Книга - Come On Over

Come On Over
Debbi Rawlins


Staking her claim!Horse trainer Trent Kimball is starting to believe his family's ranch is actually cursed. Still, it's a place to recover from both his recent divorce and a humiliating professional setback. That is, until Shelby Foster shows up, looking far too fine for cowboy country, and informs Trent that she is the owner of the Eager Beaver Ranch!Shelby left everything behind to move to Montana. And she's not about to just walk away! Even if it means sharing a roof with a rude cowboy…temporarily. As they wait for their papers, animosity turns into suggestive teasing. Then it becomes a sexy-sweet temptation neither can resist! Whoever produces the deed keeps the ranch. But will they lose something more important?







Staking her claim!

Horse trainer Trent Kimball is starting to believe his family’s ranch is actually cursed. Still, it’s a place to recover from both his recent divorce and a humiliating professional setback. That is, until Shelby Foster shows up, looking far too fine for cowboy country, and informs Trent that she is the owner of the Eager Beaver Ranch!

Shelby left everything behind to move to Montana. And she’s not about to just walk away! Even if it means sharing a roof with a rude cowboy...temporarily. As they wait for their papers, animosity turns into suggestive teasing. Then it becomes a sexy-sweet temptation neither can resist! Whoever produces the deed keeps the ranch. But will they lose something more important?


You’ll never get enough of these cowboys!

Talented Mills & Boon Blaze author Debbi Rawlins makes all your cowboy dreams come true with her popular miniseries

Made in Montana

The little town of Blackfoot Falls isn’t so sleepy anymore...

In fact, it seems everyone’s staying up late!

Get your hands on a hot cowboy with

Anywhere with You

(March 2015)

Come On Over

(June 2015)

This Kiss

(September 2015)

And remember, the sexiest cowboys are Made in Montana!


Dear Reader (#ulink_acbe4a13-c8ee-5b0a-94e0-c4db415580ea),

I’ve been living in a small rural town for almost a decade now and I must say it’s been quite a learning experience. Often it’s been fun, certainly surprising. And, admittedly, I do a fair bit of eye-rolling. Best thing about living here, though? It’s been great inspiration for the fictional town of Blackfoot Falls in my Made in Montana series.

Yes, I’ve shamelessly eavesdropped while getting my hair cut, grabbing lunch at the local diner or waiting in line at the post office. With so many of the ranches passed down from one generation to the next, there always seems to be an interesting story or piece of gossip surrounding the families who first settled here a hundred and fifty years ago. It got me wondering about the legal aspect of passing down land and livestock. Are things made nice and tidy via a will? Or is an assumption enough? Or maybe a handshake?

In Come On Over, the Eager Beaver Ranch arose from my latest “what if” game. You’ll meet Trent and Shelby, two characters who were a pleasure for me to write, especially since they did all the heavy lifting...

Thanks so much for visiting me and the folks of Blackfoot Falls!







Come On Over

Debbi Rawlins






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


DEBBI RAWLINS grew up in the country and loved Westerns in movies and books. Her first crush was on a cowboy—okay, he was an actor in the role of a cowboy, but she was only eleven, so it counts. It was in Houston, Texas, where she first started writing for Mills & Boon, and now she has her own ranch...of sorts. Instead of horses, she has four dogs, four cats, a trio of goats and free-range cattle on a few acres in gorgeous rural Utah.


Contents

Cover (#u0a6c034e-502f-58a0-a1d4-8987a397ff1e)

Back Cover Text (#ucee7cb06-bcf2-5f5e-8e36-ae1a61b42b2a)

Introduction (#u6684d0a7-7f26-582a-8041-3c2d11eb1a82)

Dear Reader (#ulink_fc6f7cb2-50da-51bc-8793-9c072410e902)

Title Page (#u091bb83c-afb2-551a-9a34-1d6dbb346992)

About the Author (#uf49978bc-4f3c-596d-8930-ac1fae388b10)

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1 (#ulink_0fc301c2-c18c-54be-8528-207a2ba5949b)

THE EAGER BEAVER was cursed. Trent Kimball had always been a skeptic, but right now, trying to get this damned old tractor to run, he was tempted to rethink his position.

His dad had moved the whole family off the ranch when Trent was sixteen, swearing by the words of Trent’s great-granddad that anyone who tried to make something of the place was doomed to failure.

Three years later Trent’s older brother had tried to give it a go but after seven years, he’d gone belly up. When Colby had blamed it on the curse, Trent had given him a load of crap about superstition and other nonsense.

In truth, if his bottom-feeding, soul-sucking ex-wife hadn’t damn near cleaned him out, Trent wouldn’t be here trying to whip the ranch into shape. But cursed? Nah, when it came right down to it, he wasn’t about to jinx his future when he’d barely gotten started. Eight months was nothing when it came to building a new life.

Using a clean rag to wipe the sweat off his forehead, he squinted at the gap in the east corral where a pair of rails had come loose and fallen during the night. He’d get to that later today. The job he was on right now was far more urgent. He stared at the tractor engine. If he didn’t get it running soon, he was gonna be in a world of hurt. Alfalfa wasn’t cheap. He needed to be ready to plant come spring. And after building the stable his bank account was dwindling fast. He jerked the wrench. And caught the edge of his thumb.

He let loose a string of cussing everyone in Blackfoot Falls, sixteen miles away, must’ve heard. Mutt didn’t even raise his head. The mangy hound stayed put, a huge lump of black fur curled up under the shade of a cottonwood. Damn lazy dog.

Violet, his unwelcome neighbor, didn’t miss her chance to mock him and she sure as hell didn’t hold back. The unseasonably warm fall breeze carried the sound of her cackling straight to him. He turned to the wiry old woman sitting on the porch of her double-wide parked near the faded barn. As usual she was smoking an oversize pipe and having a fine time in her dilapidated oak rocker.

One of these days she’d end up on her butt. Twice he’d offered to fix the chair for her. Twice. But as she so bluntly put it...his carpentry skills sucked. Much as he hated to admit it, she had a point.

Though he was getting better. He’d done a meticulous job of finishing the inside of the stable himself, making sure it was hazard-free, before he’d brought Solomon and Jax, a pair of quarter horses he’d purchased a couple of years back.

Still, the laughter coming off the porch was frying his nerves to a crisp. Here he’d cleaned her gutters, repaired the stairs by her front door and built her a handrail. But had she thanked him?

Okay, so he’d done those things when Violet was off to town so she wouldn’t give him any lip. And yes, the woman was a burr in his boot, but he didn’t want her hurt. Just quiet. And minding her own business.

“I know you have an air conditioner and a TV inside, Violet Merriweather,” he said, taking off his hat then resettling it on his head. “Why the hell are you sitting out here in the heat watching me?”

“You’re funnier than any of them reality shows.” She might’ve grinned, hard to tell with the pipe hiding half her craggy features. “Anyhow, I’m all caught up on Duck Dynasty.”

