Читать книгу: «Mr. Predictable»

1

JACOB THOMAS PRESCOTT squeezed his eyes shut to relieve the strain of staring at the computer screen for ten hours straight. Of course, that was nothing new, he reminded himself as he massaged his temples to ease the headache pounding in rhythm with his pulse. This, after all, was life as he knew it. Work. And more work. It’s what he did six days a week—and sometimes on Sunday.

J.T.—as his three employees at his graphic shop and his sisters knew him—checked his watch. Six o’clock, right on the button. With robotlike precision, J.T. saved the file and transferred it to floppy disk so he could work on his laptop computer over the weekend.

When he shut down the computer, J.T. pushed away from his desk and worked the kinks from his neck and shoulders. He glanced sideways to note that his three younger male employees had already called it quits for the day and that they were smiling at him for no apparent reason.

“Is there a problem?” he asked as he surged to his feet.

“No,” the young men chorused, still smiling enigmatically. “Have a nice weekend, boss.”

J.T. nodded, then waited for the men to precede him out the door. He grabbed the plastic bag of clothes he planned to drop off at the dry cleaners, checked his watch again and then locked the door behind him.

Right on time, as usual, he noted as he stuffed the shop keys in the pocket of his black suit. He would swing by the cleaners at 6:11 p.m., just as he did every Friday, then drive to his apartment to pop in a microwaveable turkey-and-dressing TV dinner.

J.T. skidded to a halt on the sidewalk and his eyes popped when he noticed the two flat tires on the driver’s side of his older-model gray sedan. “Well, damn,” he muttered. This was going to throw off his regular routine by a half hour—maybe more.

Scowling at the inconvenience, J.T. looked up and down the deserted street, then frowned as the fire-engine red Jeep Cherokee—that seemed to come from out of nowhere at lightning speed—ground to a stop beside him. To his surprise, a smiling blue-eyed blonde, wearing a bright blue T-shirt that was plastered with stars and stripes, a pair of screaming red shorts and hiking boots, bounded from the vehicle like a jack-in-the-box.

“Is this your car?” she asked all too cheerfully for J.T.’s sedate tastes.

He appraised the female who looked to be in her mid-twenties. He wasn’t sure if he should salute this personification of the American flag or answer her. He decided on the latter. “Er…yes, it’s my car,” he mumbled, focusing on the flat tires rather than the woman’s flashy appearance and blinding smile. Flamboyantly dressed blondes with one-hundred-watt smiles and more energy than they knew what to do with didn’t appeal to him—and for good reason.

“I’ll give you a lift to the service station,” she offered, then stuck out her hand to introduce herself. “I’m Moriah Randell.”

Again, J.T. felt the ridiculous urge to salute. Instead, he shook her hand, marveling at her decisive grip. But then, he mused, her firm handshake really shouldn’t surprise him. Bubbling spirit, vitality and independence—hence her American flag ensemble—fairly crackled around her. She was about as easy to ignore as a hurricane or earthquake, and she came on so strong that J.T. reflexively withdrew into his own space.

“I’m J. T. Prescott,” he murmured as he resituated the pile of laundry, briefcase and laptop in both arms.

“Here, let me help you with that stuff,” she volunteered.

Before J.T. could accept or reject her offer, Moriah scooped up his precious possessions.

A most peculiar sensation assailed him when Moriah confiscated his laptop and briefcase. It was as if she had suddenly amputated extensions of his hands. She juggled the objects as if they were insignificant pieces of junk and that didn’t set well with J.T. “Hey, be careful with that stuff,” he cautioned as she strode quickly around the side of her SUV. “Those happen to be my stock-in-trade—” His voice fizzled into a groan when she unceremoniously dumped both prized possessions on the back seat.

Moriah flashed him another dazzling smile that made her blue eyes sparkle like polished jewels. The thick ropelike braid of blond hair slithered over her shoulder as she plunked behind the steering wheel.

When she motioned for him to join her, he resigned himself to accepting the young woman’s assistance. With a sigh, J.T. climbed into the brightly colored vehicle. He barely had time to shut the door before Moriah stamped on the accelerator and whizzed off. Jeez, he’d just climbed onboard with the female version of Evel Knievel, he mused as he hurriedly fastened his seat belt.

J.T. glanced over to appraise Moriah’s fire-engine-red fingernails, red hoop earrings and jangling red-white-and-blue bracelets. He also noticed there wasn’t a wedding ring on her finger, not that he cared one way or another, of course.

