The Black Sheep Heir. Crystal Green
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She thought she saw him flinch, but couldn’t be sure. Nonetheless, he recovered quickly, his voice going back to the same deep-freeze burn she’d heard when he’d entered the cabin.
“Maybe we can make a deal, miss. Maybe I can repair this heap of an abode so it’s livable again.”
He was all business. It was a language Lacey preferred, one she spoke well.
“Really?” she asked, interest piqued, yet adding enough doubt to her tone to let him know that she wouldn’t be a complete pushover. She’d intended to fix this place for years, but had nudged the task to the bottom of her priority pile, just like other matters.
Matters like relationships, love, loneliness.
He watched her with that cocky grin, as if he knew he’d get his way. “I only have one condition.”
“You have a condition?” She laughed. If she hadn’t still been ready to attack him at a moment’s notice, she would’ve relished the irony of his words.
“Yeah. My condition is this: If I fix this place, you leave me alone. No questions asked.”
Her heart fell to her stomach. Of course he didn’t want anything to do with her. No surprise there, especially for a gal who’d probably end up an old maid anyway.
Lacey tried to appear as if his words hadn’t hit that gaping chink in the armor of her self-esteem.
Connor Langley regretted the words the moment they’d flown out of his mouth. Not because he didn’t need to be left alone—his reason for being in this town depended upon it at this stage—but he could see how the request killed the light in her eyes, how it paled the blush of her winter-stained cheeks.
She was damned adorable in her little snow bunny outfit, with earmuffs hanging from the fingers of one dainty, pink-gloved hand, while the other held the andiron like it was a sword gone limp. The metal thumped against her tight ski pants, which were tucked into snowboots. Her perky image was further emphasized by wide gray-blue eyes fringed by spiked lashes, a slightly tilted nose and those prim-and-plump lips.
She was cuter than any woman had a right to be, sweet as powder puffs and sugar cookies.
But Connor wasn’t in the mood for the heat that stole through his body every time he looked at her. He had much heavier issues weighing him down.
Issues like the necessity of staying in this cabin, a place that offered the best vantage point of the Spencer estate.
Trying to keep any sign of urgency out of his voice, he said, “Is it a deal then?”
The woman lowered her gaze and tucked a chin-length strand of dark brown hair behind an ear. The ends flipped up, reminding him of jukebox nights and sock-hops where the girls wore poodle skirts with scarves around their necks.
“This is crazy,” she said. “I don’t even know your name.”
“That’s easy.” He stuck out his palm, as if every day he encountered ticked-off women who wanted to emasculate him. “Connor Langley.”
She tilted her head, seemingly testing the sound of his name in her mind. Then, she inched out her gloved hand. “Lacey Vedae.”
As their fingers connected, Conn felt the electric jolt of her firm grip, even if she was wearing a protective layer of wool over her skin. Her touch was steady, no nonsense, sending shock waves up his arm, down to his lower belly, stirring into something he couldn’t afford to focus on.
He let go of her before he could get burned, then took a step back toward the fire.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Langley?”
Miss—it was Miss, wasn’t it?—Vedae didn’t mince words. He could tell she had a core of steel the minute she’d stood up to him when he’d entered the cabin.
He shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “I’m getting away from it all. I don’t want anyone to know where I am.”
“So you settled on Kane’s Crossing? You must be desperate for some boredom.”
Actually, he’d give his life for boredom, for the way it used to be, back in the small Montana town where he’d lived all his years. Back where he’d been engaged to Emily Webster because that’s what had been expected of him. Back where his mother hadn’t shriveled from cancer to almost nothing. Back where he’d been Connor Langley and nothing more.
“That sounds nice to me,” he said, meaning it.
Her eyes took on a wary narrowness. “You’re lying. Why should I let you stay here if you can’t tell me some semblance of the truth?”
Damn. “Because I’m a hell of a handyman. That was my job back in Raintree, Montana.”
She crossed her arms over her down jacket, clearly not buying his guff.
“That’s the honest slant on it, Miss Vedae.” He paused. “I just need to be alone.”
“Hmmm.” She quirked her lips, considering him. “I still don’t trust you.”
“Trust isn’t a requirement.” He almost added the dreaded “ma’am,” but remembered right in time how she’d reacted to the title earlier.
Too bad his mom had bred “ma’am” into him for the length of his life. You couldn’t break a thirty-three-year-old habit.
Mom. The word, the image stung because, in Montana, she was waiting for him to help her, to heal her.
Well, he wouldn’t do it standing here making nice with his prospective landlord. Conn needed to take his binoculars and get back to work.
“What about it?” he asked, unthinkingly taking a step forward. He itched to run a hand along her jaw, comforting her, convincing her that he wasn’t such a bad guy.
At least, that’s what he’d thought up until a month ago, when he’d learned the truth about himself.
Lacey Vedae sighed and tossed up her hands. “Heck. It’s not like you’re living in my house.”
“Right.”
“And you’re going to do work on this hunk of junk.”
“Your obviously beloved hunk of junk.”
She sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
“If you adhere to my condition, we won’t even know each other exists.”
She stared at him for a second, her gaze going as soft as the gray-blue clouds of a rainstorm. Something like emptiness filled her eyes for the briefest moment, then flashed away.
She walked toward the door, hesitating