Small-Town Brides (12 page)

“Allow me,” Trace said, beating her to the door despite her hurry.

She cut her eyes at him when she had to brush past. With him practically standing in her way she couldn't help noticing the totally masculine aftershave he wore.

“Thank you,” she said, with a curt nod. As far as she was concerned he was a skunk to some extent and she would do well to remember that even if he didn't smell like one.

“Any time,” he said, giving her a knowing smile. The rat knew—he couldn't possibly not know—how much she was hating this whole idea. He beat her to the truck door and opened it for her also—the double rat! All the manners in the world wouldn't change what he'd done to Rene.

She climbed into the truck, ignoring his offered hand and stared straight ahead as he closed the door. She stilled her emotions and watched him with cool eyes as he jogged around the truck and climbed behind the wheel. Being all torn up wasn't doing her any good. It was time for business. She needed to know what specifically she was dealing with.

“Why don't we run by your place and let me look at the house so I can see what we need to pick up today?” Her voice vibrated slightly, but considering the situation, she was pleased with herself.

“Sure,” he said, backing the truck out of the parking space. “Sounds like a good plan.”

Boy was he wrong, she thought, staring straight ahead. Nothing about
this
sounded like a good plan. Nothing at all.

“D
id you hear me?”

“What?” Trace realized Paisley had spoken. “Um, no, I'm sorry. What did you say?”

They were standing in what would be Zoey's room. It wasn't much to see, just a bunch of secondhand furniture that had been left in the house when he'd bought it. But he wasn't thinking about the furniture. He was lost in thought thinking about Paisley's eyes. No longer flashing anger, those fiery eyes had become distant and as cool as the Frio River—and it was a problem.

Every time she looked at him with those flat eyes he had the urge to rile her up so the fire he'd grown used to seeing would come dancing back!

Crazy. Plain stupidity was what it was.

But now, seeing her eyes spark with a little impatient irritation—sick man that he was, his pulse kicked up. He was losing it, no doubt about it.

“I asked what your ideas were for this room.”

The room—
focus, man!
He blurted out the first thing that came to him. “Pillows.”
Girls liked pillows, didn't they?

Paisley eyed him suspiciously and then nodded. “Yes. Pillows are good. Not too many, though. She might have allergies. You did ask if she had allergies, didn't you?”

A sinking feeling hit him. “I didn't know I was supposed to.” He hadn't asked much of anything. “Do you think she'll have them?”

Her eyes narrowed accusingly. “I guess they would have informed you of medical needs whether you asked or not.”

“Yeah. Hopefully.” A good parent—a responsible parent—would have immediately asked if Zoey had any medical problems.

Paisley's expression said she agreed with him wholeheartedly. “I've seen enough. I'm ready if you are,” she said and was out the door like a woman on a mission.

With feet of lead he followed. She had no idea how
not
ready he was for any of this…and four hours later, pushing a buggy through a large chain store, he wasn't any more ready. Watching as she threw all kinds of colorful items in he was more uncomfortable and inept feeling than ever.

“You see, all of these curtains and even this sparkly material I'm buying for decoration are washable,” she informed him, and then, like she'd done over and over again, she immediately headed off in search of her next find.

The woman had a plan and she was working it. No hesitation. No second guesses. And as she did it, she kept her distance, only talking to him when needed. Hitting him with those cool, assessing eyes when she did speak to him…and it was starting to add to his already stressed out nerves.

But he could handle it, he told himself. It meant if she applied the same diligence from shopping to her job, then Zoey—and he for that matter—was in great hands. The
woman could concentrate like nothing he'd ever seen, and he liked that about her. As he rounded the corner, Paisley had just stepped onto a rickety shelving unit to reach for a lamp from the top shelf. The entire shelving unit—four rows of lamps—wobbled!

“Hey,” he protested, springing forward. “What are you thinking?” he demanded, just as the unsteady lamp toppled, heading straight for her. He dove, snagged her around the waist and swung her out of its path.

“Put me down!” she exclaimed, kicking him in the shin! “I told you, no touching.”