Who the hell dressed this woman? Conservative and conventional were obviously foreign concepts to her. He decided loud clothes were an essential warning that signaled the arrival of this female cyclone. She appeared to be the kind of individual who walked right in and took over. For sure and certain, she bustled J.T. off in whirlwind fashion!

“Would you mind slowing down?” J.T. requested as they zipped down the street. “I’d like to live to see my thirty-sixth birthday, if you don’t mind.”

“You don’t find speed exhilarating? You don’t like the feel of the wind in your hair?” she asked, still smiling radiantly.

Her perpetual smile was really beginning to bug him. She was beginning to bug him. She was too cheerful, too bouncy, too vibrant, too feminine, too reckless, too…everything! Plus, the alluring scent of her perfume was clogging his senses and the narrow confines of the Jeep didn’t allow enough room for him to avoid breathing her in.

“Hey!” J.T. erupted as he glanced out the side window. “You buzzed right by the service station!”

She turned that high-voltage smile on him again. “I did it on purpose.”

J.T. frowned warily as Moriah increased speed and sailed onto the ramp that merged with the interstate highway. “What the hell is going on here, lady?” he demanded to know that very second.

She grinned impishly. “The name is Moriah, remember?”

“Yeah, whatever.” J.T. gnashed his teeth and braced himself when she switched over to the fast lane of rush hour traffic. “Am I being kidnapped? I should warn you that I’m not carrying much cash. I never carry much cash. Demanding a ransom for my return is a complete waste of time.”

“You aren’t being kidnapped. You’re being escorted to Triple R,” she said, as if that explained everything.

It didn’t. Not to J.T.’s satisfaction. “What the hell is Triple R?” he demanded gruffly.

“Randell’s Resort Ranch.”

“Ranch? You work at a ranch and you dress like that?” he asked, then smirked.

One delicate blond brow arched as she spared him a quick glance. “You don’t like my clothes?”

“Lady, I’m not sure I even like you, especially after you kidnapped me, so don’t get me started on your clothes!”

She chuckled at the insult, then crossed two lanes of heavy traffic to roar down the off ramp. “I was told to expect this kind of reaction from you, Jake.”

“The name is J.T.,” he said through gritted teeth.

“J.T. sounds too stuffy. I prefer to call you Jake, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind. And who the hell told you to kidnap me? My employees? Is that why they were grinning at me as if they were sharing some sort of conspiracy? They’ve been whining that I’ve been working them too hard lately. I should’ve known something was going on—”

“It was your sisters,” she interrupted as she swerved onto a two-lane road and headed north to only God, and this personification of the American flag, knew where!

“Kim and Lisa are responsible for this abduction?” he croaked in disbelief.

Moriah nodded as she set the SUV on cruise. The thick rope of braided blond hair rippled over her shoulder and curled against the swell of her full breasts. J.T. did his gentlemanly best not to dwell on her curvaceous figure and the long expanse of tanned legs.

It dawned on him that the impact of meeting Moriah—what with her flashy attire and cheery smile—served to momentarily distract a man from her very shapely, very feminine figure. But once you were enclosed in a vehicle with her, and spared her more than a casual glance, you couldn’t help but notice her striking good looks and appealing physique, despite those god-awful, bold-colored clothes. Yet, after seeing Moriah’s representation of Old Glory, you couldn’t help but wonder what she’d be wearing tomorrow.

“Kim and Lisa contacted me because I run a resort ranch that caters to businessmen who’ve forgotten how to slow their hectic pace and relax. According to your concerned sisters your life revolves around your graphic art shop. They’re giving you a two-week, all-expenses-paid vacation at my ranch.”

“What!” J.T. exploded angrily. “I don’t want or need a two-week, all-expenses-paid vacation!”

Moriah grinned at him, undaunted by his booming voice and erupting temper. “Oh, and by the way, Kim and Lisa said to tell you happy birthday.”

“Birthday?” J.T. parroted. Well, damn. Sunday was his birthday, come to think of it. He’d been so intensely focused on creating a spectacular Web site for his new client that he’d forgotten. But birthday or not, he wasn’t spending the next two weeks at some ranch in the boon-docks that was run by this all too cheery, wild-driving female.

“Stop the damn car and turn it around,” J.T. ordered brusquely. “I don’t have time for a forced vacation. I have work to do and a business to run.”

“Everything is going to be fine, Jake—”

“J.T.” he growled in correction.

“Just calm down,” she soothed him. “I’m the recreation director at the ranch and I’ve been trained in stress management. I can tell that you’re entirely too tense.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so tense if you’d slow this car down!”

Smiling in amusement—at his expense, he had no doubt—Moriah decreased her speed. “There now, Jake. Happy?”

