Almost Perfect

Tom had always been too wrapped up in himself to give much notice to Maggie. In the evenings, he’d always asked for a head-and-neck rub, stating how stressful his day had been. Maggie’d had plenty of stressful days, but she’d never asked for any special attention.

“Just an uncomfortable pair of shoes,” she said, not wanting to complain. “It’s no big deal.”

They rode the elevator up to the fifth floor, and she led the way to the little apartment she called a temporary home.

Jake took the key from her hand and unlocked the door. “Go inside and make yourself comfortable.”

She’d intended to, but his suggestion took her aback. It had a slight, seductive sound to it. Or maybe he was just being nice, and her imagination had read seduction into his words.

This was Jake, her old friend, she again reminded herself. But the ex-rodeo star had, according to his sister, acquired more than his share of gold buckles along with a host of female fans eager to join his fan club.

Loyal childhood friend or sexy ladies’ man? She tried to reconcile the two images, but found it difficult.

“Take off your shoes,” he said, his voice intoxicatingly smooth, like a velvety shot of whiskey.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m going to give you a foot massage.” He bolted the door, which gave her an odd, anticipatory sensation, one that was sexually charged, at least on her part. Surely, he didn’t mean to seduce her, because she wasn’t sure how much of a struggle she’d put up. And a one-night stand with an old friend would certainly complicate her life.

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll be all right, once I get out of these shoes.” She dropped her purse onto one of the barstools that faced the mirrored bar in the living room, then removed the sandals that had blistered her feet and placed them in the seat, next to her evening bag. “I’ll be fine as soon as I can run around barefoot.”

Jake slipped off his suede jacket and draped it over the sofa. Then he removed his bolo tie and undid the top buttons on his shirt, revealing a dark patch of chest hair. She really shouldn’t stand there and stare at him, but she couldn’t remember when she’d last watched a man undress and found it so interesting, so arousing. So tempting.

He strode toward the living-room window and gazed out at the brightly lit Boston skyline. Her interest followed his. Stars glittered in the sky, offering a magical ambiance that she’d never known the plain apartment had.

“It’s a pretty view,” he said, “if you like big city sights.”

“You’re right.” Maggie studied the evening panorama, amazed that she hadn’t noticed it before.

He turned slowly, then his gaze swept over her, lingering, it seemed, upon her face. She brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. What did he see? What was so interesting?

She cleared her throat. “Would you like to have something to drink? Coffee? An after-dinner liqueur?”

He studied her as though the offer had surprised him. She wasn’t sure why. It seemed a friendly thing to suggest, even though she’d already drank more this evening than she had the past year.

“I guess you finally acquired a taste for alcohol,” he said.

“Not really. I enjoy an occasional glass of wine.”

“And champagne,” he said with a lazy smile.

“Only when someone fills my glass.” She nodded toward the mirrored bar that graced the sunken living room. “The liquor belonged to Tom, but he left it behind when he moved out. He and Rhonda are on a health kick, so he says. I’ll probably pour it all out rather than pack it all up and move it again.”

He nodded sagely, as though he understood much more than she’d told him. He’d always had an amazing ability to read a person, to reach under the surface. She wondered what he saw in her.

“How about a glass of wine?” he asked. “I’ve never been partial to fancy liqueurs.”

“Sure. I hope you like a dry white. It’s all I have.”

She started toward the kitchen, but he strode forward and placed a hand upon her shoulder to still her steps. “Don’t bother, Maggie. I’ll get it. Just take a seat in the easy chair.”

He’d already reached the kitchen and had begun opening the cupboards before she could argue.

“Wineglasses are in the dining-room hutch,” she said. “And a bottle is chilling in the fridge.”

In no time at all, he’d prepared two drinks, then brought one to her. He nodded toward the chintz-covered easy chair and matching ottoman. “Now, sit down and put your feet up.”

She should have declined, but for some reason, a foot massage sounded incredibly nice. And luxurious. She padded across the room and took a seat, sinking into the softness of the chair Tom hadn’t liked.

Jake handed her a glass of wine, then straddled the ottoman. His knees corralled her feet. “Do you have any lotion?”

