Too Hot to Handle: A Loveswept Classic Romance Read online

  “Yes. I collect 1953 convertibles.”

  For a second she wondered if John Henry had cooked up yet another innovative excuse to send a man to her cabin. “That’s a novel approach, Matt.”

  “I have all the others from 1953, except the Fiesta.”

  “Oh, of course. Everyone I know owns dozens of antique cars.” John Henry had given this man a reason to seek her out that was sure to zero in on her weakness about the old convertible in the barn, but it wasn’t going to work. “You can drop that line, Mr. Holland. I don’t believe a word of it. Nobody could want that battered old car. I’m not being vain. I’m simply aware of John Henry’s schemes. You came to check me out, not the car.”

  Matt inhaled wearily. This couldn’t be happening to him. Things like this never happened to him. He organized his life so that nothing ever happened that he wasn’t prepared for. He always considered all the possibilities and was ready accordingly. But this earthy little woman and her attack goat were two things he hadn’t counted on.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  “Well?” he echoed, trying desperately to gather his thoughts.

  “Well, explain yourself. Am I or am I not the object of your search?”

  She was tapping her foot impatiently. What had she asked? What was he expected to do? He had no idea. He could only stare at her in bemusement.

  “Well, yes. I was looking for you.”

  “And you’ve found me. What now?” Even though she was effectively covered, the man was still staring at her as though he’d never seen a woman’s body before. It would serve John Henry right if she actually fell into Matt’s arms. Yes, that was right, her only motive for romancing this blond stranger would be to prove a point to John Henry. Nothing more.

  “I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” Matt said formally.

  Heavens, he had such a confused, innocent look about him. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have almost believed him. But she’d gone too far now to turn back. She put both hands on her hips and did her best Ellie May Clampett impression.

  “Well, now, looks like the man John Henry picked is a little shy. I at least expected him to choose a red-blooded mountain man to court me, not some city fellow with ice water in his veins.”

  “Ice water?” That did it. He took one step, then reached out and hooked both hands under her arms. Callie found herself being pulled up with such force that she didn’t have time to protest. “Listen, you goofy mountain witch, if I weren’t a gentleman I’d be chasing you around the barn by now. And you’d have no one to blame but yourself, teasing me the way you are.”

  Callie huffed breathlessly. “I’m proving a point. You’d never do anything I didn’t intend for you to do.”

  “Oh, yes?”

  His arms slid around her, and his mouth settled tightly on hers. Every nerve in her body exploded, and a curious, sweet pain invaded her senses. His fingers danced over her bare arms, and he deepened the kiss. When he finally pulled away, Callie heard herself moan.

  “Is this what you wanted?” he asked thickly.

  “I—”

  “I’m not sure who you think I am, Callie Carmichael,” he said thickly, “but I’m no wimp and this is no game. In another minute I’m going to forget what I came here for and attempt to seduce you right on this front porch, and I’d bet money that you’d like it.”

  “When donkeys fly. Let go of me.”

  “You kissed me back just now.”

  “This is a crazy situation. I didn’t mean to provoke—maybe I did mean to provoke you, but …”

  “I really don’t know anybody named John Henry, but if I did, I’d owe him my eternal gratitude.” He kissed the corner of her mouth and touched the rim of her lower lip with his tongue. “And I don’t know what you thought, but all I did come for was to buy your car. I’m not sure what I’m doing now.”

  “You’re being very forward.” Her chest heaving, she pushed him away. They stared at each other as a strained silence stretched between them. “Car?” she repeated blankly. “Do you swear this is all about the car?”

  “Mac McKinnon’s blue Fiesta convertible. I heard about it at a car show in Hershey, Pennsylvania. I want to buy it. A guy at the garage in Sweet Valley told me how to find your cabin.”

  “It isn’t blue,” she murmured. “The car.” Caught by his hypnotic brown eyes, she could barely remember what a car was, much less what the old Fiesta looked like. Callie closed her eyes for a moment. “It’s red and white.”

