Janelle Denison: Ready-Made Bride

Kane followed at a more leisurely pace, wondering what, exactly, he’d gotten himself into.

Megan Sanders’s heart faltered as she stared at the sight in front of her. A man, a gorgeous specimen of a man, stood in the center of the barn she’d just stepped into, his back to her. He wore a pair of faded jeans that hugged long, muscular legs and a faded blue T-shirt that shaped a welldefined chest and back. Black hair, dusted with wood shavings and too long for traditional standards, curled at the nape of his neck.

This had to be Kane Fielding, she thought, tamping the sudden fluttering in her belly that had little to do with the nerves she’d been experiencing on her two-day drive to Linden.

Busy concentrating on his carpentry, he hadn’t heard her pull up to the main house or enter the barn. Breathing in the scent of man, sawdust and linseed oil, she watched as he sanded a flat piece of wood, then slowly caressed the length with long, strong fingers. He turned to examine the oak in the light, giving her a glimpse of his sharp, defined features and a full, sensual mouth. He was, by far, the most blatantly sexy man she’d ever encountered.

Knowing she couldn’t just stare at him forever, she cleared her throat. “Excuse me?”

He whirled around, piercing green eyes narrowing on her. She’d envisioned Andy’s father to be a larger version of the blond-haired boy, not this…renegade.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, willing her pulse to a normal cadence. “I just tried the main house, but no one answered the door.”

He watched her walk fully into the barn and approach him, his expression darkening, turning cautious. His mouth was firm, unsmiling, and his brooding gaze raked over her. So much for a warm welcome, she thought apprehensively. Maybe she had the wrong house. Her smile faltered.

“Can I help you?” His voice was deep, smooth and rich, belying the chilling intensity of his eyes.

“I’m hoping you can.” She offered a smile. “Are you Kane Fielding?”

“Yeah, I’m Kane Fielding.” Laying the wood on a nearby makeshift table cluttered with tools, he faced her again. He rested his hands on his hips, his stance defensive. “What can I do for you?”

Ignoring his ominous frown, she took the three final steps that separated them and extended her hand. “I’m Megan Sanders.”

Obvious relief relaxed his features but didn’t erase the caution. “You’re Megan Sanders? You look nothing like your publicity photo.”

Tentatively, he grasped her outstretched hand, his long fingers wrapping around her slender hand. Heat radiated up her arm, and her heart thumped in her chest. The swift, irrational attraction knocked her for a loop but oddly felt right. She’d learned enough from Andy’s letters and her brief conversations with his father to know she’d like Kane, but she never dreamed she’d have this instantaneous response to him. Like she’d known him for years instead of only a handful of minutes.

Crazy, but the feeling was undeniably there.

“It’s amazing what a makeup artist can do with straight hair and ordinary features,” she said in an attempt to lighten the mood. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Kane let go of her hand, thinking she was far prettier than the small, black-and-white glamor shot printed on the back flap of her books-the one Andrew showed him every time he received one of Megan’s books. ordinary features? Hardly. She had thick, shoulder-length auburn hair a man could lose his hands in and big blue eyes full of sparkle and life. Wearing a minimum of makeup, she looked fresh and wholesome, not at all what he expected of a best-selling author. She was petite, but the distinctly feminine curves outlined beneath her simple lavender dress and those shapely legs more than made up for her lack of height.

His body tightened in a subtle but unmistakable way.

Irritated that she had the ability to affect him so strongly, he kept his tone curt. “I wasn’t expecting you until later this evening.” And his first thought upon seeing her had been that she was a new representative from Human Services, sent by his in-laws to check on his parenting abilities. It wouldn’t be the first time someone dropped by unannounced.

She clasped her hands behind her back and smiled despite his brusque attitude. “Actually, I made better time than I anticipated, and I didn’t expect to find anyone home.”

Normally, no one would have been. He only worked half days at the sawmill on Fridays. He was home by one and used the extra time to get chores done around the house and make any appointments needed for Andrew or himself. The schedule worked well and afforded him more time with his son.

When he didn’t reply, she shifted on her feet and asked, “Is Andrew home from school?” An anxious quality tinged her voice.

“Not yet.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “The bus should be here any time.”

“I can’t tell you how much it means to me to be able to spend some time with Andrew.”

He regarded her a little disbelievingly. “You do this for all your fans?”

“Andrew is the first,” she admitted. “When he told me all he wanted for his birthday was for me to visit, I couldn’t bring myself to disappoint him.”

The kind gesture astounded him. “Why my son?”

Her expression softened, as did the incredibly blue hue of her eyes. “I care for Andrew very much.”

“You hardly know him,” he said, more gruffly than he intended.

“You’d be surprised how much I know. We’ve corresponded for a year and a half. Surely you must have read the letters he’s written telling me about himself, and you.”

If he answered her question honestly, she’d think he didn’t care about his son. But the truth was far more complicated than a simple yes or no.

Tightening his jaw, he began putting away the tools scattered on the table. With a snap of his wrist, he tossed a tarp over the half-finished bookcase he was making for Andrew’s birthday. “Why don’t we go up to the house and you can wait for Andrew where it’s cool?” And I can figure out what I’m going to do about this mess I’ve made of things and what I’m going to do about you.

He passed her, and she followed him outside into the sunshine and fresh air and up to the house. Entering from the front door, they walked through a small living room and into the kitchen.

He headed for the refrigerator. “Would you like something to drink? I have apple juice or beer.”

“Apple juice sounds good,” she said, sitting in one of the wooden chairs at the table.

He filled a glass with the cool liquid and set it on the table in front of her. Returning to the beer he’d left on the counter for himself, he took a long swig.

“How long do you plan on staying here in Linden?” he asked.

Her eyes met his. “At least a week, if it’s not a problem.”

His gaze strayed to the way she absently chewed on her bottom lip. He wondered if her mouth would taste as sweet and soft as it looked. Hell, a week would feel like a year.

He took another drink of beer, hoping it would douse the slow burn traveling through his veins. It didn’t. “You have that kind of free time?”

“One of the perks of being a freelance writer.” She grinned, her eyes dancing with humor. “You make your own hours and you don’t have to answer to anyone except yourself, and on occasion, your editor.” She took a drink of her juice. “So, do you mind?”

He blinked. “Do I mind what?”

“If I stay for a week.” She rubbed her finger down the condensation gathering on her glass.

Yeah, he was beginning to mind a whole lot. What in the hell had be been thinking to tell Andrew that this woman, or any woman, for God’s sake, could stay with them? And for an entire week?