Come On Over (6 page)

“She's been there forever. No one really thought anything of it. Why are you asking about the deed?” She let out a soft gasp then lowered her voice. “You're not in financial trouble, are you, honey?”

“No, Mom. Nothing like that. Does the name Harold Foster ring a bell? Don't ask Dad,” he added quickly. The last thing he needed was everyone making a big issue out of this. Or his dad blowing smoke. “I'm just curious.”

“Foster. Sounds familiar. Sure you don't want me to ask?”

“Actually, I'd prefer you don't bring it up at all.”

“All right.” She knew not to ask why. Sometimes the Eager Beaver could be a touchy issue between Trent and his dad, who liked to go on and on about the curse. “I'll call you next Wednesday after I go to the bank.”

“Thanks. Say hey to everyone for me.”

“I will. Can I tell them we'll see you for Thanksgiving?”

“Wouldn't miss it.” He hung up, still confused, and a little angry.

The deal with Violet... He could see how it was one of those things everyone just accepted and never spoke of. Especially since the ranch had been abandoned twice, each time for a few years. It was probably a good thing Violet had been around to deter vandalism or squatting. What bothered him was the feeling he had that Violet knew more than she was letting on. Even after denying it to his face less than an hour ago.

* * *

T
HE
PEOPLE
IN
Blackfoot Falls seemed friendly. And, naturally, curious. But not nearly as curious as Shelby had expected. She hoped that meant a lot of tourists passed through. If so, that would be excellent for her. She might be able to find a shop owner willing to sell her jewelry on consignment. Though she was getting a bit ahead of herself. So far all she'd done was cruise down Main Street to get her bearings, then parked and walked two blocks to Abe's Variety Store.

Not too many folks were out. She'd noticed the parking lot at the Food Mart was crowded, probably because it was Saturday. Though she suspected weekends in a ranching community meant something different than they did for city people.

Most everyone smiled or nodded to her. A couple of young women stared, but that was it. Folks must've pegged her for a tourist or visiting relative. The town was small enough that a stranger would stick out.

She stopped outside the variety store and scanned the bulletin board. There was a flyer for the county fair, another announcing Halloween happenings for the kiddies. Also, ads for sale items, but no upcoming festivals. That was a bummer. Her jewelry would sell well at a festival. Although she hadn't actually tried to sell any of her pieces since college.

After she'd started working as a designer for the Williamsons, she'd given the items she made on the side as gifts. God forbid her
tacky
private pieces be associated with the snooty Williamson Jewelers in any way. No, they'd practically owned her. Too bad it had taken her so long to see that.

A bell above the door jingled as she stepped inside the store. The older man behind the counter looked up. One of the women he was talking to turned and gave her the once-over. Shelby just smiled and went in search of sheets. Although, judging by the size of the store and the type of merchandise she could see on the front shelves, she wasn't expecting much.

“Anything I can help you with, young lady?” The man from behind the counter approached just as she found a package of sheets.

“Hi. I don't suppose you have any colors besides white?” Or with a decent thread count, she thought, but kept that to herself.

“Not in stock, no. But I can order any color and size you want.” He frowned at her over the glasses resting on his bulbous nose. “I figured you were staying at the Sundance, but then you wouldn't be needing sheets.”

“The Sundance?”

“It's part dude ranch. Owned by the McAllister family,” he said, waiting expectantly for her to fill in the blanks.

“I'm staying at the Eager Beaver.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “The Kimballs' place. You must be a friend of Trent's.”

Her heart sank. “Um, not exactly,” she said and realized too late she should've gone with his assumption.

“You can't be related to Violet. I don't believe she has any family.”

The Kimballs' place
kept echoing in her brain. “By the way, I'm Shelby,” she said and gave him a bright smile.

“I'm Abe, like it says out front.” He scratched his balding head.

“Have you lived here long, Abe?” She kept her tone casual and picked up a plastic-wrapped pillowcase.

“All my life.”

“Then you must know the Kimballs pretty well.”

“Oh, yeah, I went to school with Trent's pa. Bob and I used to go hunting together. Now, how is it you're related to the family?”

“Actually, my last name is Foster.” She looked for a sign of recognition in his face and found none. “My great-grandfather and Trent's were partners at the Eager Beaver.”

He reared back with a look of surprise. “When was that?”

“Well, way, way before your time, of course.”