Trent sighed. If he had any sense he would’ve run her off the property when he’d first returned to Montana. The old woman had a knack for making him feel like a complete loser, and that was the last thing he needed right now. But she had no kids, no family since her brother had passed away some years back, and she’d watched him and Colby grow up. Over the years, Violet had become a fixture at the ranch. But they’d both been nicer then.

Somewhere in her mid-eighties, she was still spry and wiry, and had plenty of opinions she was more than willing to share. For all he knew, being cantankerous was the secret to staying young.

A stiff crosswind out of the west brought the aroma of baked beans and cornbread. Had to be coming from Violet’s stove. Their closest neighbor lived three miles away. Another whiff and Trent’s stomach growled loud enough for Mutt to lift his head. Or maybe it was the smell that roused the dog’s attention. His eyes looked mighty hopeful.

“You think that’s coming from our kitchen?” Trent snorted. “Dream on.”

Mutt let out a huff.

“You know as well as I do she won’t share.” Which was a shame. Anything beyond frying eggs and bacon tested his kitchen skills. He’d offered to pay Violet to cook for him, but she’d turned him down flat. “Don’t look at me like that,” he told Mutt who’d let out a whine. “You eat better than I do.”

The dog had shown up the day Trent arrived. Halfway down the gravel driveway, he’d noticed Mutt trotting behind the U-Haul he had towed all the way from Texas. Most of the stuff he cared about probably could’ve fit in the back of his truck. But he’d jam-packed the small rental with a few chairs, an end table, his favorite couch, the king-size bed he and Dana had shared and a few other things he didn’t particularly want, but damned if he’d let her have them. He’d been too angry to see anything but red.

Two days after the race that’d had him and everyone else in the racing world questioning his ability as a horse trainer, she’d walked into their bedroom with an empty suitcase and handed it to him. Told him she wanted a divorce. Just like that. How had he not seen that side of her before? They’d married too young, still in the giddy stage of love and lust when they’d eloped without a word to anyone. And in the three years they were together, he’d seen her angry, hurt, pouty, even spiteful at times, but to kick a man when he was already down?

Clearly he’d underestimated Dana’s need to have a wealthy, successful husband. She’d given up on him before the dust had even settled. Her lack of confidence in his ability to train more winning horses, making the big bucks she’d never had trouble spending, had taken a chunk of his heart. That last race, that one missed call, couldn’t have been the only straw. But he’d had no idea it would be the last.

As for their divorce settlement, he figured giving her the big house and fancy sports car he’d paid for with his bonus money was more than enough. Hell, he’d never wanted the big colonial anyway. Or the car for that matter.

Mutt turned toward the driveway. The dog was smart, probably half border collie, and at least five years old. Poor guy was on the homely side, with one brown eye and the other a spooky gold. It had taken two baths before Trent was able to tell Mutt’s chest was gray.

When he let out a long, low growl, Trent shaded his eyes and peered toward the road. He didn’t get many visitors, and certainly none driving black luxury sedans.

“It’s okay, boy.” Trent bent to stroke the dog’s side, but kept his gaze on the car as it turned down the long driveway. He glanced at Violet. “You expecting anyone?”

“What do you think?” she muttered, her frown aimed at the slowly approaching vehicle.

Right, silly question. “Sit,” he told Mutt, and the dog promptly obeyed. “Stay.” As the car neared the barn, Trent tugged down the rim of his hat to block the afternoon sun and started walking.

The tinted windows wouldn’t let him see the driver but he noticed the Colorado plates. Whoever it was had to be lost. Not many people came out this far. After idling for a bit, the engine was cut. Trent stood near the hood on the passenger side, dusting off the front of his jeans while he waited for the driver’s door to open.

A few seconds later a woman stepped out. The breeze whipped long strands of honey-blond hair across her face, preventing Trent from getting a good look at her. With a delicate hand she swept the hair out of her eyes.

She blinked at him, then smiled. “Hello.”

“Afternoon,” he said, touching the brim of his hat. She was pretty. Real pretty. High cheekbones. Full mouth. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so.” She glanced at the small brick house. “I think this is the Eager Beaver ranch? The sign on the post is really faded.”

“Yeah, um...” Trying not to grimace, he rubbed the back of his neck. Only the word Beaver was left on the wooden sign. He’d kinda thought it was funny. Until now. “I’ve been meaning to get around to that.”

“Oh?” Her brows rose. She blinked again, looking confused as she scanned the rundown barn, sheds and chicken coop. When she lifted a hand and smiled, he saw Violet leaning forward. “I’m sorry,” the woman said. “Please excuse my bad manners. I’m Shelby.” She came around the hood, one hand extended, the other busy trying to keep from being blinded by the breeze tangling her hair. “Shelby Foster.”

“Trent—” His fingers grazed hers. He yanked his hand back just in time. Grease and dirt streaked his palm. “Sorry, I’ve been working on the tractor.”

She smelled good, sweet. Not perfumy, but more like the first clean whiff of spring. And her eyes, they were green. Like fresh-cut hay. When she narrowed them he realized he was staring like a jackass.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m not sure I understand. If this is the Eager Beaver, you must be—” Her worried gaze darted to the equipment shed, then back to the house. “So, are you the—caretaker?”

“If I were, I’d be doing a mighty sorry job of it,” he said with a laugh.

“Whew.” Shelby grinned. “That’s what I was thinking.”

“Wait a minute—” His indignation only lasted a second. But then he got so distracted by her long slender legs, he forgot what he was about to say. “Who are you again?”

“Shelby Foster.”

“No. I mean why are you here?”

“Well...” With a tentative smile she glanced at the porch that needed repairing. “I’m the new owner.”

He pushed up the brim of his hat as if that would improve his hearing. “Come again?”

“Okay, not new. Actually it’s been a year. But this is the first time I’ve come to see the place for myself.”

Trent studied her face, the overly bright smile, the uncertainty in her eyes as her gaze swept toward the barn. It didn’t seem as if she was joking and somehow he didn’t think she was crazy.

“Who put you up to this?” he asked, closely watching her reaction. “Was it Colby?”

Her puzzled frown seemed genuine. “Put me up to what?”

“I know you’re not the owner because I am.”

Shelby raised her eyebrows. “You can’t be.”

“Yes, ma’am, I can.” He removed his Stetson and shoved a hand through his hair, damp from sweat and starting to curl at his nape. He jammed the hat back on. “This ranch has been in my family for four generations.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, a flicker of panic in her eyes. “How is that possible?”

Trent sure hoped she wasn’t a victim of one of those auction scams. Buy property sight-unseen for cheap, then find out the paperwork is fake. The car, the clothes screamed success. She didn’t look like someone who’d be that foolish. “There are a whole bunch of ranches around Blackfoot Falls. Maybe you got confused?”

“Any of them named the Eager Beaver?”

At her insulting tone of voice, any sympathy he’d felt for her dimmed. He liked the name, dammit. “Let’s back up here. What makes you think you own the place?”

