Part Time Cowboy

“It is not cheap-ass! Look at how much of my budget is devoted to this and you will see just how not cheap-ass it is. It’s very nice, actually. And if all you’re going to do is insult my molding, then...get off my porch.”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the railing. “I don’t think I will. It’s my porch. You’re just leasing it.”

“I have rights!”

“It’s a bed-and-breakfast. What if I want to make a reservation?”

“It’s not open yet.”

“It could open faster if you didn’t want to replace perfectly good molding.”

She sputtered, her comebacks all jumbled around because...biceps. And forearms. And things. Why was he so distracting even while he was annoying? Why did it seem like the annoying only made it all more interesting?

She had no idea what was wrong with her. She needed some wine. A bottle of wine. And for him to go away. She was done with her thrills. She was on thrill overload. She was clearly giddy with the thrills and had crossed over into crazy town.

“What else do you have in the bag?” he asked.

“Things,” she said.

His dark eyes narrowed. “What kinds of things?”

“Things of a home-improvement nature. Which I will use to improve this home.”

“What the hell does it need improving for?”

She huffed and stalked to the front door, fishing the key out of her purse before pushing the door open. “Come in and see for yourself.”

She walked in ahead of him, trying not to be overly conscious of just how big and masculine and there he was.

“Look,” she said. “And by that I mean really look, like someone who’s never seen this place before, and not like someone who loves it because it’s sentimental.”

“Who said it was sentimental?”

“Obviously it’s sentimental. You’re attached to molding.”

“I just don’t like change,” he said, the words coming out stilted.

“Oh, really?”

“There’s an order to things,” he muttered. “It’s easier to keep track of them that way.”

She waved a hand. “Well, I love change. It’s what makes life interesting.”

“Which begs the question why you’re back here. Committed to five long years...”

“Because there’s no place like home. I’ve been all over the country and I’ve never been anywhere that felt like Copper Ridge.”

He paused, studying her far too intently for her liking. “How long did it take you to get that response down so perfectly?”

Anger sparked through her. Because he had her number. “Are you saying my response seems rehearsed?”

“Yes. Very. Why are you really here?”

Oh, damn him. “Because. It was time. Because...I was tired of feeling like I was running away.”

“From?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Things.”

“Same things you got in that bag?”

“Yep. Nuts, bolts and other assorted crap.”

Toby chose that moment to come padding down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“You have a cat,” he said, “in the house.”

“Yes,” she said. “Where else am I going to keep my cat?”

“The barn.”

“You don’t keep a friend in the barn. Well, maybe you keep your friends in the barn. That could be why you don’t have any friends.”

“I have friends.”

“I haven’t seen any.”

“You’ve seen me at work and at home.”

“And I’ve seen nary a friend. Are they in the barn now?” She made her eyes round and looked at him in mock horror.

“None of my friends shed. And they don’t leave dead animals on your carpet.”

“Neither does Toby. I don’t think he’d kill a mouse. He’s too civilized for that.”

“A cat that won’t kill mice? That just sounds worthless to me.”

She shot him a dirty look and scooped Toby up from his position by the table. “You can’t have it two ways. Either it’s bad for him to leave dead animals lying around, or it’s bad for him to not kill things.”

“I like it when cats kill things. Outside.”

“Then have your cats the way you want them. I’ll have mine the way I want him. And I will have matching molding. We’re just going to have to disagree on the fundamentals of life. Big surprise there, right?”

“Good point.”

“Well. Good. Glad we’ve come to that...conclusion.” She set Toby on the table. “So...now I need to get back to work.”

“You honestly think you’re going to do all this alone?”