Page 62 of Risk of a Lifetime
She gripped the sapling with both hands as her weight worked with gravity on her downhill slide. “What’s taking so long?”
“Getting dressed.”
“I don’t care if you’re dressed or not. I need some help up here.”
Sounds of movement from the dock area at least meant he was on the way. His jean-clad legs appeared as he planted his boot-clad feet next to her. Dropping the black thermal bottoms from his hands, he crouched to her level. “How did you get in this predicament?”
“I was coming to save you.” Her fingers were fast slipping from the tree.
“Save me? Really? From what?”
“From the lake. From the fish. From whatever the heck reason you jumped in.” Marcy looked up, then grabbed onto the sapling with both hands again. She wasn’t about to chance sliding into the water. “Now are you going to help me or not?”
He pulled her to her feet in one smooth motion. “I don’t need saving. I just decided to take a swim.”
“Why?” She fidgeted from foot to foot. The ground was cold, plus pebbles ground into the soles of her feet.
A huge suck-it-in, blow-it-out sigh escaped his mouth. “Where are your shoes?”
“In the house.” She shivered, scrunching the woolen throw around her.
“Sounds like a personal problem.” He bent enough to lift her, tummy first, onto his right shoulder. He gripped his arm around her legs so she wouldn’t slide over. Then bent enough to pick up his thermals before climbing up the slight incline to the cabin.
“I forgot them, okay? You can put me down anytime now.” Balancing herself on her tummy atop his muscles, she actually enjoyed the view from where she was. She slapped him on his backside. “You know, I missed you.”
“Did you now?” His hand popped onto her rear and stayed. “I missed you, too.”
Felt good. Good enough that she smiled to herself as he carried her to the cabin porch and sat her back on her feet. She blocked the doorway. He picked her up by the waist, set her aside, and walked on through. After quickly shaking out the throw, she followed him into the cabin’s warmth and closed and locked the door behind her.
JB laid his Glock and holster on the table, then filled their plates and poured them each fresh coffee. “Let’s eat.”
She shook her head, then took her hip-cocked out, hands-on-hips stance. The one that meant she was prepared to wait however long it took. “Not until we get this settled. First you ask whose shirt I’m wearing. Then you go jump in the freezing lake. There has to be a reason.”
“You want to know the reason?” His voice growled calmly. “Do you really want to know, Marcy?”
“Yes.” Suddenly, she wished she hadn’t pushed for an answer. Her throat tightened as she flattened her mouth in an attempt to convey strength. “Yes, I do.”
“No man…” He looked her down and up, pointed, then caught himself and put his hands on his waist. “Aw, hell. Never mind.” He grabbed his cup of coffee, took one long gulp, and sat it in the sink before starting to the front door again.
She ran in front of him and turned to face her crazy, bullheaded husband. The man who hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on when he got dressed from his swim. Damn, he was making this hard to concentrate with all the tempting muscles staring her in the face. “No man what?”
He stopped and braced his arms above her and to the sides. Tilted his forehead to hers. “No man wants to see his woman in another man’s shirt. Okay? Least of all me. I know I don’t have much right to say—”
“You think this is another man’s?” She picked at the almost white, long-sleeved shirt now covered with dirt and sticks from her fall. That’s what this was about? All this because he couldn’t admit he was jealous. If she hadn’t been mad as hell, the scenario would almost be touching.
“Well, I sure as heck didn’t have one in my duffle.” He pulled his forehead back. “I don’t want to know whose it is, Marcy. Just don’t wear it in front of me again.”
Son-of-a-gun, he was trying to play the martyr. Baloney on that. She wouldn’t let him off that easy. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Giant ego or not, this time he’d come face-to-face with the fact he wasn’t always right.
“Get out of my way, you big lug.” She laughed, pushed on his chest again and again and again. Tilting to get around him, he blocked her way with his body. She tried the other side. “Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”
He moved, and she stomped across the floor to the bedroom door. On second thought, this wasn’t over. She stomped back even quicker. Pushing him against the front door, she took her stance. Toe-to-toe, forehead-to-chin, you might say. She had him right where she wanted him.
…
JB had her right where he wanted her except for one thing. If she couldn’t understand how he felt about the shirt, then they’d need to have a good, long talk. Not what he’d planned for the rest of the day.
Her hands gripped the collar of the shirt she had on and began to pull the material up over her head. She got stuck. “Dang it.”
