Tempted by a Texan Read online

  “I use it to make breads. You feed it, and add different ingredients—”

  “Feed it?”

  “—to it. Yes. Feed it. Naturally, I have to use some of it to make my bread and that portion needs to be replaced. You feed it to keep it alive and plentiful. Unless you mistreat it, it’ll last for countless years.”

  “Well, doggone, sugar. I guess I mistreated it big time, because I fed it to the garbage disposal.” He poured her a cup of coffee, added a dash of cream, stirred and brought the cup to her. “Will you accept a peace offering?”

  He closed the refrigerator door, then held out the cup and saucer. The china pattern was Old Country Roses. One of her favorites.

  Her eyes watered and a lump formed in her aching throat. She felt as though she’d lost a final piece of Grandma Lee’s life.

  And she felt stupid for getting weepy.

  When she didn’t take the coffee from him, he bent his knees to peer into her face. “Oh, man.”

  He slid the cup and saucer onto the table and pulled her close. “I made you cry. I’m sorry, Becca Sue. I didn’t mean to be flip.”

  She looked up, met the sincerity in his hazel eyes. How could she be upset with him? He was only trying to help.

  He’d rescued her from a burglar, given up his time to take her to the hospital, offered to make her soup, for goodness sake. He’d watched over her like a concerned rooster—a very sexy rooster—and from the looks of her spotless apartment, he’d been very busy on her behalf.

  Misguided, but sweet nonetheless.

  And he’d remembered that she took cream with her coffee.

  She blinked and stepped back, determined to get a grip.

  “I’m not crying. And I’ll accept your apology and peace offering on one condition. You have to promise me that starting now—and from this day forward—you’ll leave my refrigerator and its contents alone.”

  He drew in a breath. Clearly, this was difficult for him. He couldn’t seem to help himself from organizing. “Yeah, I’ll leave all the stinky spongy stuff alone.”

  “And the appliances.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Colby...”

  “I’ll make a deal with you. When you’re back up to snuff and are using the appliances on your own, I’ll try to leave them alone. But as long as I’m chief cook in the kitchen, they stay in the cupboard.”

  “Who said you were going to be chief cook in the kitchen?”

  “I did. And the doc. And Lily will probably say the same when we go in Friday for a follow-up check on your hand.” Lily O’Rourke was Becca’s primary doctor. She ran her own practice out of the clinic, but didn’t put in the late hours that the emergency doctors did, nor did she work weekends. She’d paid her dues, she said.

  Becca reached for her cup and took a sip of coffee. It was good. “Colby, you don’t have to stay here or cook and clean for me. I can manage.”

  “Too late. You already accepted my peace offering.”

  “I did not.”

  “The coffee?” He nodded to her cup. “You drank. That’s a binding contract. Like a gentleman’s agreement.”

  “Your peace offering was an apology for killing Maizy. It had nothing to do with anything else.”

  “Yes, it did—it had to do with cleaning. And that involves the appliances. And while I’m staying here, they can live in the cupboards.”

  Becca dropped her forehead into her palm, then winced. Despite the slight sting, she managed a chuckle. “Is this how you win your law cases? Talk in circles until you get your opponent so confused they just give in?”

  He grinned at her and winked.

  Her stomach did a cartwheel.

  “I’m very good at my chosen profession,” he said.

  “Yes, well, you be sure and concentrate on what you do best and let me handle my own domain.”

  “Your domain could use a bit of help, sugar.”

  She shook her head. “You might have spent the night here, but we don’t live together anymore. That means I’m allowed to be as messy as I want. You can’t break up with me twice because we’re total opposites.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, then said quietly, seriously, “That’s not why we broke up, Becca.”

  “Maybe not.” She shrugged, uncomfortable with his direct stare. “But it’s a reminder. We drove each other crazy.” Why in the world had she brought up this subject?

  “In some ways, it was a very good kind of crazy.”

  In bed, he meant. Flustered, she set her cup in the sink. “I need to put some rolls in the oven.”

