Loving A Lonesome Cowboy. Debbi Rawlins

let her lead the way, bracing himself for the assault of tormenting memories. But as he stepped into the room, all he saw was how cheery it seemed. The drapes had been tied back, letting the early-morning sun stream in through crystal-clean windows. Without dust covering everything, the oak headboard and nightstands and dresser looked new and inviting. Something else was different, too….

      “Well? Think the girls will like it?”

      He slowly nodded, trying to figure out what had changed. “You probably didn’t notice, but I swapped the comforter for one I found in the linen closet. This yellow one makes the room cheerier.”

      He remembered now. The other quilt was a navy blue and tan one his mother had made the year she died. Emily had used it as a remembrance.

      “Is something wrong? Wasn’t I allowed to go into the linen closet? You hadn’t mentioned it being off limits.”

      Ethan looked at Sara. She was wringing her hands, her eyes dark and wary. “No, I didn’t. I, uh, it’s fine, Sara. The room looks real nice.”

      “Where are you going?” She hurried after him down the hall. He had the sudden urge to get out and breathe some fresh air.

      “I forgot something in the truck. I’ll be right back.”

      “Need some help?”

      He stopped abruptly, and she nearly ran into him. He turned in time to grab her shoulders and avoid the collision.

      Her wide-eyed gaze lifted to his. “I’m sorry.” Her breathy words fanned his chin.

      “My fault. I didn’t signal.”

      She laughed softly, and he was amazed that he’d actually attempted a feeble joke. When her gaze lowered to the slim shoulder he still cupped, he quickly dropped his hand.

      He stared at her, unable to remember what he was about to do. Clearing his throat, he moved back a step. “I think I’ll just go—”

      “You’re leaving?”

      The disappointment in her voice sent a flush of pleasure through him. “Actually, I was—” He gestured toward nowhere in particular.

      “Oh, yeah.” She smiled. “You were going out to get something in your truck.”

      “Right.” He immediately headed for the door, calling himself every kind of dumb jackass. He wasn’t some wet-behind-the-ears seventeen-year-old. He didn’t even like petite, fair-haired women. And he wasn’t in the market for a fling or anything else. Dammit.

      So why in the hell was he getting all tongue-tied and weak-kneed? And stupid. He was being really stupid. Maybe he ought to reconsider Sam’s offer. Let him make a fool of himself. Because something about that woman would do it. Make a man do something foolish he’d end up regretting for a long time.

      He circled his truck a couple of times, trying to regulate his breathing. Anger more than anything was throwing him off balance. That he could have this physical reaction to a woman he barely knew galled him.

      Removing his hat, he lifted his face to the warmth of the faint winter sun and closed his eyes. Maybe he was getting all worked up over nothing. Of course he would have a reaction to a woman. It had nothing to do with Sara, personally. He was thirty-six years old, for cripes’ sake, hardly over the hill. And he hadn’t had any female company in a mighty long time.

      At that thought, he slumped against his truck. It was by his own choice, he reminded himself. The problem was, he wanted to keep it that way. But he wouldn’t be able to if Sara kept smiling at him.

      Chapter Four

      “On the count of three, lift your side and move it three feet to the right.” Sara paused. “One, two—”

      She waited a moment for Ethan to pick up his end, and when he didn’t, she let go of her corner of the couch and popped her head up to see what was taking him so long.

      He stood there glaring at her.

      “What?” She left her crouched position and scrambled to her knees and propped her elbows on the arm of the couch. “Three comes after two. Why isn’t your side off the floor?”

      His gaze narrowed. “Would you please get out of the way and let me move this by myself?”

      “That’s silly. I’m perfectly capable of helping.” She shoved away the stray tendrils of hair that clung to her damp flushed cheeks, then cupped her hands under the corners of the couch. “One, two—” No movement on the other side.

      She popped up again, this time climbing all the way to her feet, and planting her hands on her hips. “Ethan Slade, you may be paying my salary, but you’re making me madder than a—than a hungry grizzly bear.”

      He eyed her a moment then moved to the center of the couch, muttering, “You’ve never even seen a grizzly bear.”

      “I heard that.” She stepped back when he lifted the couch off the floor by himself and moved it. “Who says I haven’t?”

      He didn’t answer, and she hadn’t expected him to. He’d barely uttered four sentences all day. She didn’t know why he’d bothered showing up since it was obvious this was the last place he wanted to be. Except he was too chauvinistic to leave her to handle the moving and lifting.

      Which was absurd. She could practically lift her own weight. All the forced hours of working out in the exercise room Cal had built for her was one thing for which she could thank him.

      Arms folded, she watched Ethan mosey around the room, moving pieces of furniture so that she could get at the dust beneath them. Other than sliding her a couple of guarded looks, he avoided her gaze. Nothing new. He’d treated her like she was a wildcat he needed to stay clear of, making sure she didn’t trespass or attack.

      Still, she had to admit, with his help she’d accomplished more today than she’d expected. But maybe that was his plan. Get rid of her as soon as possible.

      That thought stole some of her thunder. Staying here through the holidays would be so perfect. Misty had been quietly occupying herself with the limited toys Sara’d been able to bring, but she knew that wouldn’t last. However, a six-year-old friend would be a godsend.

      Sara pressed her lips together. Letting her temper get the better of her would not further her cause. Uncrossing her arms, she pasted a smile on her face. “Ethan?”

      He paused, his entire body tensing as he looked her way.

      Good heavens. What did he think she was going to do to him? She broadened her smile. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

      His gaze touched her mouth, lingered for an unnerving moment, then skittered away. “No thanks.”

      “Water?”

      He shook his head.

      She sighed. Loudly. He still wouldn’t look at her. “Ethan, have I done something to offend you?”

      He looked now, his gaze narrowed, his brows furrowed. “No.”

      She waited for him to ask why. He went back to moving furniture.

      Sara mentally counted to ten, then picked up the dust mop and attacked the floor with a vengeance. When she’d finished one side of the room, he quietly began returning the chairs and tables to their original places. She continued working, countering his silence with her own, until he put the brown leather club chair in the corner near the fireplace.

      She opened her mouth to tell him it couldn’t go there, but a perverse streak of rebellion changed her mind. Instead, she leaned the dust mop against the stone hearth and dragged the chair three feet to the left.

      Dusting her hands together and standing back to see if she’d cleared enough space for the Christmas tree, out of the corner of her eye, she caught Ethan scowling at her.