The Rule-Breaker

Mavis merely rolled her eyes. “I swear she’s gained more weight just since yesterday. How much bigger is she going to get?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Shelby told her. “That skirt’s got an elastic waist.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. She’s huge, Shelby. If she gets any bigger, she’s going to need her own zip code.”

Shelby smiled and scratched the top of Dixie’s head. “Nonsense. “

When she’d moved out of the upstairs apartment and bought the house a block from the square so that she could have more room and a yard, Shelby hadn’t counted on being lonely. She’d loved the idea of having more room, of having a little garden to tend, flowers to grow. But she’d barely been in the house a week before she’d decided that a pet—which she’d never had, because her grandmother had been allergic—was in order. A puppy, more specifically. Rather than buy a designer breed, she’d opted to go to the animal shelter.

She’d walked in knowing exactly what she’d wanted—a soft, cuddly, energetic puppy which would grow into a loyal companion. To everyone’s surprise—most especially her own—she’d walked out with Dixie.

The little pig had been abandoned outside the shelter months ago, when the owners had evidently realized that she wasn’t going to stay tiny and cute. It was a common misconception, which had resulted in thousands of the little animals being dumped in shelters all across the country. Knowing that the various dogs and cats would eventually be adopted, and that Dixie’s chances were extremely less likely, Shelby gave in. The thought of leaving her there, trapped in that five-by-five box, was simply more than she could bear.

There’d been a learning curve with the pig—try finding that kind of food on the pet aisle at the Piggly Wiggly—but with the help of her vet and the internet, Shelby had adjusted...and couldn’t be happier. Dixie had personality in spades. She was leash and litter trained, and extremely smart. Shelby grimaced. So smart, in fact, that she’d learned to open the fridge, which was why it was now locked tight with bungee cords. Hardly a permanent solution, but she could only tackle one thing at a time.

And right now, she had to deal with the return of Eli Weston.

Shelby opened the door and allowed Dixie to lead her out onto the sidewalk. The late-morning air was sweet with the scent of sugar coming from Lola’s Bakery next door, making her mouth water. The phrase “blessing and a curse” sprung immediately to mind. If she didn’t lay off the donut holes, she was going to have to start putting additional elastic into her skirts, as well, Shelby thought, making a mental note to eat a bowl of oatmeal before leaving for work in the morning. There. She already felt thinner.

Careful to use the crosswalk, she made her way across the street onto the green in the middle of the square, Dixie trotting along happily beside her on her short stumpy legs.

“Morning, Shelby,” Walter Perkins said, tipping his hat at her, a smile on his lined face.

“Morning, Walter.”

Dixie rooted at the ground, but Shelby jingled her leash, distracting her from whatever had caught her fancy. The pig knew better, but that didn’t stop her from trying. There was only one area that Dixie was allowed to dig and burrow in and that was in the fenced-in area in the backyard. It was her own personal mud hole, complete with a kiddie pool filled with water for cooling off.

In the process of mixing concrete, Hank Malloy stopped and looked up at her, a grin leaping to his lips. “I swear, Shelby, every time I see you with that hog I start craving barbeque.”

Used to the jokes, Shelby smiled. “She’s a pet, Hank, not a pulled pork sandwich.”

Hank’s comment had attracted the attention of the rest of the group, but it was Eli’s gaze she felt the most. A skitter of heat tripped along her spine and a sizzle of awareness made the backs of her thighs tingle. Her mouth went dry and her stomach decided this would be the perfect time to launch a career in gymnastics. It did a few backflips and somersaults, making her momentarily queasy.

“Shelby,” Carl called, waving her over, a big smile wreathing his tanned face. “Look who’s here,” he said, happily clapping Eli on the back.

Left with no other choice, she mentally braced herself and looked at him then. Her lungs seized and rush of warmth spread through her body, concentrating in her palms and the arches of her feet. Every hair on her head lifted, then settled, making gooseflesh race down her arms despite the heat, and her insides vibrated so hard it was nothing short of miraculous that her teeth didn’t chatter.

Sweet mercy...

His gaze was familiar—a glorious mixture of bright greens and pale browns—but heart-breakingly guarded and undeniably sad. Day-old golden stubble clung to his face, emphasizing the hollows beneath his high cheekbones, shading the stark line of his jaw. Dressed in work boots, worn jeans and a navy blue t-shirt that showcased the best pair of shoulders ever, he’d apparently arrived ready to work.

