it and capped the petrol tank. He closed the latch and pushed to his feet. “Don’t let Gerry get to you.”
Lucy buried her hands in the pockets of his coat. “We’ve done nothing to him.”
“Your problem is that he made a bid on the house you’re living in. He wasn’t overjoyed when Gray decided to rent it out.”
“That place was meant for a family. Gerry hardly strikes me as the home-and-hearth type. What woman would have him?”
“None around here, but your place has some of the best grazing land and it borders Anderson Farms at the southernmost boundary where the creek runs through it.”
“No wonder he wants me gone.”
“There is an upside to this.”
“And that would be?”
“We’re not all like Gerry. His kind are a very small minority around here.”
“You know him pretty well I take it?”
“He’s lived here all his life. He likes to drink, pick fights and big note himself, not always in that order. He even did it at school.”
“Well, he’ll find himself in the hospital if he doesn’t heed my warning and leave us alone.”
Clayton understood her protective nature. “Just watch your back. I doubt Gerry’s ever had a woman stand up to him…and in public.”
Lucy had known men like him before who bullied those weaker than themselves. “Thanks for the warning.”
“See if the car starts.” He stashed the funnel and empty can back in his truck, and by the time he reached her door the engine was idling. “You take off. I’ll be right behind you.”
Clayton walked back to his vehicle before she could offer the protest he anticipated and waited for her to pull onto the road before he started his truck and followed. He’d been busy on the farm this past month and hadn’t found time to socialize, but he recalled Josh saying he’d had a call out to the Harrison farm. His brother had forgotten to mention just how pretty the new tenant was. And she had courage…either that or she’d let her anger get the better of her a while ago and hadn’t stopped to think about what she was doing. He thought of how protective he and his brothers were of Molly. If Gerry had considered Lucy as an easy target, one he could intimidate into leaving, he’d just gotten a wake-up call.
When word had spread around town that Alma Harrison’s rambling, two-story house had been snapped up, the fear of big development was rife. Lucy Warner arrived a few weeks ago and replaced that fear of change with a fear of the unknown. In less than a day it seemed everyone far and wide knew of her plans to make it a home for kids who needed a new start, children who had nowhere else to go.
Clayton and his brothers had backed the idea from the beginning, and though a portion of the townsfolk had initially shied away from what they didn’t understand, most people now took the view of live and let live. Except for Gerry.
When Lucy indicated, Clayton slowed his vehicle and followed her into the well-lit service station.
Lucy pulled up beside the petrol pump and cut the engine. She got out and handed the keys to the attendant with a polite “Fill her up.” Walking back to where Clayton had parked, she stopped several feet from his truck. He walked toward her.
She’d known he would be as good-looking as his brother. Now beneath fluorescent lights the full impact of Clayton McKinley hit her head-on. He stood two inches over six feet and had a confident, loose-hipped stride. He walked with an easy grace, as though time would wait for him. Lucy had no doubt if he smiled and asked nicely enough it would. Blue jeans clung to him like a second skin and dusty brown boots crunched with defiance over the gravel as he came toward her. His hair was dark blond and cut short on his neck. His eyes were peacock blue and sparkled with a wicked hint of mischief. Clayton McKinley was the kind of man mothers warned their daughters about. The kind fathers had nightmares about. She would always look back on this as one of them. She almost felt like a schoolgirl again. Her palms were suddenly sweaty. Breathing was something she had to think about doing and for the first time in a long time, long dormant emotions began to awaken inside her.
Dragging her eyes away from him she began to shrug out of his jacket, loath to give up the warmth.
“Don’t even think about it, lady.”
Lucy glared at him as the command rolled seductively off his tongue. “I don’t respond well to orders.”
“No kidding,” he teased, his lips sliding into an easy smile. Not a generic smile. Oh, no! This was a knee-weakening, heart-melting, pulse-pounding smile. This man was dangerous in ways there were no defences for.
“Don’t even think of handing the coat back just yet. And arguing with me won’t do you any good.”
She looked cute swallowed up by his jacket. A small-boned woman, she stirred his protective instincts, and her subtle hourglass shape banished from his mind every stick-thin woman he’d ever dated. Her skin was pale and unblemished, her cheekbones high, her face softly rounded. Her lips were full and naturally pink and had him wondering if they were as sweet as they looked. With her hair pulled into a ponytail she looked about sixteen and more tempting than sin. From the moment she’d turned away in the bar, he’d wondered what colour her eyes were. Now he had his answer. The colour reminded him of fine malt whiskey. They were wide and expressive, guarding a keen intelligence.
Lucy pulled the coat back over her shoulders and tried to ignore the intensity of his watchful gaze. It felt as though he was committing her to memory pore by pore. She refused to be intimidated by his blatant appraisal and motioned to the shop that formed part of the service station.
“I’ve got to get a few things.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Lucy looked up at him. “You think I’m going to get lost between produce and dairy?”
“I’m having fun.” His smile was powerful. His eyes roamed over her from head to toe then made the return journey with lazy intent. Prickles of sensation skittered through her body, skating over nerve endings.
“If grocery shopping is your idea of fun then you must lead a boring life.” She said nothing when he fell into step beside her, hands in the pockets of his jeans.
“How did you know Gerry would be at the Roadhouse?”
Lucy entered the shop and picked up a plastic carry basket. She took a loaf of bread from the shelf. “I didn’t. Max said the bloke had a bunch of prissy cowboys—his words not mine—in the car with him. The Roadhouse is the place to be on a Saturday night. I took a chance.”
“Prissy cowboys?” he repeated, amused. “Now, if you’d laid that one on Gerry he would have died of embarrassment.”
She took down a box of chocolate pops, putting them into the basket. “Harrison House is going to be a success.”
“That’s what you’re calling it?”
She nodded and continued down the aisle. “We took a vote. The kids decided since Mrs. Harrison’s son donated it specifically to be used for the Second Chance project, the name was appropriate.
