When Maggie woke up the next morning, her back seemed magically healed. A year of sleeping on a mattress on a floor had done things to her back that she had never even realized until she spent a night in a real bed.

A familiar aroma reminded her of her diner job, and it startled her for a moment: Bacon. Coffee. Also something fruity and warm she couldn’t identify but smelled fresh and full of carbohydrates. Shuffling into the kitchen and finding a plate of warm blueberry pancakes and real maple syrup was even better than room service at a five-star hotel. And to her shock, folded on the kitchen chair was her waitress uniform and the Hawkeye gear she had dumped on the floor the night before when she’d crawled into bed in nothing but a skimpy T-shirt and underpants. The kitchen was freezing, so she pulled on her waffle-knit Hawkeye shirt and sweatpants. Jack had washed, dried and folded it all.

The idea of the handsome stranger Jackson Clay entering her room and picking up her clothes while she slept made her both giddy and uncomfortable. A little bit intrusive, but he probably meant to be hospitable. 

She scarfed down the pancakes in minutes with no regrets, except perhaps that she had no one to talk to. Where was that man, anyway? 

Recalling farm life from her childhood, it was likely that Jack had finished his morning chores and was headed to town to run errands. Now was a good time to take a long, hot shower and figure out her next move.

The discovery of a new rainfall shower head in the upstairs hall bathroom delighted Maggie to no end. Once the hot water drenched her red locks—this always took a while—Maggie finally woke up enough to notice a few other things. This was not the same 1970s-era, institutional green tub she’d grown up with. This was a custom claw-foot right out of a high-end retro housewares catalog. And this glass subway tile on the walls and the floor, the new commode, the fancy pedestal sink—this no longer felt like her childhood bathroom. This really was not Mama’s house anymore. 

Who was this guy? A gorgeous, sexy man who could run a farm, throw a punch, cook, do laundry AND renovate? He was too perfect. 

But perfection was exactly the thought she’d had when she first met Alex at the University of Iowa, and look where that road led. To nothing but trouble. Alex couldn’t cook, but he did know how to DJ, dance, mix sound and carry on all-night conversations about the minutiae of 1980s music. 

Maggie Jensen, you think too much.

That was a line straight outta Mama Jane’s mouth. 

What would Mama Jane think of her with Jack? She’d probably tell her he’s too old and she was confusing a need for a father figure with romantic love. And that she should instead focus on her career and getting her life back together. But at least Mama Jane would never act scandalized. The woman had seen it all, and there had never been anything any of her foster kids could say to her—either about their past or present circumstances—that ever shocked her or made her poker face crack.

Thinking about Jackson Clay while in the shower wasn’t helping Maggie clear her head at all. She should have been thinking of her next move, but all she could think about was that crooked grin and those crinkly eyes. 

Good grief. You’re just horny, Maggie. Alex hadn’t touched you in months.

But…Jack was different, and not just in appearance. Although, those powerful, hard-working shoulders could not be dismissed. The voice, low like distant thunder. His warm, callused hand on her hand as they drank coffee together late into the night in his kitchen. He had taken possession of everything that she thought was important to her, and now—God help her—but he had taken possession of her mind, and her libido. And, shit, that man had flattened Chet Easley. Laid him out without a moment’s hesitation, all on her behalf, before he even knew her name. Doesn’t get much hotter than that. 

Oh man. She was in trouble. 

She had to get him out of her system. Time to focus and regroup. 

Maggie soaped up, and rinsed off yesterday’s memories. She raised one foot onto the edge of the claw-foot tub and carefully balanced herself on the wall with her right hand. With her left, she reached down between her legs and felt her growing heat. It was all for Jack. If she wasn’t already drenched from the shower, she would be soaked in her body’s yearning for his touch. What would he think if he knew she was touching herself, wishing it were his hands on her? What would he think of her fingers sliding into her depths? What if he walked in right now and saw her labia spread like a flower? Would he join her and take over, or would he simply watch…until he couldn’t stand it anymore? Would he pull her out 

of the tub and take her against the wall? Would he tear off his clothes quickly or slowly, eyes locked on her as she brought herself closer to climax? Would he even think of her that way? His chivalrous ways said one thing, but his eyes on her said another. Would he wait for her to make a move, or would he sweep her up into his arms, her still wet from the shower, and carry her to his bed? What would it feel like to wrap her legs around those slender cowboy abs of his? Better still, what if he wanted to have a taste of her? Would he ask first? Or would he just go for it? In her fantasy, he asked no questions but simply acted on instinct and pressed his lips against her lower lips, his tongue embarking on the dark, wet journey as she came for him in a glorious spasm. 

Her cry echoed off the expensive bathroom tile before she could control herself. Relieved and head clear, she shut off the water and reached out for a towel. But there was no towel.

Oops, did I forget to check if there were towels in here? Well, this is inconvenient. 

Maggie swept off as much water as she could and then put her hand on the doorknob, preparing to tiptoe into the hallway linen closet without causing too many drips on the floor. 

* * *

Speeding down the two-lane country road back toward home, Jack hoped his plan to get Maggie to stay for a little while worked. Had he gone too far? Maybe. It was definitely a risk. But he’d had enough safe bets in life. Better to risk big and fall on his face.

