Come On Over (4 page)

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

T
HIRTY
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.

* * *

W
HILE
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.”