“I have the deed.”

“The what?”

“The deed...it’s a legal document—”

“I know what a deed is,” he said, cutting her off. Hell, did she think he was some hayseed? Which brought to mind... “You don’t look like a rancher or an outdoor kind of gal.” He’d started his inspection with her fine leather boots, probably perfect for a night in the city but not out here. Her designer jeans could go either way, he supposed. But her clingy blue top? And those full pink lips...

He finally met her eyes. An icy chill darkened them and dared him to say another word. Or take another look.

Trent just smiled. She was safe from him. He was done with women, but looking was an entirely different matter. From his kitchen window, he loved watching the sun dip behind the Rockies. Didn’t mean he planned on climbing them.

Lifting her chin, she said, “Now that we’ve established I’m the owner, who are you?”

“We what?” And here he’d worried she might be the victim of a con. Jesus. She really did think he was a country bumpkin. “You have a deed? I’d like to see it.”

Her confidence faltered. Or maybe swiping her tongue across her lips was supposed to distract him. It almost worked. “I don’t have it with me,” she said, taking a deep breath that made her chest rise. “It’s with my things, which will be arriving next week.”

“Your things?” He stared at her, and she nodded. “No. No way. You call whoever’s hauling your stuff and—” From his peripheral vision, he noticed Violet edging closer. He didn’t need her sticking her nose in this. “Let’s go in the house,” he told Shelby in a more reasonable tone. “We can get something cold to drink. Figure this thing out.”

She moistened her lips again, her expression cautious as she inspected his stained brown T-shirt, worn jeans and dusty boots.

“I’m not gonna bite,” he said when she didn’t move.

“Fine.” With a toss of her hair, she picked her way through the gravel to the porch steps, having some trouble with those skinny, impractical boot heels.

He followed behind, torn between checking out her shapely rear end and keeping an eye on Violet. It would be just like her to stir up trouble, for sheer sport if nothing else. When he saw the old busybody closing the distance between them, he whistled for Mutt to run interference. At best, Trent had a fifty-fifty shot the dog would listen.

Shelby stopped at the screen door and turned to him.

“Go on inside. It’s not locked.”

She glanced past him, then entered the house.

He caught the screen and smiled when he saw that Mutt was doing his job. Violet stood near the barn, spewing curses and trying to evade the dog’s long eager tongue. She liked the mooch well enough, even slipped him treats, but she couldn’t stand him licking her.

“Come on, boy.” Trent waited for the dog to bound up the steps and charge inside.

Yanking off his hat, he walked into the living room. Looking terrified, Shelby stood frozen, against the far wall where Mutt had cornered her. Jesus, he hadn’t considered...

“Come,” Trent commanded, but Mutt ignored him.

* * *

SHELBY FIGURED IF the dog was going to bite her, he’d have already done so. She tucked her purse under her arm, and crouched to pet the big shaggy fur ball that had to be over sixty pounds. She loved dogs but couldn’t for the life of her identify his breed.

“Well, aren’t you a cutie pie trying to look all ferocious.” She found his sweet spot—a patch low behind his ear—and lightly raked it with her nails until his big eyes rolled back in contentment. “He has mud on his paws,” she said, eyeing the dusty wood floor. “If you care.”

She immediately regretted being snide. Trent ignored it, but she knew he’d heard. It wasn’t like her to be rude. But she was tired, hungry and not completely enamored of the run-down Eager Beaver ranch. Stupid name, anyway. She’d look into changing it first thing.

And then there was Trent, whoever he was...besides tall and hot. Though being good-looking didn’t work in his favor. Not with her. She’d had it with men. And their expectations. And...well, just about everything.

“How many times have I told you to use the doormat?” Trent said to the dog, then ducked out and returned with a faded towel. “He get any mud on you?”

She shook her head, then looked up. Trent’s eyes were an unusual gray. She hadn’t been able to tell earlier, but she’d noticed the strong jaw shadowed from a couple days’ growth of beard. With his dark wavy hair, tanned skin and long, lean body, he was the perfect image of the untamed cowboy conquering the rugged West. If a woman had a fanciful imagination, which she did not. Anyway, she was from Colorado and knew better. Not all cowboys were equal. But all men were.

No, that wasn’t fair. She looked at her left hand, where her engagement ring used to be. She was still raw from Donald’s betrayal. From the proof that while he wanted to marry her, he didn’t know her at all. In time the sting would fade. She had to believe that if she wanted to start fresh, prove to herself she could be successful on her own terms.

“Come here, boy.” Trent crouched beside her and gave the dog’s collar a light tug until his front paws were on the towel.

Huddling between Trent and a console table felt too intimate so she stood. “What’s his name?”

“Mutt. Actually, it’s Ugly Mutt. Sometimes I call him Ugly. But mostly just Mutt.”

She stared down at him, ready and waiting to disappoint him when he looked for her reaction to his baiting. But he never looked up, simply concentrated on cleaning the dog’s paws while her gaze followed the play of corded muscle along his forearms.

“You’re kidding, right?” she said finally.

“About?”

“His name. You don’t really call him Ugly.”

“Sure I do.” He gave the dog an affectionate pat. “Look at him.”

“That’s awful.” How could he treat the poor animal that way? “You’re awful.”

Trent smiled. “You know he doesn’t understand, right?”

Her gaze caught on the laugh lines fanning out at the corner of his eye. Then slid to his muscled bicep straining the sleeve of the T-shirt. When she finally noticed that he was giving her a funny look, she realized she’d stopped listening.

She cleared her throat and surveyed the room. “We need to straighten out this mess.”

Trent glanced over his shoulder and frowned at the magazines and newspapers littering the coffee table. A pair of boots, one turned on its side, butted up to the burgundy recliner. “Which mess are we talking about?”

“The Eager Beaver,” she said, as it slowly dawned on her that the place was furnished with chairs, a high-quality leather sofa, a flat-screen TV, rugs... Trent wasn’t simply squatting or passing through. “And how quickly you can clear off my property.”

He wasn’t taking her one bit seriously. With a lifted brow he slid his gaze down her body. “You suddenly found that deed somewhere?”

“No. I explained where it is. But you seem so sure of yourself, I’m assuming you have one.”

That wiped the smirk off his face. “I do. Not here. My folks have it in their bank safe-deposit box.”

“In Blackfoot Falls? Shouldn’t take you long to get it.”

“They live in Dillon, four hours from here.”

“Oh, how convenient.”

“Says the woman who claims her papers are in transit.” He pushed to his feet, bringing him a good five inches taller than her even with her three-inch heels. “What kind of—” He cut himself off, clamped his mouth shut.

They were standing too close to each other. Boxed in by the wall, table and Trent, she could feel his body heat and a hint of his breath on her cheek. Oddly, he smelled good, sort of woodsy, even though she knew he’d been working outside in the sun.

When he wouldn’t move, she slipped around him. “You were saying?” she said, sneaking a peek in the bright yellow kitchen, surprised to see an open laptop sitting on a table.

