Dixie Browning - The Beauty, The Beast And The Baby

He stroked his beard. One of these days he was going to have to take the time to get himself trimmed up. Lisa had tried more than once to talk him into shaving, back in the honeymoon stage of their relationship, but he’d held out. Probably, he admitted now, because he’d been afraid she wouldn’t like what she saw.

Maybe if he got hot enough down on that sundrenched beach that was just waiting for him somewhere south of here—a beach where he didn’t know a bloody soul and nobody knew him—he might even decide to get reacquainted with his own face. At the moment, however, he needed all the cover he could get.

Sooner or later, Gus told himself as he let himself out the door, he was going to have to kick a few bad habits. Number one was being unable to say no to a lady—canine, feline or otherwise. Just last summer he’d found himself giving aid and comfort—not to - mention room and board—to a one-eared cat and her litter of kittens, two half-starved pups that had been dumped on a country road and a raccoon that was so old and blind she’d fallen out of a persimmon tree and knocked herself out. Eventually, he’d managed to find them all permanent homes.

With women, his record wasn’t quite so good. The first woman he’d ever loved—or thought he did—had ended up marrying his best friend. He’d been young and idealistic, and it had taken him a while to get over it, but he’d survived. There’d been other women since then—a lot of them, because Gus truly enjoyed women. But he didn’t date anyone seriously. Not until Lisa, and maybe not even then.

The trouble was, the kind of woman he was booked on never quite lived up to his expectations. Eventually he’d learned not to expect anything.

And no matter what Mariah looked like—no matter how much she engaged his sympathy—she was not going to get to him. No way! All he had to do was ignore those big weimaraner eyes and that long, lean, languorous body of hers for a few more hours. Come morning, he would drop her off at her car, treat her to a tank of gas and send her on her way with his blessings.

And then he’d head south and continue his quest for the sun. There damn well had to be a sun out there somewhere!

It was still coming down like Niagara Falls when Mariah let herself out a few minutes later. Gus took one look at her and then hurried out to unlock the truck.

Down, boy. Think big, juicy steak. Think pecan pie smothered with ice cream…think anything but what you’re thinking!

The lady cleaned up real good. She was wearing jeans, a man’s white shirt, vinyl slicker and a pair of cork-soled sandals that towered about three inches off the ground, making those skyscraper legs of hers even more spectacular. She looked like a million bucks. But then, even wet, stained, bruised and swollen, she’d rated well over the top on any man’s gauge.

Gus figured the sooner they parted ways, the better. “Steak, seafood, waffles or burgers, take your pick. There’s a chicken takeout three miles farther down the road.” He did his best to ignore the way she got into a truck. Mariah was tall enough to edge her hip onto the seat and swing both legs inside in one smooth, flowing motion.

He closed the door and stalked around the hood. Dammit, it was going on nine and his last meal had been a candy bar a couple of hundred miles ago. “Make up your mind,” he said, his voice rough from an earlier bout of coughing.

“I’m not real crazy about waffles. Anything else suits me, though. You choose.”

Following the directions he’d received from the night clerk, Gus drove to the steak house. The waiting line stretched all the way out to the edge of the canopy. Without a word he backe d out and headed for the two closest seafood places, only to discover that the shortest wait at either place would be at least an hour.

“Goodness, I wonder what it’s like on a week end,” Mariah murmured. Her stomach growled noisily.

“This is Florida, right? It’s February, so what d’you expect?” He was hungry, too, but it was hard to feel too grim when he was this close to a woman who turned him on big time without even trying. Which was crazy, because he wasn’t even over his last affair! At least, he hadn’t thought he was. But there was something downright disarming about a growling stomach on a woman who looked like the cover of a six-dollar fashion magazine, even in a plastic raincoat.

They drove a few miles farther, picked up a couple of chicken dinners and headed back to the motel. Gus eased into the parking place, then leaned across and opened her door, trying hard to ignore the mingled smell of fried chicken, lilacs and warm woman. He tucked the boxes under his coat and made a dive for the shelter.

Mariah was right beside him, her wet face and wet slicker glistening under the security lights. She was laughing, but Gus noticed she was supporting her right hand with her left. He knew from personal experience that two hands were better than one, especially for things like opening chicken boxes and shucking plastic utensils out of their packets.

And hell, it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do.

While the rain droned down a few feet away, he watched her struggle to unlock her door left-handed, then impatiently took the key and did the job for her. She wasn’t a whiner, he would give her that much.

“Thanks,” she murmured. “And, Gus, thank you for supper.” She lifted a box off the stack and stepped inside. “I’ll add it to my account.”

Gus was going to say “You do that” when his throat betrayed him again. His cough, a remnant of the flu, soun ded a lot worse than it was.

“That sounds awful! Come inside for a minute, I might have something…” She had that same mother-hen glint in her eye his sister Angel always got when she was trying to cure his sweet tooth. “I know I’ve got something in one of my bags—everybody’s been coughing lately.”

Nearly strangling, Gus followed her inside. Even with his eyes watering, he couldn’t help but appreciate her rear end as she leaned over to fumble left-handed through the bottles, jars and tubes in her makeup case. “Hey, don’t go to any trouble on my account,” he rasped. “I never take medicine.”

She pulled out a card of foil-wrapped lozenges and held it out to him. “Yes, you do. I saw you take aspirin earlier, remember?”

“That’s not medicine, that’s—Ah, hell, give me the thing,” he snapped, and immediately regretted his surliness. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“It has, hasn’t it?” There was no reproach in her voice, but her quiet Georgia accent made him feel about the size of a small cockroach.“ I expect you’re hungry, too. Why don’t we have supper and make an early night of it? I have a long drive ahead of me tomorrow, and you probably do, too. Where are you going, anyway?”

As she was making a real mess of trying to open a chicken box one-handed, Gus took it from her and finished the job. With a courtly gesture, he pulled out her chair, partly to make up for being a sorehead. Play it cool, man. This is strictly business. Ships in the night, and all that. “Wait here. I’ll get us something to drink. You want cold from the machine, or coffee?”

“Cold, please. Diet cola’s fine.”

“Chemicals are bad for you. Sugar’s real food.”

She smiled, and it occurred to him as he dug in his pocket for change that if she smiled much more, there was no telling how big a fool he was going to make of himself before he manag ed to get away.

Awkwardly, she set out the napkins and plastic cutlery. “Don’t go to any trouble,” Gus warned. “I can eat in my own room.”

“Yes, but if you stay here you can have my biscuit and the wing on my breast quarter. I never eat wings.”