  He blocked her way. “That part was good, wasn’t it?”

  “This conversation is inappropriate.”

  “Wasn’t it?” he persisted.

  “You know it was. But sex can’t be the only thing holding a relationship together. I still want a family. You’re moving to Dallas to chase your dream. There’s a mighty wide gap between your wants and mine.” She raised an eyebrow, daring him to argue. The gesture made her forehead hurt.

  The unreadable emotion in his hazel eyes made her heart ache.

  She took a breath. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea for you to hang out here, Colby.”

  “Doesn’t look like you’re in any shape to get rid of me.” A muscle tightened in his jaw, a sure sign that he was annoyed and holding back.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Hell if I know. I told you I’d get you pregnant when you turned thirty if no other man had snapped you up! Ever since your birthday, that’s all I can think about.”

  A shocked silence filled the kitchen.

  Well, how about that? At least she had her answer. He did remember.

  Which made them both a couple of fools.

  She needed to lighten the mood. Quickly. Cut through the tension. Run as far away from this conversation as possible.

  “Um...” She cleared her throat. “I believe we were pretty drunk when you made that promise, so don’t give it another thought. You’re off the hook. Besides—” she pointed to her sling “—I’m also not in the best of shape to…um, do what it takes to get pregnant. And by the time I am, you’ll be gone. So. Subject closed.” Shut up, Becca Sue. Lordy. That lick on the head had obviously given her diarrhea of the mouth. “Would you mind getting those rolls out of the fridge? I’ll preheat the oven.” And pray for a hole to appear in the floor and swallow me up.

  “Just like that?” he asked. “Conversation’s over?”

  She twisted the temperature dial on the oven and noted that her hand was shaking. “Yep. My house. My rules.”

  He was silent behind her, and she didn’t dare turn around to look at him. She wasn’t sure how much more of these up-and-down emotions she could take. As it was, she was about to drop in her tracks, and it wasn’t even 8:00 a.m.

  “Becca?” His hand suddenly appeared, covering hers over the temperature dial on the oven. “Come sit down before you fall.”

  He twisted the oven knob to the “off” position, steered her to the kitchen table, seated her, then grabbed another chair and turned it around. Straddling it, he crossed his arms over the top of the wooden back.

  “About those rules,” he began. “I think we should work out a reasonable compromise. No sense in us butting heads when all I want to do is help out. We’re friends. We used to be more, but I think we can get past that if we try. You’ve had someone break into your store and we don’t yet know what he was after, or if he’ll be back.”

  Her heart jumped into her throat. “Why would you think he’ll come back?”

  “How long have you lived here?” It was a rhetorical question. “Have you ever known any of the businesses on Main Street to get broken into—other than Chandler’s drugstore when that group of kids on a scavenger hunt helped themselves to a few tubes of hemorrhoid cream?”

  She would have smiled at the memory, but the point he was making made her shiver. “I guess not.”

  “Exactly. And whoever was in here
was interrupted. First by you, and then by me. Who knows what he was after. Call me jaded, but I can’t get my mind wrapped around this being a random break-in.”

  “Are you deliberately trying to scare me so I’ll let you play the White Knight? Because I might be in a little distress here—” she gestured to her sling “—but I can assure you I’m no damsel—”

  He placed a finger over her lips, stopping her words. “I know. You’re a firecracker. All five-foot-three inches of you.”

  She opened her mouth to object, but he pressed on. “I’ve never been anyone’s White Knight, sugar—don’t intend to be, for that matter. But I don’t mind being a friend. Let me help you out here. At least for my own peace of mind.”

  Darn it. He was the only man she knew who could turn her insides to jelly with a mere shift of tone. And whether he wanted to admit it or not, he’d definitely been her hero last night, rushing to her rescue and scaring off the bad guy.

  “If you make me leave, I won’t get a wink of sleep worrying about you being over here on your own with a madman burglar on the loose.”