He couldn’t remember how to play it cool while at the same time making sure the girl knew he was interested. It had been far too long since he’d tried courting a woman.

Was that what this was? He didn’t know. All he knew was, as soon as he had laid eyes on her, his pants suddenly had him in a constant state of discomfort. It had him doing things outside of his nature, or so he had thought were outside of his nature. Bar fights. Talking late into the night. Staring deeply into her eyes. Cooking a breakfast that could feed seven farmhands, let alone a slim city girl who probably ate a protein bar on the run on a good day. And now, coming home from Tractor Supply with three large parcels, hoping that would make her feel more comfortable with the idea of staying.

Was it all a plot to get into her panties? Well…Jack was definitely interested in her panties. More to the point, removing her panties. Wasn’t everything men did for women, on some level, a way to get into her panties, even if there were no chance of that ever happening? 

Dammit. He just liked having her in his house. He liked talking to her. He never enjoyed drinking midnight coffee. But he really liked midnight coffee with Maggie. 

“Midnight Coffee with Maggie,” he said aloud as he pulled into the white rock gravel driveway. “That there’s a title of a country song.” Jack put the truck in park and quickly jotted down those words on a scrap of paper. Oh lord. He realized he’d known this woman less than 12 hours and he was already penning songs for her. 

“That’s it, Jackson Clay,” he continued, talking to himself, still in the cab of his truck. “If she doesn’t say yes, you’re going to have to find a way for her to say yes. Because you don’t have a choice. It’s all over. This is your chance. Don’t blow it.”

When he was done psyching himself up, he got his parcels out of the truck and placed them in their proper places in the barn. One new hat and one farm jacket on the hooks, and one large vented box on the floor of the empty stall, freshly strewn with straw.

He entered through the back door and popped off his boots. “Maggie? You here?”

No answer.

It appeared she was awake, as evidenced by the disappearance of the breakfast he’d left for her. Her plate had been washed and set beside the sink, and from the looks of it she’d eaten several pieces of bacon and a short stack of his homemade blueberry pancakes (made with fresh berries he’d picked out of his own field before the animals got to them that morning). He was happy to know she was a healthy eater. That was good. She was going to need her strength to get through today.

He carefully peeked into her room. His heart was relieved to see her things were still there, but disappointed that she herself was not there.

Just then he heard a noise. A short, muffled cry from somewhere. He couldn’t be sure, he was still getting used to all the strange house noises.

“Maggie?” he called again. No reply.

Jack mounted the stairs after checking all around the main floor and not seeing Maggie anywhere. 

When he reached the top of the stairs, which faced the main bathroom door, she was there to greet him. Naked as the day she 

was born, soaking wet, and shocked and speechless as a deer in headlights. Jack immediately turned away and began to apologize. But it was too late. He was already salivating. The wet hair clinging to her perfect twenty-something breasts made sure of that. He’d also seen plenty more. Her navel ring. Her slender hourglass shape that had been hiding behind the Hawkeye gear last night. His brain also registered the following data: she was shaved bare. And now he knew what a thigh gap was. 

“I am so, so sorry, Maggie.” He was. But he wasn’t. His dick was as hard as cast iron, still absorbing the sight of her damp, dripping body. Oh god. Oh shit.

In what seemed like an eternity but in actuality was less than a second, the bathroom door slammed shut with her behind it. “Can you please get me a towel?”

His brain fog lifted just enough for him to register what he was supposed to be doing right now instead of fantasizing about taking her into the shower and diving between her legs. Towel. Must get towel.

He did as she asked, and although only her arm jutted out through the gap in the bathroom door to receive the towel, Jack’s eagle eye unintentionally caught sight of her reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. Her ass. Holy shit. It was nice. Round and firm, but not too firm. Curvy. Dammit, he might be even more of an ass man than a breast man, if he was honest with himself.

The glance only lasted a split second, but it was real and it was seared into his memory. He was glad he couldn’t see her blush behind the door as it slammed shut again. He did his best to keep his voice steady. “Maggie, I am so sorry. I must have forgotten to put towels in the guest bath.”

He waited for a snarky reply, which he totally deserved. Instead she asked, “Guest bath? If this is the guest bathroom, what other bath is there?”

Jack was relieved for the change of subject. “Oh, well…I sort of built a master bathroom. The house needed a second bath, don’t you think?”

Maggie actually laughed. Nervously, but still, at least she wasn’t fuming mad. She was entitled to be. “This house needed a second or third bathroom when I was living here with Mama and four other foster siblings.”

Jack shook his head in wonder at the abilities of Mama Jane to get through life with teenagers and one outdated farmhouse bathroom.

“As soon as you’re dressed, I’d like you to come out to the barn. I’ve got something to show you.”

“That sounds pretty creepy, Jack.”

He laughed. “I mean, I’d like to offer you a job here, and I have something for you in the barn that I hope will convince you to accept my offer.”

She was quiet for a moment, then hesitantly said she’d be right there.

Jack couldn’t help but smile at her easy-going nature. She got over the trauma quickly. Unless…unless she was quietly pleased that he’d seen her entire body naked. Nah…that was too much to hope for.