“No, I was— There was this fly,” he said, wondering why, the one time in his life when he’d needed a fly, it had vanished into thin air. “I’m truly sorry. Let me see,” he said, reaching for her.
She moved back again, lifting a tentative hand to her face.
“It wasn’t on purpose.” Trent couldn’t see any kind of mark or discoloration but that didn’t make him feel much better. He’d never hit a woman in his life, and he hoped to never do it again. Even by accident. “Why’d you sneak up on me?”
“I did no such thing.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean... Please, let me have a look...”
“I’ll live.” She slowly flexed her jaw. “For your information I was bringing in the food, not sneaking up on you.”
“What happened?” Violet rushed in with a concerned frown.
“I hit Shelby.”
“It was an accident,” she said, giving him an exasperated look.
“Well, I expect it had to be,” Violet muttered. “Trent can be a stubborn jackass just like his great-grandpa, but he wouldn’t strike a woman. Where did he get ya?”
“Really, it’s nothing.” Shelby turned her head, away from their prying eyes. “I could use something cold to drink.”
He saw her eyeing his beer and he grabbed another one from the fridge. “What about you, Violet?”
“Wouldn’t mind some whiskey if you got it.”
No surprise there. He opened Shelby’s beer and as he passed it to her, he snuck a look at her jaw. He doubted it would bruise, it hadn’t been that hard. But that wasn’t the point. Shit. He got out the Jack Daniel’s from an upper cabinet, wondering if he could convince Shelby to use some ice on her face.
Violet took the bottle from him, then helped herself to a glass sitting on the draining rack.
He watched Shelby take an impressive gulp of beer. “How about—”
“No,” she said, her voice firm. “Thank you.”
“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”
“No ice. I’m fine.”
Trent hid a sigh by drinking his own beer. He hated when women did that. Pretended they could read your mind. He hated it even more when they were right. Well, screw that. “Not ice. I have a thick T-bone in the fridge.”
Shelby let out a short laugh. “You’re not serious.”
He wasn’t but she didn’t need to know that.
“I’m not putting a slab of raw meat on my jaw.”
“It’s supposed to work for black eyes.”
“That’s a foolish, archaic old wives’ tale.”
“Good. Because I’ve changed my mind. I’m frying that steak for my supper.”
Violet threw back a healthy shot of whiskey and poured another. “Is it big enough for all of us?”
“No.” It wasn’t enough that she was guzzling down his whiskey? She wanted his steak, too? He noticed Shelby checking out the silly daisy wallpaper he hadn’t had time to get rid of yet.
“Yep,” Violet muttered. “You’re just like your great-grandpa. Cut from the same ornery mold.”
Trent looked at her. “What was that crack earlier? I’m not stubborn, and neither was Gramps.”
Violet snorted. “Like hell.” She nodded at Shelby. “So was yours. I reckon that’s why you two are here in this mess.”
“Excuse me?” Shelby stared at her. “How could you know my grandfather?”
“Can’t say I ever met him, but I knew your great-granddaddy. You said your last name is Foster. Harold Foster was your great granddad, wasn’t he?” Violet said, and Shelby nodded. “Harold was a kind, mild-mannered man most of the time.”
“Wait. Hold on. What mess?” Trent asked, knowing in his gut he wouldn’t like the answer. “Because I was doing just fine before...” He glanced at Shelby, saw her absently probing her jaw, felt a stab of guilt and closed his mouth.
“While you were in the kitchen swatting at flies, this young lady told me why she’s here,” Violet said, “and I’ve got a fair notion as to what might’ve happened.”
Shelby’s green eyes brightened. “You think I really do own the Eager Beaver?”
“Look here, Violet, you can’t just make up stories because you’re bored,” Trent warned. “I swear to God, if you stir up trouble, I’m gonna sic Mutt on you.”
Shelby inhaled sharply. “You wouldn’t.”
He ignored her, determined not to let Violet off the hook even if Mutt would just lick her to death. “This woman has driven all the way from Colorado and—”
“How do you know where I’m from? I didn’t tell you.”
“License plates.”
“Oh.”
He wished she’d quit wetting her lips and distracting him. “How’s the jaw?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Well, excuse the hell out of me for being concerned.” Trent started to take a pull of beer but pointed the bottle at Violet instead. “Tell her how long my family’s owned this ranch. You ought to know. I remember you had that old brown trailer when I was a kid living here with my folks. You’d just gotten the double-wide when I visited Colby six years ago. Now, go on and tell Shelby that this property rightfully belongs to the Kimballs. Please.”
Violet ignored him. As usual.
Shelby looked like all the air had left her lungs. If she hadn’t been set on taking his last chance away from him, he would’ve felt sorry for her.
He turned back to Violet, who was watching the byplay as if she’d have to testify in court. “You have no intention of straightening this out, do you? Makes sense, since it would be the first nice thing you’ve done since I came back home. I don’t even know why I let you stick around. I should’ve given you the boot.”
Shelby gasped.
He looked at her. “What?”
“Could you be any ruder?”
“Sweetheart, you have no idea.” Trent tossed back more beer, and then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “You got a problem with my etiquette, there’s the door.”
“Huh.” Shelby sniffed with disdain. “I’m surprised you know such