Kama Sutra oil came to mind, but she quickly whisked the naughty thought away. If she wasn’t careful, she’d embarrass them both with some crazy suggestion that would screw up a perfectly good friendship. No pun intended.

Good grief, she’d thought about sex more this evening than she had in the past year. What was it about Jake that made her mind stray in a sexual direction? Was it because the sensual cowboy knew how to treat a lady? Or was it her own fascination and curiosity?

“You have pretty feet. They’re soft and smooth. I like the polish.”

“I just had a pedicure,” she said, as though needing an explanation. “Because of the strappy sandals.”

“I hope you tipped her well. She did a great job.”

As he kneaded her foot, she found herself slipping back into the softness of the chair. She closed her eyes, relishing each deft movement of his fingers, his thumbs. And suddenly she wanted his hands to continue up her leg. The massage, at least in her mind, had turned into a sensual rub. And if it hadn’t felt so darn good, she would have told him to stop.

Jake watched Maggie slowly unwind and relax; the foot rub had helped. He’d given his share of massages in the past, with other women and usually as an act of foreplay. He’d offered one to Maggie as a token of friendship, not as a means to get her into bed. But it had a strange effect on him. He wanted to stroke her calf, work his way to her knee, along the inside of her thigh. Coax her into a state of arousal.

Her eyes opened, and she grazed him with a heated glance, one that told him she, too, was finding the massage far more stimulating than either of them had intended. Had she been any other woman, Jake would have known exactly what to do, what to say. But with Maggie, the words stuck in his throat.

He placed her foot on the ottoman, then picked up the other and continued to work. He’d hoped changing feet, and not progressing up her leg would ease the powerful urge he had to take her in his arms, to carry her to bed. But it hadn’t.

“You’re incredible,” she said.

He thought she meant his hands, but her eyes told another story, one he wasn’t prepared to pursue. Not if he wanted to wake up in the morning without any regrets.

Shoot, not that he’d regret making love to Maggie. But she was the one he was worried about, the one who’d been hurt, the one who needed time to mend. And Jake was the last guy in the world who could help her. She deserved more than a one-night stand, and that’s about all he could offer her.

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

She lifted a brow, as though his experience bothered her. “Sharon said you had a slew of women chasing after you.”

He shrugged. “I’ve never made any promises about love and forever, but that doesn’t seem to keep women from wanting to change my attitude and my lifestyle.”

“And you have no intention of doing that?”

“I’m honest with the women I date. I’m not the marrying kind, but I do believe in one-on-one relationships until they don’t work anymore.”

“I guess having a family has curtailed your love life.”

Talking to Maggie about sex, or the lack of it, seemed strange. “I intend to provide those kids with the best home and family I can, even if it means hiring the right people to give it to them. And I’m not about to drag a ‘slew of women’ through their life. If that means a steady diet of celibacy, then I guess that’s what’ll happen.”

“You’ll be a good dad for them.”

“I don’t think so, but I’m going to try.”

Jake’s cell phone rang, interrupting the conversation he hadn’t wanted to continue. As he pulled the phone from the clip on his belt, apprehension dropped like a rock in the pit of his stomach. He hoped it wasn’t Rosa calling. His biggest fear was that something would happen to the kids he was supposed to protect.

Glancing at the lit display, he recognized the number and swallowed hard. It was Rosa, and she wouldn’t call unless it was an emergency.

Had Sam taken another tumble and cracked his noggin? The last one had blackened his little eye and required stitches.

Did Kayla have another fever? About a month ago, she ran a high temperature and lay around the house like a rag doll. Just a virus, the doctor had said, but the whole experience had scared Jake senseless.

He couldn’t eat or sleep when the kids were hurt or sick. Things like that hit him hard. He just wanted them to stay happy and healthy.

“Hello, Rosa.”

“It’s not Rosa, Jake. It’s her daughter, Sara.”

Panic backhanded him. Why couldn’t Rosa talk? Were Sam and Kayla okay? “What’s wrong?”

“The kids are fine,” Sara said. “But my mother is in the hospital and in a great deal of pain. The doctor said it’s her gall bladder and that she needs surgery. When can you come home?”

