Come On Over (3 page)

He had a feeling he was going to need another beer. The fridge door squeaked when he opened it. Just like the other dingy white appliances, the poor old Frigidaire was on its last leg. “Obviously the partnership didn't work out,” he said, and nodded at Shelby's nearly empty bottle.

She shook her head. Her resigned expression should've made him feel better. It was clear Edgar had stayed and worked the ranch. Had Harold given up his share and moved to Colorado?

Violet wasn't looking smug as expected, but kind of glum, so he let her be and waited until she was ready to continue.

It was Shelby who finally broke the silence. “I'm not sure what any of this means. Are you saying my great-grandfather sold out to Edgar?”

Violet shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Can't say one way or the other.”

Okay, Trent wasn't sticking around for any more of her tap dancing when the truth was plain as day. The tractor wasn't going to fix itself and he was losing daylight. It wouldn't kill him to let Shelby stay in the spare room for a night... Yeah, it could. Next thing he knew, she'd be moving her stuff in and taking over the house.

His gaze caught on the rise and fall of her breasts and he had to remind himself he wasn't interested. Not in her, not in any woman. Now, he wasn't opposed to some recreational sex once in a while. But with Shelby? As his granddad used to say, Trent had as much chance as a one-legged man in a kicking contest.

“Some folks need to argue about everything. It's just their way. Those two even fought over naming the ranch,” Violet continued. “Edgar claimed he saw a beaver over at Twin Creek reservoir, and Harold swore up and down it was a marmot. They finally flipped a coin.”

“As fascinating as all this is,” Trent said, grabbing the whiskey and returning it to the cabinet. “I have work to do.”

Violet didn't protest being cut off, which was peculiar in itself. Then her faraway gaze drifted to the window over the sink, as if she'd slipped into her own little world. “Always arguing like those two did, no one ever paid them any mind...but that Saturday-night poker game at Len's they had a terrible falling out. Both of them with full-blown cases of booze blind, they said things they couldn't take back.” She shook her head, the sadness in her face giving the room a chill. “Stupid old mules. A day later, Harold up and left.”

He glanced at Shelby. Hugging herself, her expression sympathetic, she stared at Violet.

When Shelby turned to look at him, he avoided her eyes and took a swig of beer.

“What the hell did you do with my whiskey?” Violet had returned to the present with her usual cantankerous disposition, and Trent couldn't say he was sorry. At least it helped prove to Shelby that Violet was a nightmare.

“
Your
whiskey?” He put his empty beer bottle in the sink. “The tea party is over, ladies. I'm going back to work.”

“Don't let us stop you.” Violet pulled her pipe out of her pocket.

“On, no. Not in here, you don't. Put that away.”

Violet huffed in annoyance.

Shelby cleared her throat. “So, I guess we're back to where we started.”

Not from where he stood. Although she claimed to have a deed. And he didn't peg her for a liar. Obviously there was more to the story. “I'd be happy to give you directions to The Boarding House Inn. It's on Main Street. You can't miss it.”

“Actually, I'll be staying here until one of us can prove ownership.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“It's the only fair thing to do.”

Violet chuckled. “Attagirl.”

Mutt barked from outside the door.

“You can let him in on your way out,” Trent said to Violet, who gave him the familiar glare, basically telling him to kiss her ass. He grinned. “Thanks for the beans and cornbread.”

3

S
HELBY
WATCHED
THE
interplay between Trent and Violet. Any other time it might have amused her. Neither of them would admit it, but they liked being neighbors. They liked each other. Had it been that way with her great-grandfather and Edgar? Had their friendship been based on harmless banter and a genuine concern for each other...until it hadn't?

What had caused the final showdown, she wondered. Violet knew the answer, of that Shelby was quite certain. Just as she was convinced the older woman would never reveal it. Shelby didn't consider herself the romantic sort, but she couldn't help wondering if Violet had been the source of the trouble between the two men. Although she would've been fairly young.

Violet still had the pipe in her hand as she walked toward the door. “I reckon I'll go on home and leave you two to figure out sleeping arrangements.”

Shelby and Trent looked at each other at the same time. Annoyingly, she felt a blush spread across her cheeks. She was quick to refocus her attention. Which happened to land on his left hand, his ring finger to be exact, and the pale mark that could easily be from a wedding band he'd once worn.

Violet had mistaken Shelby for his wife. Not ex-wife, and he hadn't corrected her so they were probably separated. Interesting that Violet didn't know the woman. Not that it made a difference to Shelby. He could have five wives for all she cared. Though she doubted he'd find that many women willing to put up with him.

He took her empty bottle and rinsed it out along with his. As he stood at the sink she got her first good look at his behind. His very nice behind. He was tall and muscular without being too husky, a body type she'd always appreciated. Okay, so he had a few decent assets.

A loud bark made her jump.

Just as the dog came bounding in, she caught Violet's mischievous grin. The woman had paused at the screen door and watched her ogle Trent.

Shelby did the only thing she could do. She smiled back. “Thank you for the food. I'll be sure to return your dish,” she said. “Or maybe you'd like to join us for dinner?”

