Читать книгу Come On Over - Debbi Rawlins - Страница 12

4

THIRTY MINUTES LATER Shelby had hung some clothes and sorted her toiletries. The bathroom was small, typical of older homes, and sharing it with a virtual stranger wouldn’t be easy. But it was better than having to trudge out to use the one in the barn. She really hoped he’d been teasing about that.

So she divided her makeup and personal hygiene stuff into two groups of must-have and optional, then packed them in smaller bags to take to the bathroom—wherever that turned out to be—with her as needed.

Fortunately she’d remembered to pack a couple of towels and her pillow but she’d forgotten about sheets. What was left of her jewelry-making supplies, though, those she’d kept close. It would’ve been so much easier to let the movers bring the boxes along with her furniture since it was doubtful she’d be setting up shop soon. She was low on just about everything she needed to make the silver and brass pieces that would bring in some good money. And she knew for sure she had to replace the old soldering iron. But after that awful scene with Donald, she’d been too hurt and angry to think straight.

She sighed, not eager to ask Trent for sheets. Maybe she could lay a towel on the mattress and bring in the emergency blanket she kept in her trunk just in case she was ever stranded in foul weather. Along with it she kept a first-aid kit, a flashlight, batteries, bottles of water and power bars. Someone who was that careful should never have ended up in this mess. She wasn’t normally impulsive; she was cautious, prepared for anything.

Except, of course, a broken engagement.

And a run-down ranch.

And no job.

Hopefully she wasn’t starting a new trend, she thought, glancing around the small room. What the hell...there was a roof, walls; it was dusty but clean, and she hadn’t had to pull out her credit card, so the situation wasn’t completely awful.

Thinking back on the wedding gown she’d found just last week, she sighed. It had been love at first sight, and not because Mrs. Williamson would’ve disapproved of the retro style. Regardless of her ex-boss and erstwhile future mother-in-law’s insistence, Shelby had never done anything to deliberately spite the woman. Shelby really did like trendy shoes and modern art, and a few other things Mrs. Williamson found vulgar. They simply had different tastes.

And Donald, well, he...

Shelby swallowed hard, trying to clear the lump in her throat.

Donald should’ve been on her side. Silly her, she’d misjudged his silence for support when she’d mentioned dusting off her old equipment and stretching her creative boundaries. But she could see the truth now. He’d assumed she’d be too busy designing pricy pieces for his parents’ pretentious stores and inhabiting the role of Mrs. Donald Williamson to be bothered with her “tacky hobby.” Well, screw him.

Sinking to the edge of the daybed, she traded her boots for well-worn sneakers and thought about making the dreaded call to her mom. Though not today. For one thing, it was the middle of the night in Germany where she was living with her new husband. But mostly, Shelby wasn’t ready to listen to her mom go on and on about how Donald was a successful attorney, wealthy, handsome and a good provider. How Shelby would never have to work another day in her life. In one minute, Gloria Halstead could send feminism back a century.

Of course she’d call her father, too, but he had his hands full with his teenage stepchildren. He’d barely blink at the news. Just give her a verbal pat on the head and promise she’d find the right one soon. Which was completely fine with her. Shelby preferred his laidback approach to life. With her mom there was always so much drama.

She picked up her bag of groceries and wondered how serious Trent was over the whole dividing the house thing. Maybe he just needed to cool off. In the meantime, she could keep her perishables in the foam cooler she’d bought along the way. She went outside to fetch it from her car and saw Trent fiddling with something on the tractor. His T-shirt, damp with sweat, strained against his muscular frame. When he leaned across the engine, the worn denim of his jeans hugged his butt. Without his hat, his dark wavy hair gleamed in the late afternoon sun.

A tingle of awareness did something funny to her stomach. It wasn’t difficult to ignore the unwanted reaction. Sure he was attractive, but annoying. And hadn’t she just gotten rid of a pompous, annoying man?

Thinking of Donald again made her ache. Though not nearly enough considering they’d been dating for three whole years and engaged for ten months of that. This wasn’t the first time she’d worried about not being more upset. Was it shock? When it wore off was she in for a heart-crushing plunge? After all, the wedding was planned for spring. They’d already decided on everything. She should feel devastated, not relieved. Or concerned over her faulty judgment in accepting his proposal.

Mutt spotted her first. He lifted his head from his shady nook in the grass, then came running toward her, tail wagging. Violet was nowhere in sight.

Trent’s gaze followed the dog. His mood didn’t seem to have improved. Whether because of the tractor or his comment about someone else robbing him blind, she didn’t know. She figured he’d been referring to his wife, or ex-wife.