“Not particularly,” he said, and scowled.

“I understand that you’re feeling a little testy. Stress does that to a person. After you kick back and relax for a few days you’re going to be amazed how refreshed and rejuvenated you feel.”

He glared thunderclouds on her sunny smile. “I am as relaxed as I ever intend to get!”

Her carefree laughter was getting on the one good nerve he had left. “Your voice is rising, Jake,” she pointed out calmly.

“Well, so is my temper!” he all but shouted. “I have a business to run. My employees won’t take work seriously if I’m not there to keep their noses to the grindstone. I have no intention of allowing my shop to go down the toilet.”

“But if you don’t take time to get back in touch with your inner self and break your rigid routine, you’ll be too stressed out to run your business effectively,” Moriah said reasonably. “You might find yourself snapping impatiently at your clients or employees. That certainly wouldn’t be good for business, now would it?”

“My inner self?” J.T. snorted derisively at that. “My rigid routine?”

“Yes, let’s start with that,” Moriah suggested as she hung a sharp right turn and zoomed down a gravel road, taking J.T. farther into the outback of Oklahoma’s wooded hill country. “You’ve become a creature of habit and you’ve forgotten how to sit back and enjoy life.”

“I most certainly have not,” he snapped in fierce denial. “I know how to relax as well as the next person.”

“Really?” she challenged, flashing him another of those annoyingly captivating smiles. “Then let me ask you a few questions.”

“Hell, I didn’t know there would be a test. Do I get time to study?”

Moriah chuckled in amusement, though he was striving for snide and sarcastic. But apparently nothing irritated Miss Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. It made him want to try harder to tick her off.

“What time do you get up every morning?” she asked.

“Six o’clock. Is that a problem?” he said defiantly.

“Only if you do it every single morning. Do you work on your business projects before you leave for your office?”

“Yes,” he muttered grudgingly.

“Do you wake up at night, and also notice at various times of the day—like now—that you’re gritting your teeth and have to force yourself to unclamp your jaw? Do you find yourself tensely knotting your fists—like you are now—and have to tell yourself to unclench?”

J.T. glowered at her as he uncurled his knotted fists and slackened his jaw, but he refused to reply. Okay, so he was a little tense. Who wasn’t?

“Do you eat breakfast?”

“Yes, at 7:42 a.m. I use the drive-through window at the doughnut shop to pick up coffee and a cinnamon twist. So you see, I do take time for breakfast,” he assured her flippantly.

“Cinnamon twist and coffee every morning of the week? No deviation from routine? No variation of food whatsoever? You sound pretty predictable, Jake,” she said as she tossed him a knowing smile.

Uh-oh, J.T. could see where this line of questioning was headed. Moriah was trying to point out that he was a stickler for a strict schedule. Well, so what if he was? When a man ran a business that was as successful as J.T.’s had been the past ten years, he had to organize his time wisely and follow a structured routine. Otherwise, he’d never get anything done—and he had a helluva lot to do, too.

“So…you arrive at your office and go right to work, I presume. What time is your lunch break, Jake?”

He shifted uneasily in the bucket seat. He didn’t bother with a lunch break. Hadn’t bothered in years, he suddenly recalled. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her that!

“I have a gourmet meal catered around high noon,” he lied without compunction.

She shot him a glance that indicated she didn’t believe him. So, what did he care? He didn’t care, he assured himself. And furthermore, she wasn’t going to get another straight answer from him. He wasn’t going to give her the ammunition to analyze him to death.

“You exit your shop at six p.m. and drive home—except for today when your sisters purposely let the air out of your tires and asked me to personally escort you to the resort,” she continued.

J.T. gnashed his teeth. His kid sisters were definitely going to pay for having him shanghaied. Damn it, he’d made one personal sacrifice after another for them for years on end. He’d cared for them, provided for them and consoled them after their parents died unexpectedly in a boating accident during a vacation. The tragedy had changed the entire course of his family’s life, not to mention the excessive pressure put on him to assume full responsibility for Kim and Lisa.

“So, Jake, what do you do every day when you get home from work?” she prompted when he lingered too long in thought.

J.T. was really getting PO’d at the rapid-fire questions, with the entire turn of events that left him Miss Vivacious’s prisoner in this speeding vehicle. Although he did follow a monotonous diet of TV dinners and canned food, he did jog, pump iron and then work on his business accounts in the evening. But he wasn’t going to confide that he ate frozen chicken teriyaki on Monday and canned spaghetti and meatballs on Tuesday—and so on—to Moriah. In fact, he wasn’t going to tell her the truth about himself or his daily habits because it was none of her business.

