Harlequin Blaze June 2015 Box Set: Midnight ThunderFevered NightsCome On OverTriple Time
Page 37
Her confidence faltered. Or maybe swiping her tongue across her lips was supposed to distract him. It almost worked. “I don’t have it with me,” she said, taking a deep breath that made her chest rise. “It’s with my things, which will be arriving next week.”
“Your things?” He stared at her, and she nodded. “No. No way. You call whoever’s hauling your stuff and—” From his peripheral vision, he noticed Violet edging closer. He didn’t need her sticking her nose in this. “Let’s go in the house,” he told Shelby in a more reasonable tone. “We can get something cold to drink. Figure this thing out.”
She moistened her lips again, her expression cautious as she inspected his stained brown T-shirt, worn jeans and dusty boots.
“I’m not gonna bite,” he said when she didn’t move.
“Fine.” With a toss of her hair, she picked her way through the gravel to the porch steps, having some trouble with those skinny, impractical boot heels.
He followed behind, torn between checking out her shapely rear end and keeping an eye on Violet. It would be just like her to stir up trouble, for sheer sport if nothing else. When he saw the old busybody closing the distance between them, he whistled for Mutt to run interference. At best, Trent had a fifty-fifty shot the dog would listen.
Shelby stopped at the screen door and turned to him.
“Go on inside. It’s not locked.”
She glanced past him, then entered the house.
He caught the screen and smiled when he saw that Mutt was doing his job. Violet stood near the barn, spewing curses and trying to evade the dog’s long eager tongue. She liked the mooch well enough, even slipped him treats, but she couldn’t stand him licking her.
“Come on, boy.” Trent waited for the dog to bound up the steps and charge inside.
Yanking off his hat, he walked into the living room. Looking terrified, Shelby stood frozen, against the far wall where Mutt had cornered her. Jesus, he hadn’t considered...
“Come,” Trent commanded, but Mutt ignored him.
* * *
SHELBY FIGURED IF the dog was going to bite her, he’d have already done so. She tucked her purse under her arm, and crouched to pet the big shaggy fur ball that had to be over sixty pounds. She loved dogs but couldn’t for the life of her identify his breed.
“Well, aren’t you a cutie pie trying to look all ferocious.” She found his sweet spot—a patch low behind his ear—and lightly raked it with her nails until his big eyes rolled back in contentment. “He has mud on his paws,” she said, eyeing the dusty wood floor. “If you care.”
She immediately regretted being snide. Trent ignored it, but she knew he’d heard. It wasn’t like her to be rude. But she was tired, hungry and not completely enamored of the run-down Eager Beaver ranch. Stupid name, anyway. She’d look into changing it first thing.
And then there was Trent, whoever he was...besides tall and hot. Though being good-looking didn’t work in his favor. Not with her. She’d had it with men. And their expectations. And...well, just about everything.
“How many times have I told you to use the doormat?” Trent said to the dog, then ducked out and returned with a faded towel. “He get any mud on you?”
She shook her head, then looked up. Trent’s eyes were an unusual gray. She hadn’t been able to tell earlier, but she’d noticed the strong jaw shadowed from a couple days’ growth of beard. With his dark wavy hair, tanned skin and long, lean body, he was the perfect image of the untamed cowboy conquering the rugged West. If a woman had a fanciful imagination, which she did not. Anyway, she was from Colorado and knew better. Not all cowboys were equal. But all men were.
No, that wasn’t fair. She looked at her left hand, where her engagement ring used to be. She was still raw from Donald’s betrayal. From the proof that while he wanted to marry her, he didn’t know her at all. In time the sting would fade. She had to believe that if she wanted to start fresh, prove to herself she could be successful on her own terms.
“Come here, boy.” Trent crouched beside her and gave the dog’s collar a light tug until his front paws were on the towel.
Huddling between Trent and a console table felt too intimate so she stood. “What’s his name?”
“Mutt. Actually, it’s Ugly Mutt. Sometimes I call him Ugly. But mostly just Mutt.”
She stared down at him, ready and waiting to disappoint him when he looked for her reaction to his baiting. But he never looked up, simply concentrated on cleaning the dog’s paws while her gaze followed the play of corded muscle along his forearms.
“You’re kidding, right?” she said finally.
“About?”
“His name. You don’t really call him Ugly.”
“Sure I do.” He gave the dog an affectionate pat. “Look at him.”
“That’s awful.” How could he treat the poor animal that way? “You’re awful.”
Trent smiled. “You know he doesn’t understand, right?”
Her gaze caught on the laugh lines fanning out at the corner of his eye. Then slid to his muscled bicep straining the sleeve of the T-shirt. When she finally noticed that he was giving her a funny look, she realized she’d stopped listening.