Her subtle compliment registered, and she caught his blush before he turned away. “Louise, Sadie, come over here a minute, would ya?”

It took all of three seconds for the two women to sidle up to him and check her out.

“This here is Sadie.” He gestured to the fifty-something brunette with a warm smile. “She owns the Watering Hole.”

“And I'm also running for mayor.” She stuck her hand out. “And you are?”

“Good grief, woman, do you always have to jump the gun?” Abe gave a snort of disgust, sounding much like Trent with Violet.

“Shelby.” She grinned and shook Sadie's hand.

“I'm Louise,” the other woman chimed in. “Part owner of the fabric store down the block. So, you're staying out at the Kimballs' ranch.”

Shelby held in a sigh. Yes, it was clear the women were eavesdropping, but it was the
Kimballs' ranch
reference that got to her. Again.

“Do you two even wanna know why I asked you over here?” Abe looked from one to the other.

“Foster doesn't ring a bell with me, either,” Louise said.

Sadie was frowning and shaking her head.

Abe threw up his hands and walked away.

For the next two hours, Shelby explored the town and heard “oh, the Kimballs' ranch” so many times she wanted to scream.

Sadly, she was starting to like the name Eager Beaver.

6

T
RENT
WAS
IN
the stable when he heard the car pull up. Shelby had been gone most of the day, and he'd wondered if she'd driven all the way to Kalispell. He waited until the car door opened and closed before he strolled outside.

She grabbed an armful of packages from the backseat and immediately dropped one. He didn't make it to her in time to pick it up. She scooped it up herself. Standing back, he watched her redistribute her haul and close the door with her hip.

“Need help?”

“No, thank you.” She gave him a small polite smile, then started toward the kitchen door.

If she was still pissed at him over the stunt he'd pulled this morning, he couldn't tell. She didn't seem to be in a particularly bad mood but more resigned. Asking around town about the Eager Beaver had probably dashed her hopes.

Feeling like he was on shaky ground himself, he understood completely. After hanging up with his mom, he'd called Colby. His brother hadn't heard anything about Foster, or the deal with Violet, either. But that didn't make Trent feel any less like a damn fool, and he'd wasted half the day because of it.

And here he had so much to do. Yet he'd been working in fits and starts, preoccupied with memories of the times he and Violet had bickered over one thing or another. A couple of those instances had ended with him threatening to kick her off the ranch. Anyway, she always gave as good as she got. But how smug she must've felt inside. To give her credit, she'd never shown it. He had a feeling she knew he had a soft spot for her, but that was a fact he would never, ever acknowledge.

So far, he hadn't said a word to her about the conversation with his mom. He wasn't sure why since she might be able to put his fears to rest. His fear that Shelby had a legitimate claim. That he would have to buy her out or divvy up the place with her. Yeah, he still had some money, but he wanted it to go toward horses and training expenses. He couldn't afford to start over again.

The more he thought about the situation, the weirder it seemed. Violet loved a good argument and she liked poking at him but she'd never been outright mean. If she knew something that would settle the dispute with Shelby, he figured she'd speak up.

Maybe she was keeping quiet to protect him.

The thought made his stomach turn.

He glanced at the double-wide. Violet, who sat on her porch every afternoon, rain or shine, was nowhere to be seen. Beyond the trailer clouds were gathering over the foothills. In another hour or so it would be dark. He decided to finish cleaning his saddle tomorrow and tossed aside the rag and went inside.

Shelby's door was closed and he could hear her moving around in her room. After finding out how deep the Kimball roots went, maybe she was packing. The thought cheered him. He held nothing against the woman, but the sooner he got her and her tempting backside out of here the better.

He'd skipped lunch and still wasn't hungry. But with his improved mood he figured he'd heat the leftover beans and cornbread, maybe broil the T-bone after he took a shower. The steak was big enough to share with Shelby. After all, he wouldn't want to send her off hungry.

Thirty minutes later he'd finished showering and was checking the food in the oven when Shelby entered the kitchen. She was wearing old faded jeans and a snug white T-shirt that came to just above her waist and exposed a narrow strip of skin. They didn't seem like traveling clothes.

Not that he was capable of being all that logical. It wasn't only the unexpected peek that had his heart accelerating. Wearing this getup she was giving him a real good look at her shape. Small waist, nice curvy hips, not too thin. To his mind, the perfect woman's body. What he couldn't figure out was how his mouth could water and go dry at the same time.