He caught the lamp—no thanks to her—and growled, “Cut it out.” It felt like his college football days all over again. “You didn't have to kick me! Can't you see I was only saving your neck?” He glared down at her and, despite his throbbing leg, he chuckled. The woman was something…and all the fire was back in her eyes in a blaze of glory.

Her heart pounded erratically against his and her eyes narrowed. Clearly she was not happy about being held so close. Of course his chuckling didn't help, but he was captivated by the feel of her in his arms. Her eyes suddenly flickered to his lips!

His arms reacted all their own, tightening around her instantly. For a moment he couldn't move.

“Put me down.”

Her clenched-teeth demand sliced through his insanity, and he lifted his gaze to meet cold eyes.

“I told you—no touching.”

He set her on her feet, pronto, and stepped away.

“I could have gotten that,” she huffed, as her green eyes popped against her now rose-glow complexion.

She was dynamite. Call him stupid, but he grinned. He couldn't help it. The woman was cute as all get-out when she was mad. And yes, he'd thought about kissing her. She had been in his arms looking up at him. It had been a totally natural reaction. One he'd put the brakes on immediately. He might find her attractive, but kissing her…that was out of the question.

“What are you smiling for?” she demanded.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “But when you're mad your eyes do this great fire-and-flash thing. It's really cool.”

“
It's cool?
You make me mad, grab me up when I told you no touching and then you say it's cool! Who do you think you are?”

“Hey now, just a blamed minute,” he said, making a timeout sign with his hands. Sure, he shouldn't have grinned or thought all that other stuff, but she was out of line. “Look, you're the one stomping around barely speaking to me. If you'd just asked me to get that lamp in the first place, I wouldn't have had to save you from bringing it crashing down on your head.” He looked at the lamp in his hand, as some sort of evidence.

Her lips flattened and he could tell she was holding back a zinger. But to her credit she contained it. “You're right,” she said instead, after a considerable pause.

The admittance didn't make him feel good, though. The woman really thought he was a number one jerk.
The
number one jerk. “Look,” he said, gauging his words. He was at risk of running her off and he could see it. “In the future, since you're going to be at the house and all, if you need me to do something, just ask.” He gave a small smile of encouragement and worried he shouldn't have when she frowned. He had to try and get her past the anger she felt toward him.
“C'mon,” he said, striving to sound lighthearted. “We've got things to buy and then you've got to show me what in the world to do with all this stuff. I'm clueless.”

She was waffling, he could tell as her expression softened—she was a sensible woman, after all. She was a teacher, for goodness sakes. He gave her an encouraging smile, his hopes rising. And then he did it…what came natural to him under usual circumstances; he gave her a good ole Texas wink—
oh, man!

“You just winked at me,” she said. “Of all the unbelievable nerve.”

“I didn't mean to. I'm sorry—”

“Oh, so you're telling me you had something in your eye.”

“No, nothing's in my eye. I just winked at you. It didn't mean anything. Really, it didn't.”

Paisley could not believe this man! Spinning away she stormed down the aisle, needing space. The squeak of the buggy wheels told her he was following her. At the checkout counter she started pulling things out of the buggy and tossing them on the conveyor belt. She couldn't unload things fast enough! The man was now
flirting
with her? Wasn't that what the winking was all about? And he'd grabbed her—
twice.

Sure she'd knocked that lamp off the top shelf, but really, grabbing her and yanking her up against his chest was totally uncalled for. Totally!

“You okay, honey?” the middle-aged checker asked.

Paisley snatched a bottle of shampoo from the buggy and smacked it onto the counter with a thud. “I'm fine,” she muttered, glancing at the woman's name tag. “Evelyn,” she said more calmly. None of this was Evelyn's fault, so she didn't deserve to be treated badly.

Evelyn cut sharp eyes at Trace. “You ought to be. That's one fine-looking man you got there.”

Paisley's mouth fell open. “Oh, no. No way. He's not my man.” She shot Trace a glare that dared him to speak. He didn't. He just gave Evelyn that winsome smile, which made Paisley's temperature soar another notch.

