Come On Over (8 page)

“Maybe I should just call the moving company now.”

“Excellent idea.”

“Dream on.” She tore off a paper towel and wiped a spill on the counter. “Trash? Under the sink, right?” She opened the lower cabinet and frowned. “You have a leak.”

“Gee, what was your first clue?” Maybe he should kiss her again. Just to shut her up. “I know there's a problem. Why do you think I put a bowl under there?”

“This might sound silly, but you could...oh, I don't know—” she moved a shoulder, tilted her head to the side “—maybe fix it instead?”

Trent ground his molars together. “It's gonna take some time. I'm not a plumber.”

She dropped to a crouch and moved the wastebasket to the side. “It looks fairly straightforward. Shouldn't take much.”

“Be my guest.”

After poking around she asked, “You have a wrench?” When he didn't respond, she looked up. “Just bring me your toolbox.”

He was more than happy to call her bluff. By the time he returned with three different size wrenches—with the toolbox sitting outside the kitchen door just in case—he wasn't surprised that she'd disappeared.

The cabinet door had been left open, the wastebasket set aside. The half-filled bowl hadn't been moved. He thought for a moment, trying to decide if he should go ahead and tackle the job since he had the tools out. If he screwed up, his neighbor four miles down would bail him out. For a kid, Jimmy was fairly handy with this sort of thing and he owed Trent big time for helping him move cattle. Actually, the guy wasn't that young, maybe twenty-five, six years younger than Trent. But somehow Jimmy managed to make him feel old.

“Oh, good.” Shelby walked in wearing a different T-shirt, with a faded green towel draped over her arm. Her bed-tousled hair was now pulled into a ponytail. He'd liked it better before.

“I figured you'd skipped out,” he said.

“I told you I'd fix it.”

“Yep, you did. Here you go.” He passed her the wrenches and couldn't help noticing that the new shirt was tighter, stained and sported a few small holes.

She laid the wrenches on the linoleum, then spread the towel next to it.

“Would you like a pillow, too?”

“Oh God.” She rolled her eyes as she lowered herself to the floor. “You're going to be one of those guys, aren't you?”

“What?”

“Get all macho and then pissy over a woman showing you up.”

“Hell no. I want it fixed. And someone else doing the work is right up my alley.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Assuming that someone knows what they're doing.”

“Yeah?” She smiled. “Watch and learn...sweetheart.”

The worn T-shirt was a size too small for her. And distracting as hell. But he wasn't comfortable leaving yet.

Something unpleasant had just occurred to him. Three months ago he'd installed the garbage disposal himself after watching a DIY video online. So far so good, but knowing she'd be tinkering under there was making him nervous.

“Tell you what, Shelby, I'll take care of the leak this afternoon.” He watched her lie back, then do a little shimmy as she tried to get in a suitable position. “Before dinner.”

“That's okay. I'm here.”

He was probably worried for nothing. If it was going to come loose it would've done so already. His gaze lingered on her hips as he waited for the next little wiggle.

“I thought you had chores to do,” she muttered, her voice muffled from partway inside the cabinet.

“Right after I finish my coffee.” Where was his mug, anyway? He turned and saw it on the counter near the stove. After replacing the cold brew he resumed his post.

“Wow, this pipe is old.” With her arms stretched back, the shirt's worn fabric cupped her breasts. “And stubborn.”

He refrained from commenting, too busy watching her and thinking things he shouldn't be thinking.

A thud cut him off. Metal clanged against metal.

“Shelby?” He dropped to his haunches, sloshing coffee everywhere, including her jeans.

“What?”

“You okay?”

“Fine. I told you, it's this old pipe...” She muttered a curse. “Why are you still here?”

This was his house and he'd leave when he was darned good and ready. She shifted, giving him a glimpse of smooth toned belly just below her navel. His splashed coffee had gotten her T-shirt. A wet spot had spread across her hardened left nipple.

Trent shot to his feet. “I'll be outside. Watch out for the disposal. I put it in myself.”