Trent turned, his eyes narrowed. “Excuse me, but this is still my house.”

“Half,” Shelby said. “Half your house. I think we can agree on that for the time being. Don't you?”

“Hell no.”

Violet let out a howl of laughter as the screen slammed behind her. Shelby could see how her cackle might get on a person's nerves after a while. She bent to pet the dog's head and as the sound faded, watched Trent drop the rinsed bottles into a plastic milk crate, purposely ignoring her.

“I'll get my things from the car,” she told him, not surprised when he didn't answer. “I hope there's a spare room.”

“Nope.”

“This is a three-bedroom house. You can't be sleeping in all three rooms.”

“Yes, I could, but as it happens, I use one for storage.” He paused. “And the third as my office.”

She glanced at the laptop sitting on the table, then raised her brows at him. “I bet there's enough space for me to sleep.”

“I have private stuff in there. I can't give just anyone access.”

“Hmm, well, I suppose I'll have to take the couch.”

“I watch TV late. Sometimes till three in the morning.”

“No wonder you don't have time to keep the place up,” she said, sweeping a gaze over the cracked linoleum floor and chipped Formica countertops, before returning to Trent.

His eyes had turned a steely gray. It made him look a bit dangerous, and she suppressed a shiver. “See, that's the beauty of owning my own place. I don't have to answer to anyone. And you know what else? The couch is mine.”

She drew in a deep breath, refusing to look away. If she hadn't met the
other
Trent, the more affable man who'd teased Violet, the man who had seemed genuinely stricken over accidentally hitting her, Shelby would've left by now. She'd be too afraid to be in the house alone with him. Also, knowing Violet was next door helped.

No, she couldn't afford to lose ground now. What was that saying about possession accounting for nine-tenths of the law? “I'd like to see the storage room. And your office. Maybe we can move things around. I don't need much space.”
For now.
Luckily, she'd noticed the perfect spot to make her jewelry.

He snorted a laugh. “Lady, you are something else. You wanna stick around, feel free to sleep in your car.”

“I thought about it,” she said, pleased that she'd surprised him. “But since neither of us can actually prove ownership, I don't think I should be inconvenienced.”

Trent stared back, shaking his head. “You're willing to stay in a house, alone, with a strange man. I could be a serial killer, a bank robber, an ex-con—”

“With a whole town willing to vouch for you? I don't think so.” She smiled. “Shall I poke around on my own, or do you want to show me the rest of the house?”

He folded his muscular arms across his chest. “Look me in the eye and tell me you honestly don't believe this dispute is going to turn out in my favor.”

She blinked, once, then met his steady gaze. A jitter in her tummy prevented her from speaking right away. This last week had taught her several important lessons. Not the least of which was to stop being a pushover, stop compromising her individuality in order to be liked and to belong.

Shelby understood his anger. It appeared his ancestors had stayed, hers had not. Trent was right. When the dust settled, it was very likely she'd have no claim at all. But in the meantime, in case there was the slimmest possibility she was entitled to even a fraction of the place, she'd stay right here. Where she had the best chance of proving she could stand on her own two feet. Enjoy the creative freedom to design jewelry she loved without having her work belittled.

“We have no way of knowing what happened to Harold and Edgar's partnership, or how it affected the ownership of the Eager Beaver,” she said calmly, very aware that she'd skirted the question.

Unless she was mistaken, Trent was seriously considering calling her on it. He studied her for a long excruciating moment, then brushed past her without a word.

She followed him out of the kitchen and to the hall. She took a quick peek down both sides. Only one bathroom. That sucked.

“This is my bedroom,” he said, motioning to his left, his lips a thin straight line. “The one at the other end is yours.”

The door was open. No furniture in her line of sight. Just ugly brown carpet. “Okay. What about—”

“We'll split the house in half. You stay on your side and I stay on mine. As soon as I get my hands on the deed, you're outta here. Agreed?”

“Well, no...” She poked her head into the no-frills bathroom. There was a shower-tub combo, a toilet, sink, no counter space to speak of, blue wallpaper from the eighties. But everything looked clean. “How are we supposed to divide the bathroom?”

“We're not. It's on my side. Feel free to use the john in the barn.”

She turned back to him. “You're not serious.”

“If the toilet gives you any trouble, shake the handle a few times. The shower is mostly used to get off the grime before coming in the house, so it's not enclosed. But don't worry. No one's gonna look.”

Shelby stared into his smug face, while holding on to her temper by a thread. So this was how he wanted to play it. Clearly he'd forgotten a not so small detail. “All right, so I guess the kitchen is mine.”

“Part of it.”

“No, it's definitely on my side—”

He shouldered past her as if she were speaking to the wall.

“Where are you going?”

“Stay right there,” he said as he put one booted foot in front of the other and paced off the room.

Diagonally.

“No,” she said. “Stop. That's not how dividing works.”

“You'll have the same square footage as me.”

She tried to picture the kitchen. Exasperated, she couldn't remember it clearly, but she was pretty sure the sink, stove and fridge were not in her corner. Assuming she'd put up with this nonsense.

Yeah, when pigs fly.