“Nothing.”

“Please.” She turned to find him meticulously wiping his hands with the towel. “By all means, finish what you were about to say.”

He looked up, his gaze narrowing.

Okay, that might’ve come out a bit haughty.

With his sights locked on her, he said, “I was wondering what kind of idiot packs important legal papers with their belongings instead of keeping the documents locked up or with them.”

Heat surged up her neck and into her face. Someone who’d left in a hurry. Someone who’d been foolish enough to overstay where she hadn’t belonged in the first place.

“I deserved that,” Shelby said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

His gaze lowered before he looked away. “We’ll get this straightened out, but I’m warning you, it won’t be the outcome you want.”

She bit her lip. He seemed awfully sure, she thought, again taking in the furniture, most of it quite nice. The truth was, she didn’t really have the deed in her possession, only her grandfather’s will. Of course she’d call the attorney who’d drawn the will up. Something she would’ve already done if she hadn’t been in such a rush to get away from her ex-fiancé and his family.

“You should try The Boarding House Inn in town. Better hurry, though, it’s getting late and there isn’t another inn for miles.”

Shelby studied his expressionless face. Naturally he was trying to get rid of her. “Hmm, I could ask around about you.”

“Good idea. Most folks know me, or at least they know my family. They’ll confirm what I’ve told you.”

Her mouth went dry. Her heart sank. This wasn’t looking good at all. Maybe he was bluffing.

“Hey, how about that cold drink I promised? I’ve got orange juice, water, beer...”

Annoyed that he must’ve noticed her difficulty swallowing, she shook her head. “How far is it to town?”

“Sixteen miles.”

“And you don’t care if I inquire about you,” she said, watching him closely.

“Nope. Ask anyone.”

A knock at the door had them both turning their heads.

Through the screen she saw it was the older woman who’d been sitting in the rocker. She was holding a covered dish.

Trent looked at it and groaned. “Really, Violet?”

Shelby didn’t know why he sounded grumpy. It smelled like cornbread and something else, maybe molasses. Whatever it was, the aroma was divine.

The woman glared at him. “You gonna let me in?” She was tiny, not even five feet, her voice surprisingly rough.

When Trent didn’t respond, Shelby looked at him. Why the hesitancy? The woman was obviously his neighbor...

Unless...

Shelby hurried to open the door. “Of course, this is perfect timing,” she said, then glanced at Trent, who sighed with disgust. She smiled sweetly. “You did say I could ask anyone.”


2 (#ulink_3f1076db-08b4-57c6-968d-326948108492)

ANYONE BUT VIOLET.

Damn, no telling what the old busybody would say. She’d stir the pot just to see what bubbled over. She did it to him all the time.

Shelby held the door open wide.

Trent didn’t try to hide his irritation. “I see you’re making yourself right at home.”

“Thank you, dear,” Violet said, smiling at Shelby as she crossed the threshold.

He didn’t miss the shrewd gleam in the troublemaker’s eye. Shaking his head, he caught the door when Shelby let it go and kept it open. “Violet, I know you’re not one for visiting. Don’t let us keep you.”

“Don’t mind him.” Violet passed the foil-covered dish to Shelby. “Nobody does.”

“As a matter of fact, this young lady isn’t staying, either.” He swatted at the fly he’d let in. “She needs to get to Blackfoot Falls before The Boarding House Inn is full.”

Shelby shook her head and smiled at Violet. “I’m Shelby.”

“Shelby, huh?” Violet completely ignored him. Which was what he generally preferred, just not at the moment. “What a pretty name. I’m Violet Merriweather.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Merriweather.” Shelby sniffed the dish she held. “Is this cornbread?”

“Homemade. Along with my own baked-beans recipe. It won me a blue ribbon at the 1989 county fair. I use a couple shots of bourbon. And, honey, I’d be pleased if you call me Violet.”

Trent would call her a cab and gladly pay the fare all the way to California if he thought that would get rid of her. She hadn’t been inside the house even once since he’d moved back. As far as he knew, anyway. Probably came in to snoop when he went to town for supplies.

“For pity’s sake, Trent Kimball,” Violet said, wildly waving a hand around. “Must you let in all these damn flies?”

“They were invited. You weren’t.”

When Shelby stared at him as if he had the manners of a baboon, he let the screen door slam. But only because the flies were getting out of hand. Good. Let Ms. I’ve-got-the-deed know what ranch life was like. Full of flies, hard work and no time for this kind of bullshit.

“I’ve been here eight months now, and this woman has never offered me so much as a crumb,” he said, gesturing to Violet. “She’s nosy and is up to no good. Plain and simple.”

Shelby blinked. “I thought you said your family’s been here for generations?”

Trent sighed. He needed a beer, or preferably a whole bottle of tequila.

“Ah. I see...” Violet said, her face lighting up as she gave Shelby a head-to-toe inspection. “You must be the wife.”

“Wife?” Shelby darted him a stunned look. “His? God, no.”

Trent clenched his jaw. He wasn’t so much insulted by Shelby’s reaction as he was pissed at Violet for bringing up his failed marriage. Which she was dying to know more about. She could be a pain in his ass but this was the first time she’d made it personal.

Signaling for Mutt to follow, Trent headed for the kitchen. It didn’t matter that he glimpsed a trace of regret in the old woman’s pale eyes. If remorse got her out of his house quicker, then good, otherwise he didn’t give a shit.

After he’d filled Mutt’s food bowl and the dog was wolfing down his supper, Trent grabbed a beer out of the fridge. The two women could stand out there yakking for the rest of the afternoon for all he cared. Let Violet do her worst. Hell, Shelby could bunk with her in the double-wide.

He twisted off the bottle cap, threw it at the trash can and missed. Maybe Violet’s comment was innocent. She hadn’t actually said anything about him being divorced. Not that he kept it a secret. He just didn’t like talking about it. Especially when some things about Shelby reminded him of his ex. The way she dressed, for instance. Designer jeans and high-heel boots around here? And those soft slim hands, she couldn’t use them for much. So what the hell did she want with a ranch, anyway?

A nagging thought finally took hold. Violet hadn’t put him in a sour mood. Well, no more than normal. Shelby’s horrified reaction at being mistaken for his wife had done it. Which made no sense. He didn’t know the woman and only wanted to get rid of her. Sure, she was attractive but he honestly wasn’t interested.

The horde of flies he’d let in weren’t helping his mood. Jesus, they were everywhere. He swatted at the persistent little bastard buzzing near his ear. And missed. He had a mind to set out Violet’s beans and cornbread. That should keep them busy for a while.

Dammit, that one fly seemed determined to drive Trent crazy. It dive-bombed his ear again. He stayed completely still for a few seconds, waiting, waiting for the perfect moment, then spun around and slapped...

Shelby. Right in the face.

He stared at her and she stared back, eyes wide, lips parted. He looked at his hand again. What the hell...