8

B
Y
MIDAFTERNOON
S
HELBY
was disappointed that she hadn't seen Trent. Having fixed the leak, she'd wanted to gloat. Nothing too obnoxious. Just a smug nod of her head would be fun. Or a perfectly intoned “well, yeah.” She'd even decided she might not be above a plain “duh.”

Although, the reason he'd made himself scarce was most likely to avoid her. So, no, she'd keep her mouth shut. Her trip to town had confirmed her worst fear about the Eager Beaver. Her inheritance was worthless. Of all the stupid times to have acted impulsively. Returning to Denver wasn't an option.

Her gaze automatically went to her cell where it sat charging on the nightstand. She hadn't checked it once this morning. She'd lost count of Donald's texts and voice mails. It wasn't as if she would never speak to him again. She just wasn't ready yet. In truth, there was little left to say. But she'd return his calls at some point. If only to make certain he understood it was over between them.

She sat on the edge of her bed and sighed at the grime she'd had little luck removing from under her fingernails. Between living out here and making her own jewelry, no more manicures for her. She wouldn't miss them. Just like she hadn't missed her luxurious studio at Williamson Jewelers.

Oh, she'd gotten used to having her mini-fridge stocked with mineral water, diet sodas and fruit juices. Anything she or a client consumed was replaced overnight. It wasn't something she'd miss, though, not like daily lunch delivery and having her dry cleaning picked up in the morning and hung behind her door that same afternoon, if she wanted. Mrs. Williamson had made it clear from the beginning that Shelby's sole focus was to be on her exclusive designs and the super-rich customers who paid outrageous prices for them.

One week Shelby had been a struggling college student about to graduate and hoping to get a job in marketing. The next thing she knew she'd been swept into the posh and glamorous world of Tad and Anastasia Williamson. They'd been nice, if a bit too reserved, though not in their effusive praise of her work. Their job offer had come with a salary so huge Shelby had been speechless. Something they'd mistaken for hesitancy and tacked on more money.

Eight months later she'd met their son Donald, a prominent Denver attorney. She couldn't say it was love at first sight, but with his good looks and smooth moves, her head had turned plenty. At heart, Donald wasn't a bad person. It simply had never occurred to him that the world truly did not revolve around the Williamsons. His class-conscious mother was mostly at fault. But Donald was a bright guy. It was past time he figured it out.

For Shelby the dream had begun five years ago. But she had never belonged in that world. Turned out her large salary hadn't gone far at all. With the Williamsons, it was all about image, and that had cost Shelby plenty, both emotionally and financially. She really should've woken up long before last week.

She stared at the box containing her supplies. Tempted as she was to unpack them, the timing was wrong. She needed a large, well-lit, ventilated space to work. Trent would have heart failure if she took over the living room. She doubted fixing the sink had earned her that much grace.

Since she'd finished some light housekeeping, she changed from her old work T-shirt to a more flattering turquoise cotton knit. Next she planned on making dinner, glad she wasn't a messy cook. She hoped that was still true. It had been a while...

She went to the fridge and took out the hamburger she'd bought in town yesterday. Trent's meager assortment of spices and herbs was pitiful but she'd make do. She found a mixing bowl and baking pan, and everything else she needed to put together a decent meatloaf.

If Trent had plans for dinner, that was okay. But he'd shared his steak with her so she figured it was her turn. The view of the Rockies from the kitchen window was really amazing.

The late afternoon sun had sunk behind the peaks, leaving behind clouds that looked like wisps of pink cotton candy. She thought about running to get her phone so she could take a picture but got distracted.

Shelby wasn't sure how she'd missed him at first. Trent was in the corral working with a reddish-brown horse, his focus completely centered on the beautiful animal. Anyone half blind could see that Trent was in his element. For him, the rest of the world seemed to have disappeared. Spellbound, she could barely drag her gaze away. But if she worked quickly...

While waiting for the oven to preheat, she peeled and cut up potatoes, then put them in a pot to boil. Once the meatloaf was in the oven, she calculated how much time she had before she needed to turn the stove off, then walked outside. If she was intruding, she'd know right away. One good thing about Trent, she thought wryly, he didn't hold back.

