Her Forever Cowboy

“I do,” he replied, then asked, cautiously, “Are you interested in seeing it?”

Viewing the accommodations didn’t really interest Alisha. As long as the apartment—probably nothing more than an oversize closet, she guessed, given the nature of this town—didn’t come with a roommate, that was all that really mattered to her.

“I’m interested in renting it,” she informed him in no uncertain terms. “It is for rent, isn’t it?” Alisha asked, realizing she hadn’t been told that one crucial piece of information.

“I thought you were staying with Dan and Tina. Did I get that wrong?”

“No, you didn’t get that wrong,” she acknowledged. “For the moment, I am staying with Dr. Davenport and his family.” There was less than enthusiasm in her voice.

“I take it that’s not working out for you? Living there?” he added when she didn’t answer.

Brett couldn’t envision either Dan or his wife making the lady doc feel uncomfortable enough to get her looking for other living arrangements. Both Dan and Tina were warm, giving people.

Maybe it was the other way around. Alisha Cordell’s looks were hot enough to melt a passing iceberg at twenty paces, but for the moment, he had to admit that the woman didn’t exactly strike him as being all that warm and toasty.

Alisha frowned. She didn’t like being questioned or prodded. Still, if he did have an apartment, she couldn’t exactly just walk out now, the way she wanted to. So she answered his question—but let him know that she didn’t appreciate his prying into her motives.

“Not that it’s any business of yours, but I feel like I’m in the way. It’s not that big a place,” she added when Brett continued studying her.

Brett took a bottle from behind him on the counter and poured a glass of pinot grigio, then placed it in front of her. She looked at the glass, then at him. “I didn’t order that.”

“I know. It’s on the house.”

Another good-looking male who thought he was God’s gift to women, she thought, tamping down her anger. Just because the man had a killer smile—and he knew it—did he think he could ply her with alcohol and get instant results? He was about to be surprised, she silently promised the bartender.

Taking out a five-dollar bill, she placed it on the counter. “I pay for myself.”

Rather than offer her an argument, Brett merely took the money and put it into the till. “Suit yourself,” he told her then got back to the business at hand. “As to the apartment, if space is what you’re after, I don’t think you’re exactly going to be thrilled with it.”

“Why?” she asked.

“To be honest, the whole thing is really just one big room,” he told her.

His late uncle’s apartment was predominantly meant to be just a place to sleep or to get away for a few hours, nothing more. It was not intended to suit the tastes of someone who was high-maintenance, and at the moment, that was exactly the way this woman struck him. Extremely high-maintenance.

But if that was the case, what the hell was she doing here? He sincerely doubted that a sense of altruism was what had brought her to Forever.

She surprised him by saying, “As long as I have it to myself, that’ll be fine. I don’t care if it’s small.”

Maybe he was misjudging her. He’d been wrong before—once or twice.

Her answer led him to the only conclusion he could make. “So I guess that means that you’re staying in Forever?”

“For now,” she qualified guardedly. Alisha didn’t believe in verbally committing herself to anything, especially not in front of someone who was the very definition of a stranger.

“How long is a now in your world?” he asked.

“Why?” she asked, looking at him quizzically.

As far as she could see, there was no reason for Murphy to be asking her about her plans. It wasn’t as if renting the apartment to her would keep him from renting it to someone else. Obviously, the man had had no plans to rent it out to begin with. There was no sign out, advertising its availability. According to the rancher who had told her about the place, the apartment had never been rented out before to his recollection.

“That’s easy,” he told her. “I want to know if I’m going to be charging you by the day, the week or by the month.”

“By the month will do,” Alisha answered, her voice irritatingly high-handed.

He couldn’t help wondering if she was that way with her patients and decided that she probably was. It looked as though this angel of mercy needed a little help getting her signals right.

“You didn’t ask for my advice, but I’m going to give it to you anyway.” He saw her opening her mouth to respond, and he just kept on talking. “You might find it a whole lot easier adjusting to Forever if you stop being so formal and loosen up a little.”

“You’re right,” she informed him stiffly. “I didn’t ask for it.”

Then, because he’d stirred her curiosity and because she did have to try to get along with these people at least until she decided what she was going to do with the rest of her life and where she was going to go in order to do it, she said, “Just out of idle curiosity, exactly how, by your definition, would you suggest that I go about loosening up?”

“Well, for one thing, people here call each other by their first names—just like I’m pretty sure they do in New York City.”

She really wished he’d stop smiling at her like that. She found it annoying—and unnerving. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“Okay.” Brett tried again. “For instance, you keep calling him Dr. Davenport—”

“That’s his name,” Alisha interrupted.

“It is,” Brett agreed. “But so is Dan. Around here, people call him Dan or Dr. Dan if they aim on being extra respectful. You keep calling him Dr. Davenport, and Dan’s liable to think that you’re mad at him.”

That was ridiculous. “Mr. Murphy—” Alisha began in an exasperated voice, ready to put this man in his place—and that place definitely did not include giving her lectures.

“Brett,” he corrected, cutting in.

She didn’t come here to argue, Alisha reminded herself. She came to Murphy’s to try to get herself a little organized and ultimately secure a place to stay where she could have enough peace and quiet to hear herself think. The wounds from her sudden disillusionment and subsequent breakup were still very raw, and she needed to find a place where she could heal without hearing children squealing in the background.

This apparently was her only option, and she’d learned how to deal with limits before. “Okay, have it your way, Brett,” she said, deliberately emphasizing his name. “Now, are you or aren’t you going to rent out that apartment to me?”

Brett thought for a moment. The apartment was his hideaway, his home away from home. But since Olivia had informed him that Earl Robertson’s place was now his, that meant he could stay at that ranch house if he felt the need to get away for a few hours.

Besides, if she lived upstairs, this would give him the opportunity to interact with this iceberg who needed thawing in order to get in touch with her human side. The possibilities began to intrigue him.

His eyes met hers. “I’ll rent it to you,” Brett replied.

She felt an uneasy quiver in the pit of her stomach, something warning her that she was taking a step she might regret. The next moment, she locked the thought away. What was the worst thing that could happen? If she decided she’d made a mistake—again—coming here, she could just apply to another practice, pull up stakes and move on. It wasn’t as if this move couldn’t be undone.

“Good,” she replied, refusing to look away. “Let’s talk terms, Mr. Murphy.”

“First term is that you remember to call me Brett,” he told her patiently.

This man just didn’t give up, did he? “And the second term?” she asked him warily.

If there was a first term, there had to be a second one, Alisha reasoned, and she found herself definitely not trusting this man. He was far too good-looking and smooth to be someone she could trust.

Again, Alisha noted, her would-be landlord’s grin grew unnervingly wider. “The second term is that you don’t forget the first term.”