  “That’s okay.” He paused, fighting for words. “I really am a collector,” he assured her. “Callie, believe me, I don’t know who John Henry is, or what you think I’m doing here, but before this gets entirely out of hand, let’s talk.”

  She looked at him shrewdly. “Nothing is going to get out of hand, mister.” She added to herself, Unless you kiss me again. I make no promises.

  Callie went to one of the rockers and sat down. Matt Holland walked to one of the log posts that supported the porch roof. He turned his back to her, looped his arm around the post, and took several deep breaths.

  Somewhere in the distance he could hear a cow bellowing mournfully, and a wasp buzzed around the roof above where he was standing. He was equally as conscious of the woman breathing deeply behind him. Finally he trusted himself to sit down beside her in one of the rockers.

  “You really don’t know John Henry, do you?” she asked. Callie was beginning to sense that she’d made a colossal error.

  “No.”

  “Oh, good grief.”

  “Ditto, Callie.”

  Callie’s face turned three shades of scarlet. She smiled sheepishly, then slumped back in the chair and covered her eyes with her arm.

  Matt stared at her helplessly, not knowing what to say. All the while he could see her magnificent breasts swelling against the cotton tube top, and his thoughts scattered wildly. He was having trouble believing his own part in this fiasco. How could he ever convince the woman to take his offer seriously if they stayed immersed in this strange, sensual atmosphere?

  Then he heard it, the choked, hiccupping noise. She was crying.

  “Oh, please don’t,” he said urgently, gently. “I can understand your thinking what you did, under the circumstances. It’s really very funny.…” Matt’s voice trailed off as he realized what was happening.

  “I … know,” she managed to say. Callie was laughing hysterically. “This is priceless,” she finally gasped out. Then, when she’d regained control, she said, “Let me try to explain.”

  “I wish you would.”

  “In addition to owning the local garage, John Henry Webster was my grandfather’s friend. Since my grandfather died last year, he’s appointed himself my protector. He decided that I need a man. For six months he’s been parading every single man from seventeen to seventy by here. When I refused everybody in the valley, he threatened to send up the next eligible bachelor who stopped by the station for gas.”

  “And you thought …”

  “I thought he’d sent you, as a joke, because he knows I wouldn’t go for a slick business type like you. You were perfect for his purposes. I thought he’d come up with the idea about you wanting to buy the car. And you played the part so beautifully. I was sure he’d sent you here and I was going to teach both of you a lesson.”

  “A joke, huh? Well, I don’t know whether I’m sorry or glad that I’m not who you thought I was,” Matt admitted, smiling to cover his dismay. So she didn’t care for his type. “Getting even with John Henry is becoming very interesting.”

  “How could I have made such a fool of myself, practically offering my body to a man I don’t even know? Good heavens.” Callie squirmed uncomfortably, suddenly unable to face Matt as she vividly recalled how she had responded to his kiss. She sprang to her feet and walked across the porch to the rail at the other end and looked out at the mountains in the distance.

  “Callie, does John Henry work at the garage?” She nodded. “He did dir
ect me here, then.” Matt described the squinty-eyed old man who’d told him where to find Mac McKinnon’s granddaughter. Matt shook his head. “I thought he was a bit too pleased when I asked for directions to your grandfather’s house, but I swear that I had no idea what he was grinning about. I thought you were some snaggle-toothed mountain woman.”

  “Snaggle-toothed mountain woman?” she repeated incredulously. “Who told you a thing like that?”

  “Nobody. I mean, all I knew was that your grandfather had a car that he wouldn’t let anybody see. I stopped to ask how to get to his house, and the man at the garage said that it now belonged to his homely, old-maid granddaughter. I think your protector has a delicious sense of humor,” Matt finished with a broad smile.

  “Homely, old-maid granddaughter, eh? Well! John Henry’s gone too far this time.”

  “He must be having himself a big laugh back at the garage,” Matt agreed.

  “He and everybody else who’s come by. The way he jabbers, this will be all over the valley by tomorrow. Say, I don’t suppose you’d care to help me get even, would you?” Her eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands enthusiastically.