She'd been leaning against the corral for almost five minutes before he even noticed her. His fleeting frown told her nothing. He tugged down the brim of his hat and led the horse toward her. Her racing heart made sense when she flashed back to the excitement of her first pony ride. A time when things had still been okay between her parents. She must've been about nine.

“Am I interrupting?” she asked, her gaze glued to the muscled horse. “If so I'll leave.”

“For good?”

Okay, she'd laid the welcome mat out for that. “What's his name?”

“Solomon.” Trent stroked the horse's neck. “This is Shelby,” he told the animal. “How do you greet a lady?”

Solomon went down on his front legs and bowed.

Surprised and delighted, Shelby giggled like a silly schoolgirl. “What kind is he?”

Trent's smile vanished in a second. “A quarter horse,” he said, clearly insulted.

“Ah, right. You mentioned that before. Sorry.”

“Damn straight. Everybody knows the American quarter horse is the best all-purpose breed in the world,” he said with a brief self-mocking smile. “They're used for rodeos, barrel-racing, steer roping, pleasure rides, ranch work. As for racing? They can turn more quickly and accelerate faster than any other horse.” He gave Solomon a fond smile. “You've won a couple races yourself, haven't you, buddy?”

The horse moved his head in a vague nod.

Shelby let out a short laugh. “He's amazing. May I pet him?”

“Sure.” Trent brought the horse closer.

“He's smaller than I expected.”

“Don't let that fool you. Quarter horses generally are more compact. But they're powerful sprinters, agile and well-balanced. That's partly what makes them so versatile.”

“You're so handsome.” With a tentative hand, she stroked the side of Solomon's neck just as she'd seen Trent do.

“No need to be afraid. He likes you. See how his ears are pricked forward. If he didn't like you touching him you'd know it.”

“Kind of like his owner.” She realized that hadn't come out right when Trent raised a brow at her. “No, not— I meant the part about him not holding back.”

With a little smile betraying his amusement, he lifted his hat and resettled it on his head. “You take care of that leak?”

“All done.”

His expression said it all. He hadn't expected that outcome.

Shelby grinned. “Don't look so surprised. I'm very resourceful.”

“I don't doubt it. But I figured you would've come out gloating.”

“Oh, I thought about it. I even practiced what I was going to say while I did some tidying up.”

His gaze narrowed. “You cleaned, too?”

She stopped petting Solomon and held up both hands. “I didn't touch any of your personal stuff.”

“I wasn't worried about that. Can you cook?”

“Depends. What's it worth to you?”

“Are you serious? I'm already giving you bathroom and kitchen privileges.”

“Well, aren't you just a knight in shining armor?”

Solomon snorted.

“Yes, I know, handsome. But we'll just ignore him,” Shelby said, and went back to stroking his neck.

This time Trent snorted. “You'll never turn him against me.”

He sounded so serious she had to laugh. “It just so happens I made dinner.” The reminder had her checking her watch.

“Real food? Not chef's salad or quiche or anything like that.”

“Oh, no.” Shelby tried her best to look disappointed. “You don't like quiche?”

He cleared his throat. “It's okay.”

“Good.” She gave him a bright smile. “Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes. See you later, handsome.” She gave the horse an extra pat, then hurried toward the house before she burst out laughing.

* * *

“D
O
I
HAVE
time for a shower?” Trent entered by the back door twenty-five minutes later. “Or is that gonna ruin the quiche?”

By the time Shelby looked up from the salad she was tossing, he was sniffing the air, his brows drawn together in a suspicious frown. “No, go ahead,” she told him.

“What's that smell?”

“Meatloaf.”

He hung his hat on a wall peg, a faint smile curving his mouth as he walked out of the kitchen.

