Page 7 of The Billionaire Land Baron

Jake felt a blush that went all the way to the roots of his hair. The hair she was still touching. As if realizing this touch was too intimate for a stranger, she pulled her hand away and gave him a sheepish grin.

“Redheads make up only 2% of the population, did you know that? It’s recessive, so both of your parents had to have carried the gene. Are you left-handed? That’s common too. And blue eyes are rare—yep. Yours are brown. A nice brown, too. Handsome.”

Shelby didn’t slow down and with her drawl, he felt like he only caught what she said a few seconds after she said it. It took him a moment to realize the compliment, maybe also because she said it the same way you might say that you liked a T-shirt or a pair of shoes. Jake couldn’t speak to save his life.

“Shelby!” her father called from the other room. “Save your words, girl! Let the poor boy into the house. You’ll scare him off before he even sees the inside of the Airstream!”

“Shut up, Daddy,” she called sweetly, still not moving. Then to Jake, she said, “Sorry, I’m just nervous. I talk a lot anyway, but when I’m nervous that’s all I do. Talk, talk, talk. My Daddy tells me to save my words because he says that we have a finite number and I’m set to use all mine up before I’m thirty. This is my first time hosting. I mean, obviously, right? I didn’t need to say that. Don’t put that in my review, okay? I think saying that I’m enthusiastic and honest sounds better, right?”

“Right,” Jake said.

“You still haven’t moved, girl. Get on,” her father called.

Shelby giggled and the sound sent a thrill through him. Jake was glad that she turned to walk through the doorway so she didn’t see the big grin that stretched across his face at the sound.

The living room was much brighter than the hallway and featured a few mismatched pieces of furniture and a TV blasting Wheel of Fortune. Everything looked worn and maybe from a decade or two ago, but the place was immaculate. It reminded him of his childhood home. It hadn’t been nice, but his mother cleaned within an inch of her life to keep it sparkling, shiny, and dust-bunny-free.

“Daddy!” Shelby shouted. Jake was so startled he dropped his duffle bag. “Put your leg on!”

Leg?Jake stared over at the mostly balding man who sat in a recliner. Sure enough—in front of his ample belly sat a prosthetic leg.

Jake knew very little about prosthetics, but this one looked cheap. It was flesh-colored but could not possibly be mistaken for an actual leg. The foot was outfitted with a white tube sock and a tennis shoe. Jake’s eyes moved down, where he saw one leg on the floor and the other leg hole of his shorts empty.

“I’ve got pants on!” he shouted back. “What more do you want from me, girl?”

Shelby grabbed the leg and poked him in the belly with it. “We have company! Put your leg on!”

Jake had no idea what was happening. He didn’t understand half the words coming out of this spitfire’s mouth. She was still jabbing her father with the prosthetic leg. He wanted to laugh but held it in for fear she’d turn on him with the leg. Plus he didn’t know if he should be laughing. They seemed to be fighting. Was this normal? Was this a Texas thing? Was he on some kind of hidden camera reality show?

“Give me that!” the man shouted. He grabbed the leg from her, but instead of putting it back on, he pointed it at Jake. “You don’t mind, do you? I’ve read about this. Millennials are open-minded. This fine young man won’t judge me if I don’t put my leg on. Will you?”

“Um…” Since the door to this house had opened and he laid eyes on Shelby, the power of speech had failed Jake.

Shelby bowed her head and whispered. “My reviews.” Then, head back up and voice honey-sweet, said, “Daddy, will you please put on your leg? I would so greatly appreciate your cooperation in this matter.”

“All you had to do was ask nicely,” the man said, bending forward with the leg. Jake looked around the room, like watching someone put on their prosthesis was like watching them change clothes. It seemed to call for privacy.

“I’m Bill Boyce,” the man said, standing now on both legs and holding out a hand to Jake.

“Jake,” he said.

“You got a last name, son?”

Jake rarely used his last name unless necessary, just in case people knew him by reputation. Unlikely here, but it was habit to hold back. When he stayed in hotels he often made the reservation in a full fake name, typically one from a book. But with people he had to talk to, he just cloaked the last name. No one usually recognized the characters. “Black. Jake Black.”

Shelby snorted. “Short for Jacob? Like Jacob Black from the Twilight books?”

Busted. “Um, yeah.”

“As long as you keep your clothes on,” she said. “If I find you shirtless in a pair of cutoff jeans, I’m going straight for the silver bullets. Is that actually your name? Because that kind of sucks.”

“Better than Jacob Marley,” he said. He didn’t know why he threw in the Dickens reference. Maybe because he hadn’t expected her to get the Twilight one. That was embarrassing.

“Huh. Raising me a Dickens for a Meyer.” She narrowed her eyes at him, then held out a hand. “Come here. I think I have something you should see.”

He stared at her hand so long that she shook it at him and when he still didn’t move, she grabbed his hand and started dragging him down the hallway. His body again reacted to her touch with heat in his cheeks, butterflies dive-bombing his stomach, and a goofy smile on his face. The last time he felt this kind of out of control crush was when he was a middle schooler crushing on the girl next door. Who didn’t know he was alive.

Part of him thought to be wary. Because so far walking into this house was like walking into some kind of Twilight Zone. But wherever Shelby was taking him, it was worth it to hold her hand.

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