Skyler Hawk: Lone Brave

“Sky, this is not funny. My ring is stuck in your hair. And you’re splitting your lip again.”

He made a face at her. A hideous face, which she thought effective with the addition of his black eye. Giggling seemed her only option. She had never met anyone quite like him. “You’re a strange man.” She felt him pulling at her hand. “What are you doing?”

“Getting your hand out of my hair.”

She stepped back and wiggled her finger, displaying Sky’s handiwork. Attached to the ruby ring were several long strands of black hair. They exchanged a quick burst of laughter.

He lifted an eyebrow. “So I’m strange, huh?”

Strange. Gorgeous. Mysterious. She could hardly wait to talk to Edith about him. Windy glanced at the microwave clock. In two hours she would be sipping tea at Edith’s house. “You make some weird faces.”

He shrugged and spied the coffeepot. “Is that fresh?”

“I made it about an hour ago.”

“Good enough.” He strolled over to the counter, poured a cup, then added an enormous amount of sugar.

She watched in fascination. Odd. He struck her as the kind of bar-brawling cowboy who would prefer his coffee strong and bitter.

He tasted the dark brew, winced and reached for the sugar bowl once again. She tidied the mess on the table and tried not to laugh. “Why don’t you have a little coffee with your sugar, Sky?”

He flashed his signature smile. “I have a sweet tooth.”

Her heart warmed and fluttered. How could a man be virile and boyish at the same time? Rough yet gentle? Strong yet vulnerable?

Windy sat at the table and pushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. Her lack of experience was showing. She understood children, not men. At twenty-six, she’d been dating less than ten years, but never serious dates, or long-term boyfriends. Although plenty of men found her attractive, she’d never lost her heart, made earth-shattering love or even cuddled in masculine arms all night. Call her old-fashioned, but she didn’t mind waiting for the real thing.

What would it be like to sleep next to Sky? she wondered. To curl up beside that long, copper body? Feel those rippling muscles? Old-fashioned or not, a girl had the right to dream, didn’t she?

Sky clanked a spoon against his cup. Windy looked up with a start to find him watching her, a knowing look in his eye. Uncomfortable, she fussed with her hair again—hair that curled haphazardly no matter what the style or length. She pushed an annoying ringlet away, but it sprang back, slapping her cheek. This time an exasperated huff blew it behind her shoulder. A moment later it returned.

Sky’s dimples surfaced. “You have bedroom hair.”

“Excuse me?”

He came forward, coffee cup in hand. “Your hair looks as if you just tumbled out of bed.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Nothing’s sexier than a thoroughly loved woman with tangled hair.”

Windy tried not to blush. For Pete’s sake. What a thing for him to say, especially after she’d been fantasizing about sleeping in his arms. “My hair always looks like this.” And she’d never been thoroughly loved.

He leaned on the table, his husky voice low and intimate. “Say, Pretty Windy with the bedroom hair, are you hungry?”

Her pulse raced. “Hungry?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. For food. You know, breakfast.”

Windy regained her composure. Her flirtatious new roommate had a dastardly sense of humor. Hungry indeed. He knew darn well the way he’d made it sound. “I would imagine you’re ready to eat.”

“Hell, yes. I got the tar beat out of me last night, slept in my truck, then brushed my teeth in a service station rest room. I’m downright starving.”

She couldn’t imagine living such an irresponsible life-style. “I can fix you something. I always keep a well-stocked fridge.”

He smiled. “Sure, okay. It would save me the trouble of going back out again.”

Windy’s mood brightened. There were advantages to having a male roommate. Security, safety. Someone to haul the trash cans out to the curb, someone to fix the plumbing, someone to cook for. She wasn’t used to having a man around. Sky would be the first man with whom she had shared a home. Her father had died when she was still small, and her mother never remarried.

“What would you like to eat?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Anything. A bowl of oatmeal, frozen waffles. Don’t go to any trouble on my account.”

“It’s no trouble. I like to cook. I even enjoy going to the market.”

He placed his empty coffee cup in the sink. “Really? Well, maybe you could shop for me, too. I could give you some money and you could add my stuff to yours. Mostly I just keep snacks around. Candy, chips, stuff like that.”

Windy smiled. So the big strong cowboy liked junk food. “No problem.”

Sky leaned against the counter as she rummaged through the refrigerator. “You’re different from most California girls.”

She looked up. “I am? How so?”

He cocked his head. “Well, you’re blond and all that, but you’re domestic.”

She wasn’t quite certain how to take the unusual comment. “I guess you don’t know many women who like to cook.”

“Not ones as pretty as you.” He closed the first-aid kit. “Does this go in the bathroom?”

She nodded. He had a way of saying whatever came to mind. And although his compliments weren’t offhanded, they weren’t polished, either. Of course, neither was he.

Sky gathered the soiled cloths and stacked them on top of the first-aid kit. “I’m gonna take a shower. I won’t be long.”

“Okay.”

Enjoying her task, Windy hummed as she cracked eggs into a bowl and added a dash of milk. Next she diced onions and mushrooms, then scooped them into a separate bowl. Before starting the pancake batter, she opened the freezer. Some pre-seasoned hash browns should please Sky as well as a tall glass of orange juice. A simple fruit salad would follow: apples, grapes, bananas, a little whipped cream, tiny marshmallows.

She supposed her domestic qualities weren’t hard to miss. Although she intended to have a successful career, she also wanted a husband and a house full of children. And she didn’t mind admitting it one bit. Too many people didn’t appreciate family values. In her opinion being a parent was the most important job in the world.

And now Sky’s virile presence and charming smile made her long even more for what she didn’t have. A husband. A family. Strange that a man like him could encourage that yearning. Handsome, blue-eyed Sky. The reckless drifter. The rebellious cowboy. Engaging, but not husband material.

When Sky returned, breakfast waited on the table. He stood stiffly at first, staring at the food. Windy wondered if the loner in him wanted to run from the domestic welcome. Luckily the other side of him, the bright-eyed boy, smiled and pulled up a chair. “This looks good.”

Windy poured juice in their glasses, then joined him at the table. She noticed he’d changed into loose-fitting sweatpants. His wet hair looked even longer and his scent suggested a deodorized bar of soap, fresh yet masculine. His bare chest glistened, even through the bruises. Strange, but the purplish discoloration didn’t seem to detract from his charm. They only reminded her of his dangerous, if not heroic, nature.

“You’re not eating much,” he remarked.

She glanced down at the small portions on her plate. “I had some toast earlier.”

Sky attacked his food with gusto, pouring a glob of ketchup over his hash browns. Apparently she had done well, choosing foods he liked. He drenched the pancakes in syrup and moaned when he tasted the omelet. “Do you bake? Cookies, pies. Stuff like that?”

She did for her students on occasion. A vegetarian who counted her caloric intake, Windy rarely indulged in sinful desserts. At the moment Sky reminded her of one of those treats. Mouthwatering and forbidden.