Her Unexpected Cowboy. Debra Clopton

it had eased up enough for her to make it upstairs to bed.

      She’d had plenty of time to contemplate her situation and the fact that she really had no timeline to finish her remodel. She could take all the time in the world if she wanted to. Uncle Harvey, bless his soul, had made sure of that.

      He was actually her grandfather’s brother, whom she’d lost as a young girl. He had been in bad health when her world had fallen apart, and hadn’t lived on the ranch for a couple of years. But he’d told her this was where she needed be. And he’d been right. She’d known it the moment she’d arrived. She was making the place her own and searching for her new footing at the same time.

      And yet, things had changed when Rowdy McDermott had offered to help her. She watched him drive off, and her conscience had plucked away at her.

      To prove that she’d made the right decision turning him away, she’d gone at her work with extra zeal...but the pleasure she’d felt had disappeared. Drat the man—he’d messed up her process.

      He’d had no right trying to take over her work. He was only being a good neighbor. The voice of reason she’d been steadily ignoring yesterday was louder this morning. Had she judged him wrong? She didn’t like this distrust that ruled her life these days.

      Sitting up, she had no control of the groan that escaped her grimacing lips. “Hot shower, really hot shower.” She eased off the bed and walked stiffly toward the bathroom.

      She’d wash the cobwebs out of her mind, the dust out of her hair and the pain out of her muscles. Then maybe she could figure out what she needed to do about the problems her good-looking neighbor was causing her.

      She’d told him she would think about his offer. But did she really want him here? And he’d already shown that he thought his way was the best way. Did she want to fight that? Because she wasn’t giving up control of anything.

      The niggling admission that she might be in over her head and needed help on this simmered in her thoughts. The realization that she was allowing distrust of men—all men—color her need for real help bothered her.

      Shower, now! She needed a clear head to sort this out.

      Twenty minutes later, feeling better, she padded down to the kitchen. The shower had helped her spirits, but she knew that today her back was going to give her fits if she did anything too strenuous. It needed a break. Her mind needed a break, too. She couldn’t shut it off....

      When a gal wasn’t quite five feet tall, she grew used to people assuming she was helpless because of her size. Too weak to swing a sledgehammer.

      It was maddening. More so now—since her husband’s betrayal had left her feeling so pathetically blind and weak-minded.

      Too weak to realize my husband was cheating on me.

      The humiliating thought slipped into her head like the goad of an enemy. Not the best way to start her day. She was going to miss not knocking out a wall—and the satisfaction it gave her.

      People’s lack of faith always made her all the more determined to do whatever it was they assumed she couldn’t do.

      Glancing down at her wrists, she could see the puckered skin peeking out from the edge of her long-sleeved T-shirt. She knew those scars looked twisted and savage as they covered her arm and much of her body beneath her clothing. The puckered burn scars on her neck itched, reminding her how close she’d come to having her face disfigured...reminding her of her blessings amid the tragedy that had become her life two years ago.

      She hadn’t felt blessed then, when she’d nearly died in the fire that had killed her husband.

      And learned the truth she hadn’t seen before.

      Reaching for the coffeepot, her fingers trembled. There had been days during the year she’d spent in the burn center that she’d wished she hadn’t survived. But it was the internal scars from Tim’s betrayal that were the worst.

      Those scars weren’t as easy to heal. But they made knocking walls out a piece of cake. She’d just overdone it. Easy to do when there was enough anger inside her 105-pound frame to knock walls down for years.

      Each swing made her feel stronger. She might have lost control of her life two years ago, but thanks to her dear uncle thinking about her in his will, she was here in Dew Drop, Texas, determined to regain control.

      On her terms.

      And knocking out walls was just the beginning. Just as Uncle Harvey had intended. He’d recognized that she was struggling emotionally and floundering to find meaning in it all after finally being released from the hospital.

      Walking to the sink, she flipped on the cold water and looked out the window as she stuck the pot under the spray. Two young men were carrying fallen tree branches to her burn pile!

      Lucy jumped at the unexpected sight and sloshed water on herself. Setting the pot down, she grabbed a dishrag and wiped her hands as she headed for the door. What is going on?

      She stormed out onto her back porch and caught her breath when Rowdy stepped around the corner.

      “You,” she gasped. “I should have known. What is going on here?” This was what she was talking about—control. “Just because you saved me doesn’t give you the right to just disregard my wishes—”

      “Look, I knew you needed help. I just brought the fellas over to pick up a few limbs for you.”

      Teens, not men, watching them from the burn pile, clearly uncertain whether to come near or not. They could probably see steam shooting out of her ears.

      “They’ve cleaned up a lot. We’ve been at it since about six.”

      “Six!” It was eight-thirty now. How had she not heard them?

      “We tried to be quiet so we wouldn’t wake you.”

      Her mouth fell open. What did he think he was doing?

      “You were quiet because you didn’t want me to know you were here.”

      His eyes flashed briefly. “I wanted to surprise you.”

      “You just can’t take no for an answer.”

      He stared at her, his jaw tensed, and a sense of guilt overcame her. Guilt. He was the one who should be guilty.

      Right?

      She was glaring at him when his gaze drifted to her neck and it was only then that she realized she hadn’t pulled on her work shirt yet over her long-sleeved T-shirt.

      He was staring at the scar. It licked up from the back of her neck, out from the protection of her hair, and curled around, stopping jaggedly just below her jawline.

      “You’ve been burned.” There was shock in his voice.

      “Yes.” Turning, she went back into the house to get the work shirt draped over the kitchen chair. Her hands shook as she slipped it on. Rowdy barreled inside behind her.

      “Lucy, I’m sorry we startled you like we did. You have every right to be angry.”

      Angry? She could barely think, she was so embarrassed. Striding to the living room, she grabbed for her sledgehammer, and without putting on her goggles she took a swing at the wall. Her back and shoulders lashed out at her, forcing her to set the hammer down immediately. She was being ridiculous and she knew it. Why was she so afraid to let Rowdy help her?

      The man was obstinate, that was why. Arrogant even, by showing up here to work anyway.

      “I’m sorry about that burn. It looks like it must have been terribly painful.”

      She met his gaze and gave him a quick nod. Her scars were something she didn’t talk about. Especially the ones on the inside. “It’s fine now,” she said bluntly. She hoped he’d take the hint and not continue this line of talk.

      “Look—” he shifted from boot to boot and scrubbed