  “Okay, okay. Now you’re stretching it.” She laughed. She couldn’t help it. Yes, they’d had a relationship in the past. And, yes, there was still a sexual spark between them—a really hot sexual spark. But facts were facts. She needed help and he was offering.

  They were adults. Despite his sexual innuendos, she knew that he was a man who wanted no strings attached—she could accept that. And that he was leaving town in three weeks proved he hadn’t changed his mind.

  Oh, she’d fantasized a lot over the past year, convinced herself that perhaps she was the reason he’d returned to Hope Valley, allowed herself to read more into the fact that the only women he hung out with on occasion were her and her friends.

  Wishful thinking.

  “What about your law practice?” she asked. “If you’re going to keep house for me and mind my store, who’s going to take care of your business?”

  “Most all my cases are wrapped up. I’m pretty much on vacation, taking some time packing up. I’ll forward my business phone to my cell, and I can handle any loose ends from over here.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

  “Sounds like.” He waited for her answer. They both knew he’d leave if she really wanted him to.

  “All right. I’d shake on it, but my hand’s a bit useless at the moment. And thank you. I appreciate the help.”

  He stood. “No problem.”

  “Now that I think about it, I just may like having a man at my beck and call. Turn the oven back on to 350 degrees and grab those rolls out of the fridge.”

  “Uh-uh.” He shook his head. “You’ve got enough stuff here to get us through the day.” He indicated the covered platter of cinnamon rolls and the loaf of zucchini bread he’d already removed from the freezer. “So, you want one of these cinnamon rolls for breakfast, or toast and eggs?”

  She could tell by the way he was eyeing the rolls what his choice was. “No sense dragging the toaster out of hiding when we’ve got almost fresh-baked rolls in front of us.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” He plucked two rolls and popped them into the microwave, forked some cantaloupe slices into fruit bowls, then fished a pain pill out of the sack the hospital had sent home with them and set it by her plate.

  “I really should bake that other batch of cinnamon rolls that are in the fridge,” she said. “Especially since we’re eating part of the merchandise here.”

  Again, he shook his head. “Best to ration what we have. Especially since I killed old stinkpot Maizy.”

  6

  After he’d cleaned up the breakfast dishes, Colby opened the stairwell door. The narrow passageway wouldn’t allow for them to go side-by-side, so he went first. If she lost her footing or got woozy, he’d at least break her fall.

  Stubborn woman. She ought to be in bed, as the doc told her. Okay, he didn’t actually tell her to stay in bed. Just to rest.

  Colby didn’t think Becca Sue Ellsworth knew the meaning of the word rest.

  He noticed that Trouble had already used his kitty doors at the top and bottom of the stairwell and was sitting in the store window, leisurely licking his paws. The cat looked around as they entered, then went back to his bathing.

  “It looks like hardly anything in here has been touched,” Becca said, stopping to look around. “Who cleaned up all the black dust?”

  “I did. Had some trouble sleeping last night.”

  Colby crossed to the glass bakery case and set the plate of rolls on top of it.

  “I’m sorry. Usually, that couch is pretty comfortable.”

  “The couch was fine. It was my mind that wouldn’t settle down.” Most of Becca’s furniture was Victorian in design—not the little bitty dainty kind, but the type with high arms and backs and plenty of padding. On just about every surface, knitted and crocheted afghans were draped, inviting company to curl up and get comfortable.

  Her shop was pretty much the same. There were bistro tables and chairs for drinking coffee or eating sweets, overstuffed armchairs for relaxing and reading. She’d designed the place for socializing, as well as for making a living.

  A nice touch.

  The minute he turned his back, Becca bent over to put the rolls and zucchini bread into the sealed glass case. Even though she’d spread the cinnamon rolls out in a staggered pattern, the pastry case still looked like a picked-over table at a church social.

  He saw her sway slightly and he swore. Colby swept an arm around her waist and maneuvered her onto a stool.

  “I need to start the coffee,” she protested.

  “It’s already made and in the carafe. Now you just sit and point your finger. I’ll do any work that needs doing.”