“You're being a child,” she told him.

He ignored her, disappeared into the kitchen, then reappeared holding up a roll of blue duct tape. “Just so you're clear on your areas.”

“You're insane,” she said, and caught a glimmer of a smile as he ran a long strip of tape across the hardwood floor. Of course that's what he wanted her to think so she'd get in her car and drive as far away as possible. “I'm surprised the tape can stick to all that dust.”

He paused and gave the floor a thoughtful inspection. “To show you what a good guy I am, I'll loan you a broom so you can sweep your side.” He frowned. “I almost forgot,” he said and walked past her, back into the hall.

She found him standing just inside the door to her assigned room. Staring at a very nice unmade sleigh-style daybed that had been pushed against the beige wall. Blinds covered the lone window. “So, was this your storage room or your office?” she asked sweetly.

Trent's mouth curved in a slight smile. “Give me a few minutes and I'll get that out of your way.”

The daybed? The mattress looked brand-new. And comfortable. She cursed her big mouth. “It's fine where it is. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you.”

“No trouble.”

Shelby watched him approach the bed. The brown carpet was looking less and less appealing. “Um, Trent...”

He cocked a brow.

Okay, humbling herself wouldn't kill her, but sleeping on the stained carpet might. “I would appreciate you leaving the bed.” She cleared her throat. “Please.”

Even as he made a show of mulling it over, humor glinted in his eyes. “You seem like a modern, independent woman. Just so you won't feel beholden, I'll rent it to you.”

She sighed. “How much?”

“Hmm...let's see.” Rubbing his jaw, he studied the bed. “Fifty bucks a night sound about right?”

“Fifty?” She paused to dial down her growing temper. Two could play this game. “Sounds high to me,” she said, gingerly probing the spot where he'd clipped her. It didn't hurt in the least, but he didn't know that. “I guess I don't have much choice, though. I'm afraid the floor may be too hard.”

Trent studied her, his expression that of a man who knew he'd been bested. “It's yours. On the house,” he said walking past her. “Find your own sheets.”

“Thank you,” she called after him, and grinned when he cursed under his breath.

* * *

“Y
OU
LIKE
HER
,
don't you?” Trent shook his head at Mutt, who stood at the door whining to go after Shelby. “You're a damn traitor, that's what you are. Next time you want a treat, you'd better hope she packed some for you. She certainly has enough luggage,” he muttered, watching her from the window as she pulled another suitcase out of her trunk, this one even bigger than the monstrosity she'd already carried to her room.

Mutt moved closer and barked at him.

“What? You just had your supper. And quit slobbering all over the linoleum. You want your new girlfriend to think you're uncouth?”

Trent wiped down the stained porcelain for the third time before he realized what he was doing. Hell, he didn't have to pretend to clean the kitchen sink just so he could keep an eye on her. Mutt didn't know the difference.

Anyway, this was still his house. His window. His damn driveway. He could look at anything he damned well pleased. He tossed the sponge aside, dried his hands and pushed his fingers through his hair.

The dog panted loudly, his long pink tongue hanging out of his mouth as he stared up at Trent.

“Forget it, buddy. I'm not going to help her. Why should I? She's lucky I don't call the sheriff and have her locked up for trespassing.” In spite of himself, he looked outside again and watched her set a big cardboard box on the ground. “Hell, how deep is that trunk?”

Man, she had a lot of stuff. This was her third trip into the house. Each time she'd been loaded down with bags, pillows and whatnot. Hadn't she said her belongings were gonna be delivered next week? How much crap did she have? He shouldn't be surprised. Not after being married for three years.

She picked up the box, struggling to get a hold on it. She wasn't all that short, maybe five-six, but her arms couldn't make it all the way around. Stopping midway from her car to the walk, she set the box down. Or more like dropped it.

Mutt whimpered and ran back to the door, tail high and swishing back and forth.

“All right.” Trent grabbed his hat off the peg behind the door and pointed at the dog. “You owe me.”

By the time he made it to the porch, she was dragging the box up the front walk. She must've heard the screen's squeaky hinges because she looked up. “I assume I have a grace period to cross your side of the house until I finish unloading?”

Without a word he walked over, hefted the box and carried it to the porch, then left it there while he grabbed the suitcase. The suckers weighed a friggin' ton. Obviously she wasn't kidding about moving in.

“I didn't ask for your help,” she said, a bit snippy when he crowded her off the stone walkway.

“You're welcome.” He dropped the suitcase next to the box. “Anything else?”

“I'll get it.” She started to turn and paused. “And thank you.”

Trent watched her open the back door and lean across the seat. Gave him a real nice view of her butt. Naturally Violet was watching them from her porch. He wondered why she hadn't invited Shelby to stay with her. Just to fill her ears with a bunch of crap about him. Maybe create her own little reality show right here at the Eager Beaver.

He returned his attention to Shelby. Yep, a damn nice butt. Now if she knew how to cook, he might consider putting up with her for a week or so. Looked as though she planned to put down roots for longer than that. Damned if she didn't haul out another box the size of Wyoming. As with the other one, she could barely get her arms around the thing.