  “How’s that?” He simply couldn’t keep his eyes off her. That mass of dark hair tangling wildly across her face and those long, sun-kissed legs were totally distracting, not to mention the way her breasts never seemed to stay still behind the bib of her overalls. More than that, though, he liked her spirit. He lived a very quiet, regimented life, and she had brought a temporary wildness to it that he found intriguing.

  “Matt, I’m sure John Henry didn’t really expect you to turn out to be a hot-blooded mountain man in disguise. By this time he thought I would have chewed you up and spit you out. He probably thinks you’re halfway to Atlanta by now. Right?”

  He nodded helplessly, wondering if maybe he shouldn’t be on his way.

  “Let’s get even with him a little, Matt.”

  “Fine. How?”

  She turned around and sat down on the porch rail, swinging one leg as she began to think.

  “Tell me exactly what you told John Henry, Matt.”

  “I told him that I had come to make a legitimate offer for the convertible, provided it was the one I’ve been looking for. He explained that Mr. McKinnon had passed away and left his estate to his homely, old-maid granddaughter.” Matt added seriously, “I’m very sorry to hear about your grandfather’s death, Callie, but my offer for the car still stands.”

  Callie looked at him regretfully. “Oh, I’m not going to sell Ruby. I’m sorry to have put you through all this and then have to turn you down. If you want to leave right now, I’ll understand. But”—she paused and smiled up at him—“I think it’ll be a lot more fun if you stay.”

  “If you’ll let me see the car, I might be able to raise my offer, Callie.”

  “It wouldn’t matter. I don’t care about money. Ruby’s not for sale at any price.”

  “Could I at least have a look at … Rudy?”

  “It’s Ruby, not Rudy. Sure. If you’ll stick around for lunch and help me get even with John Henry, I’ll let you see the car, though I can’t imagine what you’d get out of just looking at it.”

  “Ruby, as you call her, isn’t just any car, not if my information is correct. And I’ll do whatever you want about John Henry, if you’ll consider my offer.”

  “Maybe.” Callie’s grin suddenly reminded Matt of the coy expression John Henry had had on his face when he’d given the directions to Callie’s house. This wasn’t going to be easy, but Matt knew he’d get the car. He was an astute businessman, and he always got what he went after. Could it be, he wondered, that perhaps he wanted this brunette stranger more than he wanted the car?

  “Let’s go, city slicker,” she ordered. She climbed off the porch rail and headed down the steps. “Watch out for William. I don’t think he can get out now, but I’ve been wrong before. He isn’t used to being confined.”

  Matt took a worried look around the yard and hurried after her. He sighed in relief when they reached the barn and he saw the goat’s beady eyes peering at him through the fence of a large pen beside it.

  “Eat dirt and die,” he whispered to William under his breath. William snorted.

  Callie pulled a wide plank door back and led the way into the dusty old barn. She stood back and made a grand gesture.

  “Matt, meet Ruby.”

  Matt whistled in delight. Here it was, in all its glory, one of the few 1953 Fiesta convertibles in the United States. Here it was, parked in a dirty horse stall with a fat red chicken sitting on the back seat.

  “Get that … that animal off of it!” he said fiercely.

  “Shoo! Get off that car, Esmeralda. You’re supposed to be in your box laying eggs for lunch. Shoo!” Callie fanned her arms at the chicken, who let out a disgruntled squawk and half-flew, half-ran out of the shadowy barn.

  “Does everything here have a name?” Matt asked sternly. He peered at the car closely to determine just what Esmeralda might have left there. This was a sacrilege, letting the barnyard fowl squat on his car. His car, yes. Satisfied that the Fiesta’s old upholstery was original, he relaxed.

  “Yes,” Callie told him coolly, “everything has a name, including the vegetables in my garden. They like it when I talk to them personally. You ought to see my strawberries. They practically swell up and pop, trying to outgrow one another.”

  Matt could understand that kind of reaction to Callie Carmichael. He’d experienced a similar kind of response when he’d kissed her. But now it was the car that captured his attention. He ran his fingertips along the fender, under the side windows, and across Ruby’s chrome grille. He squatted down and looked under the wheel well, opened the front door and closed it again, nodding in pleasure at the deep echo its closing made.

