Free Deep in the Heart by Sharon Sala Page B

said, grinning slightly at the shocked expression on his face before he complied.
    She swung her leg, mounting his boot as she might a horse, giving him nothing but her backside to look at. Then she bent slightly and gripped the boot with both hands.
    “Push,” she ordered, and tried not to mind when he placed his other boot firmly on her rump and did as he was told.
    She tugged fiercely, and when she felt the tight leather beginning to give, pulled even harder. She grunted with satisfaction as it finally came away in her hands.
    His foot hit the floor as she dropped the boot. Blind to everything but the enticing view she’d given him, he shuddered as she straddled his other leg and said, “Next.”
    Next what, Samantha Jean? Wisely, he did not put the question into words, but instead did as he was told.
    Samantha grasped the remaining boot, hitching his leg a bit tighter against her inner thigh while she waited patiently for his foot to center again on her backside. But this time when contact was made, it came slow and gentle, and she could feel his sock-clad foot sliding up her thigh to her hip before scooting into place.
    She shivered from the contact, wishing it was his hand instead that was touching her so intimately. As a result of her frustration, her next words came out all cranky and wrong.
    “What are you doing back there, homesteading? Push dammit! I’m letting supper burn.”
    His lips firmed and his eyes narrowed. She wanted him to push? Well hell, who was he to argue? He shoved firmly, smiling with satisfaction as his leg straightened and sent her shapely body flying, taking the boot with her as he ejected her from her perch.
    She stumbled and staggered, catching herself just before she fell across a chair. Then she turned and glared, daring him to laugh or tease. He did neither.
    “Thank you, Samantha.”
    His voice was as deep and full of meaning as those damned brown eyes of his that held secrets she’d never been able to share.
    She frowned as she ran her hand across her hips, expecting to feel the heat from a sizzling brand, because the imprint of his foot was as vivid as if it was still in place.
    “Don’t mention it,” she said shortly.
    Rebel barked once.
    Samantha sniffed the air. “I guess the pork chops are done,” she said.
    John Thomas sat on the edge of his bed and watched as she hurried away.
    “Oh great! My dog talks to her, too. What’s scary is that she understands him,” he muttered. He just wished to hell that he understood what was happening between them as easily as that.
    A lid banged against a pan in the kitchen and he heard the sound of running water.
    “Johnny!” she called.
    “Coming,” he said. He hustled out of his work clothes and into a well-worn pair of jeans, sliding his feet into old canvas deck shoes as he bolted for the door.
    He grabbed a shirt from a hanger on his way to the bathroom. The food had given him a reprieve from having to tell her about the call from California. He’d wait until after supper before he broke the news. But it couldn’t wait any longer than that. Samantha had to know that the stalker had struck again, and this time it had been with more than words.

    John Thomas took the last pan from the drainer as Samantha let the dishwater run from the sink. He gave it a halfhearted swipe with a soppy dishtowel and then stacked it inside a larger one in the cabinet below.
    “All done,” she said.
    He nodded, and tried to return her smile.
    “Let’s go outside a while,” he said. “After all that cooking, you’ve got to be feeling this heat.”
    “It’s not so bad once you get used to it. Besides, staying busy helps pass the time, and right now I have more time on my hands than I know what to do with.”
    The screen door squeaked in protest as he pushed it wide, waiting for her to follow. As she walked past, he reached back inside and switched off the light.
    “So the bugs won’t come,” he explained unnecessarily. She remembered