Page 31 of Trails of Temptation

I decided that yes, I could, and if he found out and had anything to say about it, he’d have to actually talk to me, which I found unlikely.

I trudged toward his house, which was an easy five-minute walk down a narrow dirt road that wove between the commercial buildings and the bunkhouse.

All of the ranch hands were out in the pasture working, so I passed no one during the walk. But when George’s house rose up in the distance, my plan suddenly fell apart and shattered around my feet. His truck was in the driveway.

He was home.

Shit.

I licked my lips, debating my options. I could go back to the house and try to find Grant. I could ask him to go find the tent, but I’d been such a mess all week and felt awful for making so many mistakes already. I wanted to do something right for him and Moira, and that I meant I needed this sleepover to go smoothly.

So, I’d have to go talk to George myself.

I was only looking for a tent, after all. It wouldn’t be that big of a deal. Right?

I walked up to his front porch, mustering as much confidence as possible. I raised my hand to knock on his door but hesitated, my throat refusing to work with me when I tried to swallow. I hated this. I hated walking on eggshells with him. I hated that we’d ruined our friendship.

“What can I do for you, Keely?” George said from behind me.

I whirled around, finding him leaning on the white picket fence that surrounded his tidy front yard. He was dressed in jeans and a white tee shirt that hugged his shoulders and thickly muscled arms and chest. It was tucked into his jeans, showing off the way his waist tapered. God, he was beautiful. This freaking sucked.

He looked up at me expectedly, his face shadowed by the worn cowboy he always wore.

“I’m looking for the six-person tent,” I said shakily. “It wasn’t in the barn you guys use for storage.”

“That’ll be because I have it,” he said, a hint of a smile touching his lips. The smile faded as he looked me up and down, noticing the blood trickling down my leg. “What happened?” he asked, his voice edged with concern.

“It’s just a scratch. I skinned my knee on the ladder.”

He said nothing for a moment. He just looked up at me, his shoulders tight as he met my eyes. This was the most we’d spoken all week.

“I thought you didn’t get back until later this afternoon,” I said, turning to face him fully.

“We got done early and traffic wasn’t bad,” he replied, straightening up. “Were you planning on breaking into my sheds to find the tent if I wasn’t here?”

“No,” I lied, but he saw right through me. He smiled again, a half-cocked, boyish smile that had me in a little weak in the knees despite my efforts to stay calm and out from under his spell.

“Sure,” he mused, then turned, waving me over to follow him. “It’s in my shop, come on.”

I jogged down the stairs after him, cursing myself for not dressing up a little more today. I wore a pair of athletic shorts and a grubby old shirt I’d had since high school, the sleeves cut off to expose my freckled, sunburned shoulders. My hair was plastered to my face from sweat and pulled up in a lazy bun on the top of my head, and I didn’t have even a smidge of makeup on.

But, I shouldn’t be caring about those things right now. Especially since I wasn’t supposed to want George anymore, and he didn’t want me, either.

I caught up to him and followed him inside his shop, which was located next to his house separated by a lawn and part of his gravel driveway. I refrained from gasping as I stepped inside. It was nice and cool, kept that way by the AC he’d installed inside the building. But everything was tidy, shiny, and meticulously clean. His ride-on lawnmower looked brand new, even though I knew it was used often to keep his front and back yard looking tidy.

I scanned the room, and before I could stop myself, I was running my fingers over his workbench. I didn’t know he was a woodworker. I didn’t know he could weld. I didn’t know a lot about George, apparently. I glanced down at the… crib he was making. For a baby. A wooden rocking horse sat next to it, freshly oiled and waiting for paint.

“It’s for Moira and Grant’s baby,” he said, then grunted with effort. I heard the sound of synthetic fabric sliding free and turned just in time to see the muscles in George’s shoulders straining as he pulled the tent from a shelf. “I should be done with it soon. Still have to paint the horse, though. She wanted it pink with flowers but I’m not good with fine details.”

“I could paint it for you,” I offered, then blushed, dropping my eyes as his gaze met mine.

“That’d be great,” he said softly, gruffly, and I was sure I caught the hint of buried emotion behind his words. “If you really want to.”

“I—Sure,” I said hastily before my stupid mouth could spill every single thing I’ve wanted to say to him over the past week of cold politeness and near silence.

He set the tent on his worktable, the two of us standing nearly shoulder to shoulder as I absently stared down at everything he’d been working on during his free time.

“Keely—”

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