Baby, It's You Read Online Free PDF

all this had never happened.
    “Come with me,” he said, heading for the kitchen.
    She trudged along behind him, the train of her dress making a wide, muddy streak across the tile floor. It looked as if a gigantic slug had slithered through his house. As they came into the kitchen, Sasha was in her usual spot on top of the refrigerator. She was Siamese, and from the day Angela brought her home as a kitten, it was as if she knew she came from royal stock. That refrigerator was her throne, and she judged every situation that passed before her like the princess she was sure she was.
    How about it, Sasha? Does Her Majesty have a solution to this problem?
    Marc stopped in the mudroom and put on a raincoat and a pair of rubber boots, then grabbed a poncho for Kari.
    “No sense in getting wetter than you already are,” he said as he eased it over her head and pulled it down, then tugged the hood up over her blob of hair. The poncho was Day-Glo yellow. She looked like Big Bird in a wedding dress.
    He still didn’t know why she’d left her fiancé at the altar, but in the end it didn’t matter. He only knew he wanted this woman out of his house as quickly as possible so he could get back to his new life.
      
    A few minutes later, Kari sat in the passenger seat of the biggest pickup truck she’d ever seen, listening to the roar of hundreds of horses under the hood as Marc motored down the storm-darkened highway. He drove every bit of the speed limit even though the rain still poured. At first she thought, Daredevil , only to realize every move he made seemed careful and measured, as if he knew every hill and curve as well as he knew his own name.
    As he was stuffing her and her dress into the passenger seat of his truck, she’d seen two rifles on a gun rack in the back window of the club cab pickup. Her heart stuttered at the sight, but she told herself to stop being silly.
    Ignore the guns. This is rural Texas. Five-year-olds carry guns in rural Texas.
    Left to her own devices, Kari generally associated with men who played guitars and wrote poetry because at least they understood her creative, disordered mind and didn’t cringe when she dyed her hair purple. When she dated men her father approved of, they wore sport coats over their two-hundred-dollar jeans, talked about the stock market, and got exasperated when she wanted to try a vegan restaurant.
    Either way, nothing had prepared her for Marc Cordero.
    He was a big man with a big truck and big guns, and every indication said he wasn’t the least bit happy to be taking her anywhere on a night like tonight. He hadn’t cracked a smile from the moment he’d opened his front door. And as she gave him a sidelong glance now, she forgot her wrecked car, forgot the storm, forgot everything but the man sitting next to her, a man who looked as if he could pick her up and snap her in half if he chose to.
    But she couldn’t say she hated it.
    She glanced at his hands on the steering wheel, big, strong hands that looked as if they could split firewood without an ax. Underneath that raincoat was a body to match his hands, with a chest and shoulders so broad he could have made two of any of the men she knew. She didn’t know exactly what it took to run a vineyard, but it was clear he’d gotten his gorgeous body and his golden tan the hard way—by spending long hours working in the sun. She glanced back at his left hand on the steering wheel. No ring.
    But why was she bothering to look?
    Because he’s sexy as hell, that’s why.
    But that didn’t matter. The last thing a pushover like her needed was a man to push her over. If Greg had been able to do it, she wouldn’t stand a chance with a man like this one.
    “So you run a vineyard?” she asked.
    “Yep.”
    “You have a nice house.”
    “It’s home.”
    That was the one word that described it perfectly. It had a wide front porch with a wooden swing, and on the inside the oak floors, thick rugs, and country kitchen made