Page 13 of The Contractor & the Entrepreneur

“While I appreciate the gesture,” she said, trying for diplomatic, “I’m a big girl. This is my house, and I’ve got this.” To prove her point, she shoved open her door.

The smell of wet pine and damp earth greeted her. She jumped down. Her feet flew out from under her—more muddy mess here, big surprise. Did anybody in Montana know what concrete was? Luckily, she was holding onto the door and managed to keep herself from falling into the muck again.

“Sloan,” Rhett groaned.

“What?” she demanded, looking back into the truck at him.

“You are infuriatingly independent.”

“Take that back,” she said, partially teasing, mostly not. Her dad claimed she was so bent on being independent that she would hurt herself and ruin her life without him. She was grateful he wasn’t here to smugly watch as she clung to the door and tried to get her heels to support her, wanting to go confront somebody squatting in her house with mud all over her clothing.

Rhett jumped out and hurried around the front of the truck. He wrapped an arm around her to support her. Without thebarrier of her coat, leaning into his firm waistline and well-built chest was exhilarating. She pulled in a quick breath and let herself cling to his arm. His nice, firm arm.

“What was that about a shopping trip for boots?” she asked. Maybe Rhett could help her with that independence. She’d let him support her right now, help her kick somebody out of her house, teach her the lay of the land, and then she’d stand on her own as she always did.

She had never realized how thrilling it was to lean into a man. Maybe that was why women pushed their independence aside. Would it take longer than a week to get annoyed with him and push him away?

Rhett smiled, but it was telling that the pulse point in his neck was thrumming quickly and his grip around her waist tightened. “After we kick out the squatters in your house and get you changed, we’ll go shopping.”

“Best date offer I’ve ever had,” she teased.

“Truly? Are the men in Arizona, L.A., and Vegas idiots?” He didn’t have his hat on; he must’ve forgotten it in the rush. The rain had slowed but some dripped down his hair and a drop rolled down his face. He was unbelievably good-looking, and his words made her smile.

“Blithering idiots,” she said, blinking rainwater out of her eyes and grateful for her false eyelashes. Mascara at this point would be a nightmare. “Their idea of a fabulous date is a rooftop restaurant. Give me boot shopping any day.” She winked. She hoped he never found out the truth. It was her that shoved the men away.

He chuckled.

She turned to start moving toward the house.

“Wait just a moment.”

She stopped. He reached back in the truck and grabbed his cowboy hat, plunking it on his head, and then he liftedthe keychain out of the console and unlocked a compartment underneath. He pulled out a holster and a pistol.

Sloan’s eyes widened. She eased back, clinging to the door so she wouldn’t fall, but wanting distance from that gleaming black weapon.

Rhett strapped the holster on, looking like an old west cowboy. John Wayne in real life. Much more handsome than John Wayne in her mind, but also terrifying. A gun? Her heart beat hard against her rib cage. The only people she knew who had guns in Vegas were the mafia and the police.

What had she gotten herself into? Rhett Coleville had an impeccable reputation as a builder and she’d instinctively trusted him and been drawn to him from the moment he strode out of the unfinished house. Had she trusted the wrong person? Maybe he could’ve gotten her car un-stuck, but he wanted her to rely on him so he’d left it in the mud? He’d been super upset at the developer before he realized it was her. Would he hurt her now? Threaten her? He had her all alone, except for whoever was residing in Grandpa’s cabin. She didn’t hold out a lot of hope that the squatters would have her back.

Rhett might be appealing to her, but right now she was as uneasy as she’d been since she’d escaped home at eighteen.

Chapter

Five

Sloan gapedat the well-built and very-much armed cowboy, uncertain how to stay safe in this situation.

“Why do you have a gun?” she whispered.

Rhett glanced at her, shoving the pistol into the holster. “To protect you,” he said simply.

He had helped her out of the mud and protected her from the roofers whistling at her. His statement aligned with how he’d acted, but she was nervous and questioning everything right now.

“Is that even legal?”

“Yes.” He regarded her strangely. “It isn’t legal in Vegas to carry?”

“I don’t know.” She couldn’t stop staring at him. He was like a hero out of a movie—tall, dark, and dangerously handsome with the cowboy hat shading his face, the holster slung low and the gun on his hip, his defined upper body muscles highlighted by the damp T-shirt.

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