“I enjoy fabulous meals prepared by my housekeeper and cook. Her name is Stella,” he said, improvising as he went along.

“Mmm,” was all she said in response. He couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought Moriah had swallowed a snicker.

“Then I shower and change before I pick up one of my dates,” he said, weaving a fairy tale of lies that would throw Moriah off track.

“You date a lot then?” she asked, eyes twinkling, lips twitching.

“Continuously,” he said with a nonchalant flick of his wrist. “Different woman every night of the week. Variety is the spice of life, I always say.”

“And what do you and your dates do for entertainment?” she inquired as she veered down another gravel road that circled around the steep hillsides, taking him deeper into the middle of nowhere.

“We have sex,” J.T. told her outrageously. “Lots and lots of sex. Isn’t that the best form of relaxation for stressed-out businessmen like me?”

He really knocked her for a loop, he thought triumphantly. Her bewitching smile faltered and she cleared her throat. J.T. was so enormously pleased that he’d managed to rattle his abductor that he pushed the tall tale to the limit. “Really kinky sex. Erotic sex. I love sex. The more the better. It recharges my battery, so to speak.”

She made a strangled sound and kept her eyes on the road. “Interesting,” she tweeted.

“Exceptionally interesting. After all that heavy breathing and wild, mind-numbing sex I usually soak in my hot tub for a half hour.” He’d never taken time to soak in a hot tub in his life, truth be told. And the truth wouldn’t be told to Moriah.

“And what do you think about when you allow your mind to wander, Jake?”

He thought about his accounts every spare minute of the day, but he’d rather fire a couple of bullet holes into his foot than tell her because, sure as shootin’, she’d make something of it. “I think of unique places and inventive ways to have sex. I try not to use the same position twice.”

J.T. mentally patted himself on the back when Moriah’s face turned a fascinating shade of pink. This, by damn, should teach her not to pry into his personal life. He did not need stress management. He did not need to relax and he damn sure did not need a two-week vacation out here in nowhereville! His sisters should have their heads examined for scheming against him, damn it!

“Ah, here we are,” Moriah commented a few minutes later.

J.T. glanced out the window to survey ten, carbon-copy log cabins that were tucked beneath the canopy of shady cottonwood, elm and cedar trees. The resort was nestled beside a meandering river in a spacious valley between the rolling hills. A large stone-and-timber lodge sat in the middle of the well-manicured compound. A bunkhouse-style apartment complex sat off to the north side. A monstrous stable was butted up against a nearby hill.

The ranch was a cross between an isolated mountain retreat and the palatial plantations he’d visited as a kid during family vacations in Louisiana and Mississippi.

J.T. did admit the area was panoramic and serene, but it definitely wasn’t the kind of place J. T. Prescott wanted to waste time. And this was unquestionably a waste of his valuable time. He had things to do and he had no intention of doing them here—especially under the supervision of Miss Cheery and Chipper! The way he had it figured, if he smarted off often enough and put up plenty of belligerent resistance, Moriah would write him off as a lost cause and take him back to town so he could get back to doing what he did best—working relentlessly.

That was his plan and he was sticking with it.

“I’ll introduce you to the staff before I show you to your cabin,” she said as she bounded from the SUV.

J.T. frowned, wondering if Moriah always exuded this much bubbling energy and enthusiasm or if she put on an act for her stressed-out guests. His lips curled in objection when Moriah carelessly scooped his belongings off the back seat and made a beeline for the gargantuan lodge.

“I’ll take those,” he insisted. He followed quickly on her heels, willfully ignoring the hypnotic sway of curvy hips encased in trim-fitting red cotton. Instead, he concentrated on his mission of retrieving his delicate electronic equipment and floppy disks.

“No, sorry, Jake,” she told him with another one of those megawatt smiles that he was really beginning to despise. “All electronic devices and briefcases are checked at the registration desk. Oh, by the way, I’ll need your cell phone.”

“Why? Are you planning on making international calls and charging them to my account?” he asked caustically.

“No, I’m cutting you off from civilization so you won’t have contact with the world that’s placed excessive stress on your life and your inner self.”

J.T. screeched to a halt and glared at her good and hard. “No, you will not,” he said firmly. “I make a habit of calling my sisters three days a week and this is one of those days.”

“Your sisters are married and on their own,” she reminded him gently.

“Yes, and I paid for their weddings and walked them down the aisle,” he informed her tartly. “They’re the two reliable relationships in my life and I will call my family if I feel like it!”

