Amy Frazier - Family By The Bunch

She kicked. He grinned. For an instant, she got the im pression that he toyed with her.

Her heart beat faster. Her lungs began to ache. She wa out of shape. College swim team was a long way off. And for the past year after the divorce, she’d put fun—boisterous, all-out fun—on the back burner. It showed. She needed to surface.

She broke into the brilliant sunshine and blinked. Took a second to adjust. Wrong move. She felt him slither up the length of her and surface right beside her, his arms encircling her waist. His flesh hot against hers in the cool water.

She had only to admit defeat.

He pulled her gently to him. “You’re mine,” he breathed in her ear.

He had another think coming.

Because he expected her to surrender, she still had surprise on her side.

Quickly, she expelled all the air in her lungs. Mentally made herself heavy and reed thin. Raised her hands over her head and sank like a slippery eel through his light grasp. As she slid away, her fingertips grazed his rock hard chest, his lean hips, his thighs. She almost regretted pulling away.

Almost.

But the thought of him, just seconds ago, assuming he’d won the prize made her feisty. After Paul, her ex-husband, she’d be no man’s trophy ever again. Not even in a kids’ game.

With all her might, she kicked, reached out and touched the safety of the pool wall. Her lungs empty and burning, she kicked once more with enough effort to propel her over the side onto the decking. She lay gasping and grinning, her fist raised.

“Power to the minnows!” she declared gleefully before her words dissolved in a fit of coughing.

My, my. Hank watched her from the middle of the pool. For a little bitty thing she had some fight in her. He liked a woman with some gumption.

The kids hooted.

“Another game,” Chris Russell demanded. “This time Miss Neesa should be shark. She’s awesome.” How fickle fame and favor.

Rising, Neesa reached for her towel. “Not right now.” Her smile dazzled. “This minnow needs a break.”

“Later?”

“Maybe.”

“Hank?” The kids pressed around him.

He’d played enough for the moment. “How do you think this defeated shark feels?” He pulled a face as the children groaned in unison. “Y’all play amongst yourselves. I’ll take you on in a little bit. Right now I need something cool to drink.”

Right now he wanted to find out more about Neesa Little. A woman with a laptop who’d come to the pool prepared to work, but who’d played—and played hard—instead. A woman with the face of an angel who must seem like a guardian angel to children without homes. A woman who, right from the moment he’d spotted her at the bus stop, seemed to exert some mysterious pull over him.

He hauled himself out of the water and onto the pool edge, mentally noting that he had no intention of starting anything—anything at all—with Neesa Little, the suburban beauty. He was just curious. Heck, he’d probably never see the woman again after he retreated to his ranch on Monday. Their worlds were that different.

But right now he was curious.

As he reached for his towel, she smiled up at him from her seat on the lounge chair, and his curiosity felt uncomfortably like attraction.

“So, sharkmeister,” she said, her blue eyes dancing, “what are you in the work world? Teacher? Cruise director? Game show host? If so, you’re good at what you do.”

He rubbed the towel vigorously over his chest and arms. “Rancher.”

In a small birdlike gesture, she tilted her face. “In Georgia?” Despite the question, she didn’t seem surprised.

“I raise draft horses and train them to be loggers.” Without the children about them, he’d gone unaccountably reticent. He didn’t want to talk about himself. He wanted to listen to her talk.

“Is your ranch near?”

“Not too far.” He didn’t want to give out too much information. Not even to an angel with blue eyes. His ranch was his business and his life, not a showpiece. And he was damned protective of his refuge. His solitary life. Damned choosy about the people he allowed beyond the front gate. Even in conversation.

A curious expression passed over her face. She altered the topic slightly. “What brings a rancher to Holly Mount subdivision?”

He sat, uncomfortable now, and scowled out over the pool and the kids frolicking noisily. “Evan Russell’s my cousin. I’m watching over his kids so that he and Cilla can...get away for the weekend.” He wouldn’t discuss Evan and Cilla’s marital problems. Blood loyalty.

“Well, you’re terrific with kids.”

Yeah, he was. He flat-out loved kids. Wished he could raise a whole bunch of his own out at the ranch. His scowl deepened. The problem was that kids were a package deal that came with marriage and happily ever after; in his experience, he hadn’t seen too much relationship happily ever after. His Pa had died of a broken heart. His own fiancée had left him, almost at the altar. And now Evan and Cilla’s relationship was in serious trouble. Hell, he knew the divorce statistics.

Pain. That’s what the flame of passion ended in.

Heck. He might harbor the nesting urge—deep down inside—but he remained realistic. Cautious. He planned to enjoy his cousins and nieces and nephews, for, as much as he loved children, he might have to forgo the pleasures of fatherhood to avoid the pain of commitment. Despite his longing for married family life, he knew the odds of finding the right woman.

A sour outlook if ever there was one. But practical. His scowl was now so tight he could see the shadows of his own eyebrows.

“I’m sorry if I touched on a sore spot.” Neesa’s soft voice startled him.

He glanced to his right and discovered her watching him. Great. He needed a pair of cloud-soft eyes prodding him like a horse needed wings. He’d known this weekend was going to be tough; no day at the ranch; taking care of the kids; the normal parenting routine. But the kids had been great. However, the suburban distraction—namely dainty Neesa Little—was doing him in. He wished it were Monday.

Neesa couldn’t get over the change in Hank.

Minutes ago he’d been grinning. Relaxed and playful. Flirtatious even. Now he looked liked a thunderstorm rising. What had happened? Had her few questions precipitated this change? The fact that she had a motive for her curiosity made her feel just the tiniest bit guilty.

“It’s nothing,” he replied, his words a barely controlled growl.

“Perhaps I’d better go.”

“No!” The force of that one word hung in the air. “I mean...” He reached in the cooler for two cans of soft drink and seemed to be reaching for an explanation—or composure—as well. “It was just some serious business that came to mind. Don’t let it spoil your time in the sun.”

He obviously had let it spoil his.

He handed her a soft drink. He didn’t smile, but his expression wasn’t quite as fearsome as before. “At least let the shark buy the conquering minnow a drink.”

He was certainly a complex one, this Mr. Hank Whittaker. Rancher.

Accepting the soft drink, she searched for a new topic of conversation. He wasn’t the easiest man to be with, but, with the deadline pressure for Kids & Animals, she needed him. Needed to keep him talking. Just now the subject of kids had, strangely enough, brought on his beetled-brow silence. She racked her brain for some new avenue of conversation. Something that would make her sound casually curious. Not prying.

“I think every girl loves horses at one point or another in her childhood,” she began. “I was no different. What’s it like to work with them? Especially the big ones. Draft horses that you train to be loggers, didn’t you say?”