She cleared her throat and surveyed the room. “We need to straighten out this mess.”
Trent glanced over his shoulder and frowned at the magazines and newspapers littering the coffee table. A pair of boots, one turned on its side, butted up to the burgundy recliner. “Which mess are we talking about?”
“The Eager Beaver,” she said, as it slowly dawned on her that the place was furnished with chairs, a high-quality leather sofa, a flat-screen TV, rugs... Trent wasn’t simply squatting or passing through. “And how quickly you can clear off my property.”
He wasn’t taking her one bit seriously. With a lifted brow he slid his gaze down her body. “You suddenly found that deed somewhere?”
“No. I explained where it is. But you seem so sure of yourself, I’m assuming you have one.”
That wiped the smirk off his face. “I do. Not here. My folks have it in their bank safe-deposit box.”
“In Blackfoot Falls? Shouldn’t take you long to get it.”
“They live in Dillon, four hours from here.”
“Oh, how convenient.”
“Says the woman who claims her papers are in transit.” He pushed to his feet, bringing him a good five inches taller than her even with her three-inch heels. “What kind of—” He cut himself off, clamped his mouth shut.
They were standing too close to each other. Boxed in by the wall, table and Trent, she could feel his body heat and a hint of his breath on her cheek. Oddly, he smelled good, sort of woodsy, even though she knew he’d been working outside in the sun.
When he wouldn’t move, she slipped around him. “You were saying?” she said, sneaking a peek in the bright yellow kitchen, surprised to see an open laptop sitting on a table.
“Nothing.”
“Please.” She turned to find him meticulously wiping his hands with the towel. “By all means, finish what you were about to say.”
He looked up, his gaze narrowing.
Okay, that might’ve come out a bit haughty.
With his sights locked on her, he said, “I was wondering what kind of idiot packs important legal papers with their belongings instead of keeping the documents locked up or with them.”
Heat surged up her neck and into her face. Someone who’d left in a hurry. Someone who’d been foolish enough to overstay where she hadn’t belonged in the first place.
“I deserved that,” Shelby said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
His gaze lowered before he looked away. “We’ll get this straightened out, but I’m warning you, it won’t be the outcome you want.”
She bit her lip. He seemed awfully sure,
she thought, again taking in the furniture, most of it quite nice. The truth was, she didn’t really have the deed in her possession, only her grandfather’s will. Of course she’d call the attorney who’d drawn the will up. Something she would’ve already done if she hadn’t been in such a rush to get away from her ex-fiancé and his family.
“You should try The Boarding House Inn in town. Better hurry, though, it’s getting late and there isn’t another inn for miles.”
Shelby studied his expressionless face. Naturally he was trying to get rid of her. “Hmm, I could ask around about you.”
“Good idea. Most folks know me, or at least they know my family. They’ll confirm what I’ve told you.”
Her mouth went dry. Her heart sank. This wasn’t looking good at all. Maybe he was bluffing.
“Hey, how about that cold drink I promised? I’ve got orange juice, water, beer...”
Annoyed that he must’ve noticed her difficulty swallowing, she shook her head. “How far is it to town?”
“Sixteen miles.”
“And you don’t care if I inquire about you,” she said, watching him closely.
“Nope. Ask anyone.”
A knock at the door had them both turning their heads.
Through the screen she saw it was the older woman who’d been sitting in the rocker. She was holding a covered dish.
Trent looked at it and groaned. “Really, Violet?”
Shelby didn’t know why he sounded grumpy. It smelled like cornbread and something else, maybe molasses. Whatever it was, the aroma was divine.
The woman glared at him. “You gonna let me in?” She was tiny, not even five feet, her voice surprisingly rough.
When Trent didn’t respond, Shelby looked at him. Why the hesitancy? The woman was obviously his neighbor...
Unless...
Shelby hurried to open the door. “Of course, this is perfect timing,” she said, then glanced at Trent, who sighed with disgust. She smiled sweetly. “You did say I could ask anyone.”
Copyright © 2015 by Debbi Quattrone
ISBN-13: 9781460381854
Fevered Nights
Copyright © 2015 by Juliet L. Burns
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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www.Harlequin.com
Staking her claim!
Horse trainer Trent Kimball is starting to believe his family’s ranch is actually cursed. Still, it’s a place to recover from both his recent divorce and a humiliating professional setback. That is, until Shelby Foster shows up, looking far too fine for cowboy country, and informs Trent that she is the owner of the Eager Beaver Ranch!