His lips—quite possibly the sexiest mouth she’d ever seen—tilted into something just short of a smile. “Shelby,” he said, his voice the same roughened baritone she remembered. “It’s good to see you.” His gaze dropped to Dixie and a disbelieving frown appeared on his face. “And your...pig.”

“That’s right,” Carl said, chuckling softly at his reaction. “You haven’t met Dixie yet, have you?”

He shook his head, then winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “No, I can’t say that I have.”

That’s because she’d gotten her pet after Micah died, but rather than use that horrible frame of reference, she quickly changed the subject. “So you’ve just gotten in?”

He nodded. “Just a few minutes ago.”

“Have you had a chance to look at the plans?”

“Not yet,” he told her. “Carl was just about to show them to me.” His gaze tangled with hers. “You drew them?”

She shot a glance at Carl, who’d stepped away to speak with another volunteer. “Carl insisted.”

He followed her gaze, seemingly reluctant to look at her, and winced sympathetically. “He’s good at that,” he murmured.

“It was good of you to come,” she told him, awkwardly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “They appreciate it.”

His gaze found hers once more, lingering for the briefest of seconds. “I know they do.” He jerked his head toward the activity. “I’d better get back to it.”

Equally startled and stung that he had so little to say to her—not that she didn’t deserve it, she knew—Shelby reached out a hand, but stopped just shy of touching him. “Eli—”

He hesitated, his shoulders tight with tension, then turned and arched a dark golden brow.

“Could we catch up at dinner?” she asked. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

A shadow passed behind his gaze so quickly that she couldn’t read it and, though his expression never changed, she could tell that he was reluctant to continue their conversation. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll see you at Sally’s.”

And he might, Shelby thought, but getting him to talk to her was a different matter altogether. A lump swelled in her throat and the little kernel of hope she’d clung to withered and died.

She’d been right. He did blame her for Micah’s death.

3

WELL, THAT SURE AS HELL could have gone better, Eli thought, watching Shelby and her pig, of all damned things, walk back toward her shop. So much for thinking he was ready to face her again, that he could look at her and not want her with every damned fiber of his being.

His best friend’s “It Girl.”

Talk about breaking a rule. He mentally snorted. Somehow he didn’t think that was the kind of rule Micah had been referring to.

“Only Shelby,” Carl remarked, following Eli’s gaze. He shook his head. “Everybody else looks at that pig and sees a pork roast. She looks at it and sees a pet.”

Eli felt his lips twitch. “I have to admit it’s the best dressed pig I’ve ever seen,” he conceded. Actually, it was the only dressed pig he’d ever seen outside a story book—the Three Little Pigs had been one of his favorites as a child—but it was the truth all the same. And it wasn’t enough that she had to dress the pig—she had to make sure their outfits were color-coordinated, as well. The yellow skirt and matching bow on Dixie’s head perfectly matched the flowers on Shelby’s dress.

And naturally, because she’d made it herself, that dress showcased the very best her body had to offer. Beautiful lush breasts, a tiny waist—one that he could easily span with both hands, an unbelievable turn-on—and especially generous hips. She in no way resembled the starved praying mantislike figures that were so popular on the covers of today’s fashion magazines. She was toned but curvy, her shape reminiscent of a 1950’s pin-up model. Completely, utterly feminine.

But more than how she looked, it was the way she moved that never failed to captivate him. There was something so innately graceful about the way her body went about the everyday ordinary things. The tilt of her chin as she listened to someone, the easy slide of her ripe lips into a smile, the rhythmic swing of her hips as she walked. The fabric hung like air in that sweet spot high enough on her thighs to be sexy, but not so low to be inappropriate and it fluttered with an exaggerated little pop with every step that she took.

Mesmerizing.

And a quick glance around the square concluded that he wasn’t the only man who’d noticed. Irrationally, that made him want to roar and break things, preferably a few jaws. It was ridiculous the way she affected him, the way he’d wanted to feast his gaze on her, catalogue every little detail about her face the instant he’d seen her again. Every mole and freckle, every dip and hollow, every eyelash around those amazing green eyes. Eyes that were so clear a green they put him in mind of a piece of stained glass he’d one seen in a store window. And the hesitancy and vulnerability he saw lurking in that remarkable gaze? Awful...especially knowing there was nothing he could do to remove it. Much as it pained him, he had to stay away from her.

He’d failed Micah by not getting him the help he needed sooner—he could not fail him in this, too.

Shelby Monroe, no matter how tempting, was off-limits.