Mary Baxter - Sultry

Jerking her thoughts out of the past, Lindsay tried to swallow back the panic that suddenly threatened to overwhelm her. No, she wasn’t all right, she wanted to scream. Instead, she made the swing go faster, as if to outrun her mind.

Why now, of all times, did Tim have to bring up their mother’s suicide?

“Of course you’re not all right,” Tim muttered, seemingly more to himself than to her.

Lindsay licked her dry lips. “I’m okay, really. Mother was not something I expected to discuss, that’s all.”

“Me either,” Tim admitted, his weak chin jutting slightly. “I don’t know what the hell came over me.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to feel guilty for talking about her.”

“But I do,” he said harshly. “It all happened so long ago.”

“The summer I graduated from the university and you were in med school,” Lindsay acknowledged in a dazed voice. “Even at that, it seems like yesterday.” Her voice had suddenly turned hoarse, and she cleared her throat.

“Let’s change the subject, okay?” Tim said abruptly. “‘To hell with her’ is the way I see it. If she didn’t want to stay with us, then we’re better off without her.”

“Tim, please, don’t talk like that. What would Daddy think?”

“Who gives a damn? Haven’t you ever considered that he just might be partly to blame?”

“Of course I’ve considered it,” she responded, a wealth of sadness in her tone.

“His stable of women has always been the talk of the town.” His tone was bitter. “Because of that, I’m sure Mother was the brunt of a lot of jokes.”

“Tim, don’t do this, to yourself or me. It’s not healthy, for more reasons than one.”

“You know, life sucks.”

Lindsay blew out a heavy breath, realizing the tiny moment of closeness she had felt with Tim earlier had disintegrated. He was once more his brooding, untouchable self, while she was becoming anxious, a feeling that frightened her. She didn’t want to talk about Cooper’s penchant for women or dissect his role in her mother’s death. It wasn’t healthy.

“I’d rather not talk about this any more,” she said stiffly, voicing her thoughts.

His face darkened. “Ditto.”

Lindsay stopped the swing. “I guess I’d best get back and check on Daddy.”

“Ah, he’s all right. If not, we’d have heard.”

Lindsay didn’t argue. However, she got out of the swing, walked back to the railing and stared into the distance. What a lovely and tranquil place, she thought, aching for some of that tranquility to filter into her soul.

“Why do you stay?”

Lindsay gave her brother a taxing look, trying to curb her temper. Another unsettling question out of the blue. This was a side of Tim she hadn’t seen in a long time. He usually had very little to say to her. “You know why.”

“No, I don’t. He’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He’s just too selfish and ornery to do so.”

“It’s not all him.” Lindsay’s voice suddenly shook. “I’ve never wanted to be by myself.”

“I can understand that.”

A short silence followed his bleak words. Lindsay broke it by saying, “My main concern right now is convincing Daddy once and for all that I’m not going to marry Peter.”

“Well, good luck. You’ve got a daunting task ahead.”

Another silence ensued as Lindsay’s eyes returned to the colorful grounds. It was then that she saw a man sauntering across the nearby lawn as if he owned it. He was a big man, with a loose, long-limbed gait that bespoke of self-assurance, if not a bit of arrogance.

An attractive hunk, she thought wryly, unable to remember the last time she’d been affected by any man. Of course, she wasn’t affected by him, she corrected herself quickly, except in a purely objective way. After all, he was obviously an employee, and much too old for her, to boot.

Still, her gaze lingered. He had a strong, rugged profile, and dark hair that curled slightly at his nape. But it wasn’t his face that held her attention. It was from the neck down.

He was shirtless, and even from where she stood, she could see the contour of his body. And a fine body it was, too.

For a moment Lindsay forgot all about Cooper, Timothy and—especially—Peter. She was intrigued and wondered who the man was, though she had never before taken an interest in the people who maintained the huge estate.

As if he sensed he was being watched, he swung his head sideways, and their eyes met. She was trapped. Caught staring. Her face flooded with color, especially when he seemed to be surveying her with guarded eyes.

What was he thinking? More to the point, why did she care?

Suddenly, his brows arched in a deliberate and dismissive gesture, then he turned his head.

Lindsay didn’t know why, but that look irritated her no end. She had never considered herself a snob, but she felt like putting him in his place, wherever that might be.

She yanked her gaze away from him and back to her brother. “Who’s that man?”

Tim’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean Mitch Rawlins?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

“He’s our new estate manager.”

“Don’t you mean head gardener?” Lindsay asked in a catty tone.

Tim gave her a perplexed look, then said with a touch of mockery, “I’d say he’s a bit more than that. Why do you want to know?”

“No reason,” Lindsay snapped, even as her hungry eyes once again sought the man out.

Mitchum Rawlins, known as Mitch by his friends, continued to stare at the boss’s daughter. Or rather, the lady of the manor, he corrected himself with a smirk, long after she had turned her haughty little nose up and away from him.

He wondered if she thought her snubbing him made any difference. His smirk deepened as he rubbed his stubbled chin. Having only been working on the estate as its main caretaker for a month, he’d never had the opportunity to meet Lindsay Newman firsthand. Word had it that she had gone to Europe. He guessed her old man’s accident had brought her back home.

While she was in no way hard on the eyes, she caught his attention mainly because everything about her seemed to radiate a restless energy. And usually, where there was energy, there was passion.

Although she appeared on the thin side, she was still well-proportioned. Her small, jutting breasts and narrow waistline bore that out. But it was the strawberry-blond hair swirling around her face that was the eye-catcher.

He would bet anything she had the freckles that usually went along with that coloring. He would also bet she had dark eyes. As for her age, he was less sure about that. He’d put her somewhere in her middle to late twenties.

Finally realizing what he was doing, Mitch let go of a stinging curse, then forced his mind off the spoiled brat who wouldn’t have cared if he took another breath.

The last thing he needed was to have anything to do with Dr. Newman’s daughter. More to the point, he didn’t want anything to do with anyone, especially a woman.

For the first time in years, he was sleeping like a baby. Using his hands, he did an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay. Suddenly Mitch peered down at those large, tanned hands, which were both callused and strong, and thought again what a lucky son of a bitch he was.

When his wife, Wendy, left him and his other job became intolerable, he’d walked away in the opposite direction, leaving behind a world filled with responsibilities and sleepless nights.

Regrets?

None whatsoever.

Anything would beat what he’d done and where he’d been. Now he felt free in every sense of the word. He could grow anything, build anything, repair anything. God-given talents—all of them. And he was using them wisely. The only thing that bugged him was an occasional loneliness, a real need to touch and be touched by another human.