Evelyn, on the other hand, grinned at him and sighed heavily as she grabbed an item and dragged it across the scanner without looking at it. How could she? Her eyes were glued to Trace.

“Oh, brother,” Paisley muttered, returning to snatching things out of the buggy and throwing them on the counter. The man just looked at women and they lost all common sense!

“Made you mad, did he?” Evelyn asked.

Paisley scowled at the nosey woman. She had no intention of discussing why she disliked Trace with a total stranger. This was the checkout line, after all. Sadly, the woman took her silence as agreement.

“It's a cryin' shame that most of the lookers are jerks,” she said.

Finally someone agreed with her! What a sweet woman. “Isn't it, though,” Paisley said, looking at Trace's befuddled expression as she grabbed the comforter, handed it to Evelyn and then snatched the lamp out of his hands.

Evelyn made a clucking sound and gave Trace the once-over again. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Paisley almost laughed at the woman's over-the-top inquisition.

“Well, I've apologized. What's a guy supposed to do?” he said, probably shocked to find his smile hadn't quite worked out like he'd thought it would.

Evelyn cut him off with the total for the items, holding out her hand.

Trace scowled, dug out his wallet and handed over the cash. After a few seconds they were done and pushing the buggy out the door.

“Hold your ground, honey,” Evelyn called after her, and Paisley couldn't help chuckling. It was one more ridiculous moment to add to an altogether bizarre experience so far.

“So what was that all about?” Trace asked as soon as they reached the truck.

Paisley opened her door and climbed in without even offering to help him unload the bags. “Women as a whole don't like to be stepped on. We tend to stand together on issues like that.” She went to yank the door shut, but he grabbed it and held fast.

“You aren't going to let this go, are you?”

“No. You're the kind of guy who thinks a cute smile and a wink will get you whatever it is that you want. I take offense at that kind of an attitude. Evelyn agreed.”

She expected a comeback but got only a thoughtful stare from his stormy-weather eyes. After a couple of pulse beats he closed the door and finished loading the bags in silence. When he walked around to his side of the truck and climbed in, he still didn't say anything.

And all the way home he remained silent. Good, she thought. Maybe something she'd said had gotten through to him. You couldn't walk all over a woman's feelings and then expect a puny apology to fix things.

No matter how good-looking a man you were.

 

“Look, I know you dislike me. I know you don't think highly of me. And I know all the way back to town you've been sitting over there deciding to quit.”

They were still sitting inside the truck, which he'd just pulled to a stop at the back of his house. They'd ridden the hour from Ranger to Mule Hollow in silence. Paisley had needed the silence. Now she leveled serious but calm eyes on him.

“That would mean Zoey would be left hanging…and we both know
she
doesn't deserve that.”

“But I do,” he said, and smiled.

“If the shoe fits. And I didn't say that to make you smile. Do you ever take anything seriously?”

“Oh, I'm serious. I'm smiling because you're staying to help me with Zoey. Thank you. That's my sole focus. You won't believe this but I'm nervous and it makes me react in stupid ways.” He reached for the door handle. “I promise to try not to upset you anymore. Now, let's get to work. I have to move and dismantle the big bed that's in Zoey's room so I can set up her youth bed. That will keep me out of your way for a little while. How does that sound?”

“Great,” she said, opening her door. She hopped out and helped unload the bags and carry them inside. On the porch was a large package with a UPS label on it.

“Youth bed,” he said as he opened the screen and pushed the back door wide. He waited for her to lead the way inside.

She brushed past him hating the fact that when her arm touched his she felt like she'd stepped into a frying pan. Shocked again by how she reacted to his touch, she was thankful that he was staring at the package on the porch completely unaware of her. This time she couldn't blame the sensation of awareness on bad behavior on his part, which only made her more angry at him and furious with herself. She refused to acknowledge that the man could stir her senses. She refused to be another one of his easy targets.

“The youth bed was a good idea,” she said, walking into the house and straight into the living room. There she dropped her bags on the couch. Trace brought the rest of the packages in and then took the UPS box to the back room and went to work. She did too.