When he looked back at Shelby, she’d hardly moved. Or blinked. It was some kind of miracle that she hadn’t dropped the casserole dish.

He went to take it from her and she reared back.

“Jesus, I didn’t mean to... I was going for a fly...then you were...you were in the living room... I didn’t hear you. I swear I would never...” He nodded at the dish that was starting to sag. “Maybe I should just take that from you?”

He moved slowly, wishing she’d stop staring at him like he was the devil himself. Thankfully, she let him have the dish with no fuss.

Her head tilted a smidge as she blinked. “You slapped me.”

“No, I was— There was this fly,” he said, wondering why, the one time in his life when he’d needed a fly, it had vanished into thin air. “I’m truly sorry. Let me see,” he said, reaching for her.

She moved back again, lifting a tentative hand to her face.

“It wasn’t on purpose.” Trent couldn’t see any kind of mark or discoloration but that didn’t make him feel much better. He’d never hit a woman in his life, and he hoped to never do it again. Even by accident. “Why’d you sneak up on me?”

“I did no such thing.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean... Please, let me have a look...”

“I’ll live.” She slowly flexed her jaw. “For your information I was bringing in the food, not sneaking up on you.”

“What happened?” Violet rushed in with a concerned frown.

“I hit Shelby.”

“It was an accident,” she said, giving him an exasperated look.

“Well, I expect it had to be,” Violet muttered. “Trent can be a stubborn jackass just like his great-grandpa, but he wouldn’t strike a woman. Where did he get ya?”

“Really, it’s nothing.” Shelby turned her head, away from their prying eyes. “I could use something cold to drink.”

He saw her eyeing his beer and he grabbed another one from the fridge. “What about you, Violet?”

“Wouldn’t mind some whiskey if you got it.”

No surprise there. He opened Shelby’s beer and as he passed it to her, he snuck a look at her jaw. He doubted it would bruise, it hadn’t been that hard. But that wasn’t the point. Shit. He got out the Jack Daniel’s from an upper cabinet, wondering if he could convince Shelby to use some ice on her face.

Violet took the bottle from him, then helped herself to a glass sitting on the draining rack.

He watched Shelby take an impressive gulp of beer. “How about—”

“No,” she said, her voice firm. “Thank you.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“No ice. I’m fine.”

Trent hid a sigh by drinking his own beer. He hated when women did that. Pretended they could read your mind. He hated it even more when they were right. Well, screw that. “Not ice. I have a thick T-bone in the fridge.”

Shelby let out a short laugh. “You’re not serious.”

He wasn’t but she didn’t need to know that.

“I’m not putting a slab of raw meat on my jaw.”

“It’s supposed to work for black eyes.”

“That’s a foolish, archaic old wives’ tale.”

“Good. Because I’ve changed my mind. I’m frying that steak for my supper.”

Violet threw back a healthy shot of whiskey and poured another. “Is it big enough for all of us?”

“No.” It wasn’t enough that she was guzzling down his whiskey? She wanted his steak, too? He noticed Shelby checking out the silly daisy wallpaper he hadn’t had time to get rid of yet.

“Yep,” Violet muttered. “You’re just like your great-grandpa. Cut from the same ornery mold.”

Trent looked at her. “What was that crack earlier? I’m not stubborn, and neither was Gramps.”

Violet snorted. “Like hell.” She nodded at Shelby. “So was yours. I reckon that’s why you two are here in this mess.”

“Excuse me?” Shelby stared at her. “How could you know my grandfather?”

“Can’t say I ever met him, but I knew your great-granddaddy. You said your last name is Foster. Harold Foster was your great granddad, wasn’t he?” Violet said, and Shelby nodded. “Harold was a kind, mild-mannered man most of the time.”

“Wait. Hold on. What mess?” Trent asked, knowing in his gut he wouldn’t like the answer. “Because I was doing just fine before...” He glanced at Shelby, saw her absently probing her jaw, felt a stab of guilt and closed his mouth.

“While you were in the kitchen swatting at flies, this young lady told me why she’s here,” Violet said, “and I’ve got a fair notion as to what might’ve happened.”

Shelby’s green eyes brightened. “You think I really do own the Eager Beaver?”

“Look here, Violet, you can’t just make up stories because you’re bored,” Trent warned. “I swear to God, if you stir up trouble, I’m gonna sic Mutt on you.”

Shelby inhaled sharply. “You wouldn’t.”

He ignored her, determined not to let Violet off the hook even if Mutt would just lick her to death. “This woman has driven all the way from Colorado and—”

“How do you know where I’m from? I didn’t tell you.”

“License plates.”

“Oh.”

He wished she’d quit wetting her lips and distracting him. “How’s the jaw?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Well, excuse the hell out of me for being concerned.” Trent started to take a pull of beer but pointed the bottle at Violet instead. “Tell her how long my family’s owned this ranch. You ought to know. I remember you had that old brown trailer when I was a kid living here with my folks. You’d just gotten the double-wide when I visited Colby six years ago. Now, go on and tell Shelby that this property rightfully belongs to the Kimballs. Please.”

Violet ignored him. As usual.

Shelby looked like all the air had left her lungs. If she hadn’t been set on taking his last chance away from him, he would’ve felt sorry for her.

He turned back to Violet, who was watching the byplay as if she’d have to testify in court. “You have no intention of straightening this out, do you? Makes sense, since it would be the first nice thing you’ve done since I came back home. I don’t even know why I let you stick around. I should’ve given you the boot.”

Shelby gasped.

He looked at her. “What?”

“Could you be any ruder?”

“Sweetheart, you have no idea.” Trent tossed back more beer, and then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “You got a problem with my etiquette, there’s the door.”

“Huh.” Shelby sniffed with disdain. “I’m surprised you know such a big word.”

“What?” He snorted. “You mean a Neanderthal like me?”

“Now you’re just showing off.”

Violet’s rusty cackle reminded them she was still there.

Shelby blushed and took a dainty sip.

He probably should’ve offered her a glass. “You gonna tell her, Violet? Instead of letting her get her hopes up.” He did a quick once-over of Shelby, from the top of her tawny hair all the way down to her city boots. “Not that she’d last more than twenty minutes out here.”

“Honey,” she said, her chin lifting, “you have no idea.”

Trent met her feisty green eyes. She had grit, he’d give her that, but with those dainty manicured hands and soft skin, she’d chosen the wrong zip code.

“Well, ain’t you two a pair?” Violet muttered, sounding more troubled than amused. “It’s like watching Harold and Edgar all over again. This isn’t good. Not good at all.”

They exchanged frowns, then both turned their attention to Violet.

Edgar was Trent’s great-grandfather, though he’d died when Trent was eleven, so his memory of him might be a little fuzzy. “So, out with it,” he said. “Say what you want to say.”