“Am I allowed to use the fridge?” she asked, shading her eyes to look at him. “I forgot.”

“That’s why I used tape. The stove, fridge and sink are all on my side.” He eyed her sneakers, then her messy ponytail before turning back to the engine.

“Basically that means I have no access to water in the house.”

“That would be correct.”

God, she hoped he wasn’t serious about the ridiculous setup. But then, what did she expect? She was a stranger, an intruder invading his space without warning... She bit her lip. See? Her judgment was completely messed up.

If it weren’t for Violet living right on the property, Shelby would never have made the impulsive decision to stay. By the same token, it was Violet who had given her hope that Shelby’s grandfather’s bequest was valid. And if she ever needed a time for that to be true, it was now. She’d never felt so lost, not when her parents had divorced or when she’d changed high schools in the middle of junior year and immediately become the girl with the ugly glasses.

“Wait,” he said, when she turned back toward the house. “I’m pissed off at this engine. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“I don’t blame you for being upset.” She wasn’t fibbing, though she’d also decided that being nice to him could benefit her restricted living conditions. “I appear out of the blue, disrupt your life. If the situation were reversed I’d be upset.”

“Yeah, well...” He rubbed a hand down his face and rolled his neck, grimacing with the effort. “I’ve been doing some thinking. Obviously you didn’t show up here on a whim. You believe you have a stake in the place, and from what Violet said, you just might,” he said, squinting at her. Then yanked up the hem of his shirt and blotted the sweat from his eyes.

She stared at his bare belly, tanned and ridged with muscle. How did a cowboy get a six-pack like that?

“Don’t get too excited.”

With a soft gasp, she snapped her gaze up to his face. He hadn’t caught her gawking. He was still wiping his face.

“Our great-grandpas might’ve been partners at some point, but it seems the Kimballs ended up sticking around and making something of the place.”

Could’ve fooled her. The barn, even the sheds looked horribly run-down. With the exception of the large, freshly painted structure closest to the corral. “Is that the stable?”

“Yep.”

“Do you have horses?”

“Why? You want those, too?”

Shelby bristled. Here she’d thought they were moving toward détente. Still, no point in antagonizing him. She forced a smile. “Just making conversation.”

“I have two quarter horses. One is a racehorse. That’s what I do—I train them.”

“Oh.” Now it made sense that the stable was in such great condition. Beside it was parked a very nice horse trailer that probably cost a chunk. “So you’re not really a rancher or farmer.”

“Nope.”

“I thought I saw some chickens.”

He studied her a moment. “I have a milk cow, too. But the horses are my main focus.”

“May I see them?”

“I’m sure you will,” he said, resigned. “Just not right now.”

“Okay.” She looked up at the sky, then toward the Rockies. “It’s pretty around here.” She smiled, and ignored the suspicion in his narrowed eyes. “Peaceful,” she added, wondering if now was the time to ask again about using the fridge.

She had a better idea. “Well, sorry I bothered you. I came out to get something from my car.” She popped open the trunk and lifted the cooler, then balanced it against her hip while she closed the trunk.

She slowly carried it down the walkway to the front door, fairly sure he was watching her. Halfway there he said, “Wait.”

Bingo.

Him offering the fridge instead of her asking again would be better in the long run. Let him lord his generosity over her, she didn’t care. She got her cocky grin in check before turning to him.

“While you’re out here, I might as well show you to your bathroom,” he said, nodding toward the barn, a little smile betraying his amusement.

She could only stare at him.

What a prick.

* * *

WHILE HE WAS still working outside, Shelby hurriedly took a shower. In the house. Afterward, she pulled on a pair of old khaki shorts and a comfy T-shirt, then wiped down everything, until the place was exactly as she’d found it, which was clean. Like the kitchen. It seemed he only had a thing against sweeping.

She hung her damp towel over the rod in her closet and considered her next move. The refrigerator was old and didn’t have an icemaker. Something she’d discovered when she’d tried to swipe some fresh ice for the cooler. She hadn’t dared touch the two trays. The jerk probably knew exactly how many cubes were in there. She supposed she could bargain with him, offer a trade of some sort. Maybe do the sweeping and mopping?

Trent had shown her the barn bathroom just as he’d promised. And she honestly couldn’t tell if he meant to carry out his edict, threat, whatever it was. But the so-called bathroom was horrible. The toilet was semi-enclosed by two walls and stacked hay bales. And the shower was a joke. Anyone walking ten feet into the barn had a clear view of it. No way could he think she’d use the stupid thing. Probably wanted to see how long it would take before she begged.

He’d really had her going with all that talk about how it was possible she had a claim. Which made him showing her the outdoor pit of a bathroom seem cruel. It certainly set her on edge.