  “You hear that? Solid as a drum. They don’t make them like this anymore. Real leather seats. She’s a jewel, all right. How does she run?”

  “When John Henry’s tuned her up and put in a new battery she goes like the wind. Otherwise, she’s a little sluggish.”

  “John Henry has seen the car? That old faker. I asked him if he’d seen it and he played like he didn’t know what I was talking about. Said I’d have to talk to you. I may have to have a word with him.”

  “Well, that won’t be difficult. He’s coming here for lunch. And speaking of lunch, I’d better get it started. Come along. You’re going to help.”

  Reluctantly, Matt gave the automobile a final caress and turned to follow Callie back toward the house. William stretched his head over the fence and baaed, and Matt smiled victoriously at him.

  Callie’s eyes were turned toward the sleek Corvette that sat under her oak trees. “Matt, that’s a classic, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I don’t suppose William can get out, can he? He looks like the kind of goat who’d chew on classic Corvettes.”

  “Your car’s safe as long as William’s in prison. He doesn’t like anything new and different in his territory. He thinks he’s protecting me.”

  “At least we have something in common.” Matt followed Callie up the back steps and onto a tiny screened-in porch outside the kitchen door.

  “Good heavens,” Callie protested, “I don’t need a protector.”

  “Out here in the wilds …”

  “It’s safer here than in the city, Matt.”

  “And what, pray tell, do you do for a living?”

  “As little as possible.” They stepped into a cozy little kitchen with ancient appliances.

  “Wow,” Matt said. “The last time I saw a refrigerator that old, it was in the Smithsonian.”

  Callie twisted around and smiled at him. “You disapprove of my lazy lifestyle.”

  “Not disapprove,” he said swiftly. “I don’t understand it. You’re obviously intelligent, and from the way you talk, well educated, I suspect.”

  “And I’m perfectly content. I make baskets to sell to the tourists in Sweet Valley. I garden. I may n
ot be rich, but I get by. I don’t need money and I don’t want money.” She reached up and took a basket from the top of the refrigerator, then handed it to Matt for his inspection. “Oh, and I spend a great deal of time campaigning for various causes. I write a lot of letters and help organize rallies, mostly for nature projects and endangered historical sites.”

  “Causes?” he repeated, and smiled. “Like ‘Save the Pink-Tipped, One-Eyed Gullywhumper’?”

  Her offended gaze shot him down. “I didn’t think you’d understand or care,” she noted calmly. “I’m a conservationist and a preservationist.”

  Matt gazed at her with admiration. “I apologize,” he said sincerely. “I appreciate your attitude, because I don’t like change either. In anything. I much prefer old things. People used to have pride in their work, and built things to last.”

  Callie studied him in surprise. It amazed her to think that she and this businessman had something so elemental in common. “Maybe you’re okay, for a city slicker,” she offered.

  “Ah. What a compliment.”

  Smiling, Callie pushed open the screen door and motioned for Matt to follow her back into the yard. He carried the basket, studying it with interest. “This is very well made. I like it,” he said.

  “I make my baskets out of wild grapevines and kudzu. The grapevines last. You just try to destroy that vine basket you’re holding. But the kudzu baskets don’t. Want to guess which ones I sell the most of? Kudzu.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the garden.”

  “To get kudzu?”

  “Not unless that’s what you want for lunch. I thought I’d cook something a little more ordinary.”

  “Nothing’s ordinary around here,” he remarked pleasantly. Matt fingered the thick basket. “You take pride in your work. I can tell. This is an art, not a manufacturing process. It’s really … very interesting.”

  “Thank you.” Callie was absurdly pleased by his simple evaluation of her work. “Most people don’t appreciate good craftsmanship.”

  “I do. Take that refrigerator. It’s like my paint. I’ll bet it’s at least twenty-five years old, and it’s still running. One you bought today wouldn’t last longer than ten years. Planned obsolescence.”