Have Honeymoon, Need Husband

Scrunching his forehead into a frown, he pulled away.

The sudden motion made her lurch again. “Sorry,” she murmured. “This darn gown…”

Without thinking, he bent and swooped her up, one arm under her knees, the other around her back.

Her arm involuntarily flew around his neck. Her face was inches from his, her eyes wide with alarm. “What are you doing?”

Good question. He was as shocked to find her in his arms as she was to be there.

There was that scent again. Jiminy—he didn’t care if it was partly mud, it still smelled downright delicious. She felt that way, too. Even in her sodden gown she was no heavier than a newborn colt, but the wet silk made her as slippery as a greased pig.

He bounced her slightly in the air as he adjusted his grip, searching his mind for a way to explain his purely reflexive action. “That blasted dress is a hazard,” he muttered. “My insurance company would cancel my liability coverage if they knew we had guests running around outfitted like that.”

Carrying her as easily as he’d tote a bale of hay, he strode rapidly to the covered porch and set her down outside the door. No way was he going to carry her across the threshold; he was having a hard enough time keeping his thoughts about her under control without acting like a surrogate bridegroom.

The imprint of her warm, wet body burned against him long after he released her, and he had a physical reaction to it. Jeezem Pete, he responded like a teenage boy every time he touched her.

So stop touching her, O’Dell, he chided himself sarcastically.

He fumbled in his pocket for a master key, then unlocked the door. It swung open. He reached in and flipped on a light. “Here you are. I’ll get your bags.”

She was still standing on the porch when he returned from the truck. He plopped the bags down by the door and eyed her warily. “You ought to get out of those wet clothes and into a hot shower before you catch pneumonia.” The last thing he wanted was to have her laid up convalescing, needing to be waited on hand and foot.

“I don’t want to track mud inside. I think I should take off the dress out here.”

The thought did strange things to his pulse rate. He cleared his throat and turned to go. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“Wait!”

Now what? He swiveled around.

“I…I can’t undo the buttons myself.”

She turned and pointed over her shoulder. A long row of tiny buttons ran from the neck of the gown to below her waist—dozens of buttons, each about the size of a raisin, each fastened with tiny loops of thread.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake…”

“I’m sorry to be such a bother.” Her voice had a suspicious warble in it.

Oh, criminy; she wasn’t going to cry again, was she?

“I realize it’s beyond the call of duty, but I’m freezing, and…”

“I’ll call the housekeeper to help you.”

He strode into the cabin, picked up the phone and punched out Consuela’s number. No answer. No answer in the lodge kitchen, either.

Great, just great. He’d have to deal with this himself.

The screen door banged behind him as he rejoined Josie on the porch. “Turn around and stand still.” The words came out more harshly than he’d intended.

She presented her slender back to him. He stepped forward, pushed her veil out of the way and tackled the top button. It sat at the nape of her neck, covered by damp tendrils of shoulder-length dark hair. He brushed the wet strands aside, his fingers feeling huge and awkward, and tried to ignore the rush of arousal that tightened his body.

The woman was wreaking havoc with his libido. Maybe it was because this was supposed to be her wedding night— a night when her skin was supposed to be touched, her lips were meant to be tasted, those enticing curves were to be explored and caressed…

By another man, O’Dell. For heaven’s sake, get a grip.

His fingers fumbled, and the button tore off in his hands. “Sorry,” he muttered, moving on to the next one.

It had evidently been too long since he’d been around a woman. He hadn’t dated much since his divorce, and that had been five years ago. Judging from the way he was reacting now, it was time he got back in the saddle and started socializing again.

The button popped free. His fingers edged down to attack the next one. Josie shifted and sighed, and he struggled to rein in his thoughts.

This wasn’t the time to be thinking about dating, he reminded himself. Ever since he’d come back to the ranch, he’d had his hands full, trying to take care of everything his father had neglected when he’d opened that damn lodge. And without a lodge manager, he had that to worry about, too. He had a full plate in front of him without taking on something as time-consuming as trying to meet and get to know a woman.

Besides, he hated all the things dating involved—getting dressed up, making small talk, trying to figure out what was real and what was pretense, trying to keep from getting dragged down a wedding aisle.

Standing in front of him was a perfect example of what he most wanted to avoid and what was often so hard to detect—a marriage-minded woman with a lot of emotional baggage, still carrying a torch for another guy. At least with this one he knew what he was dealing with.

Another button came off in his hand. “I’m afraid I’m pulling off as many buttons as I’m unfastening,” he told her.

“That’s okay.” Her voice was muffled by the veil. “The dress is a loss, anyway. If it’s easier, you can just yank them all off.”

The thought of ripping off her dress had undeniable appeal—so much so that he deliberately resisted the urge, furrowing his brow in concentration and meticulously undoing the buttons one at a time.

“There,” he muttered when he’d finally unfastened the last one.

The fabric gapped to reveal something lacy and sheer underneath the dress. His imagination running wild, he swallowed hard and stepped back as she turned around.

She was shivering, he realized with a start. He’d attributed the trembling he’d felt as he’d unbuttoned her dress to his own shaking hands. “You need to get inside,” he told her. “Do you want me to carry in your bags?”

She rubbed her arms, her teeth chattering. “What I really want is to get thawed out as soon as possible. Would you turn around for a moment?”

Luke complied. Fabric rustled, the cabin door creaked and soft footsteps thudded on the wooden floor.

“You can turn around now,” she called from inside the cabin.

Her dress lay in a heap on the porch…along with two muddy, crumpled stockings. A trail of muddy footprints led inside the cabin to the closed bathroom door. He heard a rush of water from the shower.

Luke exhaled harshly and eyed the stockings again, wondering how she’d held them up. His tantalizing conjectures about her undergarments were cut short when his gaze fell again on the crumpled wedding gown.

It was a pitiful sight, all that lace and silk puddled in a muddy mess on the porch, and it sent a wave of sympathy surging through him. What had once been a beautiful dress was rumpled and ruined, and her dreams were no doubt in the same condition. What was supposed to have been the happiest day of her life had ended in heartbreak.

He wondered why the wedding had been canceled. Had she called it off, or had the groom? Obviously someone had—and at the very last minute, judging from the way she was dressed.

One thing was for certain: she was sure to be feeling awful. He should have been looking for ways to comfort her instead of leering at her like a cowboy Casanova.

A stab of guilt shot through him. No matter how much he disliked it, as long as the Lazy O was operated as a guest ranch, he had an obligation to care for his guests in a manner worthy of the O’Dell name.