Manhunting in Mississippi

He pursed his lips, considering the wisdom of arguing with her. The woman was a confounding mix of spunk and vulnerability. Her arrogance annoyed him—he was only trying to help, and she continued to be difficult. Still, he recognized the dangerous signs of physical attraction, and the last thing he needed was yet another woman to complicate his life. Delivering Ms. Shepherd to the infirmary and putting distance between them struck him as the best solution. “I’m asking,” he said with as much control as he could muster.

A look of defeat passed through her eyes and pink tinged her cheeks. “Well, um, since we only have a little farther to go…” Her voice trailed off and she nodded down a tunnel-like hallway.

Anxious to get her to the infirmary and take his leave, Ian bent and once again swept her into his arms. This time she didn’t squirm or wiggle, but held herself stiff and unmoving instead. As if by mutual consent, they both stared in the direction of their destination. Ian quickened his pace and lengthened his stride until he reached a doorway over which a hanging sign announced Infirmary.

The infirmary was little more than a large closet containing a cot and tall metal cabinets with glass doors, behind which were arranged an impressive array of bandages and over-the-counter medications. As Ian lowered Piper onto the cot, an inner door that read Janet Browning, R.N. opened, and a woman sporting a pink smock, braces and big red hair emerged. “Good grief, Piper, what happened to you?”

“I fell and twisted my ankle.”

The nurse leaned over and smoothed back her patient’s hair. “Did you hit your head on the way down?”

“Sort of.”

“What are you doing so dressed up anyway?” the nurse asked, impatience clear in her voice.

Ian bit back a smile and placed Piper’s shoes on the cot next to her. Had Ms. Shepherd wanted to impress him? He glanced at her flushed face, then remembering his getaway plan, he stepped back toward the door. His neck felt sticky—damn, but it was humid in Mississippi!

He fingered his collar impatiently, and Meredith’s ring pinched the inside of his knuckle. Biting back a salty curse, he twisted the band into a more comfortable position. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear the thing was tighter than yesterday. This was definitely one of those times when being left-handed was problematic—and he’d never liked wearing jewelry, so the ring felt doubly cumbersome.

The nurse had lifted Ms. Shepherd’s leg to inspect her ankle, giving him an inadvertent peek directly up her damp skirt. Under her nude hose, she wore red panties. Ian swallowed painfully and fought the urge to bolt without a word. “I’ll…I’ll be in Mr. Blythe’s office if you need—”

“Thank you, Mr. Bentley,” she cut in, smiling up at him from the cot. “I’m fine.”

He glanced over her one last time, from her droopy, wet hair to her plastered clothing to her plump ankle. Ms. Shepherd was as opposite to Meredith as a woman could be. She was a total mess, but she couldn’t have been more correct—she was very, very fine. Ian felt his body harden involuntarily. He nodded curtly, wheeled and fled for his wife, er, life.

PIPER SAGGED with dismay. Mortification washed over her as she gazed at her shredded panty hose and fat ankle. The man must have thought she was a complete nincompoop. Her immediate financial success—and her chances of being able to afford her grandmother’s house—depended on impressing Ian Bentley. So far the only impression she’d made was the one she’d left in the parking-lot pavement.

“Boyfriend?” Janet Browning asked with one red eyebrow in the air.

Piper gave her a dry smile. “Hardly. He’s Ian Bentley, our largest customer.”

“He’s a looker, girlfriend.”

“He’s okay,” Piper relented. “But he’s also my boss for a few days.”

“Planning to put in a little overtime?”

Remembering the thrill of being carried in his arms, Piper masked her disappointment with indignation. “You’re a nut. Didn’t you see his wedding ring?”

Her friend scoffed. “Ring, schming. You take what you can get in this barren little town. Let’s take a closer look at your ankle.” Janet leaned over and pulled a small stool forward on which she propped Piper’s swollen foot. She knelt and touched the flesh gingerly while Piper grimaced and sucked air through clenched teeth.

