Texas Wedding. Kathleen O'Brien

scene, with Susannah and Eli Breslin sitting knee to knee on Zander’s guest chairs. The kid was half-naked and sweaty. Susannah was holding his hand.

      Trent frowned, but then it made sense. The moron had managed to get hurt on his very first day.

      Susannah was bent over Eli’s outstretched fingers, utterly focused on wrapping a bandage around his palm, and her braid fell over her shoulder. She had no idea that Trent had arrived.

      But Eli did.

      He gave Trent a small smile, which spread across his dirty face until it was a downright nasty grin. Everything Eli had probably heard from gossips about Susannah’s new marriage was written in that leer. Trent might have been able to fire Eli from the Double C, but Eli clearly knew that the “husband of convenience” had no power at Everly. He knew that Trent was as much a temporary employee here as Eli himself.

      And he wanted Trent to know that he knew.

      “Ouch,” Eli moaned softly as Susannah worked on the bandage. She murmured an apology for hurting him. The boy smirked down at her, then turned to Trent and slowly winked.

      Obnoxious little bastard…

      “There. That should hold.” Susannah held Eli’s hand up for him to inspect. “It looked worse than it was.”

      Eli bent in close, so that his face was only inches from Susannah’s. “Thank you, Ms. Everly. You have mighty gentle hands.”

      Clearing his throat, Trent moved into the small office, dodging a trophy that teetered on a bookcase, proclaiming Alexander Hobbin to be the 1978 Men’s Bowling Champ. If it had fallen over and beaned Eli on the head, that would have been fine with Trent.

      “So,” he said. “You think your new hire will live to work another day?”

      Susannah looked up. If she felt any embarrassment at being caught holding hands with a bare-chested teenage peach picker, she covered it well.

      “Yes,” she said as she began to store her first aid supplies neatly away. “It was just a little mishap. Minor abrasions.”

      “I killed a rattler,” Eli put in, stretching out his legs and leaning back in his chair nonchalantly, as if he performed such feats every day. “Nasty, big one. Five feet, at least.”

      “Taller than you are, then?” Trent smiled. “Impressive.”

      “No.” Eli flushed angrily. “I’m five ten and a half.”

      “And a half!” Trent raised his eyebrow. “Also impressive. I wouldn’t have guessed.”

      The boy’s face was a thundercloud. “Yeah, well, I hear that you—”

      “Trent.” Susannah snapped the first aid kit shut and gave Trent a look that said enough already.

      She was right, of course. It was ridiculous to get into an ego-tussle with a nineteen-year-old. But apparently, where Susannah was concerned, a part of Trent would always be nineteen. Ready to lock horns with any other young buck who tried to trespass on his turf.

      “Did you need something, Trent? Were you looking for Zander? He’s still out in the orchard, finishing up the thinning.”

      “He messaged me about the shaker. I wanted to let him know we’ve rearranged things at the Double C so that you can use Chase’s machine for the next couple of weeks.”

      “You don’t need to borrow one,” Eli broke in eagerly, like the smarmy teacher’s pet everyone had hated in high school. “I’m good with machines. I bet I could fix ours.”

      Ours? The kid had worked here one half of one day, and already he owned the equipment? Trent turned toward the brat, ready to let loose, but Susannah put out her hand and touched Trent’s forearm lightly.

      “Thanks, Eli,” she said, “but unless you can actually raise the dead, I’m afraid it’s no use. We’ll be fine with the loaner. Please go let Mr. Hobbin know it’s arranged, okay?”

      Eli was caught for a moment, wedged between his desire to avenge himself with Trent and his determination to impress Susannah.

      Self-preservation won the day. He bobbed his head deferentially. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

      After he was gone, the silence in the office was fraught with tension.

      Susannah put the kit away, locked the cabinet and then finally turned to Trent. “Please tell Chase thanks. I appreciate the loan of the shaker.”

      For some inexplicable reason, Trent was suddenly irritated. For one thing, Chase didn’t even know about the loan. Trent was in charge of all such details at the Double C. It was Trent who had made it possible.

      But clearly there’d be snowball fights in Hell before Susannah would ever thank Trent for anything.

      She lifted her chin. “Was there anything else you needed?”

      That ice-cold tone was the last straw. “Yeah,” he said. “One other thing. I thought I’d just mention what a colossally bad idea it is to flirt with teenage boys who happen to be on your payroll.”

      Her eyebrows dived together. “I wasn’t flirting with him.”

      “Really? Are you sure he knows that?”

      “I’m quite sure.” She stood ramrod straight, clearly offended. “Is that why you were being such an ass to him? Because you thought we were…flirting?”

      Trent sat on the corner of Zander’s desk, the only spot not covered in files and papers and junk. “No, I was being an ass to him because he is a cocky little loser who hasn’t ever done an honest day’s work in his life, and I can’t believe you were dumb enough to hire him.”

      She’d gone slightly pale, which he knew from long experience was a sign of fury. He braced himself for the storm, and as he did he realized that, in some strange way, he welcomed the fight.

      At least it would be real emotion. A real connection.

      And, God help him, he still craved that. All that crap about being too exhausted to desire her? He’d been sunk the minute he saw the curve of her back as she’d bent over Eli’s hand, and the way the sunlight created a halo around her head.

      It had been enough to send the hunger raging through him all over again. He wouldn’t get what he really wanted, of course. But a good, rousing battle might at least siphon off some of this tension.

      She took a couple of deep breaths, obviously determined to hold on to her temper. She placed herself behind the desk, as if she thought its scarred oak surface could provide the buffer zone she clearly needed.

      But it wasn’t a very big desk.

      “How I run Everly is none of your business.” She straightened some papers on the desk, a ridiculously futile gesture. “That wasn’t part of our deal.”

      Her fingers trembled as they nudged another sheet of paper into line. The pause stretched until it shimmered in the room like ectoplasm.

      “Oh, yes,” he said slowly. “The deal.”

      She didn’t look up. But her grip tightened, crumpling the edge of the file she held.

      “The deal,” he repeated. He reached out and took her wrist between his fingers. “We did have one, didn’t we?”

      She tensed, though she didn’t try to pull back her hand. “Trent, I don’t think we should—”

      “I do.”

      She lifted her chin. “Look, I know you’re angry.”

      He ran his thumb across the inside of her wrist, until he found the pulse, jumping and skittering between the delicate bones. “Am I?”

      “Well, you’ve been gone all weekend. I’m not a fool, Trent. I know what that means.”

      He