Vicki Lewis Thompson - Thunderstruck

A man like Damon didn’t need a line to get a woman into bed. He had the kind of sexual potency that obliterated logic and caution. If she spent too much time thinking about the way he’d smiled at her, she’d end up knocking on his cabin door tonight.

“Phil?”

With a start she realized Rosie had spoken to her. “What?”

“Do you think that you and Damon will be able to work together?”

“Sure.” It was the answer she was supposed to give, but privately she wondered if they’d end up sneaking off to have sex in the woods, which would seriously impact the schedule.

“If you have any doubts, we can still call Gerald. He’s not as good a carpenter as you are, but—”

“You won’t have to do that. Damon and I will be fine.” She flinched at the idea of Gerald taking over. He was a nice enough guy, but he was sloppy. He didn’t charge the hourly rate she did, but given his lack of expertise, he shouldn’t.

Damon would hate working with Gerald. The job would end up taking longer because Damon would have to fix whatever Gerald screwed up. Phil’s work would pass muster, assuming she could keep her mind on it.

She would keep her mind on it. The project was too important to allow an inconvenient case of lust to interfere. And speaking of lust-inducing men, here he came.

Even his walk was sexy, the rat. He’d managed to locate an old straw cowboy hat, and if he’d been irresistible before, now he was deadly.

“I see you found your hat,” Cade said.

“Picked it up when I went down to the barn to pay a social call on my old pal Ringo.” He climbed up on the porch and grabbed a beer from the cooler. “That’s some cat you have, Gallagher. He remembered me.”

Phil didn’t doubt it. Who wouldn’t remember this guy?

“Don’t let it go to your head.” Cade sipped his beer. “He remembers anybody who brings him kitty treats.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t have them with me. They’re still in my duffel.” Damon twisted off the cap and took a swig of his beer. “He came right over.”

“So he gave you the benefit of the doubt this time. Keep showing up without treats and see what happens.”

“He’s my buddy. He’d come to see me.” Damon glanced at the Adirondack chair next to Phil. His gray eyes sparkled. “Excuse me, ma’am. Is this seat taken?”

“Be my guest.” Oh, yes, he was charming, and she was more of a sucker for his brand of charm than she’d ever imagined.

“We never drank that toast to Cabin Number Four,” Rosie said. “We should do it now.”

“Absolutely.” Damon raised his bottle. “To Cabin Number Four and the success of Thunder Mountain Academy.”

“Hear, hear!” Herb lifted his bottle, and everyone else on the porch did the same.

After they’d all taken a drink, Damon leaned forward so he could see around Phil. “Catch me up on what’s been going on. Cade said the contributions weren’t coming in as fast as we need them to.”

“They’ll pick up,” Herb said. “It’s only July, and we have until September first to raise the money.”

Phil had only recently learned how crowdfunding worked. “It still doesn’t seem fair to me that you either meet the goal or all the money goes back to the contributors. Isn’t there any wiggle room on that?”

“Not really.” Rosie was looking much better these days. The color had returned to her face, and she’d resumed her regular trips to the beauty salon to have her silver roots tinted their original blond. “That’s the way we set it up. A flexible deadline makes us look as if we’re not sure the project will succeed. It’s better if you state the amount you need and you either get it and the project is funded, or you don’t and the money’s all returned.”

“There’s a risk factor.” Herb looked at Phil. “But that’s true of anything. You took a risk moving here from Cheyenne to open Phil’s Home Repair.”

“I guess so.” But if she’d failed, no one else would have suffered. If the Kickstarter program for Thunder Mountain Academy failed, the ranch would be sold. Herb and Rosie would lose the place they loved, and so would all the foster boys who had been sheltered here.

“It’s going to work,” Damon said. “I feel it in my bones. We have so many elements to offer kids who are considering a career with horses—equine vet experience from Dad, a riding program designed by Lexi, saddle making taught by Molly’s husband, Ben, and horse training taught by our favorite singing cowboy.”

“Don’t make fun,” Cade said.

“I’m not! Rosie said you tamed that black gelding of yours by singing to him.” Damon turned to Phil. “Did you hear about that?”

“I did.”

Cade sipped his beer. “It makes a good story, but it wasn’t quite that simple.”

“Maybe not, but I couldn’t have done it.” Damon glanced over at Phil again. “See, I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. If I tried singing to a horse he’d likely buck me off and then trample me to shut me up.”

She laughed. “I doubt it’s that bad.”

“No, he’s right,” Cade said. “He’s terrible. But lucky for you, bro, Hematite is gentle enough now that you can ride him without singing.”

“You’ll let me ride him?”

“I will if you’re nice.”

“I’m always nice.”

Of course he had to say it in that low, sexy voice of his. Phil resisted the urge to fan herself. He might not be a good singer, but she had no trouble imagining that husky voice murmuring to her as they made long, slow love in her refinished sleigh bed. Oh, he’d be nice, all right. Very nice.

And for once, she wouldn’t have to worry about a man being intimidated by the evidence of her construction skills. Damon might appreciate the effort she’d put into her home. She’d have fun showing it off to someone who understood how many hours she’d spent on it.

But in order to do that, she’d have to invite him there. And she knew as sure as her name was Philomena Hermione Turner that once she had that man in her house, she would eventually have him in her bed. So before she issued her invitation, she’d better be damned sure that was what she wanted.

3

THROUGHOUT HAPPY HOUR and dinner, Damon’s mind ran laps like a hamster on a wheel. He’d never had a problem like this. Because he flipped houses and operated alone, he’d never had to worry about mixing business with pleasure.

But here was Philomena Turner with her incredible blue eyes, sexy mouth and lithe body. She was in great shape because she worked her muscles hard just like he did. Now that he was over the shock, knowing that they had essentially the same job might be the most intriguing thing about her.

He envisioned what she’d look like all flushed and sweaty after a day spent using power tools in the heat of a Wyoming summer. Then he stopped thinking about it before he embarrassed himself by getting a woody. If she’d shut him down and made it clear she wasn’t interested, that would have helped. He’d never believed in chasing women who played hard to get.

Instead she’d traded smoldering looks with him in the meadow, and during dinner he’d caught her glancing his way several times. He had no trouble interpreting what those glances meant. She was considering having sex with him. To make matters worse, he was considering having sex with her, too.

That was probably a really bad idea. He had a hunch that Rosie had intended this all along. She’d put them next to each other at dinner around the cozy kitchen table and had kept tabs on them throughout the meal. She was convinced her boys should all settle down with nice women.

She’d be overjoyed if he became seriously involved with Phil, but he’d earn a bunch of demerits if they only had a casual fling. So the best solution to this mess would be finding someone else to help him build the cabin.