stopped to adjust his Stetson and looked at her. “Do you know where the fridge is?”
Pressing her lips together to keep from making an unwise remark, she turned to Craig and Troy. “While I’m at it, would you like something?”
“No, thanks,” Troy mumbled.
“Yeah.” Craig flashed her a grin. “See if there’s a beer.”
She didn’t see Nathan’s expression, but she could imagine it wasn’t pleasant seeing how Craig ducked his head and laughed.
“Just joking,” he said, stopping to sweep his hair out of his eyes. “I’ll follow you to town and get you unloaded. By then it’ll be quitting time and I’ll buy you a beer.”
“I’ll take care of Bethany,” Nathan said, and, God, she had to stop letting his voice make her all gooey inside. “I have to go to the Food Mart anyway.”
She nearly dropped the bottle she’d grabbed from the ancient refrigerator. Catching the shocked looks on Craig’s and Troy’s faces, she knew her surprise was justified. Even if Rachel hadn’t told her Nathan stayed away from town, Beth couldn’t see him going to the Food Mart. He’d send someone else.
After he dropped that little bomb, the rest of the job was finished mostly in silence. She heard Craig quietly bet Troy twenty bucks that their boss didn’t know where the Food Mart was located. Naturally Beth pretended she hadn’t heard. The two guys were shooting her curious looks, probably thinking the same thing she was...that she might have something to do with Nathan Landers’s sudden itch to go to town.
And, Lord, she hoped that was true. She got a little tingly just thinking about what it could mean. Long cool nights in Blackfoot Falls could use a pinch or two of something spicy. And he looked like a man who’d know just which ingredients to use.
“What now? You want the paint, too?”
She blinked at the gallon cans she’d been absently staring at—ten of them had been stored beside the lumber and now stood alone against the wall. She turned to Nathan and grinned. “You offering?”
His mouth curved in what could pass for a slight smile. “Thanks, boys,” he said to Craig and Troy. “Go ahead and knock off early.”
“You sure, boss?” Craig’s face lit up. “Woody’s gonna pitch a fit.”
Nathan jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
The guys didn’t have to be told twice. Quiet Troy let out a whoop and they both tore off toward the bunkhouse.
Beth shifted her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly feeling off balance now that they were alone. She needed to get in her truck and head back to town. Give herself time to think. Her gaze drifted to the paint. “I’ve screwed up your project,” she said, pulling off the gloves she’d ended up not needing. “Now you have paint but no lumber.”
“One has nothing to do with the other.” His gaze fell on her hands, and she wanted to childishly hide them behind her back.
Her nails were horrible, dirty and jagged. She hadn’t had a manicure in ages. Not since she’d moved to Blackfoot Falls. “What should I call you?” she asked, and saw that she’d confused him. “And don’t say boss. That won’t fly.”
There it was again...the almost smile. “Nathan.” He took off his hat and ran his hand through his dark hair. “Craig calls you Beth. Is that what you prefer?”
She had to think about it. These days only her sister called her Bethany, probably out of habit. But Beth did love the way he said it. “Either one.” She shrugged. “Beth is shorter.”
Neither of them moved. They just looked at each other for a long silent moment that should’ve been uncomfortable but somehow felt natural. Standing this close, she could see that he was bigger than she’d first thought. Broader and taller...maybe more muscular, but she wouldn’t know for sure until she saw him naked. If she ever saw him naked. Oh, she really hoped so.
She cleared her throat and took a step back. “Well, I guess we should head to town. I’ve taken up enough of your afternoon.”
He blinked, then ran his gaze down the front of her shirt to her jeans. “Come with me,” he said, and walked farther into the dim, cavernous barn without a backward glance, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that she wouldn’t follow.
A little nervous that the shadows seemed to gobble him up, Beth hesitated and glanced over her shoulder. Craig and Troy were long gone. “Were you waiting to get rid of the witnesses?”
The words were barely out of her mouth when light flooded the barn and she whipped her gaze back toward the spot where she’d last seen him. He stood partly under the steps to the hayloft, between a cabinet and a workbench, watching her with a look of amusement. “You must be from the city.”
“I’m from Montana,” she said, a tad defensive and hoping he didn’t think she’d really been nervous. To prove she wasn’t, she strolled toward him, casually glancing at the bales of hay stacked as high as her shoulders, at the assortment of tools hanging on the rough-hewn walls, and inhaling the scent of oiled leather becoming more pungent this far inside. And tried to ignore the acceleration of her pulse the closer she got to him.
“Where?”
“Outside of Billings.”
He barely reacted yet still managed to communicate “case closed.” Oh, but he was so wrong. He gave Billings too much credit. She’d seen more than half the world. As far as cities went, Billings was peanuts.
She stopped several feet away to watch him rummage through a drawer. Without looking up, he said. “You have to come closer.”
“Why?”
Nathan glanced up then, amusement gleaming in his eyes. “What do you think I’m going to do to you?”
“I have no idea.” In spite of her effort to play it cool, her laugh sounded nervous, so she gave it up. “Why do you think I was ready to bolt?”
He held up a large can of paint thinner. “The light’s better over here.”
“I knew it was something like that,” she muttered, and saw the corner of his mouth twitch before she sneaked another peek at her stained hands and awful nails.
“Let’s see.”
She slowly exhaled, then placed her hand on his outstretched palm. Of all the things she might’ve anticipated, this scenario was so far down the list that... Oh, hell, it hadn’t even made the cut. It wasn’t so much about the touching...it was his unexpected gentleness that made the contact feel irrationally intimate.
“Do you give manicures, too?” she murmured, watching him use a clean rag to rub each stain off her hand.
Still focused on his task, he responded with a patient smile, making her feel like a flustered twelve-year-old girl who didn’t know how to talk to boys yet. The way he was acting reminded her of the way she treated the guys she met at the Watering Hole. She joked around with them all the time, never taking any of them seriously when they tried to hit on her. They were all younger than her, and none of them were her type.
