Come On Over. Debbi Rawlins

      Shelby smiled. She couldn’t have cared less about his tractor victory except that his improved mood might extend to her.

      “Have you been working on it long?”

      “A couple days.” He gunned the engine, then turned to her. His gaze lingered on her bare legs, then swept to her T-shirt. The instant he met her eyes, the flicker of interest died, and his expression changed. “How about that, sweetheart? You might’ve brought me some luck.”

      The phony endearment grated on her ears. Letting it go was the smart thing to do. She suspected he’d meant to irritate her. Maybe not. Some guys were still Neanderthals. But for some reason she doubted Trent was one of them.

      You can catch more flies with honey, she reminded herself. She forced a smile that she suspected came out all wrong. “Since it appears we’ll be roommates for a while, I think we should be completely honest with each other.”

      “Come again?”

      “Honest about—”

      He angled toward her and ran a hand through his dark hair. “No, the first part.”

      Instead of fixating on the bunching bicep straining his sleeve she rolled her eyes. “Housemates, if you want to be technical, but not the point. You should know that I don’t appreciate being called sweetheart.”

      His mouth curved in a lazy arrogant smile. “Good to know,” he said and jumped down. “Now, you mind moving out of my way so I can finish up...sweetheart.”

      Shelby pressed her lips together. Why hadn’t she seen that coming? No sense trying to reason with a mule. She told herself she’d be the bigger person and not respond in kind.

      He motioned to her car. “Park closer to the stable.” He picked up a toolbox and looked at her again. “By the way, we aren’t roommates or housemates, whatever. Out of the goodness of my heart, you’re my guest.”

      “You deprive all your guests of bathroom and kitchen privileges?”

      “Only the unwanted ones,” he said over his shoulder, already returning his attention to the tractor. “Which reminds me, later we’ll go over your chores. Hope you’re an early riser. Lots of work to be done on a ranch.”

      His back to her, she gave him a one-finger salute. And hoped Violet hadn’t seen it from a window.

      As Shelby rounded the front of her car, she noticed that he’d fixed the corral railings. Holding in a grin, she paused at the driver’s door. “They’re crooked.”

      “What?” He turned and frowned at her, before following her gaze.

      “The rails.” She tilted her head to the side. “They’re slanting to the left.”

      “Like hell.” He glanced back at her, then grudgingly mirrored her head angle to study his handiwork.

      “I guess it doesn’t matter.” Afraid she couldn’t keep a straight face, she opened the door. Yes, she was messing with him. The bastard deserved it.

      “Which one?”

      “Both,” she said and slid into the leather bucket seat, grinning behind the tinted windows.

      * * *

      TRENT SMELLED THE beans and cornbread the second he entered the house. And something else that made his stomach growl. Ham, maybe? He didn’t have any in the fridge or freezer. Shelby had to have brought it with her, or maybe the suddenly helpful Violet had made another delivery while he was watering the horses.

      Earlier he’d made a tactical error. The microwave sat on a cart on Shelby’s side of the kitchen. Had he thought quickly, he would’ve rolled it over to his side before he’d duct-taped the place. He used the microwave more than he did the stove or oven.

      He ducked his head into the kitchen. Shelby wasn’t there and no food had been left out. He checked the fridge and found only the beans and cornbread, so he took out leftover roasted chicken legs to go with it. Not that he had any idea how to heat up everything without the microwave.

      He’d washed up some in the barn but he still needed a shower. The bathroom door was open, and the one to Shelby’s room closed. Much as it irritated him, he returned to the kitchen and heaped a portion of the food onto a pie tin and stuck it in the oven at a low heat. He briefly considered cheating. All he had to do was keep the microwave from dinging, but if she caught him that would screw up everything.

      They would have to renegotiate and he had no intention of making this easy on her. Not only was she trying to take his home away from him—the only home he had left—she was also killing him parading around in those shorts. She had great legs, and he figured she knew it. He’d finally managed to curb errant thoughts of sex during the day, and given himself free reign during showers and bedtime. In a matter of minutes she’d screwed that up for him.

      Thinking about the expression on her face when she saw the barn bathroom made him feel better. Wouldn’t have surprised him if she’d gotten in her car and left then and there. Damn, he wished she would have. It wasn’t in his nature to be ugly like that, Violet notwithstanding.

      But Shelby had recovered quickly. And he expected that she’d already snuck in a bathroom visit or two while he was outside. That didn’t bother him. She’d be forced to go to the barn sooner or later, and just one time would do it. If the sorry condition of the toilet didn’t, the feral cat that lived part-time in the barn would probably scare some sense into her. The woman didn’t belong here. And Trent was just helping her see that.

      The sooner she left, the happier he’d be. Working alone, his schedule was ruthless. Having to think about her was already costing him. So every time his inner voice said he’d never force a lady to use the barn bathroom, he shut it down. This was just another woman trying to take what was his. No warning. No nothing. He couldn’t deal with another loss. Not now. Maybe never.

      He took a faster shower than usual. Partly so his supper wouldn’t burn, but mostly out of self-preservation. The moment his soapy hand had touched his cock, his thoughts had gone straight to Shelby. Instead of indulging, he’d turned the water on cold. And cursed her until all the soap ran off his body. It was a sorry day when a man couldn’t even shower in peace.

      Her bedroom door was still closed when he settled on the couch with his food and turned on the TV. He’d almost finished eating and was considering seconds when he heard her door open.

      He knew she was moving around just behind him but he stayed focused on the television. If she was going outside she’d have to leave via the kitchen.

      “Excuse me,” she said. “Would you mind flipping on the porch light? It’s on your side of the house.”

      “No problem.” Holding back a grin, he rose with his plate in hand. “I put the stable lights on for—”

      Shelby was naked.

      Almost.

      All she wore was a blue towel. It wrapped around her breasts, tucked in at the side and ended high on her thighs. Another towel was draped over her arm and she held a bar of soap in one hand, a flashlight in the other. On her feet she wore bright yellow flip-flops.

      “It seems I forgot to pack my robe,” she said, glancing down at herself. “I hope you don’t mind. I’m just running out to the barn.”

      Trent couldn’t find his voice. He couldn’t look away. Trying to swallow didn’t help. His mouth was too dry. “You were wrong,” he finally muttered. “They weren’t crooked.” He flipped the light switch then walked past her, looking straight ahead, as if he had on blinders. “Go ahead, use the front door if you want.”

      “What wasn’t crooked?”

      Jesus, why had she followed him into the kitchen? “The rails.” He set his plate and fork in the sink, and for the life of him, couldn’t recall where he kept the dish detergent. “I used a level.”

      “Oh.