Shelby left everything behind to move to Montana. And she’s not about to just walk away! Even if it means sharing a roof with a rude cowboy...temporarily. As they wait for their papers, animosity turns into suggestive teasing. Then it becomes a sexy-sweet temptation neither can resist! Whoever produces the deed keeps the ranch. But will they lose something more important?
You’ll never get enough of these cowboys!
Talented Harlequin Blaze author Debbi Rawlins makes all your cowboy dreams come true with her popular miniseries
Made in Montana
The little town of Blackfoot Falls isn’t so sleepy anymore...
In fact, it seems everyone’s staying up late!
Get your hands on a hot cowboy with
#837 Anywhere with You
(March 2015)
#849 Come On Over
(June 2015)
#861 This Kiss
(September 2015)
And remember, the sexiest cowboys are Made in Montana!
Dear Reader,
I’ve been living in a small rural town for almost a decade now and I must say it’s been quite a learning experience. Often it’s been fun, certainly surprising. And, admittedly, I do a fair bit of eye-rolling. Best thing about living here, though? It’s been great inspiration for the fictional town of Blackfoot Falls in my Made in Montana series.
Yes, I’ve shamelessly eavesdropped while getting my hair cut, grabbing lunch at the local diner or waiting in line at the post office. With so many of the ranches passed down from one generation to the next, there always seems to be an interesting story or piece of gossip surrounding the families who first settled here a hundred and fifty years ago. It got me wondering about the legal aspect of passing down land and livestock. Are things made nice and tidy via a will? Or is an assumption enough? Or maybe a handshake?
In Come On Over, the Eager Beaver Ranch arose from my latest “what if” game. You’ll meet Trent and Shelby, two characters who were a pleasure for me to write, especially since they did all the heavy lifting...
Thanks so much for visiting me and the folks of Blackfoot Falls!
Come On Over
By Debbi Rawlins
Debbi Rawlins grew up in the country and loved Westerns in movies and books. Her first crush was on a cowboy—okay, he was an actor in the role of a cowboy, but she was only eleven, so it counts. It was in Houston, Texas, where she first started writing for Harlequin, and now she has her own ranch...of sorts. Instead of horses, she has four dogs, four cats, a trio of goats and free-range cattle on a few acres in gorgeous rural Utah.
Books by Debbi Rawlins
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
Made in Montana
Barefoot Blue Jean Night
Own the Night
On a Snowy Christmas Night
You’re Still the One
No One Needs to Know
From This Moment On
Alone with You
Need You Now
Behind Closed Doors
Anywhere with You
To get the inside scoop on Harlequin Blaze and its talented writers, be sure to check out blazeauthors.com.
All backlist available in ebook format.
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Excerpt
1
THE EAGER BEAVER was cursed. Trent Kimball had always been a skeptic, but right now, trying to get this damned old tractor to run, he was tempted t
o rethink his position.
His dad had moved the whole family off the ranch when Trent was sixteen, swearing by the words of Trent’s great-granddad that anyone who tried to make something of the place was doomed to failure.
Three years later Trent’s older brother had tried to give it a go but after seven years, he’d gone belly up. When Colby had blamed it on the curse, Trent had given him a load of crap about superstition and other nonsense.
In truth, if his bottom-feeding, soul-sucking ex-wife hadn’t damn near cleaned him out, Trent wouldn’t be here trying to whip the ranch into shape. But cursed? Nah, when it came right down to it, he wasn’t about to jinx his future when he’d barely gotten started. Eight months was nothing when it came to building a new life.
Using a clean rag to wipe the sweat off his forehead, he squinted at the gap in the east corral where a pair of rails had come loose and fallen during the night. He’d get to that later today. The job he was on right now was far more urgent. He stared at the tractor engine. If he didn’t get it running soon, he was gonna be in a world of hurt. Alfalfa wasn’t cheap. He needed to be ready to plant come spring. And after building the stable his bank account was dwindling fast. He jerked the wrench. And caught the edge of his thumb.
He let loose a string of cussing everyone in Blackfoot Falls, sixteen miles away, must’ve heard. Mutt didn’t even raise his head. The mangy hound stayed put, a huge lump of black fur curled up under the shade of a cottonwood. Damn lazy dog.
Violet, his unwelcome neighbor, didn’t miss her chance to mock him and she sure as hell didn’t hold back. The unseasonably warm fall breeze carried the sound of her cackling straight to him. He turned to the wiry old woman sitting on the porch of her double-wide parked near the faded barn. As usual she was smoking an oversize pipe and having a fine time in her dilapidated oak rocker.
One of these days she’d end up on her butt. Twice he’d offered to fix the chair for her. Twice. But as she so bluntly put it...his carpentry skills sucked. Much as he hated to admit it, she had a point.