“Pigheaded and impatient. You’re just like him,” she said, her fondness for Edgar obvious in the small smile tugging at her weathered mouth. She nodded at Shelby. “Harold was another one. You couldn’t find a pair of mules more ornery than those two boys. Both of them twelve years my senior and acting like kids. Fighting all the time, mostly over nothing at all. Makes a body wonder how they ever became friends much less business partners.”

He watched Violet pour more whiskey, then he glanced at Shelby. From the dread on her face, he figured she was thinking along the same lines as him. Hell, he sure hoped his folks had an honest-to-goodness deed in their possession or this could get sticky.

“Business partners,” Shelby repeated. “What kind of business?”

“Well, the Eager Beaver, of course.”

Trent muttered a quiet curse.

Sighing, Shelby rubbed her left temple.

Mutt stood at the kitchen door and barked. After Trent let him out, he saw Shelby frowning at the unsightly grooves on the doorframe, remnants from Mutt’s habit of scratching to go outside. The job required the wood to be sanded before he could paint. It was on his to-do list along with a hundred other chores.

He had a feeling he was going to need another beer. The fridge door squeaked when he opened it. Just like the other dingy white appliances, the poor old Frigidaire was on its last leg. “Obviously the partnership didn’t work out,” he said, and nodded at Shelby’s nearly empty bottle.

She shook her head. Her resigned expression should’ve made him feel better. It was clear Edgar had stayed and worked the ranch. Had Harold given up his share and moved to Colorado?

Violet wasn’t looking smug as expected, but kind of glum, so he let her be and waited until she was ready to continue.

It was Shelby who finally broke the silence. “I’m not sure what any of this means. Are you saying my great-grandfather sold out to Edgar?”

Violet shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Can’t say one way or the other.”

Okay, Trent wasn’t sticking around for any more of her tap dancing when the truth was plain as day. The tractor wasn’t going to fix itself and he was losing daylight. It wouldn’t kill him to let Shelby stay in the spare room for a night... Yeah, it could. Next thing he knew, she’d be moving her stuff in and taking over the house.

His gaze caught on the rise and fall of her breasts and he had to remind himself he wasn’t interested. Not in her, not in any woman. Now, he wasn’t opposed to some recreational sex once in a while. But with Shelby? As his granddad used to say, Trent had as much chance as a one-legged man in a kicking contest.

“Some folks need to argue about everything. It’s just their way. Those two even fought over naming the ranch,” Violet continued. “Edgar claimed he saw a beaver over at Twin Creek reservoir, and Harold swore up and down it was a marmot. They finally flipped a coin.”

“As fascinating as all this is,” Trent said, grabbing the whiskey and returning it to the cabinet. “I have work to do.”

Violet didn’t protest being cut off, which was peculiar in itself. Then her faraway gaze drifted to the window over the sink, as if she’d slipped into her own little world. “Always arguing like those two did, no one ever paid them any mind...but that Saturday-night poker game at Len’s they had a terrible falling out. Both of them with full-blown cases of booze blind, they said things they couldn’t take back.” She shook her head, the sadness in her face giving the room a chill. “Stupid old mules. A day later, Harold up and left.”

He glanced at Shelby. Hugging herself, her expression sympathetic, she stared at Violet.

When Shelby turned to look at him, he avoided her eyes and took a swig of beer.

“What the hell did you do with my whiskey?” Violet had returned to the present with her usual cantankerous disposition, and Trent couldn’t say he was sorry. At least it helped prove to Shelby that Violet was a nightmare.

“Your whiskey?” He put his empty beer bottle in the sink. “The tea party is over, ladies. I’m going back to work.”

“Don’t let us stop you.” Violet pulled her pipe out of her pocket.

“On, no. Not in here, you don’t. Put that away.”

Violet huffed in annoyance.

Shelby cleared her throat. “So, I guess we’re back to where we started.”

Not from where he stood. Although she claimed to have a deed. And he didn’t peg her for a liar. Obviously there was more to the story. “I’d be happy to give you directions to The Boarding House Inn. It’s on Main Street. You can’t miss it.”

“Actually, I’ll be staying here until one of us can prove ownership.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“It’s the only fair thing to do.”

Violet chuckled. “Attagirl.”

Mutt barked from outside the door.

“You can let him in on your way out,” Trent said to Violet, who gave him the familiar glare, basically telling him to kiss her ass. He grinned. “Thanks for the beans and cornbread.”


3 (#ulink_849a2189-cd3e-5749-8ef3-3d49651b90e8)

SHELBY WATCHED THE interplay between Trent and Violet. Any other time it might have amused her. Neither of them would admit it, but they liked being neighbors. They liked each other. Had it been that way with her great-grandfather and Edgar? Had their friendship been based on harmless banter and a genuine concern for each other...until it hadn’t?

What had caused the final showdown, she wondered. Violet knew the answer, of that Shelby was quite certain. Just as she was convinced the older woman would never reveal it. Shelby didn’t consider herself the romantic sort, but she couldn’t help wondering if Violet had been the source of the trouble between the two men. Although she would’ve been fairly young.

Violet still had the pipe in her hand as she walked toward the door. “I reckon I’ll go on home and leave you two to figure out sleeping arrangements.”

Shelby and Trent looked at each other at the same time. Annoyingly, she felt a blush spread across her cheeks. She was quick to refocus her attention. Which happened to land on his left hand, his ring finger to be exact, and the pale mark that could easily be from a wedding band he’d once worn.

Violet had mistaken Shelby for his wife. Not ex-wife, and he hadn’t corrected her so they were probably separated. Interesting that Violet didn’t know the woman. Not that it made a difference to Shelby. He could have five wives for all she cared. Though she doubted he’d find that many women willing to put up with him.

He took her empty bottle and rinsed it out along with his. As he stood at the sink she got her first good look at his behind. His very nice behind. He was tall and muscular without being too husky, a body type she’d always appreciated. Okay, so he had a few decent assets.

A loud bark made her jump.

Just as the dog came bounding in, she caught Violet’s mischievous grin. The woman had paused at the screen door and watched her ogle Trent.

Shelby did the only thing she could do. She smiled back. “Thank you for the food. I’ll be sure to return your dish,” she said. “Or maybe you’d like to join us for dinner?”

Trent turned, his eyes narrowed. “Excuse me, but this is still my house.”

“Half,” Shelby said. “Half your house. I think we can agree on that for the time being. Don’t you?”

“Hell no.”

Violet let out a howl of laughter as the screen slammed behind her. Shelby could see how her cackle might get on a person’s nerves after a while. She bent to pet the dog’s head and as the sound faded, watched Trent drop the rinsed bottles into a plastic milk crate, purposely ignoring her.

“I’ll get my things from the car,” she told him, not surprised when he didn’t answer. “I hope there’s a spare room.”

“Nope.”

“This is a three-bedroom house. You can’t be sleeping in all three rooms.”

“Yes, I could, but as it happens, I use one for storage.” He paused. “And the third as my office.”

She glanced at the laptop sitting on the table, then raised her brows at him. “I bet there’s enough space for me to sleep.”

