Page 57 of The Promise
"And how is that?" he couldn't resist asking.
"Like an army of maids is standing in the corner waiting to clean up each speck of dust before it even has time to land."
He smiled, picturing white capped women armed with brushes and brooms. "You take the bookcase and I'll take the desk."
"What are we looking for?"
He blew out a breath. "I haven't the faintest idea. Something odd or out of place. Something unusual. Something that will tie Vargas to the fire."
She nodded and began to examine the books. He sat in the chair behind the desk and pulled open a drawer. Pads of paper and odd looking instruments he assumed were for writing, filled the little compartments of a oblong box. Nothing out of the ordinary here. At least not for someone who lived in the twenty-first century.
He pulled open another drawer and found files, but the contents had nothing to do with Cara or the paintings.Damn.He slammed the drawer shut and was reaching for another when he heard an odd scraping noise.
He looked up in time to see Cara, urn lid in hand, disappearing into a gaping hole where the alcove had been. He jumped up, almost tripping over the leg of the desk in his hurry to reach her.
The mechanism clicked shut and the wall was filled with nothing but books. No alcove, no Cara. Heart pounding, he skidded to a stop, his eyes searching the shelves for some sign of the missing indentation. There was nothing to indicate the wall had ever been any different. Just rows and rows of books.
Cara was gone.
15
Patrick watched as Loralee bent and pulled a pan of biscuits out of the stove, the smell of warm bread filling the air, making his mouth water. At least he thought it was the biscuits. The sight of her soft, round bottom was definitely cause for salivating, too.
"You didn't have to do this, you know." His voice came out more like a croak. Hell, he was acting like a fifteen-year-old boy.
She turned and smiled at him, causing a whole new set of reactions. "I know. But you've helped me out so much. First with Corabeth, then with the fire, and now offering me your home. There aren't many decent men who'd do that for someone like me, Patrick. Heavens, the least I can do is cook you and Pete a nice supper."
"Well, I just don't want you to go to too much trouble."
"No trouble at all." She picked up a bowl and started to stir the potatoes, the action making her breasts push against the cotton of her dress.
He licked his lips and figured he'd best get the hell out of there before his body started to give away his train of thought. "Have I got enough time to feed the horses?"
"I reckon so." She wiped a strand of hair away from her face with a flour covered hand, leaving a streak of white across her cheek. He sucked in a breath, his traitorous mind envisioning what it would taste like to lick away the flour. "Let Pete know it's almost ready, will you?"
He nodded and headed for the door, not trusting his voice to perform properly.
"Patrick?"
He steeled himself and turned. Her eyes were as big as saucers and as soft as a deer's. Oh Lord, he had it bad.
"Thanks for everything."
"My pleasure."My pleasure. What in the world was he thinking? She was a working girl. If nothing else that meant she had experience out the wazoo. What could she possibly see in a greenhorn like him? Hell, he'd offered her his protection, not a tumble in the sheets.
He stomped out onto the porch and across the yard to the stable. It was a far sight bigger than the one at Ginny's, but still not quite big enough for their needs. He glanced over at the wood frame standing stark against blue sky. Michael had said that if they were going to make a go of it, they had to invest in their dream. The barn was the first step.
Truth be told, he wasn't sure he wanted to continue without his brother. The ranch had always been Michael's. He'd just sort of come along for the ride. Without his brother's guiding force, there just might not be a dream anymore.
"I see you been talking to Loralee." Pete ambled up, his eyes on Patrick's pants.
Patrick felt himself go hot all over. "Sheesh, Pete, do you have to point it out to the whole world?"
Pete's eyes crinkled at the corners as his mouth curled into a grin. "Don't need me pointin' it out. You're doin' a fine job all by your lonesome." They walked into the stable to a chorus ofwhinnies and braying. "Hell, boy, even the horses can see the stick in yer drawers."
"Cut it out, Pete. Even you have to admit Loralee is a mighty pretty girl."
"Yes, she is. But she's also a?—"