Moriah squared off against him, her smile still intact. Why was he not surprised? “Your sisters know exactly where you are and what you will be doing for the next two weeks. Furthermore, you’re here to break habits.” She outstretched her hand, palm up. “Give me the phone, Jake.”

“The name is J.T.” He sneered at her.

“I told you that sounds too stuffy and businesslike, Jake,” she repeated emphatically.

Their gazes locked and clashed. Jake was accustomed to giving orders and having them executed quickly. But Moriah, apparently, was accustomed to getting her way, too, especially while she was on her own turf. For the first time in forever, he felt his confidence waver. That determined look on Moriah’s face indicated she wasn’t the pushover he hoped she’d be.

“Don’t make me send Tom Stevens out here to disarm you of your sacred phone.”

J.T. smirked at the threat and drew himself up to his most imposing and intimidating stature. “Tom and whose army is going to confiscate my state-of-the-art cell phone?”

To his dismay, Moriah let loose with a sharp whistle that blasted his eardrums. Immediately thereafter a big brawny, muscle-bound hulk—who had a monobrow stretching over his deep-set hazel eyes, and was built like a professional linebacker—appeared in the doorway of the lodge.

“Trouble, Mori?” Tom asked as he crossed his brawny arms over his buffalo-size chest and took J.T.’s measure through a narrowed gaze.

“Am I having trouble, Jake?” she asked all too sweetly.

J.T. considered his options and decided he didn’t have any. Damn it to hell! Muttering begrudgingly, he fished his cell phone from his suit pocket and slapped it into Moriah’s outstretched hand. He should’ve known Miss Smiley would have plenty of muscle to back up her demands.

Moriah tucked the phone into the pocket of her shorts, then grinned at Tom Stevens. “This is Jake Prescott,” she introduced. “Tom is our masseuse and weight trainer—”

“And your hired muscle,” J.T. finished for her. “Gee, I thought the idea here was to avoid stress, not get me all tensed up thinking I’ll have a serious fight on my hands if I don’t meekly comply with your unreasonable demands.”

Tom grinned, displaying a missing front tooth. J.T. would hate to meet the burly SOB who knocked out Tom’s teeth.

“Nice to meet you, Jake. Come ’round and see me about a massage when you get settled in.”

“Sure, Tom. Looking forward to it like you wouldn’t believe.”

He was looking forward to nothing of the kind!

When Tom disappeared back inside, Moriah smiled good-naturedly at J.T. He gnashed his teeth.

“It’s not unusual for our guests to suffer electronic-gadget and caffeine-buzz withdrawal the first few days, but it won’t be long before you realize there’s life beyond your regular routine in the business world. You’ll do fine here, Jake.”

Although he’d been defeated, he couldn’t resist tossing a sarcastic rejoinder to soothe his offended pride. “Yeah, I’ll do fine as long as I get my daily recommended dose of sex.” He checked his watch, hoping she wouldn’t take it away from him, too. “What time can I expect Lolita to show up at my cabin to scratch my daily sexual itch? I’d hate for her to come by during my usual yoga meditation session and deep breathing exercises.”

“Sorry, no Lolita,” she informed him as she led the way into the lobby of the lodge. “Maybe our cook, Anna Jefferies, will accommodate you. You can ask her.”

Anna Jefferies introduced herself to Jake a moment after he strode in the door. The stout, curly-chestnut-haired woman looked to be in her late forties. Judging by her leathery skin and wrinkled features, she’d spent a great deal of her life outdoors. She offered him a steaming cup of herbal tea and butter cookies while Moriah stashed his electronic devices in the safe behind the registration desk. J.T. didn’t ask Anna for sex, of course, although Anna’s conventional style of dress—a cream-colored blouse and faded blue jeans—held more appeal than Moriah’s loud attire.

When he saw Moriah’s lips twitching as her gaze bounced back and forth between him and Anna, J.T. muttered under his breath. Damn, he’d like to wipe that smile off Miss Chipper’s lips—or kiss it off…. J.T. jerked upright so quickly he nearly spilled hot tea down the front of his white shirt.

Where the hell had that ridiculous thought come from? Oh sure, he found Moriah Randell attractive, even if he didn’t approve of her bright clothing, her gaudy red fingernails, those huge hoop earrings and clattering bracelets. But, under no circumstances was he going to develop an interest in a woman who was his complete opposite during his two-day stay in the Oklahoma outback. Two days, he told himself resolutely, and then he was outta here!

“C’mon, Jake, I’ll introduce you to the golf course manager and stable manager,” Anna said, latching on to his arm to drag him along behind her. “Everybody’s just finishing up supper. Moriah will bring your meal to your cabin since you arrived late.”