“I’ll try to fly standby first thing in the morning.” Jake glanced at Maggie, who sat attentively, her eyes intensely watching him. “Can you stay with the kids until I get home?”

Sara agreed, but asked him to hurry since she had to return to school on Monday morning.

When he hung up the phone, Maggie squeezed his hand. “What’s the matter?”

“Rosa needs to have surgery. I’ve got to get home.”

“Are the kids okay?”

“Yeah, Sara, her college-aged daughter, is with them.”

“Well, that’s good.”

Was it? That’s not the way he saw it. As long as Kayla and Sam were with someone other than Jake, they were fine. But what would happen when the poor kids had to depend on him to look after them? The thought of being more than a visiting uncle scared the devil out of him. What did he know about being a father? It’s not like he’d ever had a decent role model.

“Jake,” Maggie said. “You’re pale. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

He looked at her, unsure of how much he wanted to admit and deciding not too much. “I don’t know anything about kids. How am I going to take care of them without Rosa?”

“Hire someone.”

“Who?” he asked, unsure of who he could trust or depend on to do right by the kids.

“How about Rosa’s daughter?”

“Sara has to go back to Rice University on Monday morning. She’s got a test or something.”

“I could come and help with the kids,” she said, “at least for a month or so.”

“I’ll be okay,” he said, hoping he could convince her, even if he couldn’t convince himself. He glanced at the phone in the kitchen. Maybe he should call the airline and find an early-morning flight back to Texas.

“Why don’t you let me come help?”

He shook his head. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Why not? You need help. I’m available for about six weeks, just long enough for Rosa to recover from her surgery.”

Her offer was appealing, even though he was hesitant to risk having her find out he wasn’t good at dealing with kids, that Kayla was angry at him most of the time. Still, he needed help. And he wasn’t sure where to find someone he could trust.

Shoot, having a doctor to watch over Kayla and Sam would be a godsend. They’d never get hurt or sick. Or if they did, she’d cure them in a heartbeat. Pride battled his desire to see the kids in good hands.

His reluctance to accept her help still hovered around him. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I owe you one, now.” A smile dimpled her cheeks, and her caramel-brown eyes glimmered. “I was dreading this evening more than you’ll ever know, and you helped me through it.” She stood. “I can’t fly to Texas with you, because I have some things to take care of first. I’ll have to get the moving and storage people to come earlier than I’d planned.”

“And you’ll need to pour out all that liquor,” he said.

She smiled. “That, too. And besides, I’m going to drive. I’ll need my car in California.”

He swallowed hard. How long would he be alone with the kids? An hour sometimes seemed like forever. Could he manage without help for a day or two? “When do you think you’ll arrive?”

“By Thursday or Friday. Will that be all right?”

“Sure.” It would have to be. “No problem.”

Had he really agreed to have her come and help? To move in with him and the kids for a month or so? To be in such close proximity that she’d see how useless he was as a father? To have her learn that his cavalier attitude masked his shortcomings? He’d always made it a point not to let women get close enough to see his flaws, to find him lacking.

She pulled her foot from his hand, offering him a glimpse of her bare inner leg, the inside of her thigh that he’d wanted to touch, to stroke. Desire stirred, and he shifted his legs so she wouldn’t know.

But he knew, and it brought about a whole new worry.

He hadn’t had sex since he’d moved in with the kids. How was he going to handle the sexual attraction he felt, if she came to stay for a month or so?

Keeping a woman at a distance was hard to do once she’d shared a man’s bed. There was no way he could let himself get involved with Dr. Maggie Templeton. Not sexually.

She stood. “Why don’t I show you to the guest room. Since you need to wake up early, you’ll probably want to get some sleep.”

He nodded, although he wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink tonight.

Or any of the nights to follow.

Chapter Three

Maggie turned off the highway at Winchester, the small Texas town that neighbored Buckaroo Ranch.

Winchester hadn’t changed much in fifteen years. A streetlight had been erected on the corner of Main and Second, and Roy’s Grocery was now the Main Street Market. Other than that, everything looked much the same.

She turned right at Avery’s Feed Store and followed the old county road south, passing cattle grazing in green pastures. She and her stepfather had driven along this same road many times, and he never failed to complain about the money her paternal grandmother had paid for Maggie’s summers at Buckaroo Ranch.

