Page 31 of Winter Vows

There was just one trouble with that. He didn’t have better to give.

Eight

Unable to control her exuberance, Trish twirled around in the middle of her new store, then clapped her hands in delight.

The property was hers as of this morning, and it was going to be fantastic. She could envision every bookcase, made of a warm wood that would give the room a cozy feel when the fireplace was lit. Two comfortable chairs for reading were arranged in front of it. The chairs would be covered in a bright chintz and deep enough to snuggle into. An antique table in the same wood as the shelves would sit between the chairs, with porcelain teacups and a silver teapot that was always filled. Maybe she’d even learn to bake scones. And there would be fresh flowers in a small crystal vase.

Of course, there would be books, jamming the shelves, invitingly displayed on more antique tables, stacked high near the cash register for impulse sales. And while the atmosphere would be deliberately old-fashioned, there would be a state-of-the-art computer for tracking everything, including all the special orders and catalogue and Internet sales she anticipated.

Right now, however, the space looked more like a nightmare than her dream store. Willetta apparently hadn’t done a thorough cleaning since the fifties. Maybe longer. The last paint job had been haphazard at best, doing nothing to conceal patches or fine cracks in the plaster. The floors, which had been a lovely oak once, had been dulled to near-black by years of wax and dirt building up. It was even more decrepit than the building she’d rented in Houston, and that had been a dump.

If it hadn’t been her nature to be optimistic, Trish might have been appalled by the work that faced her. Instead, she drew in a deep breath and headed to the store for cleaning supplies.

She had virtually the whole weekend ahead of her. Kelly was looking after Laura and had promised to do so again after church on Sunday. Trish planned to make a lot of progress over the weekend so that the real work could get under way the instant Hardy showed up on Monday. The sooner he was finished and out of her hair, the better. That kiss had told her quite clearly just how dangerous a mix it would be for the two of them to be in the same room for long. Therefore it was with no particular pleasure that she spotted Hardy leaning against the side of his pickup in front of her store as she returned from her shopping. Struggling with her bags, she frowned at him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to help.”

“You’re not scheduled to start work until Monday.”

“You’re here, aren’t you? There’s work to be done, right?” he said, taking the bags from her before she could utter a protest.

“But—”

He sighed and faced her. “Trish, I am not going to throw you down on the floor and ravish you. Get that picture right out of your head.”

Of course, as soon as he said it, that was all she could see. Heat stirred low in her belly as she imagined herself flat on the floor with Hardy’s body on top of hers, with him buried inside her. Obviously her hormones didn’t have the sense of a gnat.

“I was not worried about that,” she insisted, unlocking the door and preceding him inside.

He surveyed her with a skeptical expression. “If you say so. Now what do you want done first?”

She wanted him to go.

But not nearly as much as she wanted him to stay, she concluded with regret. They could do the work together in half the time that it would take her alone. And having company always made work seem easier. It was just that his company promised to leave her feeling every bit as rattled and unsettled as that kiss they’d shared.

Just as she accepted that, she saw him heading for the door. “You’re leaving?” she asked, fearing that her lack of a warm reception had finally daunted him.

He grinned. “No, darlin’, Don’t go getting your hopes up. I don’t scare off that easily. I’m going to get my radio out of the truck. We can’t work without music.”

She stared at him. “We can’t?”

“Well, I suppose we could, but this will be better. There’s a six-pack of beer in there for me and some sodas for you. And a bag of chips, a couple of sandwiches, apples, brownies. I’m not entirely certain, but there may be a pig in there ready to go on the barbeque.”

She was stunned. “Hardy, we’re not having a party.”

“Tell that to Kelly. She packed it all.”

She stared at him blankly. “Kelly? When?”

“When I stopped by the house to see what you were up to. She told me you’d come into town. She sounded as if you’d gone off to work in a coal mine in some godforsaken land where no human had ever gone before. Before I knew it, I was carting bags of provisions out to the truck. She seemed to think we’ll perish from hunger.”

Trish stared as he carted in a card table, two folding chairs and grocery bags every bit as bulging as he’d described.

“Maybe she was anticipating a blizzard,” she joked weakly.

Or maybe she’d merely been hoping for one, a doozy of a storm that would leave Trish trapped here with Hardy for a day or two. She peered into the bags and caught a whiff of the just-baked brownies, clearly still warm from the oven. Unable to resist, she snatched one from the package, then offered them to Hardy.

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