“I have private stuff in there. I can’t give just anyone access.”

“Hmm, well, I suppose I’ll have to take the couch.”

“I watch TV late. Sometimes till three in the morning.”

“No wonder you don’t have time to keep the place up,” she said, sweeping a gaze over the cracked linoleum floor and chipped Formica countertops, before returning to Trent.

His eyes had turned a steely gray. It made him look a bit dangerous, and she suppressed a shiver. “See, that’s the beauty of owning my own place. I don’t have to answer to anyone. And you know what else? The couch is mine.”

She drew in a deep breath, refusing to look away. If she hadn’t met the other Trent, the more affable man who’d teased Violet, the man who had seemed genuinely stricken over accidentally hitting her, Shelby would’ve left by now. She’d be too afraid to be in the house alone with him. Also, knowing Violet was next door helped.

No, she couldn’t afford to lose ground now. What was that saying about possession accounting for nine-tenths of the law? “I’d like to see the storage room. And your office. Maybe we can move things around. I don’t need much space.” For now. Luckily, she’d noticed the perfect spot to make her jewelry.

He snorted a laugh. “Lady, you are something else. You wanna stick around, feel free to sleep in your car.”

“I thought about it,” she said, pleased that she’d surprised him. “But since neither of us can actually prove ownership, I don’t think I should be inconvenienced.”

Trent stared back, shaking his head. “You’re willing to stay in a house, alone, with a strange man. I could be a serial killer, a bank robber, an ex-con—”

“With a whole town willing to vouch for you? I don’t think so.” She smiled. “Shall I poke around on my own, or do you want to show me the rest of the house?”

He folded his muscular arms across his chest. “Look me in the eye and tell me you honestly don’t believe this dispute is going to turn out in my favor.”

She blinked, once, then met his steady gaze. A jitter in her tummy prevented her from speaking right away. This last week had taught her several important lessons. Not the least of which was to stop being a pushover, stop compromising her individuality in order to be liked and to belong.

Shelby understood his anger. It appeared his ancestors had stayed, hers had not. Trent was right. When the dust settled, it was very likely she’d have no claim at all. But in the meantime, in case there was the slimmest possibility she was entitled to even a fraction of the place, she’d stay right here. Where she had the best chance of proving she could stand on her own two feet. Enjoy the creative freedom to design jewelry she loved without having her work belittled.

“We have no way of knowing what happened to Harold and Edgar’s partnership, or how it affected the ownership of the Eager Beaver,” she said calmly, very aware that she’d skirted the question.

Unless she was mistaken, Trent was seriously considering calling her on it. He studied her for a long excruciating moment, then brushed past her without a word.

She followed him out of the kitchen and to the hall. She took a quick peek down both sides. Only one bathroom. That sucked.

“This is my bedroom,” he said, motioning to his left, his lips a thin straight line. “The one at the other end is yours.”

The door was open. No furniture in her line of sight. Just ugly brown carpet. “Okay. What about—”

“We’ll split the house in half. You stay on your side and I stay on mine. As soon as I get my hands on the deed, you’re outta here. Agreed?”

“Well, no...” She poked her head into the no-frills bathroom. There was a shower-tub combo, a toilet, sink, no counter space to speak of, blue wallpaper from the eighties. But everything looked clean. “How are we supposed to divide the bathroom?”

“We’re not. It’s on my side. Feel free to use the john in the barn.”

She turned back to him. “You’re not serious.”

“If the toilet gives you any trouble, shake the handle a few times. The shower is mostly used to get off the grime before coming in the house, so it’s not enclosed. But don’t worry. No one’s gonna look.”

Shelby stared into his smug face, while holding on to her temper by a thread. So this was how he wanted to play it. Clearly he’d forgotten a not so small detail. “All right, so I guess the kitchen is mine.”

“Part of it.”

“No, it’s definitely on my side—”

He shouldered past her as if she were speaking to the wall.

“Where are you going?”

“Stay right there,” he said as he put one booted foot in front of the other and paced off the room.

Diagonally.

“No,” she said. “Stop. That’s not how dividing works.”

“You’ll have the same square footage as me.”

She tried to picture the kitchen. Exasperated, she couldn’t remember it clearly, but she was pretty sure the sink, stove and fridge were not in her corner. Assuming she’d put up with this nonsense.

Yeah, when pigs fly.

“You’re being a child,” she told him.

He ignored her, disappeared into the kitchen, then reappeared holding up a roll of blue duct tape. “Just so you’re clear on your areas.”

“You’re insane,” she said, and caught a glimmer of a smile as he ran a long strip of tape across the hardwood floor. Of course that’s what he wanted her to think so she’d get in her car and drive as far away as possible. “I’m surprised the tape can stick to all that dust.”

He paused and gave the floor a thoughtful inspection. “To show you what a good guy I am, I’ll loan you a broom so you can sweep your side.” He frowned. “I almost forgot,” he said and walked past her, back into the hall.

She found him standing just inside the door to her assigned room. Staring at a very nice unmade sleigh-style daybed that had been pushed against the beige wall. Blinds covered the lone window. “So, was this your storage room or your office?” she asked sweetly.

Trent’s mouth curved in a slight smile. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll get that out of your way.”

The daybed? The mattress looked brand-new. And comfortable. She cursed her big mouth. “It’s fine where it is. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“No trouble.”

Shelby watched him approach the bed. The brown carpet was looking less and less appealing. “Um, Trent...”

He cocked a brow.

Okay, humbling herself wouldn’t kill her, but sleeping on the stained carpet might. “I would appreciate you leaving the bed.” She cleared her throat. “Please.”

Even as he made a show of mulling it over, humor glinted in his eyes. “You seem like a modern, independent woman. Just so you won’t feel beholden, I’ll rent it to you.”

She sighed. “How much?”

“Hmm...let’s see.” Rubbing his jaw, he studied the bed. “Fifty bucks a night sound about right?”

“Fifty?” She paused to dial down her growing temper. Two could play this game. “Sounds high to me,” she said, gingerly probing the spot where he’d clipped her. It didn’t hurt in the least, but he didn’t know that. “I guess I don’t have much choice, though. I’m afraid the floor may be too hard.”

Trent studied her, his expression that of a man who knew he’d been bested. “It’s yours. On the house,” he said walking past her. “Find your own sheets.”

“Thank you,” she called after him, and grinned when he cursed under his breath.

* * *

“YOU LIKE HER, don’t you?” Trent shook his head at Mutt, who stood at the door whining to go after Shelby. “You’re a damn traitor, that’s what you are. Next time you want a treat, you’d better hope she packed some for you. She certainly has enough luggage,” he muttered, watching her from the window as she pulled another suitcase out of her trunk, this one even bigger than the monstrosity she’d already carried to her room.

Mutt moved closer and barked at him.

“What? You just had your supper. And quit slobbering all over the linoleum. You want your new girlfriend to think you’re uncouth?”

