Courting the Enemy. Sherryl Woods

on jeans and an old flannel shirt of Caleb’s. She hugged the shirt tighter around herself as a reminder of the man who’d really counted for something in her life.

      She’d been doing that a lot lately, wearing shirts left hanging in Caleb’s closet. Not all of them still held his scent, but the feel of the soft, faded flannel comforted her. It reminded her of evenings spent snuggled in his lap in front of a fire. It was a secret she’d shared with no one, fearful that her friends would chastise her for not moving on, for not letting go. She knew she had to, and she would when the time was right.

      Just not yet, she thought with a sigh.

      Once she’d tugged on thick socks and her boots, she went downstairs and turned up the thermostat to take the chill out of the air while she made a pot of coffee. To save on fuel costs, she would turn it back down again when she went outside to do the chores. Maybe it would only save pennies, but pennies counted these days.

      She poured herself a cup of coffee, then took a sip. She cupped the mug in her hands to savor the warmth, then gazed out the window over the sink, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sunrise, rather than the more typical gray winter mornings they’d been having lately.

      Instead, what she saw was Grady, unloading things from the back of his truck, looking perfectly at home. The sight of the man, after all those disturbing dreams, struck Karen as an omen. And not for anything good, either. No, indeed. His arrival definitely meant trouble. In fact, it looked almost as if he’d come to stay, as if he’d decided to claim this place whether she agreed to it or not.

      She snatched a heavy jacket off the hook by the door and stormed outside, determined to put a stop to whatever he was up to. She was so infuriated by his presumption that he could just waltz in here and take over, she was surprised steam didn’t rise from her as she crossed the yard.

      “Why are you here again?” she demanded, her tone deliberately unfriendly. The time for politeness and feigned hospitality was past. “I thought I’d made myself clear yesterday. You’re not welcome.”

      He barely stopped what he was doing long enough to glance at her. His gaze skimmed her over from head to toe, his lips curved into the beginnings of a smile, then his attention went right back to a stack of lumber he was pulling from the back of the fancy new four-by-four.

      That truck, parked next to her dilapidated pickup, which was in serious need of a paint job and a tune-up, grated on her nerves almost as much as his attitude. The man seemed to be mocking her in every way he knew.

      “I asked you a question,” she snapped.

      “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said without any real hint of regret. “Figured you’d be out checking on your stock by now. Saw a couple of fence posts down on my way in. I can get to those tomorrow.”

      She bristled at the thinly veiled criticism, as well as the suggestion that he’d be back again. In fact, it sounded suspiciously as if he intended to pretty much take over.

      “The hands will be fixing the fence today,” she said, wanting him to believe that she had all the help she required. “There’s no need for you to trouble yourself.”

      He grinned. “It’s no trouble. In fact, I have some spare time. I thought I’d help out with a few things around here,” he said mildly. “I noticed your barn could use a little work.”

      In her opinion, he noticed too blasted much. It was annoying. “My barn is my problem. I don’t want you anywhere near it.”

      “The work needs doing, right?”

      “Yes, but—”

      “And I have the time.”

      “I don’t want you here.”

      “Never throw a friendly offer back in a man’s face. He might think you don’t appreciate a neighborly gesture.”

      Karen knew there was nothing friendly about Grady’s intentions. He was up to something. She could see it in his eyes. And it wasn’t as if he lived right down the road. He lived in the next county, too far away for there to be anything the least bit neighborly about this gesture.

      Before she could respond to his taunt, he’d turned his back on her and headed for the barn, where paint she hadn’t bought and tools she’d never seen before waited. He stripped off his jacket as if the temperature were seventy, instead of thirty-seven, and went to work, leaving her to struggle with her indignation and her desire to touch those broad shoulders he’d put on display in her side yard. His flannel shirt was stretched taut over well-developed muscles, not hanging as Caleb’s was on her.

      “I can’t afford to pay for all of this,” she hollered after him.

      He heaved what sounded like a resigned sigh and faced her. “Did I ask for money?”

      “No, but I feel obligated to pay for any fixing up that goes on around here.”

      “Then you’ll pay me something when you have it,” he said as if it was of no concern to him when—or even if—she did. “This barn can’t take another winter in the state it’s in. It’ll cost you a lot more to replace it if it falls apart than it will if I take care of a few simple repairs now.”

      His gaze locked with hers. “You know I’m right, Karen.”

      Hearing him say her name startled her. The day before and in their one prior meeting, he’d been careful to be formally polite, referring to her as “Mrs. Hanson” when he used any name at all. Today, using her first name, he made it sound as if he’d forgotten all about her relationship with Caleb, as if they were about to become friends. She shuddered at the prospect. She didn’t need a friend who made her feel all quivery inside, a man who’d already stated quite clearly that he wanted things from her that she didn’t intend to give. Sure, it was land he was after, not her body, but her erratically beating pulse didn’t seem to know the difference.

      “What I know is that you are presuming to intrude in my life, to take over and do things I haven’t asked you to do. Why? So I’ll be in your debt?”

      “It’s a gesture, nothing more,” he insisted. “I just want you to see that I’m not the bad guy your husband made me out to be.”

      “If you’re such a nice guy, then why won’t you listen when I tell you that I don’t want you here?”

      “Because you don’t really mean it. That’s just your pride talking.”

      She scowled, because he was at least partially right. Her pride—along with some very sensible suspicions about Grady’s motives—was forcing her to look a much-needed gift horse in the mouth.

      “Oh, forget it,” she mumbled. She clearly wasn’t going to get rid of him, so she might as well let him do whatever he intended to do and get it over with. She’d just ignore him, pretend he wasn’t there. She certainly had plenty of her own chores to do.

      She stalked past him into the barn, fed and watered the horses, mucked out stalls, then saddled up Ginger, the horse she’d owned since she was a teenager.

      “We’re getting out of here, girl.”

      “Running away?” Grady inquired from just behind her, amusement threading through his voice.

      “No, I’m going out to see if Dooley and Hank need any help.”

      “Lucky Dooley and Hank.”

      She frowned at the teasing. “What is that supposed to mean?”

      “Just that I’d welcome your help, if you were to offer.”

      “This is your project, Mr. Blackhawk. You’ll have to finish it on your own. If there’s something you can’t cope with, you can always leave.”

      His gaze locked with hers. “It’s not a matter of coping. I’d just be glad of the company.”

      Goose bumps that had nothing to do with the chilly air rose on her skin. She turned