Why doesn’t that old lady just give us the cash? You’d rather stay cooped up in your bedroom reading, anyway. Sending a lazy kid like you to a fancy camp is a waste of money.

Maggie had never responded to her stepdad’s tirades, mostly because he wouldn’t have put up with her arguments, but also because there was more to her grandmother’s offer than he knew.

Crippling arthritis had confined Gram to a convalescent home at the age of sixty-three, so the only escape from a dysfunctional home she could offer her granddaughter was three summers at Buckaroo Ranch.

The last, five-mile stretch passed quickly, and Maggie soon drove under the Ponderosa-style signpost that bore the name of the posh dude ranch Jake now owned.

Since this wasn’t Sunday, the beginning of a Buckaroo week, there was no sign of the buckboards that carried guests and luggage from the parking lot to the plush cabins in which they would reside.

In the past, Rascal, the one-eyed cattle dog, had run beside the wagons, greeting those arriving with a bark and a wag of his stumpy tail, but he’d been an old dog then. With Sharon gone and Jake undoubtedly busy with the responsibilities that were now his, there wouldn’t be a familiar face to welcome her to Buckaroo Ranch.

A pang of disappointment struck. As much as Maggie hated to admit it, she’d thought a lot about Jake in the past few days. Too much, in fact. She’d close her eyes and see the flirtatious glimmer in those intense blue eyes, feel the heat of his touch, relive the knee-weakening kiss.

She blew out a heavy sigh. She’d had enough psychology to know that her ex-husband’s rejection had triggered a need to feel loved and worthy again. The attraction she felt for the grown-up Jake was entirely out of line, and the sooner she got the sexually charged thoughts under control, the better.

Instead of freshening up after six hours on the road, she gave only a cursory glance in the rearview mirror. She and Jake were old friends, for goodness’ sake. There was no reason to primp.

Maggie grabbed her suitcase from the back seat, slipped the strap of her tote bag over a shoulder and shut the car door. She followed the shadow-dappled pathway that led to the house. Several of the outbuildings lay ahead—the hair salon and spa for those wanting more of a luxury vacation, the dining room where guests ate gourmet food while seated family style at long, wooden tables.

Nearing the house, she spotted an older man dressed in cowboy garb leading a mounted group along the riding trail that bordered the indoor arena. He looked a bit like Earl Iverson, the man who’d managed the ranch fifteen years ago, although grayer and much heavier.

She climbed the steps to the rustic front porch of Buckaroo Ranch, feeling as though she’d stepped into a time warp of Twilight Zone proportions. Everything seemed the same, yet eerily different.

For a moment, some of the old childhood insecurities crept back into the forefront of her mind.

Get a grip, she told herself. The gangly teen who had once perched awkwardly between woman and child no longer existed.

She lifted her hand to knock, but before her knuckles could rap on the carved-oak entry, the door swung open.

“Thank God, you’re here.” Jake took her bags, dropped them onto the floor and quickly swept her into his arms, accosting her with his scent of leather and musk.

Her heart did a swan dive, and her knees nearly gave out. But before she could react or speak, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the house.

They crossed the Spanish-tiled entry, the leather soles of his boots clicking, her tennis shoes squeaking. Maggie briefly scanned the spacious living room, where the adult guests of old had always gathered for the cocktail hour. Other than a new cream-colored sectional in the corner and a few toys scattered on the floor, the room looked the same.

When Jake led her into the kitchen, she couldn’t help but gasp.

A cyclone, it appeared, had swept through, causing major damage to the kitchen. Dirty dishes lined the counters and filled the sink, and splatters of food littered the walls and floor.

A towheaded toddler sat in a high chair, chocolate ice cream smeared across the tray like finger paint. The boy smiled in greeting, screeching and raising his spoon in a sticky fist.

“That’s Sam,” Jake said, nodding toward the messy little boy.

Sam offered a chocolaty smile, and Maggie couldn’t help but grin. Had she ever enjoyed ice cream with such barbaric abandon?

“And this is Kayla,” he added.

