and gave him one of her extraordinary smiles. “Or maybe you have a family to get home to.…” she said, and looked down at his left hand, probably checking for signs of a wedding ring.
He smiled. She was totally irresistible. He had no particular plans tonight besides watching the basketball game on that monstrous set of Preston’s. Staying at his brother’s, who was currently out of town, had its perks.
“I’m not married and a drink and snacks sounds great,” he said, accepting.
“Then follow me over to my place. I’ll lead the way.”
Her words sent a sudden chill up his spine. He wondered if this was the beginning of the change his foster father had predicted.
He walked with her to her car, then watched her fasten her seat belt, his gaze drifting over the graceful curve of her breasts. She probably had more than one secret admirer—not to mention her pick of men willing to keep her safe.
“I don’t usually bring strangers home, but I think we both need to get out of the open.”
“Yeah, good idea.”
Moments later, he was in his truck following her to the main thoroughfare, then into an old residential neighborhood across town. Houses were crowded together here, too much so for his tastes. He liked lots of open space and clear views of the sky.
As she pulled into the driveway of a small house halfway down a narrow street, he noticed that she wasn’t much for gardening. The outside was decorated with colored gravel and a few drought-resistant Southwest plants.
All things considered, he figured that whatever change was coming into his life wouldn’t be likely to include Lori Baker. From what he’d seen of her so far, she was a town girl. The things that made her happy—like the high heels she wore and living in this crowded urban neighborhood—didn’t fit in with the lifestyle of a hardworking rancher.
Still there was no harm in a quick drink. He was a single man with time on his hands, and a gorgeous woman had offered him a drink at her house. He would have been crazy to say no. He’d spend some time with her, no complications, no strings. It didn’t get better than that.
He was just stepping down from his pickup when a hard gust of wind came right out of nowhere. It caught the door like a sail, forcing him to hold on to it to keep from springing the hinges.
Gene tucked in his chin and shut the door. As the gust swirled around him, peppering his face with fine dust, he thought he heard Wind’s whispered warning—the danger had not yet passed.
Chapter Three
Gene went to meet Lori where she stood in front of her closed garage door. “We weren’t followed here. I’m good at spotting things like that,” he said, seeing her looking around, a frown on her face.
“Okay, then. Let me put my car inside the garage, then we can both go into the house and out of this wind.” She unlocked the single car garage’s door handle, gave it a twist, but nothing happened. “I got a door installed that I could pull open, but I think the springs are weak.”
Gene stepped over and pulled it up for her.
“Thanks,” she said.
Moments later her car was safely inside and the door closed and locked. Gene followed her through a side door.
He stepped inside what appeared to be a pantry, then into the kitchen.
“My house is a work in progress. This room’s already finished, so we can sit here without tripping over paintbrushes and cans.”
Gene followed her into the dining alcove that faced the front. “How long have you lived here?”
“I was born and raised in the Four Corners, but in this house, only about five months. I wanted to own, not rent, and I got a really good deal on this place. The important things like the heating and cooling and the plumbing all work fine, so I figured I’d add all the finishing touches as time and money allowed.”
Lori waved him to a chair by the table, but he shook his head. “Let’s find a place in the living room so I can have a better view of the front yard and street. I’d like to keep a lookout for a while longer.”
“You think he’ll come here?” she asked, her voice rising slightly.
“Even assuming he knows where you live, he probably wouldn’t push it right now. This guy has no way of knowing what the police will do next, like maybe set up a neighborhood patrol. Still, it doesn’t hurt to be careful.”
“Maybe I should turn on more lights,” she said, leading the way into the living room.
“Not necessary. The one in the kitchen is enough. Any more, and it’ll be harder to see outside because of the glare on the windows,” Gene said, walking past the ladder propped against the wall. The living room held more paint buckets, brushes, drop cloths and assorted tools than furniture.
She waved him to the sofa after removing a cardboard box containing paint rollers and a plastic tray. “It’s cold in here,” she said. “Why don’t you put one of the logs in the fireplace? I’ll bring us something to drink. I’ve got beer and colas.”
“Beer’s good.”
She went into the kitchen and came back a second later. “I should have told you. It’s not alcoholic beer.”
He stared at her. “There’s another kind?”
“Yes, and it tastes much better,” she said, laughing. “Want to give it a try?”
“Sure.” He watched her leave. Everything about this woman was just a little out of the ordinary. Even the firewood wasn’t firewood, but one of those artificial logs wrapped in paper. He placed it on the fireplace grate, found a matchbox on the mantel and lit the paper wrapping below the arrows.
Lori soon brought out two amber bottles and, seeing him sitting on the hearth, placed one bottle in front of him. “All my glasses were jelly jars at one time, so I figured you’d prefer to have it straight from the bottle.”
He laughed. He’d been right. Everything about Lori came with a qualifier. Yet despite that, or maybe because of it, he found himself liking her anyway. Except for those heels, there was a down-to-earth quality about her. She was who she was and made no apologies for it. That took confidence and it appealed to him.
Moments later they sat on the hearth rug in front of the fireplace with a huge paper bowl of popcorn between them. “I see you’re still using paper dinnerware,” he said with a quick half smile. “Is this left over from when the kitchen was being redone?”
She shook her head. “No, actually, since I don’t really know how long I’ll be staying here, I try not to weigh myself down with stuff. The only exception to that rule is shoes and purses. They’re my weakness.”
“So you’re planning on selling this place after you fix it up?”
“Hopefully, but as far as the timing goes, that’ll depend on the housing market. I consider this my starter home, something that will eventually allow me to buy up.”
