Lori Foster - Forever Buckhorn

But the clothing she wore made seeing much impossible. She had to be roasting in that thick denim and starched cotton.

She cleared her throat. “Well, if it’s really true, then I’d like to interview you.”

Gabe leaned around her, which made her blue eyes widen, and fetched a can of cola from the cooler sitting beside his empty chair. “You want one?”

“Uh, no, thank you.” She hastily stepped back, avoiding getting too close to him. That nettled.

After popping the tab on the can and downing half of it, Gabe asked, “What paper do you write for?”

“Oh. No, I don’t—”

“Because I’m not interested in being interviewed again. Every damn paper for a hundred miles around picked up on that stupid story, and they blew it all out of proportion. Folks around here are finally about done razzing me, my damn brothers included, and I’m not at all interested in resurrecting that ridiculous business again.”

She frowned at him, then snapped the paper open to peruse it. “Did you or did you not dive into the water to pull three people, a woman and her two children, out of the lake when a drunken man fell out of his boat, leaving the boat unmanned?”

Gabe made a face. “Yeah, but—”

“No one else did anything, they just sort of stood there dumbfounded while the boat, without a driver, began circling the hapless swimmers.”

“Hapless swimmers?” He grunted at her word usage. “Any one of my brothers would have done the exact same thing, and in fact—”

“And did you or did you not then manage to get in the boat—” She glanced up. “I’d love for you to explain how you did that, by the way. How you took control and got inside a running boat without getting chewed to bits by the prop. Weren’t you at all scared?”

Gabe stared at her. Even her lashes were reddish, sort of a deep auburn, and with the sun on them, the tips were turned to gold. She squinted against the glare of the sunshine, which made the freckles on her tipped-up nose more pronounced. Other than those sprinkled freckles, her skin was smooth and clear and…

He shook himself. “Look, sugar, I said I didn’t want to do an interview.”

She puckered up like someone had stuck a lemon between her lips. “My name is Ms. Parks, or Elizabeth, either will do, thank you.” After that reprimand, she had the audacity to say, “All the others wanted to be interviewed. Why don’t you?”

She stood there, slim brows raised, her pencil poised over that damn notepad as if she expected to write down his every profound word.

Gabe cursed. Profound words were not his forté. They took too much effort. “What others?”

“The other heroes.”

He could see her long hair curling in the humidity even as they spoke. It hung almost to the top of her behind, except for the front which was pulled back with a huge barrette. Little wispy curls, dark with perspiration, clung to her temples. The longer hair was slowly pulling into corkscrew curls. It fascinated him.

The front of her white blouse was beginning to grow damp, too, and Gabe could detect a plain white bra beneath. Damn, it was too hot to be all trussed up like that. What the hell kind of rigid female wore so many clothes to a vacation lake during the most sweltering heat wave of the summer season?

He didn’t care what kind of female. “All right, first things first. I’m not doing any interview, period. Two, I’ll admit I’m curious as to what the hell you’re talking about with this other heroes business. And three, would you be more comfortable in the shade? Your face is turning berry red.”

If anything, her color intensified. It wasn’t exactly a pretty blush, more like someone had set a fire beneath her skin. She looked downright blotchy. Gabe almost laughed.

“I, ah, I always turn red,” she explained, somewhat flustered. “Sorry. Redheads have fair skin.”

“And you sure as certain have redder hair than most.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.”

She looked stiff, as if he’d insulted her. It wasn’t like her red hair was a state secret! A body could see that hair from a mile away.

He had to struggle to keep from grinning. “So whatdya say? You wanna go sit in the shade with me? There’s a nice big piss elm hanging over the water there and it’s cooler than standing here on the dock in the sun, but not much.”

She blinked owlishly at him. “A what elm?”

“Piss elm. Just sorta means a scraggly one. Come on.” She looked ready to expire on him, from flustered embarrassment, heat and exasperation. Without waiting for her agreement, he grabbed his cooler, took her arm in a firm grip and led her off the dock, over the rough rock retaining wall and through the grass. One large root of the elm stuck out smoothly from the ground and made a nice seat. Gabe practically shoved her onto it. He was afraid she might faint on him any minute. “Rest there a second while I get you a soda.”

She scrambled to smooth her skirt over her legs, covering as much skin as possible, while trying to balance her notepad and adjust her heavy purse. “No, thank you. Really, I just—”

He’d already opened a can. “Here, drink up.” He shoved the drink into her hand and then waited until she dutifully sipped. “Feel better?”

“Uh, yes, thank you.”

She acted so wary, he couldn’t help but be curious about her. She wasn’t his type—too pushy, too prim, too…red. But that didn’t mean he’d let her roast herself in the sun. His mother would hide him if she thought he’d been rude to a lady, any lady. Besides, she was kinda cute with her prissiness. In a red sort of way.

Gabe grabbed another cola for himself, then sat on the cooler. He looked at her while he drank. “So, tell me about these heroes.”

She carefully licked her lips then set the can in the grass before facing him. “I’m working on a thesis for college. I’ve interviewed about a half dozen different men who were recently commended for performing heroic acts. So far, they’ve all had similar personality types. But you—”

“No fooling? What type of personality do heroes have?”

“Well, before I tell you that, I’d like to ask you a few questions. I don’t want your answers to be biased by what the others have said.”

Gabe frowned, propping his elbows on his knees and glaring at her. “You think I’d lie?”

She rushed to reassure him. “No! Not consciously. But just to keep my study pure, I’d rather conduct all the interviews the same way.”

“But I’ve already told you, I don’t want to be interviewed.” He watched her closely, saw her frustration and accurately guessed that wasn’t typical behavior of a hero. What nonsense.

After a long minute, she said, “Okay, can I ask you something totally different?”

“Depends. Ask, then I’ll see if I want to answer.”

“Why’d you throw the fish back?”

Gabe looked over his shoulder to where he’d caught the carp, then back. “That fish I just caught?”

“Yes. Why fish if you’re not going to keep what you catch.”

He chuckled. “You don’t get out by the lake much, do you?”

“I’m actually not from around here. I’m just visiting the area—”

“To interview me?” The very idea floored him, and made him feel guilty for giving her such a hard time.

“Yes, actually.” She took another drink of the soda, then added, “I rented a place and I’m staying for the month until school starts back up. I wanted to have all my research together before then. I’d thought I was done, and I was due a short vacation, but then I read the papers about you and decided to add one more interview.”

“So you’re working during your vacation?” He snorted. That was plain nuts. Vacations were for relaxing, and the idea of wasting one to pester him didn’t make sense.