Cowboy's Kiss by Victoria Pade

before, because there was no way it could have anything to do with Shag’s eldest son.
    No way at all.
    â€œGet that roll of barbed wire off the truck,” he ordered just then, not so much as glancing at her as he hammered nails into a post they’d set earlier.
    Nope, nothing about that to inspire wistfulness.
    Ally did as she was told, bringing the fencing material to him.
    Jackson didn’t thank her or even acknowledge her help. He went right on as if she were some handmaiden doing his bidding as she was obliged to.
    Not that Ally expected anything different by then. She was actually getting used to his brusqueness.
    Still, feeling a little ornery herself, she said, “You’re welcome,” as sweetly as if he’d expressed his gratitude effusively.
    Then she got back to her current job of yanking off the old, rusty wire they were replacing, once again forcing herself to picture Meggie as she had been the evening before: so proud of her handiwork with that freshly painted doghouse, chattering over dinner....
    And into that mental image sneaked a memory of Jackson from last night, too.
    They’d had a nice meal. A pleasant conversation as they’d shared cleanup duty. In fact, that whole time had been surprisingly enjoyable.
    Ally’s gaze wandered to him on its own again as if to confirm that this man and the one from the evening before were the same.
    He wore a gray T-shirt that clung to his broad back like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination.
    Although she couldn’t have imagined anything better even if she’d tried.
    His shoulders were a mile wide and his spine was so straight that between the two he looked as if he could bear the weight of a whole house.
    He had the short sleeves of the T-shirt rolled up above his biceps—not out of vanity, as she might have suspected of another man, but because his arms were so big the sleeves would be binding if they were any lower. And what they bared was the swell of work-honed muscles, hard and strong and glistening in the blaze of the sunshine.
    Something else about the evening before flashed through her mind as she watched him just then—the moment when he’d handed her the liniment, when she’d thought he might be about to kiss her.
    Or had that all just been in her mind?
    She didn’t think so. She distinctly remembered him easing nearer to her, almost as if he were drawn to her.
    Unwillingly. Or else he wouldn’t have snapped back as if he’d been on the precipice of a deadly fall.
    So why had he almost kissed her at all? At the worst he seemed to despise her. At the best, he barely tolerated her. Those were not inspirations for kissing a person.
    But then she couldn’t say she was fond of him, either. Not really. And yet when he’d been easing toward her, she’d done her share of moving his way, too.
    Which was the craziest part of the whole business.
    But crazy or not, it was true. If he’d have kissed her, she’d probably have kissed him back.
    Right on those lips that hid beneath his mustache.
    She’d never kissed a man with a mustache before....
    She imagined that it would have tickled.
    But she didn’t want to imagine that it would have tickled in a pleasant way, so she decided kissing Jackson would probably have been awful. Like kissing somebody with a hairbrush attached to his upper lip.
    And his mouth would probably have been as hard and cold and closed off as he was. As stiff and unyielding.
    And he’d have probably given her orders—just how to wrap her arms around him, where to put her hands, when to close her eyes, when to part her lips, which side to angle her head....
    She’d have probably hated it. The whole thing. From start to finish. She’d probably never want him to do it again. Once would have completely cured her....
    Cured her of what?
    Of wondering about it?
    Yes, all right, so she was wondering what it might have been like if