“Be careful,” she said, just as his thumb made contact with the blistering hot casserole dish.

“Son of a—” He jerked his hand away and burned the back of his knuckle on the oven rack.

Trent managed to bite off a pithy four-letter word. His damn thumb felt like it was on fire.

Slowly shaking her head, Shelby stared at his hand. “Ever heard of an oven mitt?”

“Your concern is touching.”

“I'd have a look,” she said, glancing at the blue tape on the linoleum. “But you're too far over. I'd have to cross into enemy territory.”

“Very funny.” He couldn't remember if he was supposed to use cold water or not. “For your information, I was heating this up for the two of us. And I was even gonna throw in the T-bone.”

Shelby's gaze slid to the steak on the counter. “You're going to let a minor burn stop you?”

Sighing, Trent used the toe of his boot to kick the oven door shut. His thumb was pretty red, so were his knuckles. It wouldn't be fun wearing work gloves tomorrow.

“Seriously, you should run cold water over that hand then apply some Neosporin. If you don't have any, I've got a first-aid kit in my car.”

“Worried you won't get dinner?”

“I am,” she said with a smile, but he could see that she was genuinely concerned.

Maybe he needed to take it more seriously. While she frowned at his thumb, he studied her face. She had a cute nose. A weird thing for him to notice. Crazy long lashes. Could be fake but he didn't think so since she wore minimal makeup.

She did that thing with her bottom lip again. “You might want to wrap some gauze around it overnight.”

“You some kind of burn expert?”

Holding her hand up, she showed him a mean scar on her inner wrist. “I have a couple more. Which you won't see.”

That sent his mind scrambling to dark erotic places. “Arsonist?”

Shelby grinned. “I make jewelry. Sometimes I use a torch.”

Trent turned on the faucet and let the cold water ease the sting. “A torch, huh? What kind of jewelry?”

“Do you still want the oven on?”

He figured he'd stay away from the broiler and fry the steak. “Off, please,” he said, finally noticing the small bag in her hand. Last night she'd carried it out to the barn with her.

Neither of them mentioned her crossing the tape to get to the oven. He had to admit, the whole dividing-the-house-in-half thing seemed silly now. Not that he'd give voice to the admission. If he pulled the tape up, he wondered if the issue could die a natural death?

“Should I take the food out?” she asked.

“Mind checking it first? I forget if I got that far.”

She grabbed the dishtowel hanging from a cabinet door and used it as a potholder. “I think it'll be fine left in the oven. You'll be eating soon, right?”

“About ten minutes. Will you be ready?”

She closed the oven door and straightened. Then glanced at the large round wall clock, taking a long time to make up her mind. “Sure.”

He turned off the water and she tossed him the dishtowel.

“Ten minutes,” she confirmed and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”

Pushing the screen open, she gave him a wry smile. She started to step outside when an eerie howl pierced the air.

Shelby froze. “What was that?”

“A coyote. Didn't I warn you about them?” His thumb began to throb. Probably punishing him for teasing her. “They mostly stay in the foothills and on the ridges.”

“Mostly?”

More frantic howling and yapping exploded. The noise he'd long grown accustomed to and unconsciously dismissed had her taking a step back. She jerked her hands away and let the screen slam.

“I know it sounds bad,” he said. “Some people think it's a feeding frenzy. But it's just the pack communicating with each other.”

“Saying what? Dinner's about to walk out the kitchen door?”

Trent grinned. “They're not even close by. Coyotes stay away from people. I promise, they're more afraid of you than you are of them.”

“I doubt that.” She moved forward a few inches. “Remember, a lot of people in town know I'm staying here. You don't want to have to explain my sudden disappearance.”

“Hell, that's nothing. All I'd have to say is you tucked tail and ran back to the city. They'd get it.” He laughed at her eye-roll and reached for the heavy wood door to shut out the noise.

“Wait.” She put a hand on his arm, then drew back. “I need to go to the barn.”

He sighed. “No, you don't.”

“Are you kidding? I've had to go for five minutes.”

“No, I meant...” He shook his head. They were close. Too close. Her scent did something unsettling to him. “No more boundaries. Use any room you want,” he said, reaching again for the door.

“No. You said they won't hurt me.” She cleared her throat. “I'm fine,” she said, despite the fact that she'd gone pale. “The barn is fine.” She lifted her chin and pushed the screen open.