Once she’d calmed down and realized that was likely his game plan, she decided on her strategy. It wouldn’t be light for much longer, but he was still cussing at the tractor when she walked to her car.

Mutt trotted over to her and Trent looked up. She opened her trunk, then glanced around, scoping out the floodlight under the eave of the barn, the pair on either side of the stable door.

“The bulb’s burned out,” Trent said, gesturing to the barn. “I’ll get around to changing it sooner or later.”

“No problem.” She pulled the flashlight from her emergency kit, as well as extra batteries. Well, it was more of a spotlight, which was perfect, though she doubted she’d need it for long.

“I have a twelve-foot ladder if you want to change the bulb,” he said and swung up into the tractor seat.

“Maybe I will.” She smiled, closed the trunk. “But not today.”

His eyes narrowed at her, but his curiosity was forgotten the second the engine started. “Yes!” He sunk back in his seat and stared up at the sky. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

Shelby smiled. She couldn’t have cared less about his tractor victory except that his improved mood might extend to her.

“Have you been working on it long?”

“A couple days.” He gunned the engine, then turned to her. His gaze lingered on her bare legs, then swept to her T-shirt. The instant he met her eyes, the flicker of interest died, and his expression changed. “How about that, sweetheart? You might’ve brought me some luck.”

The phony endearment grated on her ears. Letting it go was the smart thing to do. She suspected he’d meant to irritate her. Maybe not. Some guys were still Neanderthals. But for some reason she doubted Trent was one of them.

You can catch more flies with honey, she reminded herself. She forced a smile that she suspected came out all wrong. “Since it appears we’ll be roommates for a while, I think we should be completely honest with each other.”

“Come again?”

“Honest about—”

He angled toward her and ran a hand through his dark hair. “No, the first part.”

Instead of fixating on the bunching bicep straining his sleeve she rolled her eyes. “Housemates, if you want to be technical, but not the point. You should know that I don’t appreciate being called sweetheart.”

His mouth curved in a lazy arrogant smile. “Good to know,” he said and jumped down. “Now, you mind moving out of my way so I can finish up...sweetheart.”

Shelby pressed her lips together. Why hadn’t she seen that coming? No sense trying to reason with a mule. She told herself she’d be the bigger person and not respond in kind.

He motioned to her car. “Park closer to the stable.” He picked up a toolbox and looked at her again. “By the way, we aren’t roommates or housemates, whatever. Out of the goodness of my heart, you’re my guest.”

“You deprive all your guests of bathroom and kitchen privileges?”

“Only the unwanted ones,” he said over his shoulder, already returning his attention to the tractor. “Which reminds me, later we’ll go over your chores. Hope you’re an early riser. Lots of work to be done on a ranch.”

His back to her, she gave him a one-finger salute. And hoped Violet hadn’t seen it from a window.

As Shelby rounded the front of her car, she noticed that he’d fixed the corral railings. Holding in a grin, she paused at the driver’s door. “They’re crooked.”

“What?” He turned and frowned at her, before following her gaze.

“The rails.” She tilted her head to the side. “They’re slanting to the left.”

“Like hell.” He glanced back at her, then grudgingly mirrored her head angle to study his handiwork.

“I guess it doesn’t matter.” Afraid she couldn’t keep a straight face, she opened the door. Yes, she was messing with him. The bastard deserved it.

“Which one?”

“Both,” she said and slid into the leather bucket seat, grinning behind the tinted windows.

* * *

TRENT SMELLED THE beans and cornbread the second he entered the house. And something else that made his stomach growl. Ham, maybe? He didn’t have any in the fridge or freezer. Shelby had to have brought it with her, or maybe the suddenly helpful Violet had made another delivery while he was watering the horses.

Earlier he’d made a tactical error. The microwave sat on a cart on Shelby’s side of the kitchen. Had he thought quickly, he would’ve rolled it over to his side before he’d duct-taped the place. He used the microwave more than he did the stove or oven.

He ducked his head into the kitchen. Shelby wasn’t there and no food had been left out. He checked the fridge and found only the beans and cornbread, so he took out leftover roasted chicken legs to go with it. Not that he had any idea how to heat up everything without the microwave.

He’d washed up some in the barn but he still needed a shower. The bathroom door was open, and the one to Shelby’s room closed. Much as it irritated him, he returned to the kitchen and heaped a portion of the food onto a pie tin and stuck it in the oven at a low heat. He briefly considered cheating. All he had to do was keep the microwave from dinging, but if she caught him that would screw up everything.

