imaginings. “Well, it’s like this. I use my bare hands.
I wrassle ‘em to the ground, then pull out my trusty pocket knife-“
Les pated his pockets in search of his weapon and come up
empty-handed. He frowned. “Well, anyhoo, you get the
picture.”
Yes, Mitch thought, unfortunately he did.
As far as he could see, Les’s only concession
to conventional hunting was his camouflage outfit. Which, Mitch
decided, knowing Les’s penchant for dressing up, was obviously the
draw.
“ That’s amazing, Les. I’ve
never thought of it that way.”
Les turned and shot him a pleased look. “I’ve
learned that most people don’t think the way I do.”
Mitch resisted the urge to mutter a heartfelt
“Amen.”
Les paused and whipped a gourmet granola bar
from one of the many pockets on his extravagant hunting gear. “I’m
getting a little hungry. Want one?” he asked.
“ Uh, sure,” Mitch said,
though he’d just as soon eat tree bark. Still, he was supposed to
be wooing Les, not critiquing his eating habits. That’s why he’d
sneaked away this morning and accepted Les’s impromptu invitation
to join him on this hunting farce.
His conscience twinged a little at deceiving
Annie, but it was unavoidable to achieve his goal. Sabotaging her
alarm clock had been a stretch even for him, but again, necessary.
Had Annie known he’d planned to sneak over and see Les this
morning, she wouldn’t have stood for it. And, considering he was no
longer just trying to win his uncle’s game, but attempting to save
his sanity as well, there was simply too much at stake.
After Annie had gone to bed last night, Mitch
had made up his mind to put an end to this contest as quickly as
possible. Spending time with Annie had distracted him from his
goal, and lately he’d become more interested in learning the shape
of her mouth—or more specifically, tasting that mouth—than besting
her.
Mitch had always had healthy
male urges, but the emotions that Annie Witherspoon aroused in
conjunction with those urges was something totally new and
completely unexpected. And a little frightening as well. Suddenly
he remembered Annie just as she’d been this morning when he’d
sneaked into her room. Utterly
gorgeous. He expelled a pent-up breath. The
sooner they were out of Texas and back in Atlanta the
better.
Whistling tunelessly, Les trundled over and
plopped down on a felled tree. He kicked his tiny booted feet out
and instructed Mitch to take the mossy spot beside him, then handed
him one of the tasteless granola bars. Mitch inwardly shrugged,
then bit into the oaty rectangle.
“ So, any hanky-panky
happenin’ with you and that little spitfire yet?” Les asked
casually.
Mitch choked.
Les guffawed happily, then jumped up, rounded
the log and pounded Mitch on the back with enough force to collapse
a lung. “Hell, boy. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He chuckled again.
“Just curious is all.”
Mitch’s eyes watered as his throat convulsed
around a wad of dry oats. Was it possible to perform the Heimlich
maneuver on yourself? he wondered wildly. Hell, he’d have to—Les’s
arms were too short to wrap around Mitch’s middle.
With supreme effort, he finally managed to
swallow the obstruction. Or at least the part that hadn’t settled
at the bottom of his lungs. “Uh, no, sir. No…hanky-panky,” he
rasped. Mitch pulled in a deep breath of blessed oxygen and wiped
the moisture from his eyes.
Seemingly satisfied that Mitch wasn’t going
to expire, Les resumed his seat on the log. “Well, then, that’s a
shame. Handsome man like you, pretty girl like her,” he lamented in
aw-shucks voice, as though Mitch hadn’t almost choked to death only
seconds ago. The little cowboy shot him a suspicious look and his
bushy brows rose an inch. “You ain’t one of them boys that likes
boys, are you?”
Mitch was thankful he had foregone the rest
of his gritty snack, otherwise he might have choked again. He shook
his head emphatically.
I wrassle ‘em to the ground, then pull out my trusty pocket knife-“
Les pated his pockets in search of his weapon and come up
empty-handed. He frowned. “Well, anyhoo, you get the
picture.”
Yes, Mitch thought, unfortunately he did.
As far as he could see, Les’s only concession
to conventional hunting was his camouflage outfit. Which, Mitch
decided, knowing Les’s penchant for dressing up, was obviously the
draw.
“ That’s amazing, Les. I’ve
never thought of it that way.”
Les turned and shot him a pleased look. “I’ve
learned that most people don’t think the way I do.”
Mitch resisted the urge to mutter a heartfelt
“Amen.”
Les paused and whipped a gourmet granola bar
from one of the many pockets on his extravagant hunting gear. “I’m
getting a little hungry. Want one?” he asked.
“ Uh, sure,” Mitch said,
though he’d just as soon eat tree bark. Still, he was supposed to
be wooing Les, not critiquing his eating habits. That’s why he’d
sneaked away this morning and accepted Les’s impromptu invitation
to join him on this hunting farce.
His conscience twinged a little at deceiving
Annie, but it was unavoidable to achieve his goal. Sabotaging her
alarm clock had been a stretch even for him, but again, necessary.
Had Annie known he’d planned to sneak over and see Les this
morning, she wouldn’t have stood for it. And, considering he was no
longer just trying to win his uncle’s game, but attempting to save
his sanity as well, there was simply too much at stake.
After Annie had gone to bed last night, Mitch
had made up his mind to put an end to this contest as quickly as
possible. Spending time with Annie had distracted him from his
goal, and lately he’d become more interested in learning the shape
of her mouth—or more specifically, tasting that mouth—than besting
her.
Mitch had always had healthy
male urges, but the emotions that Annie Witherspoon aroused in
conjunction with those urges was something totally new and
completely unexpected. And a little frightening as well. Suddenly
he remembered Annie just as she’d been this morning when he’d
sneaked into her room. Utterly
gorgeous. He expelled a pent-up breath. The
sooner they were out of Texas and back in Atlanta the
better.
Whistling tunelessly, Les trundled over and
plopped down on a felled tree. He kicked his tiny booted feet out
and instructed Mitch to take the mossy spot beside him, then handed
him one of the tasteless granola bars. Mitch inwardly shrugged,
then bit into the oaty rectangle.
“ So, any hanky-panky
happenin’ with you and that little spitfire yet?” Les asked
casually.
Mitch choked.
Les guffawed happily, then jumped up, rounded
the log and pounded Mitch on the back with enough force to collapse
a lung. “Hell, boy. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He chuckled again.
“Just curious is all.”
Mitch’s eyes watered as his throat convulsed
around a wad of dry oats. Was it possible to perform the Heimlich
maneuver on yourself? he wondered wildly. Hell, he’d have to—Les’s
arms were too short to wrap around Mitch’s middle.
With supreme effort, he finally managed to
swallow the obstruction. Or at least the part that hadn’t settled
at the bottom of his lungs. “Uh, no, sir. No…hanky-panky,” he
rasped. Mitch pulled in a deep breath of blessed oxygen and wiped
the moisture from his eyes.
Seemingly satisfied that Mitch wasn’t going
to expire, Les resumed his seat on the log. “Well, then, that’s a
shame. Handsome man like you, pretty girl like her,” he lamented in
aw-shucks voice, as though Mitch hadn’t almost choked to death only
seconds ago. The little cowboy shot him a suspicious look and his
bushy brows rose an inch. “You ain’t one of them boys that likes
boys, are you?”
Mitch was thankful he had foregone the rest
of his gritty snack, otherwise he might have choked again. He shook
his head emphatically.
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