agreement.
“Voodoo Scott is on his way—I promise. And he’s very eager to see you again.” She grabbed the doll and made a pretense of having him look for his long-lost clump of hair. After a pointedly short search, they met near a wall outlet. Naturally, Voodoo Scott was overjoyed to find his dog unharmed, and they rolled around on the floor for a while, enjoying the ecstatic reunion she was determined to give them both before this week was through.
“My one true love!” Scott cried. “Now I can be at peace.”
She wanted to add something about his other true love and the miraculous return to his senses that would bring Barbie Carrie back into the scene, but she refrained. As tempting as the idea was, she didn’t want this particular brand of pretend affection. She wasn’t so desperate for love that she’d resort to a relationship crafted of make believe.
But just barely.
“What are you doing out here?”
At the sound of Scott’s voice—his real voice, not the overly deep baritone she adopted when she was trying to sound like him—Carrie squeaked. Fortunately, the sound distracted him enough that she was able to shove hairball Mara under one leg and Voodoo Scott a little farther north, securely under her right butt cheek. Oh, God. He was going to suffocate under there.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, and waved her hands in front of her like a magician. She wasn’t sure what the action was supposed to accomplish, but it made her feel better. See? Nothing in her hands. No weird voodoo curses being invoked in an underground Presbyterian lair.
“Me either. I kept waking poor Jenga up, and she needs all the rest she can get.” Without being invited, he sat on the opposite side of the hallway, legs crossed, head tilted back to the wall, a picture of masculine repose. “I don’t know how anyone can sleep with Ace in there snoring loud enough to cause an avalanche. We always make him sleep at the edge of camp for a reason.”
“At least he’ll be easy to keep track of out there.”
“Oh, we’ve been trying to lose him for years. That man is indestructible.” He paused. “Why can’t you sleep? Is it because you’re nervous?”
“Not really,” she lied. No need to tell him that her internal organs were slowly winding around each other, or that his voodoo doll was slowly suffocating under all one hundred and thirty pounds of her weight. Some things were best left to a lady’s discretion.
“I was afraid you were going to say that.” He dropped his chin and stared at her, his sleepy eyes even sleepier from the late hour and exhaustion, but no less appealing because of it. “I’d feel better if you were scared.”
Irritation surged from her buttocks up. “Well, I guess you don’t get everything you want then, do you? In addition to all the other burdens you’re forced to bear by having me in your life, you’re going to have to suffer through flying into a snowstorm with a helicopter pilot who’s confident in her skills. You poor dear.”
“What are you sitting on?”
She was so startled by the fact that he didn’t immediately launch into an argument with her that she almost told him. Oh, nothing. Just your face. As it was, she caught herself with her mouth open wide, and she quickly shut it again before answering, “Carpet. Subflooring. My ass. The usual.”
“I saw you hide something under there.”
“You’re imagining things. It’s probably the lack of sleep. You should go back in there and snuggle with Jenga some more.”
He smiled, a lift at the corner of his mouth so small she almost missed it. It tugged on her heart as if the two were somehow linked—his happiness and her heart, her heart and every part of his soul. “I’d much rather snuggle with you.”
“What? No.” She cast him a panicked look. “Don’t come near me.”
But he already was coming near her, pushing himself off the wall and pouncing toward her like a wolf. She wasn’t fooled for a
“Voodoo Scott is on his way—I promise. And he’s very eager to see you again.” She grabbed the doll and made a pretense of having him look for his long-lost clump of hair. After a pointedly short search, they met near a wall outlet. Naturally, Voodoo Scott was overjoyed to find his dog unharmed, and they rolled around on the floor for a while, enjoying the ecstatic reunion she was determined to give them both before this week was through.
“My one true love!” Scott cried. “Now I can be at peace.”
She wanted to add something about his other true love and the miraculous return to his senses that would bring Barbie Carrie back into the scene, but she refrained. As tempting as the idea was, she didn’t want this particular brand of pretend affection. She wasn’t so desperate for love that she’d resort to a relationship crafted of make believe.
But just barely.
“What are you doing out here?”
At the sound of Scott’s voice—his real voice, not the overly deep baritone she adopted when she was trying to sound like him—Carrie squeaked. Fortunately, the sound distracted him enough that she was able to shove hairball Mara under one leg and Voodoo Scott a little farther north, securely under her right butt cheek. Oh, God. He was going to suffocate under there.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, and waved her hands in front of her like a magician. She wasn’t sure what the action was supposed to accomplish, but it made her feel better. See? Nothing in her hands. No weird voodoo curses being invoked in an underground Presbyterian lair.
“Me either. I kept waking poor Jenga up, and she needs all the rest she can get.” Without being invited, he sat on the opposite side of the hallway, legs crossed, head tilted back to the wall, a picture of masculine repose. “I don’t know how anyone can sleep with Ace in there snoring loud enough to cause an avalanche. We always make him sleep at the edge of camp for a reason.”
“At least he’ll be easy to keep track of out there.”
“Oh, we’ve been trying to lose him for years. That man is indestructible.” He paused. “Why can’t you sleep? Is it because you’re nervous?”
“Not really,” she lied. No need to tell him that her internal organs were slowly winding around each other, or that his voodoo doll was slowly suffocating under all one hundred and thirty pounds of her weight. Some things were best left to a lady’s discretion.
“I was afraid you were going to say that.” He dropped his chin and stared at her, his sleepy eyes even sleepier from the late hour and exhaustion, but no less appealing because of it. “I’d feel better if you were scared.”
Irritation surged from her buttocks up. “Well, I guess you don’t get everything you want then, do you? In addition to all the other burdens you’re forced to bear by having me in your life, you’re going to have to suffer through flying into a snowstorm with a helicopter pilot who’s confident in her skills. You poor dear.”
“What are you sitting on?”
She was so startled by the fact that he didn’t immediately launch into an argument with her that she almost told him. Oh, nothing. Just your face. As it was, she caught herself with her mouth open wide, and she quickly shut it again before answering, “Carpet. Subflooring. My ass. The usual.”
“I saw you hide something under there.”
“You’re imagining things. It’s probably the lack of sleep. You should go back in there and snuggle with Jenga some more.”
He smiled, a lift at the corner of his mouth so small she almost missed it. It tugged on her heart as if the two were somehow linked—his happiness and her heart, her heart and every part of his soul. “I’d much rather snuggle with you.”
“What? No.” She cast him a panicked look. “Don’t come near me.”
But he already was coming near her, pushing himself off the wall and pouncing toward her like a wolf. She wasn’t fooled for a
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