Come On Over. Debbi Rawlins

kidding, right?” she said finally.

      “About?”

      “His name. You don’t really call him Ugly.”

      “Sure I do.” He gave the dog an affectionate pat. “Look at him.”

      “That’s awful.” How could he treat the poor animal that way? “You’re awful.”

      Trent smiled. “You know he doesn’t understand, right?”

      Her gaze caught on the laugh lines fanning out at the corner of his eye. Then slid to his muscled bicep straining the sleeve of the T-shirt. When she finally noticed that he was giving her a funny look, she realized she’d stopped listening.

      She cleared her throat and surveyed the room. “We need to straighten out this mess.”

      Trent glanced over his shoulder and frowned at the magazines and newspapers littering the coffee table. A pair of boots, one turned on its side, butted up to the burgundy recliner. “Which mess are we talking about?”

      “The Eager Beaver,” she said, as it slowly dawned on her that the place was furnished with chairs, a high-quality leather sofa, a flat-screen TV, rugs... Trent wasn’t simply squatting or passing through. “And how quickly you can clear off my property.”

      He wasn’t taking her one bit seriously. With a lifted brow he slid his gaze down her body. “You suddenly found that deed somewhere?”

      “No. I explained where it is. But you seem so sure of yourself, I’m assuming you have one.”

      That wiped the smirk off his face. “I do. Not here. My folks have it in their bank safe-deposit box.”

      “In Blackfoot Falls? Shouldn’t take you long to get it.”

      “They live in Dillon, four hours from here.”

      “Oh, how convenient.”

      “Says the woman who claims her papers are in transit.” He pushed to his feet, bringing him a good five inches taller than her even with her three-inch heels. “What kind of—” He cut himself off, clamped his mouth shut.

      They were standing too close to each other. Boxed in by the wall, table and Trent, she could feel his body heat and a hint of his breath on her cheek. Oddly, he smelled good, sort of woodsy, even though she knew he’d been working outside in the sun.

      When he wouldn’t move, she slipped around him. “You were saying?” she said, sneaking a peek in the bright yellow kitchen, surprised to see an open laptop sitting on a table.

      “Nothing.”

      “Please.” She turned to find him meticulously wiping his hands with the towel. “By all means, finish what you were about to say.”

      He looked up, his gaze narrowing.

      Okay, that might’ve come out a bit haughty.

      With his sights locked on her, he said, “I was wondering what kind of idiot packs important legal papers with their belongings instead of keeping the documents locked up or with them.”

      Heat surged up her neck and into her face. Someone who’d left in a hurry. Someone who’d been foolish enough to overstay where she hadn’t belonged in the first place.

      “I deserved that,” Shelby said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

      His gaze lowered before he looked away. “We’ll get this straightened out, but I’m warning you, it won’t be the outcome you want.”

      She bit her lip. He seemed awfully sure, she thought, again taking in the furniture, most of it quite nice. The truth was, she didn’t really have the deed in her possession, only her grandfather’s will. Of course she’d call the attorney who’d drawn the will up. Something she would’ve already done if she hadn’t been in such a rush to get away from her ex-fiancé and his family.

      “You should try The Boarding House Inn in town. Better hurry, though, it’s getting late and there isn’t another inn for miles.”

      Shelby studied his expressionless face. Naturally he was trying to get rid of her. “Hmm, I could ask around about you.”

      “Good idea. Most folks know me, or at least they know my family. They’ll confirm what I’ve told you.”

      Her mouth went dry. Her heart sank. This wasn’t looking good at all. Maybe he was bluffing.

      “Hey, how about that cold drink I promised? I’ve got orange juice, water, beer...”

      Annoyed that he must’ve noticed her difficulty swallowing, she shook her head. “How far is it to town?”

      “Sixteen miles.”

      “And you don’t care if I inquire about you,” she said, watching him closely.

      “Nope. Ask anyone.”

      A knock at the door had them both turning their heads.

      Through the screen she saw it was the older woman who’d been sitting in the rocker. She was holding a covered dish.

      Trent looked at it and groaned. “Really, Violet?”

      Shelby didn’t know why he sounded grumpy. It smelled like cornbread and something else, maybe molasses. Whatever it was, the aroma was divine.

      The woman glared at him. “You gonna let me in?” She was tiny, not even five feet, her voice surprisingly rough.

      When Trent didn’t respond, Shelby looked at him. Why the hesitancy? The woman was obviously his neighbor...

      Unless...

      Shelby hurried to open the door. “Of course, this is perfect timing,” she said, then glanced at Trent, who sighed with disgust. She smiled sweetly. “You did say I could ask anyone.”

2

      ANYONE BUT VIOLET.

      Damn, no telling what the old busybody would say. She’d stir the pot just to see what bubbled over. She did it to him all the time.

      Shelby held the door open wide.

      Trent didn’t try to hide his irritation. “I see you’re making yourself right at home.”

      “Thank you, dear,” Violet said, smiling at Shelby as she crossed the threshold.

      He didn’t miss the shrewd gleam in the troublemaker’s eye. Shaking his head, he caught the door when Shelby let it go and kept it open. “Violet, I know you’re not one for visiting. Don’t let us keep you.”

      “Don’t mind him.” Violet passed the foil-covered dish to Shelby. “Nobody does.”

      “As a matter of fact, this young lady isn’t staying, either.” He swatted at the fly he’d let in. “She needs to get to Blackfoot Falls before The Boarding House Inn is full.”

      Shelby shook her head and smiled at Violet. “I’m Shelby.”

      “Shelby, huh?” Violet completely ignored him. Which was what he generally preferred, just not at the moment. “What a pretty name. I’m Violet Merriweather.”

      “Nice to meet you, Ms. Merriweather.” Shelby sniffed the dish she held. “Is this cornbread?”

      “Homemade. Along with my own baked-beans recipe. It won me a blue ribbon at the 1989 county fair. I use a couple shots of bourbon. And, honey, I’d be pleased if you call me Violet.”

      Trent would call her a cab and gladly pay the fare all the way to California if he thought that would get rid of her. She hadn’t been inside the house even once since he’d moved back. As far as he knew, anyway. Probably came in to snoop when he went to town for supplies.

      “For pity’s