glimpsed the swell of her breasts plumping over a plain white bra. He didn’t know why but he expected something snazzier. Red or black, maybe some lace. Though he was more interested in her...
“Did you hear me?” She straightened with a hand on her hip.
“Huh?” He met her accusing eyes. “Yeah, I heard you,” he said and hoisted the heavy box.
“I said, I can manage.”
“I’m not trying to be nice. You throw your back out and God knows when I’ll ever get rid of you.”
“Charming to a fault.”
Sunlight shined directly on her face, and he was relieved there was no visible mark from his hand. She caught him staring and turned away to get another smaller bag from the backseat. The fact that striking her had been an accident wasn’t making it any easier to ignore. She didn’t seem to want to be fussed over. Earlier, though, in his old bedroom, when she’d touched her jaw, he had a feeling she might’ve been playing him. Didn’t matter. Guilt nudged him either way.
Instead of leaving the box with the others, he set it just inside. He wasn’t about to make the mistake of propping the door open and letting more flies in. By the time he moved everything off the porch, Shelby had joined him, carrying an overnight bag and a sack of groceries.
Puzzled, Trent grabbed the suitcase and smaller box, then led the way down the hall. This woman wasn’t easy to peg. How she dressed, taking a chance on a place sight-unseen, out in the boonies no less. While she’d brought her own pillow, it seemed she’d been willing to sleep on the floor until her bed was delivered. Maybe she’d robbed a bank and was on the run.
He passed the room he actually was using for storage, and stopped at the one that had been his as a teenager. Holes from his old rodeo posters were still visible on the beige walls. The carpet didn’t look too bad, though he imagined the dark color had a lot to do with that.
The wood blinds were slanted up to keep out the morning sun.
He’d completely forgotten about the pop-up trundle underneath the bare mattress, which fortunately, looked brand-new. If he remembered correctly the bed had occupied the second guest room back in Texas.
“If you don’t like sleeping on a twin I can set up the trundle and push them together,” he said.
“A twin is fine.”
It took him a few seconds to remember he wasn’t supposed to be making this easy on her. He set the suitcase near the closet and the box beside it. The contents clanged. Pots maybe? His gaze slid back to her sack of groceries.
“Is that it?”
Shelby frowned, puckering her lips in a way that made him forget what they were talking about. She turned to peek into the small closet and his eyes drew to her nice round backside.
He’d never understood why a woman would spend so much for designer jeans. He did now. Shelby turned to face him. Her eyebrows rose expectantly.
“Violet tell you this place is cursed?”
Shelby laughed. “No, she didn’t.”
“I’m not saying I believe it, but lots of folks do.”
“Ah. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I don’t have to scare you off,” he said, irritated by the amusement in her voice. “We both know you don’t have a claim.”
“If I thought that I would’ve left by now.” She paused. “If you’re so sure of yourself, why haven’t you kicked me out?”
“Despite your low opinion of me, my mama raised me to be a gentleman.” He couldn’t say why her faint smile riled him. “If you’ve got any questions, I’ll be outside.”
“Aren’t you worried I’ll rob you blind?”
“Sorry, sweetheart—” Trent snorted a laugh “—someone else beat you to it.”
THIRTY MINUTES LATER Shelby had hung some clothes and sorted her toiletries. The bathroom was small, typical of older homes, and sharing it with a virtual stranger wouldn’t be easy. But it was better than having to trudge out to use the one in the barn. She really hoped he’d been teasing about that.
So she divided her makeup and personal hygiene stuff into two groups of must-have and optional, then packed them in smaller bags to take to the bathroom—wherever that turned out to be—with her as needed.
Fortunately she’d remembered to pack a couple of towels and her pillow but she’d forgotten about sheets. What was left of her jewelry-making supplies, though, those she’d kept close. It would’ve been so much easier to let the movers bring the boxes along with her furniture since it was doubtful she’d be setting up shop soon. She was low on just about everything she needed to make the silver and brass pieces that would bring in some good money. And she knew for sure she had to replace the old soldering iron. But after that awful scene with Donald, she’d been too hurt and angry to think straight.
She sighed, not eager to ask Trent for sheets. Maybe she could lay a towel on the mattress and bring in the emergency blanket she kept in her trunk just in case she was ever stranded in foul weather. Along with it she kept a first-aid kit, a flashlight, batteries, bottles of water and power bars. Someone who was that careful should never have ended up in this mess. She wasn’t normally impulsive; she was cautious, prepared for anything.
Except, of course, a broken engagement.
And a run-down ranch.
And no job.
Hopefully she wasn’t starting a new trend, she thought, glancing around the small room. What the hell...there was a roof, walls; it was dusty but clean, and she hadn’t had to pull out her credit card, so the situation wasn’t completely awful.
Thinking back on the wedding gown she’d found just last week, she sighed. It had been love at first sight, and not because Mrs. Williamson would’ve disapproved of the retro style. Regardless of her ex-boss and erstwhile future mother-in-law’s insistence, Shelby had never done anything to deliberately spite the woman. Shelby really did like trendy shoes and modern art, and a few other things Mrs. Williamson found vulgar. They simply had different tastes.
And Donald, well, he...
Shelby swallowed hard, trying to clear the lump in her throat.
Donald should’ve been on her side. Silly her, she’d misjudged his silence for support when she’d mentioned dusting off her old equipment and stretching her creative boundaries. But she could see the truth now. He’d assumed she’d be too busy designing pricy pieces for his parents’ pretentious stores and inhabiting the role of Mrs. Donald Williamson to be bothered with her “tacky hobby.” Well, screw him.
Sinking to the edge of the daybed, she traded her boots for well-worn sneakers and thought about making the dreaded call to her mom. Though not today. For one thing, it was the middle of the night in Germany where she was living with her new husband. But mostly, Shelby wasn’t ready to listen to her mom go on and on about how Donald