They would have to renegotiate and he had no intention of making this easy on her. Not only was she trying to take his home away from him—the only home he had left—she was also killing him parading around in those shorts. She had great legs, and he figured she knew it. He’d finally managed to curb errant thoughts of sex during the day, and given himself free reign during showers and bedtime. In a matter of minutes she’d screwed that up for him.

Thinking about the expression on her face when she saw the barn bathroom made him feel better. Wouldn’t have surprised him if she’d gotten in her car and left then and there. Damn, he wished she would have. It wasn’t in his nature to be ugly like that, Violet notwithstanding.

But Shelby had recovered quickly. And he expected that she’d already snuck in a bathroom visit or two while he was outside. That didn’t bother him. She’d be forced to go to the barn sooner or later, and just one time would do it. If the sorry condition of the toilet didn’t, the feral cat that lived part-time in the barn would probably scare some sense into her. The woman didn’t belong here. And Trent was just helping her see that.

The sooner she left, the happier he’d be. Working alone, his schedule was ruthless. Having to think about her was already costing him. So every time his inner voice said he’d never force a lady to use the barn bathroom, he shut it down. This was just another woman trying to take what was his. No warning. No nothing. He couldn’t deal with another loss. Not now. Maybe never.

He took a faster shower than usual. Partly so his supper wouldn’t burn, but mostly out of self-preservation. The moment his soapy hand had touched his cock, his thoughts had gone straight to Shelby. Instead of indulging, he’d turned the water on cold. And cursed her until all the soap ran off his body. It was a sorry day when a man couldn’t even shower in peace.

Her bedroom door was still closed when he settled on the couch with his food and turned on the TV. He’d almost finished eating and was considering seconds when he heard her door open.

He knew she was moving around just behind him but he stayed focused on the television. If she was going outside she’d have to leave via the kitchen.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Would you mind flipping on the porch light? It’s on your side of the house.”

“No problem.” Holding back a grin, he rose with his plate in hand. “I put the stable lights on for—”

Shelby was naked.

Almost.

All she wore was a blue towel. It wrapped around her breasts, tucked in at the side and ended high on her thighs. Another towel was draped over her arm and she held a bar of soap in one hand, a flashlight in the other. On her feet she wore bright yellow flip-flops.

“It seems I forgot to pack my robe,” she said, glancing down at herself. “I hope you don’t mind. I’m just running out to the barn.”

Trent couldn’t find his voice. He couldn’t look away. Trying to swallow didn’t help. His mouth was too dry. “You were wrong,” he finally muttered. “They weren’t crooked.” He flipped the light switch then walked past her, looking straight ahead, as if he had on blinders. “Go ahead, use the front door if you want.”

“What wasn’t crooked?”

Jesus, why had she followed him into the kitchen? “The rails.” He set his plate and fork in the sink, and for the life of him, couldn’t recall where he kept the dish detergent. “I used a level.”

“Oh. False alarm. Sorry.” She smelled good, standing somewhere behind him. Not that he was about to look. “Oops!”

He turned his head.

She was rearranging the towel. “Almost lost the sucker,” she said, pulling the terrycloth snugger.

Her breasts swelled and plumped over the top with each small tug of the towel. He could barely drag his gaze away.

Talk about playing dirty. She was baiting him. And it was working. All the blood and oxygen had rushed south leaving his brain to fend for itself.

Man, he didn’t want to fold this early in the game.

He caught himself staring again and forced his attention back to the sink.

“Okay, well,” she said, “thanks.”

“Sure.” He heard the kitchen door open and close, and he slowly lifted his head for a clear shot of her out the window.

Only he couldn’t see her. What did she do, turn the wrong way? How could she miss the barn?

The hinges squeaked as the door opened. He barely had a second to lower his chin.

“I need to take some clothes. Or I’ll have to come back in a wet towel,” she said with a soft laugh as she crossed the kitchen.

It took all of a second for him to imagine her wearing nothing but a wet towel plastered to her body. His heart pounding like a Derby winner at the finish line, he ordered himself not to watch her exit, then gave up and looked. She was taking her sweet time, making a show of staying on her side of the duct tape.

The woman’s legs were world class, no argument from him. And if he’d had the slightest doubt she was toying with him, it was gone. Guess it was time to prove he was made of stronger stuff than being a dope for a half-naked woman.

He turned to face her, leaned back against the counter and glanced at Mutt, who was curled up by the door. “Hey, boy.” The dog looked up. Trent nodded at Shelby. “Fetch the towel.”

She froze. Her eyes widened at Mutt, who had no clue what the command meant.

Trent smiled and watched her take off to her room as if she had the hounds of Baskerville on her heels.