“Thanks.” She gestured toward the trailer as if eager to change the subject. “What color did you get?”
“Forest green.”
“Great! Can I see?”
“Sure.” He walked to the back of the horse trailer and opened it so they could get to the cartons of roofing. When he’d picked up the order in Bozeman, he’d cut out a small section of one carton with his pocket knife to confirm the order was correct.
Leaning in, she peeled back the cardboard a little more. “Sure looks like the right color.”
“It’s hard to see, though. I’ll get my flashlight.” He jogged to his truck and grabbed the one he kept in the cab. When he got back, she’d pulled away more of the cardboard. He directed the flashlight beam on the exposed metal.
“Thanks. That helps.” She ran her fingers over it. “I’m glad it’s a matte finish. I was afraid it would be shiny, and matte looks so much richer. This will be beautiful.”
“Hope so.”
“It will be, Trevor. I can’t wait to see how it looks when it’s finished. Thank you.”
He was so close to kissing her right now it wasn’t funny. “You’re welcome. Glad they had the color you wanted.”
“Me, too.”
“I should probably unhook the trailer and be on my way, then.” He switched off the flashlight.
“Have you had dinner, yet?”
“I figured I’d eat when I got home.”
“I’ve made spaghetti sauce but I haven’t cooked the pasta. I have enough if you’d like to stay.”
Take it easy, McGavin. “Probably shouldn’t.” Had she held off on dinner because she’d planned to invite him? Things were looking up if that was the case. But he needed clarification.
“Is Kendra expecting you?”
“It’s not that.”
“What, then?”
“I guess I need to know why you’re inviting me to dinner.”
Her gaze was direct. “You’re going to be working here all weekend, correct?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Then I want to invite you to dinner as a thank-you.”
He was willing to go with that. “Then I accept.”
Olivia hadn’t examined all her reasons for inviting Trevor to dinner. She’d known she would when she chose to make an extra-large batch of spaghetti sauce. But why do it?
On the surface, it was a nice gesture if she’d made it out of gratitude, which was the reason she’d given. But that wasn’t her only motivation. She liked being with him. Life was more fun when he was around.
She helped by holding the flashlight while he unhitched the trailer and then she walked with him to the house. “Do you want wine or beer with your meal?”
He opened the screen door for her. “Neither, thanks. I’m on call. But you go ahead.”
“I’m fine with water.” Might be better. Alcohol would lower her inhibitions and she certainly didn’t need that.
He followed her into the house. “Is that your diffuser or chocolate chip cookies I smell?”
“Cookies. I gave the diffuser a rest today and baked cookies, instead. I needed to replace the ones I made the night of the fire. They tasted like smoke. Do you like cookies?”
“Yep. And chocolate chip is my favorite.”
“Good. Then we’ll have them for dessert.” Taking a calming breath, she walked into the kitchen. “Would you be willing to make the salad?”
“Absolutely. But I need to wash up, first.” Walking over to the sink, he unsnapped his cuffs and rolled back his sleeves.
It was a perfectly ordinary task. It shouldn’t get her hot. But as he pumped liquid soap into his palm, the muscles in his tanned forearm flexed. When he lathered up, she got lathered up, too.
Turning away, she pulled the salad fixings from the fridge and set them on the counter. “There you go.”
He cupped the tomato in his hand. “Sliced, diced or wedges?” The way he gently cradled it shouldn’t be sexy, either.
But it was. “Wedges.” Her nipples tightened.
“Good.” He ran the tomato under the faucet. “My choice, too.” Then he rinsed the lettuce and patted it dry with a paper towel.
Tension curled in her stomach. There was no reason for it. He was making salad, for God’s sake. But a broad-shouldered, lean-hipped cowboy standing at her counter expertly tearing up leafy greens inspired X-rated ideas.
She had to stop watching him. Surely there was something she was supposed to be doing if she could just remember what it—oh, yeah, start the water for the pasta. Grabbing a pot, she filled it, put it on a burner and turned the heat on.
If she set the table that would get her out of the kitchen and into the dining room. Except he was standing in front of the silverware drawer. Okay, she’d put out the pasta bowls and napkins.
Her dining table was oval, also dark wood, Edward’s choice. She hadn’t minded for the dining table, though. It wasn’t like she would sleep on it.
Her pulse was going way too fast as she arranged the napkins with one on the end and one on the side the way she and Edward used to eat here. Then she switched the one on the end to the opposite side so there’d be no knee touching.
She placed a pasta bowl next to each napkin. Why did that look so strange? Because you dish the spaghetti in the kitchen, doofus. Take the bowls back.
“Your water’s boiling! Want me to do anything?”
She clapped a hand over her mouth and choked back a laugh. The water wasn’t the only thing boiling. As for what he could do about it….
“Olivia? You okay in there?”
She cleared her throat. “Fine! Just getting the—” What the hell was she getting in here? She glanced around. “The napkin rings! Found them! Pesky little devils.” She carried the pasta bowls back into the kitchen and hoped he wouldn’t notice that she was bringing back the very dishes she’d carried into the dining room.
