“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 pro
perty.”
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.”
Copyright © 2015 by Debbi Quattrone
ISBN-13: 9781460381854
Fevered Nights
Copyright © 2015 by Juliet L. Burns
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