  “I won’t be manhandled, Colby. And I can’t very well take inventory to see if anything’s missing if I’m sitting on a chair.”

  “I’m trying to help out, Becca Sue. And you’re pale as a sheet. Despite the poor example my folks set, I pride myself on being chivalrous around the ladies. You’re turning that gentlemanly virtue into a major frustration.”

  A dimple winked in her smooth cheek when she laughed at him. “My apologies, kind sir. I didn’t mean to step on your ego.”

  “Right. Pull the other leg, sugar.”

  “Did you sleep at all last night?”

  “Some.” None. Maybe half an hour, he thought. But he hadn’t been attacked by an intruder. He could deal with a little lost sleep. Becca couldn’t.

  And it annoyed him that she wouldn’t do what he wanted her to do. Short of hauling her back up those stairs, there wasn’t much he could do about her determination to be up and around.

  Almost before they’d unlocked the door and flipped over the “open” sign, Millicent Lloyd came in carrying a platter filled with chocolate chip cookies, lemon bars and fudge.

  “Ah,” Colby said. “A woman after my own heart.” He took the goodies out of her hands and astonished the small elderly woman with a kiss on her powdered cheek.

  “I heard about your injuries,” Millicent said to Becca while eyeing Colby suspiciously. “Can’t imagine what this world’s comin’ to. Break-ins on Main Street. Humph. Figured you’d need some help with the baked goods. And I brought the medication the doc prescribed for you, too.”

  “You didn’t have to do that, Millie.”

  “Oh, pshaw. I was in Chandler’s picking up some cold cream, anyway. Figured I might as well save you a trip.” She sniffed, waved her gloved hand as though her good deed was no big deal. Millicent Lloyd wore gloves year round, the season and date determining their color. Today, they were a buttery tan to match her shoes and her pocketbook.

  “Thank you,” Becca said. “That was sweet. How much do I owe you?”

  “Not a dime, that’s for sure. You don’t think I’d let that old coot charge you for a few measly pills, do you? Blasted drug companies act like they own the world. Paddin’ the pockets of half the doc
tors and pharmacists around. I let Chandler know right quick he wasn’t getting away with gouging you after you’d been through such a trauma. And that was that. Handed ’em over for free, he did, and sent along his best wishes for a speedy recovery to boot.”

  Colby could tell that Becca wanted to smile, but knew better. Millicent Lloyd was an eccentric old lady whose hair was a subtle shade of gray-blue. Donetta had finally gotten her to tone it down, but couldn’t convince the woman to get rid of the color completely. Colby had heard the girls talking about it over at Anna’s Café. Millicent claimed that her late husband, Harold, loved it blue and she was keeping it that way in his honor. She was gruff and opinionated. Half the town was scared of her and the other half gossiped about her. And just recently, they’d found out that she owned most of the buildings on Main Street—which made her Becca’s landlady.

  But Millicent Lloyd had a heart of gold, and behind the gruff was pure marshmallow.

  Colby arranged the cookies and fudge in the glass case and figured he’d be half broke and five pounds heavier by the end of the day. All these sweets were way too much temptation.

  He was heartily grateful to Miz Lloyd, though. Her contribution gave him another day without having to bake. He hadn’t realized how nervous he was over that aspect of helping Becca. He didn’t like to do something unless he was fairly certain he could do it perfectly—or at least above adequately. Baking might be more of a challenge than he was prepared for.

  At least, following in Becca’s culinary footsteps would be. Her scones, breads and cinnamon rolls were to-die-for delicious and sinful. Which was why he made it a point to limit himself—both to seeing Becca Sue and to tasting her delicacies. Baked ones, he reminded himself when his mind wanted to go elsewhere.

  “I’ll take one of them cinnamon rolls while you’re in there,” Millicent said, nodding toward the glass case. She tugged off her cotton gloves and folded them into her pocketbook.

  Colby grabbed a pair of tongs and snagged a roll, then looked around for something to put it on.

  “The plates are behind you in the cabinet.” Becca pointed with her free hand.