He glanced at her. “I turned down the heat and added the pasta. It may look like I made a lot but I’m hungry. It won’t go to waste, I promise.”
“Thanks for doing that. You obviously know your way around a kitchen.”
“Mom started us young. She wanted us to be totally self-sufficient. I think it was partly because we were down to one parent and she didn’t want us to be helpless if something happened to her.”
“I can see why she’d think that way.” He hadn’t lost one sliver of sex appeal while she’d been having a tiny meltdown in the dining room. If anything, he’d added some by taking charge of the pasta.
This was a man who’d bring her breakfast in bed and then make love to her after she ate it.
“Is this enough salad?” He tipped the bowl so she could see.
“You tell me. I can handle about a third of that.”
“And I can take the rest. Are we ready, then?”
“I do believe we are.”
He helped her dish up the meal and carry it to the table. Then he held her chair before walking around to take his seat. While she was a hot mess, he appeared completely at ease. He complimented her on the sauce and expertly twirled the noodles on his fork.
She, on the other hand, was so hyperaware of him that she couldn’t manage the noodles without slurping and barely tasted the food. Maybe if she mirrored his body language, her brain would get the message to relax.
For the next few minutes, whenever he leaned forward, so did she. When he settled back in his chair, she did the same. The strategy helped. Adopting his rhythm settled her, and concentrating on it kept her from focusing on how great he looked sitting across the table.
She could almost ignore the slight bristle on his chin that transformed him into a dashing rogue. Or the gentle rise and fall of his chest that made her want to lay her palm over his beating heart. Or the fullness of his lower lip as he pressed it against the rim of his water glass.
He glanced across the table. “You said you were in math club. Is that why you decided to be an accountant? You like math?”
“I do, but mostly I like helping others understand it. Everyone in our club tutored kids having trouble. Now I help my clients understand taxes, which is kind of the same as tutoring.” She laughed. “Although now they pay me for it.”
“Why didn’t you become a math teacher?”
“Thought about it. But most school teachers work for someone else, someone who sets your hours and determines your paycheck.”
He nodded. “I get that. I’ve considered going out on my own for that very reason.”
She copied his nod. “I love being my own boss. But there’s no guarantee of success, no guaranteed salary.”
“Did you worry about failing?”
“Honestly? No.”
“I’m not surprised. You’re focused and you know your strengths.” He leaned forward.
And my weaknesses. She leaned forward at the same angle. “Hope so.”
He studied her for several seconds. “Tell me, if I reached over and stroked your arm right now, would you reach over and stroke mine?”
Busted. Her cheeks warmed. “Uh, no.”
“How long have you been copying every move I made?”
“A while.”
“How come?”
“You’re so mellow about hanging out with me. I thought if I did whatever you did, I might get more mellow, too.”
“Has it worked?”
“Sort of.” She gestured to her empty pasta bowl and a few pieces of lettuce clinging to her salad plate. “I made it through dinner without jumping your bones and demanding multiple orgasms.”
His startled laughter was loud in the quiet dining room.
She stared at him, shocked at herself. “I did not say that. Some alien took over my body and made those words come out of my mouth.”
“Or maybe you’ve tuned into my impulsive behavior.”
“I don’t think it works that way.”
“Who knows? It might.” He studied her, clearly amused. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice you doing the mirroring trick.”
“It’s subtle.”
“Not that subtle.” Heat flickered in his gaze. “Then again, my package demanded a lot of my attention. It’s not easy making polite conversation while I’m calculating the weight-bearing capabilities of this table.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Just trying to decide if it would hold us both.”
“Trevor!” She pressed her hands to her cheeks.
“You didn’t think of it?”
“No.”
“Not even once?”
“Of course not! I’ve never—” She stopped herself, but it was too late.
His expression softened. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“You must think I’m boring.”
“You must think I’m deranged.”
Heart pounding, she held his gaze. “No, I think you’re unbelievably exciting. And I’d appreciate it very much if you’d walk out the door and get in your truck. I’ll…save the cookies for tomorrow.”
“What about the dishes?”
“I’ll do them.”
He hesitated for one electric moment.
Her resistance was gone. If he made a move, she was toast.
Instead he sighed and pushed away from the table. “Okay.” His smile was tinged with regret. “I’ll be here first thing in the morning. Thanks for a great dinner.” He left without a backward glance.
Chapter Nine
Knowing that Olivia believed in the importance of love in a sexual relationship, Trevor had expected the evening to end exactly the way it had. She’d surprised him a few times tonight, but the conclusion was still the same. She didn’t plan to act on her urges.
His mom was on the couch with a book when he walked in the ranch house. She had a small fire going.
“Hey, Mom. Good book?”
“Oh, yeah.” She put a bookmark between the pages and closed it. “Highlanders make terrific heroes. Did you eat?”
“Olivia fed me spaghetti.” He took a seat in one of the easy chairs.
“That sounds messy.”
“Not literally. Geez.”