Trent wiped down the stained porcelain for the third time before he realized what he was doing. Hell, he didn’t have to pretend to clean the kitchen sink just so he could keep an eye on her. Mutt didn’t know the difference.

Anyway, this was still his house. His window. His damn driveway. He could look at anything he damned well pleased. He tossed the sponge aside, dried his hands and pushed his fingers through his hair.

The dog panted loudly, his long pink tongue hanging out of his mouth as he stared up at Trent.

“Forget it, buddy. I’m not going to help her. Why should I? She’s lucky I don’t call the sheriff and have her locked up for trespassing.” In spite of himself, he looked outside again and watched her set a big cardboard box on the ground. “Hell, how deep is that trunk?”

Man, she had a lot of stuff. This was her third trip into the house. Each time she’d been loaded down with bags, pillows and whatnot. Hadn’t she said her belongings were gonna be delivered next week? How much crap did she have? He shouldn’t be surprised. Not after being married for three years.

She picked up the box, struggling to get a hold on it. She wasn’t all that short, maybe five-six, but her arms couldn’t make it all the way around. Stopping midway from her car to the walk, she set the box down. Or more like dropped it.

Mutt whimpered and ran back to the door, tail high and swishing back and forth.

“All right.” Trent grabbed his hat off the peg behind the door and pointed at the dog. “You owe me.”

By the time he made it to the porch, she was dragging the box up the front walk. She must’ve heard the screen’s squeaky hinges because she looked up. “I assume I have a grace period to cross your side of the house until I finish unloading?”

Without a word he walked over, hefted the box and carried it to the porch, then left it there while he grabbed the suitcase. The suckers weighed a friggin’ ton. Obviously she wasn’t kidding about moving in.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” she said, a bit snippy when he crowded her off the stone walkway.

“You’re welcome.” He dropped the suitcase next to the box. “Anything else?”

“I’ll get it.” She started to turn and paused. “And thank you.”

Trent watched her open the back door and lean across the seat. Gave him a real nice view of her butt. Naturally Violet was watching them from her porch. He wondered why she hadn’t invited Shelby to stay with her. Just to fill her ears with a bunch of crap about him. Maybe create her own little reality show right here at the Eager Beaver.

He returned his attention to Shelby. Yep, a damn nice butt. Now if she knew how to cook, he might consider putting up with her for a week or so. Looked as though she planned to put down roots for longer than that. Damned if she didn’t haul out another box the size of Wyoming. As with the other one, she could barely get her arms around the thing.

Sighing, Trent left the porch, taking the steps two at a time. “I’ve got it,” he said.

The way she was bent over he could see right down her blouse. He forced himself to look away but not before he glimpsed the swell of her breasts plumping over a plain white bra. He didn’t know why but he expected something snazzier. Red or black, maybe some lace. Though he was more interested in her...

“Did you hear me?” She straightened with a hand on her hip.

“Huh?” He met her accusing eyes. “Yeah, I heard you,” he said and hoisted the heavy box.

“I said, I can manage.”

“I’m not trying to be nice. You throw your back out and God knows when I’ll ever get rid of you.”

“Charming to a fault.”

Sunlight shined directly on her face, and he was relieved there was no visible mark from his hand. She caught him staring and turned away to get another smaller bag from the backseat. The fact that striking her had been an accident wasn’t making it any easier to ignore. She didn’t seem to want to be fussed over. Earlier, though, in his old bedroom, when she’d touched her jaw, he had a feeling she might’ve been playing him. Didn’t matter. Guilt nudged him either way.

Instead of leaving the box with the others, he set it just inside. He wasn’t about to make the mistake of propping the door open and letting more flies in. By the time he moved everything off the porch, Shelby had joined him, carrying an overnight bag and a sack of groceries.

Puzzled, Trent grabbed the suitcase and smaller box, then led the way down the hall. This woman wasn’t easy to peg. How she dressed, taking a chance on a place sight-unseen, out in the boonies no less. While she’d brought her own pillow, it seemed she’d been willing to sleep on the floor until her bed was delivered. Maybe she’d robbed a bank and was on the run.

He passed the room he actually was using for storage, and stopped at the one that had been his as a teenager. Holes from his old rodeo posters were still visible on the beige walls. The carpet didn’t look too bad, though he imagined the dark color had a lot to do with that.

The wood blinds were slanted up to keep out the morning sun.

He’d completely forgotten about the pop-up trundle underneath the bare mattress, which fortunately, looked brand-new. If he remembered correctly the bed had occupied the second guest room back in Texas.

“If you don’t like sleeping on a twin I can set up the trundle and push them together,” he said.

“A twin is fine.”

It took him a few seconds to remember he wasn’t supposed to be making this easy on her. He set the suitcase near the closet and the box beside it. The contents clanged. Pots maybe? His gaze slid back to her sack of groceries.

“Is that it?”

Shelby frowned, puckering her lips in a way that made him forget what they were talking about. She turned to peek into the small closet and his eyes drew to her nice round backside.

He’d never understood why a woman would spend so much for designer jeans. He did now. Shelby turned to face him. Her eyebrows rose expectantly.

“Violet tell you this place is cursed?”

Shelby laughed. “No, she didn’t.”

“I’m not saying I believe it, but lots of folks do.”

“Ah. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I don’t have to scare you off,” he said, irritated by the amusement in her voice. “We both know you don’t have a claim.”

“If I thought that I would’ve left by now.” She paused. “If you’re so sure of yourself, why haven’t you kicked me out?”

“Despite your low opinion of me, my mama raised me to be a gentleman.” He couldn’t say why her faint smile riled him. “If you’ve got any questions, I’ll be outside.”

“Aren’t you worried I’ll rob you blind?”

“Sorry, sweetheart—” Trent snorted a laugh “—someone else beat you to it.”


4 (#ulink_ca40a45c-7a63-5243-a9c9-a67102a832b8)

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.


5 (#ulink_5cf8e7b2-d28c-5a98-bba6-2dd57380621c)

SHELBY HEARD A noise and briefly opened one eye. It was still dark out so she buried her face in the pillow.

The pounding persisted.

She burrowed deeper, grabbing the scratchy blanket at her waist and pulling it over her head.

Someone was knocking, she realized, the exact moment the door opened.

“Shelby? It’s five thirty. Rise and shine.”

She peeled back the blanket and squinted at Trent, who’d poked his head in.

“You awake?” he asked.

“What?” She was still groggy. “Get out of my room.”

“This is the second time I’ve knocked. Don’t you go back to sleep.”

The fog cleared. She felt around for something to throw and discovered her exposed butt. Tugging down the blanket, she scrambled into a sitting position. “Get out, or I swear I’ll scream.”

“That’s okay. Everyone’s already up,” he said. “Come on. This is a ranch. We have hungry animals to feed.”

Catching his smirk before he closed the door, she slid her head under the pillow. Who was he fooling? A ranch, her ass. Which reminded her... She knew she was wearing panties but wanted to be sure.





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