“Come on, Shelby.” He caught her wrist and tugged her around to face him. “Are you going to make me say it?” She blinked, then stared into his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “Dividing the house, all this duct tape, I was being a dumb ass, okay? I've admitted it.”

Another loud howl.

She jumped.

He drew her closer. Just so he could shut the door, he told himself. Not because she smelled so damn good it was driving him crazy. Or because her bright green eyes hit him square in the gut.

“I'm not going to go running back to Denver,” she whispered. “Sorry, but I'm not.” She let out a shaky breath. “I can't.”

“Okay.” He brushed the hair away from her cheek, reluctant to lower his hand. Damn, she was soft. “I was only teasing.”

“No, you weren't,” she murmured, a tiny smile twitching at the corners of her lush lips.

He shrugged a shoulder. “Half and half.”

Her gaze flickered to his mouth. “I understand your position. I do. If I were you, I'd probably be furious.”

“Probably?”

With a short exasperated sigh, she met his eyes. “An attorney contacted me. Explained that I'd inherited the Eager Beaver. I didn't get too excited at first but—I mean, what would you have done?”

“I know I wouldn't have packed up and moved everything before I even saw the place.”

Her shoulders sagged. “This is so unlike me. It's insane, right?” She sidestepped him.

And boy did he want to kick himself. He hadn't meant to chase her off, though it was for the best. No use him getting soft now. Like wondering if she'd left Denver because she'd lost her job or suffered a nasty divorce.

He turned and watched her leave the kitchen. “What about dinner?”

“Bathroom first,” she called back.

“Got it.” He looked at his thumb. The sucker was red and throbbing.

After getting out the frying pan and setting it on the stove to heat, he went to get a cube of ice. The list of chores he'd stuck to the fridge was still there. He wondered if Shelby had seen it. He yanked the paper down and dropped it in the wastebasket under the sink.

She wasn't off the hook. Plenty of work around the place and she'd have to do her share. Though not necessarily the unpleasant things he'd initially had planned for her. Like milk Daisy. That cow had to be the moodiest animal he'd ever run across. More trouble than she was worth. He didn't even like milk all that much. Violet used most of it. He knew it made more sense to get rid of Daisy, but he didn't want to see her butchered. Not that he'd ever admit it. Especially not around here in cattle country. He'd get shit from Blackfoot Falls to Twin Creeks.

The ice was beginning to help. With his good hand, he unwrapped and seasoned the steak, then carefully set the T-bone in the frying pan. He didn't need another burn. At least the knuckles weren't so bad.

Behind him, Shelby noisily cleared her throat. She was holding up a tube of Neosporin. “I brought some gauze, too. I can wrap your thumb for you.” She shrugged. “If you want...”

She hadn't changed her clothes, hadn't even brushed her hair, and yet she looked even better than a few minutes ago. No explaining why. Her shy smile faded. She lowered the tube.

“Yes,” he said, stepping forward. “I'd appreciate it.”

Shelby waited for him to extend his hand, then she inspected the burns. “I don't think your knuckles need wrapping,” she said, after applying the antibiotic. “But your thumb, definitely. Does it sting?”

“Um...not too bad,” he lied and saw she was trying not to smile. He tried to hold back a wince while she gently spread the white ointment.

To distract himself, he focused on her necklace. Jewelry wasn't something he usually noticed. But the purple pendant hanging from a silver chain was interesting. Gold flecks and veins caught the light and seemed to shift with her movement. “Did you make that?”

“What?” She looked up and touched the necklace. “Ah, yes. A long time ago.”

“Nice.”

With a brief smile, she unrolled a piece of gauze. For some reason, it seemed as if she didn't believe him.

“That's not a stone, is it?”

She shook her head.

“So, that's the sort of style you make?”

“Not since college.” Her obvious reluctance to talk about her work baffled him.

“You might make great jewelry but your salesmanship needs work.”

Shelby looked up again and laughed. “I'm not trying to sell you anything.”

“You should be. My sister would go nuts over something like that. If I get her another scarf and wallet for Christmas, she'll disown me.”

“Gee, I can't imagine why.” She paid close attention while she wrapped the gauze then used a small pair of scissors to snip the excess.

“I'm serious. You're really talented.”

She finished off the dressing with tape. “There you go,” she said, purposely ignoring his comment. “Maybe between this and the ice your thumb won't swell and you'll heal quickly.”