“It’s a reasonable assumption. I’ve seen how she looks at you. And how you look at her, for that matter.”
“Well, it’s not going anywhere.”
“Why not?”
“She needs to be in love to get physical and her heart belongs to Edward.”
His mom digested that for a moment. “Then why is she looking at you like you’re the last piece of fudge on the plate?”
“She can’t help herself.”
His mom started laughing and couldn’t seem to stop.
“It’s the truth!”
She waved her hand in front of her face and kept laughing.
He rolled his eyes. “While you get a grip, I’m gonna fetch myself a root beer. Want one?”
Eyes brimming, she shook her head.
By the time he came back with his root beer, she was still smiling, but the total crackup seemed to be over.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you for that. Best laugh I’ve had all week.”
“Glad I could help out.” He took a swig from the bottle.
“So let me get this straight. She’s wildly attracted to you but she doesn’t want to do anything about it?”
“Exactly. She can’t see herself having sex without love and Edward was the love of her life.”
“I knew she felt that way after he died but when she seemed interested in you, I thought she might be modifying her stance.”
“Nope.” He rested the bottle on his knee and contemplated his mom. She loved those highlander books. She’d married a Scotsman and there had been no one since. “Maybe she never will.”
“Maybe not, but it’s kind of a shame since she likes you so much. I’m not saying you’re meant for each other or anything, but I can see how you two might get along well.”
“So can I, but she gave Edward her heart. End of story.” He paused. Oh, what the hell. He plunged in. “Is that how you feel?”
His mom blinked. “About what?”
“Your heart. And Dad.”
“Since I’m not dating, it’s never come up.”
“Is that why you’re not dating? Because your heart is spoken for?”
In the silence that followed, her expression was impossible to read. The only sound was the pop and crackle of the fire. “This is getting deep,” she said at last. “I’ll take that root beer, after all.”
He set his on an end table and stood. “I’ll get it.”
“I’ll stoke the fire.”
As he entered the kitchen, he was hit with misgivings. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought up the subject. He grabbed a root beer from the fridge, twisted off the cap and tossed it in the trash. But he wanted some answers.
He’d bet his brothers did, too, now that they were all happily paired up and she was still alone. Did she prefer it that way or not? Might be nice to know for sure.
He returned and handed her the bottle. “I hope I didn’t upset you.”
“I’m not upset. Startled, but not upset.” She hoisted the bottle. “Thanks.”
He smiled. “Anytime.”
She sipped her root beer and propped her bare feet on the couch. “Let me say up front that I consider your dad my soulmate. We fell in love when we were young and the connection was magical.”
“I like hearing that.”
“It’s very true. When you said that Olivia ogles you because she can’t help it, I laughed because I was the same with your dad. He knew it and he would have responded just like you did.”
“I wish I’d known him.”
“You do, in a way. Watch Ryker when he’s totally focused on a task. Ian was like that. Zane’s empathy for those raptors is so like your dad, too. Bryce has his musical ability and you have his knack for fixing things. Cody has his winning personality.”
“He sounds amazing.”
“He was. I see him in every one of you
boys. Physically, because he had those broad shoulders and narrow hips, but emotionally, too. He was a good man. I wish he’d lived.”
His throat tightened. “If this is too hard for you to talk about, then—”
“It’s not. Is it too hard for you to hear?”
“No. I want to hear it. I’m probably not the only one. I know for a fact Bryce wonders if you’d ever want another man in your life.”
“Cody asked me about it once, too. I think he was ready to sign me up for online dating.”
“That sounds like him. I can’t picture it for you, though.”
“I can’t either.” She stared into the fire. “I loved your dad and I love my memories of him. You boys are constant reminders, which is nice. So often a look, a gesture, a certain way you stand, reminds me of him. Because of that, he’s with me all the time.”
“Then maybe that’s enough.”
She glanced at him. “It certainly could be. If that’s how things work out, I’m fine with it. I had him and now I have you. That’s plenty.”
“What do you mean, if that’s how things work out? Have you imagined something different?”
“Not specifically. Here’s the deal. I don’t need a man in my life. I have the five of you and even if I didn’t, I still wouldn’t need a token male on the premises.”
He grinned. “This is sounding like some of the conversations I’ve overheard when I was bartending for the Whine and Cheese Club.”
“Oh, yeah, we all took the pledge. Judy and Christine have husbands, but they’ve promised if that situation ever changes, they won’t immediately hunt for a replacement. We made them sign in blood.”
“Blood? Really?”
“Okay, taco sauce. We were drinking margaritas at the time. But it’s binding. We put the documents in Jo’s safe deposit box at the bank.”
“Speaking of Aunt Jo, she doesn’t seem interested in dating, either.”
“She’s not. And although Deidre’s enjoying her time with Jim, she’s not talking about making it legal. Neither is he.”
“Which brings us back to you. And your if that’s how it works out statement. Sounds like a dodge to me.”
She chuckled. “You’re persistent, you know that?”
“I do know that. I’ve been accused of it more times than I can count. And recently, too.”
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