her arms. After flicking him on the chin, she said with a grin, “You’re a bad boy.”

“Bad,” Logan mimicked, hugging her around the neck as he took a peek at Bubba.

“Good-looking kid.”

“Thanks.”

“He’s yours, right?” Bubba asked.

Not wanting to get personal with this man made Emma hesitate, then she thought of Mickey. When he’d asked that same question, she hadn’t been reluctant to respond at all. Just the opposite, in fact. With this Bubba character, it was another matter altogether.

Her reaction wasn’t because he’d asked about Logan per se, but because she had reacted to Bubba so strongly and wanted him to take care of business and be on his way.

Yet she wanted him to stay. How much sense did that make? None. Again, she had never reacted to a man in such a forthright way. Bluntly put, she was intrigued, much to her dismay.

Then realizing how absurd, how out-of-hand her thoughts had gotten, Emma declared in a firm, but businesslike tone, “Yes, he is.” Then she hesitated and with a proud smile added, “Or at least he soon will be.”

“Care to explain?” he asked.

Slightly taken aback by his continued boldness, Emma plastered another smile on her face and said, “Not at the moment.”

Bubba laughed, then winked. “Before I wear out my welcome, I guess I’d best unload this truck and move on.”

“I think that’s a grand idea.”

Bubba paused and looked her up and down again, leaving her breathless in her tracks. He then walked to the back of the truck, shoved up the big door and went about his task.

When he finished, he brought the invoice for her to sign, placing her in much closer proximity to him than she would have liked. Despite the warmth of the morning, the smell of soap still clung to his skin; it wafted through her senses, creating another cluster of butterflies in her tummy.