“I don’t think anything’s broken, but you’ve got a bad sprain. I can give you an anti-inflammatory. You should be back to work in a few days if you take it easy.”

Alarm bolted through Piper and she sat up straight. “But I’m starting a new project today.”

“With Mr. Bentley?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t Rich take care of it?”

Piper fought to keep from wrinkling her nose. She was going to get that bonus, not her assistant. “It’s not what you think—I have other reasons for heading up this project.”

Janet smiled knowingly. “Admit it, Piper, working with Mr. Bentley is the reason you’re dressed like a mannequin.”

“Wrong,” Piper replied calmly, loath to confess the embarrassing details of the manhunt that had unwittingly gotten her into this humiliating situation. “I knew someone was coming from the Bentley Group, but I had no idea it was a man or what he looked like.”

“Oh, right,” Janet said, her hands on generous hips. “So I guess you expect me to believe you’ve turned over a new leaf and are now dressing like you give a damn about men in general?”

Piper stuck her chin in the air. “Well, what if I am?”

“Then you’re failing miserably.”

As if she needed to be reminded. “Thank you, Dr. Ruth. Just wrap my ankle, will you?”

Janet walked to the cabinet and removed a roll of bandage, scissors and tape. “Lose the panty hose.” She grinned, flashing her braces. “Bet you haven’t heard that for a while.”

“I’ll ignore that remark.”

“Hey, has your grandmother sold her house yet?”

“No, but she’s moving this weekend.”

“What a gorgeous place—those columns! I’d love to have it.”

Silently, Piper agreed with her. Her grandmother’s house resembled a miniature plantation, two high-ceilinged stories of limestone, with grand round columns studding the deep, wraparound porch. But the beauty on the outside couldn’t begin to compare with the beautiful memories inside. The house represented all the good things about family that Piper had never been exposed to in her own home, and she wanted to own it more than anything. Which was why she needed to come up with something fabulous for Ian Bentley’s coffeehouses.

A few minutes later, her wrapped ankle feeling much stronger, Piper made her way back to the elevator and up to her office where experience in the food lab had taught her to keep an extra change of clothes.

“What happened to you?” her assistant, Rich Enderling, asked when she walked into her office.

“Don’t ask.”

“Okay,” he said slowly, scrutinizing her bare feet and wrapped ankle. He shrugged his wide shoulders and held up his hands in submission. Ironically, auburn-headed Rich was one of the better-looking men in town. Rich had admitted to her his homosexuality a few weeks after joining Blythe, but revealed he hadn’t yet decided to live an openly gay lifestyle. The fact that he’d come to Mudville to buffer his attraction to men spoke volumes for the selection. “Piper, don’t forget, someone is coming this afternoon from the Bentley Group to talk about the new dessert.”

She gave him a wry smile as she passed him on her way to her storage cabinet. “Thanks for the reminder.” After opening the cabinet, she removed clean jeans, a white T-shirt and a navy blazer, plus red canvas tennis shoes.

“Uh, Piper?”

She turned. “Yeah, Rich?”

He gestured to her clothing. “Did somebody die?”

Smiling sweetly, she slammed the cabinet door. “Yes—the next person who asks me that question.”

Piper marched into the ladies’ room, and came to a toe-stubbing stop in front of the full-length mirror. Her mouth dropped open in horror. Her hair alternately stood on end and lay flattened to her head, her clothing hung wrinkled, spattered and damp. Mascara flecked her cheeks. And her ankle looked huge.

It was a good thing Ian Bentley was married—she’d never stop kicking herself if she thought she’d met an eligible man in her current state. She changed clothes and repaired her hair and makeup as best she could, glad when she could feel the painkiller Janet had given her kick in. She considered flushing the broken pumps down the toilet, but settled for slamming them into a metal trash can. Darn shoes! She’d paid a fortune for them years ago for somebody’s wedding and hadn’t worn them a half-dozen times since. Damn the man who invented these things! It was probably the same guy who invented panty hose.