Shelby grinned, too, but didn't let him see. Figuring she had a spare ten minutes she decided to make gravy for the mashed potatoes. It had been her favorite comfort food as a kid, and even in college, mostly because it was a cheap dish. But it'd been years since she'd indulged. Thanksgiving dinner with the Williamsons was always a gourmet affair—no mashed potatoes and gravy.

Deciding to go all out, fat and calories be damned, she pulled out butter along with the other necessary ingredients.

She repeated the earlier ritual of searching cabinets and drawers, this time for a whisk and the right size pot. Before she actually started on the gravy, her cell buzzed.

Dread slithered down her spine. Her good mood fizzled. It was probably Donald again. She owed him another conversation, she knew that. Something made her grab the phone instead of letting it go to voice mail. She frowned at the caller ID. Wasn't it kind of late in Germany?

“Hi, Mom, is everything okay?”

“You tell me.”

Shelby briefly closed her eyes and rubbed her temple.
Wait for it. Any second now...

On cue, her mother let out a long-suffering sigh. “What on earth is wrong with you, Shelby Ann?”

She knew, Shelby thought, but how? Her mother had never called her at work, only on her cell. And very seldom. “Nothing's wrong. I'm terrific. Never felt better.”

“Not according to Donald.”

She pulled a chair away from the table and sat down. “Donald?” she murmured, the smell of meatloaf making her stomach turn. “You called him?”

“No, of course not. How would I know his number? Donald called me.”

That made even less sense. They hadn't met yet. “What did he want?” she asked calmly.

“How could you be so stupid?”

Shelby flinched, though it wasn't the first time she'd been called that by her mom. It shouldn't still hurt. “Do you even want to know why I broke the engagement?”

“Do you honestly think you can do better?” Gloria's voice had risen. “He's an attorney. He's rich. His family is rich. He'll inherit everything one day. Don't you understand how lucky you were to find a man like him? A man who wants to marry you and not just keep you on the side?”

“Oh, Mom, please.” Shelby let out a sigh that sounded depressingly like her mother's.

“Lord knows I tried my best with you, Shelby. I did. With no help from your worthless father, I might add. But you—”

“Mom, stop. Just stop.”

Silence lasted only seconds. “Where are you?”

“Montana.” The word slipped out before Shelby had a chance to think. No one needed to know where she was.

“Montana? Why? What could you possibly expect to—” Gloria paused, then huffed out a breath. “It doesn't matter. Donald hasn't given up on you. It's not too late. He wants you back.”

“Tough.”

“What did you say?”

“I am not going back to Denver or Donald or my job. There will be no wedding. I don't know how to say it any simpler.” Knots of tension cramped her shoulders. A small insistent headache had begun to throb near her temple. “And you need to stay out of it. Are we clear?”

“What happened, baby?” Now came the cloyingly sweet conciliatory tone her mom had decided made her sound maternal. “Did he have a small fling? Men stray from time to time. It's a fact of life. Certainly not a reason to cancel the wedding.”

“I have to go. We'll talk again soon.”

“But, honey—”

“Goodbye, Mom.”

For the first time in her life, Shelby hung up on her mother.

She dropped the phone on the table, then dropped her chin to her chest, waiting for guilt to set in. She felt pretty good, actually. Her shoulders and head not so much. Her eyes were moist but no tears had fallen. That was progress.

God, she was almost twenty-eight. A grown woman who'd supported herself since she was eighteen. How could she still let Gloria get to her? Shelby had already predicted her mom's reaction. Nothing new there. She hadn't even met Donald yet she was rallying to his side.

Okay, that part was hard to take.

Shelby breathed in deeply, trying to dislodge the lump blocking her air passage.

Well, so much for dinner. Everything but the gravy was made. At least Trent could eat. Her stomach couldn't take any food. Still, she would never recommend the
Gloria diet
.

She pushed to her feet, anxious for the safety of her room. The meal was warm enough. If not, Trent was a big boy. He could figure it out.

The gravy ingredients were scattered on the counter. The thought of putting everything away made her want to weep. But she couldn't just leave it. Exhausted suddenly, she took a step and, from the corner of her eye, caught a glimpse of Trent.