A little redheaded girl sat at the kitchen table, an open coloring book before her. She wore her curly hair loose and parted at the side, a red-and-black ladybug hair clip holding a large lock away from her face. Kermit-green eyes gazed at Maggie with wisdom beyond the little girl’s years. All signs of the mild to moderate cerebral palsy that plagued Kayla appeared to lay dormant.

Five years ago, shortly after Kayla’s birth, the pediatrician’s diagnosis had rattled Sharon. Maggie had offered as much long-distance counseling as she could, before referring her friend to national support groups and online resources.

Extending a hand to Sharon’s daughter, Maggie smiled warmly. “I’m glad to meet you, Kayla.”

The little girl accepted the greeting, but continued to peruse the adult she’d been introduced to.

Such a solemn expression for a pretty little girl. Maggie wanted to put the child at ease. “Kayla, you look a lot like your mother.”

Mentioning Sharon worked. The little girl smiled. “Thank you. Did you know my mommy?”

“I sure did. We were friends when we were kids.”

“Kayla,” Jake said. “This is Dr. Templeton. She’s the one I was telling you about.”

The girl, a pink crayon held in one hand like a scepter, furrowed an auburn brow. “You’re a doctor?”

Maggie, who’d worked hard to earn the distinguished title, didn’t expect friends to refer to her as such. “Why don’t you just call me Maggie?”

“Do you give shots?” Crayon still raised and brow still furrowed, the little girl nibbled on her bottom lip while awaiting Maggie’s reply.

“Only when absolutely necessary, but remember, I came to visit as a friend, not as a doctor.”

“Maggie’s going to help us until Rosa gets better,” Jake explained.

The task suddenly looked a bit overwhelming, and Maggie couldn’t help but scan the room again. Hadn’t he been cleaning up after each meal?

Her eyes settled on the chocolate-covered toddler in the high chair. She’d always encouraged parents to let children feed themselves, but she now wondered whether chocolate ice cream should be an exception.

Jake leaned against the counter, next to the sinkful of dirty dishes, and crossed his arms. He looked windblown, tussled. And too damn sexy for his own good. Her heart did a little flip-flop, and she had to remind herself of her resolve to keep things on a platonic keel.

“Boy, am I glad you came,” he said.

“I’ll bet you are. You definitely need reinforcements.” Maggie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and surveyed the kitchen again. “Should we draw straws to decide who’s going to tackle the cleanup?”

“We don’t have to decide that yet. I’ve still got some dishes left in the cupboard.” He laughed, then blew out a deep breath and nodded toward Sam. “I’m more concerned about cleaning up the little piglet. Would you mind helping?”

The poor kid was covered from the tips of his downy fine hair to the mismatched socks he wore. Apparently, Uncle Jake hadn’t taken time to put on his shoes. Or maybe they’d been lost in the clutter.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t arrived?” she asked.

He shot her one of those bad-boy grins. “Taken him out back and hosed him off, I guess.”

Maggie lifted a brow and scrutinized her handsome cowboy friend. “Are you kidding? You haven’t been hosing him down in the yard, have you?”

“No.” He laughed again. “I was joking, Maggie. Actually, I’ve been filling the tub with warm, soapy water and swishing him around.”

Uncle Jake was undoubtedly out of his element. The past few days must have been comical, and Maggie wished she could have witnessed them firsthand.

“Doctor,” Kayla said, her voice far more serious than that of her uncle. “Do you read stories to kids?”

Maggie smiled at the girl. “I haven’t had too many opportunities, but if you have some storybooks, I’d be happy to read to you.”

“Goodie,” Kayla said. “Because uncles don’t like to read.” Kayla shot an exasperated look at Jake, and Maggie realized it had been a bone of contention between the two.

She could certainly understand Kayla’s frustration. Kids loved to listen to stories. Parents who didn’t read to their children did them a huge disservice. Maybe she would have to work on Jake. Some people didn’t believe an old dog could learn new tricks, but she disagreed.

“I’ll just have to talk your uncle into reading you a story once in a while.” She slid him a sly smile.

And Jake did his damnedest to return a grin, even though he wanted to scoff and stomp outside. Kayla was always grumpy when he refused to read aloud.

“Reading to children is good for them,” Maggie added. “It helps them develop learning skills, not to mention a love of books.”