Real Men Do It Better by Carrie Alexander Lori Wilde Susan Donovan Lora Leigh Page B

man was making a spectacle of her chest.
    “Don’t bother, Princess. I noticed those happy little girls first thing this morning.” Jorey arranged the tray and magazines, smile still intact.
    Kate remained calm, determined not to produce the shock he was clearly fishing for. In a pleasant voice, she said, “Not especially interested in the social niceties, are we?”
    “I got expelled from charm school. That’s why they sent me up here.”
    “Was this before or after you flunked out of the hospitality management program?”
    “Enjoy your soup.”
    With that, he left her in the bedroom to mull it all over. Jorey Matheny was a strange man—about as far as she could get from the L.A. urban pretty boys she was accustomed to. He was too blunt. He was no-frills in his manner and his dress. But she didn’t sense any bitterness in him, especially because no matter what he said, it was accented by that disarming, half-dimpled smile. Jorey seemed relaxed. Peaceful.
    How strange.
    The soup was good, full of flavor and texture, and Kate was surprised how much she enjoyed it, considering it wasn’t even remotely related to the bacon double cheeseburger she craved. As she ate, she flipped through the back copies of Vegetarian Times and Yoga Today, finding some of the articles marginally interesting. Who knew that colonic irrigation could improve your love life?
    She fell asleep again, not having a clue what time it was and not caring. She had a series of strange dreams. She dreamed her nose had swelled to the shape and size of her dearly departed Range Rover, that her brother wanted to borrow her favorite open-toed pumps, and that Jorey was riding naked on a burro, which, as she awoke the next morning, left her slightly disturbed. She chalked up the bizarre dreams to caffeine withdrawal combined with whatever disease she obviously had. Not to mention the excess sleep. She’d probably spent twenty of the last twenty-four hours unconscious.
    Kate blinked a few times and stretched, then swung her legs over the side of the big bed. It was obvious that the sun was out. Bright light slashed through the louvered wooden blinds, and her heart skipped with the hope that now that the rain had stopped, she’d be back to Los Angeles and good coffee by nightfall.
    While in the shower, she decided to take control of the situation. It was so obvious that Jorey was making more of this rainstorm than necessary. If he wouldn’t take her into Santa Fe, she’d get there herself. When had she ever let a man define her limits, anyway? Moments later, Kate rummaged around in the front zipper pocket of her rolling suitcase and found the rain poncho she’d cleverly remembered to pack. A little rain wasn’t going to kill her. The main road couldn’t be more than a mile or so away. And once she got there it would be a cinch to find a ride to Santa Fe.
    She’d be damned if some crazy, middle-aged vegetarian survivalist was going to keep her prisoner—no matter how cute his butt was.

2
    Archie Apodaca had been kind enough to ride his roan mare through the muck to check on everything up at the lodge, so Jorey offered him a cup of tea and a seat in front of the fire. Jorey knew that as far as neighbors went, he’d lucked out with Archie and his wife, Joan. Their house was about a mile down Route 52 behind a wall of cottonwoods, far enough to keep their distance and close enough to offer a connection to the world beyond Windwalker Lodge. Since their kids left the nest, Archie and Joan had made a living raising chickens and selling woodcrafts to the busloads of tourists who wandered through nearby Sanctuario de Chimayo, seeking the legendary healing powers of the red dirt around the old Catholic church.
    “Hope you hadn’t planned on going into Santa Fe for anything.” Archie handed Jorey a wire basket of brown eggs and eased himself into one of the two wooden rocking chairs by the lobby’s large kiva fireplace. “The center support on your bridge