Home On The Ranch. Trish Milburn
“Thanks,” she said, wincing inwardly at how forced her cheery voice sounded.
Austin released her hand so suddenly it was as if her touch had turned scorching hot. Trying not to be offended, she gave him a quick smile and retreated inside. But when she returned to the area of the kitchen where she’d been logging her finds, she had a hard time focusing on the task. In fact, she found it hard to sit still. Darn her overactive imagination. It was having a field day up in her head, wondering what that large, warm hand would feel like touching her face, his fingers finding their way through her riot of curls to the back of her head.
No, she wouldn’t think about his lips. Nope, nope, nope.
Determined to regain some of her suddenly AWOL sanity, she decided to tackle a closet in the master bedroom. But when she stepped through the doorway, her gaze landed on the bed covered with an old-fashioned chenille bedspread. She knew she was in trouble when instead of wondering what she could do with the chenille, she had a mental flash of crawling beneath it with a very hot and naked Austin Bryant.
After Ella retreated into the house, Austin let out his breath and ran his fingers back through his hair. When was the last time a woman had taken care of him like Ella just had? His grandmother when he’d been a kid scraping knees and elbows around the ranch? It freaked him out how nice it had felt, her soft hands being gentle with his stupid injury but quick and efficient at the same time.
The moment her small fingers had touched his skin, a wave of heat had raced through him that had nothing to do with the climbing temperature outside.
Damn, of all the women toward whom he could have a powerful attraction.
With a shake of his head, he returned to the ladder and what he should be thinking about—working to get this ranch ready to sell.
But as he wrestled with the gutters, his mind kept wandering back to the woman inside the house. He seemed to always end up on dates with taller, leggy blondes. He’d assumed that was just his type. Even in high school, he’d dated Sophie Bellermine, who’d been a blonde and the center on the basketball team.
So why were his thoughts and hormones latching on to a petite brunette whose curls seemed to be hosting a party on her head?
What was she doing in the house anyway? Yesterday, she’d been like a whirlwind, speeding back and forth to her truck. Today she seemed to disappear inside for longer stretches of time. He just hoped she didn’t fall victim to an avalanche of his grandparents’ myriad possessions.
No, not his grandparents’ stuff, not anymore. Now it all belonged to him—at least until Ella could get it off the property.
As if thinking about her conjured her, Ella strode out to the truck carrying a box of...something. He didn’t even care what it was. Just wanted it gone.
He paused in the midst of attaching another portion of the gutter that had pulled away from the roof to watch her. Her legs might not be as long as a supermodel’s, but they certainly packed a lot of punch. Fit, smooth, tempting. His body stood at attention, making his jeans grow uncomfortable. But he couldn’t stop watching.
He would have been better off if a burly, hairy guy had shown up to do the job, but if someone had to be here for several days, she was a damn sight nicer to look at.
When she turned to walk back to the house, she headed in his direction instead. She shaded her eyes as she looked up at him.
“Glad to see you haven’t bled out.”
No, his blood was too busy rushing to other parts of his body to mess with a measly head wound.
“Despite evidence to the contrary, I’m not normally accident-prone.”
“Good to know, because I start charging for the second injury.”
He laughed, surprising himself. It seemed to release some well of tension within him he hadn’t truly been aware of. His arm and leg muscles relaxed, including the death grip he’d had on the rung of the ladder. He took a deep breath, maybe the first true one he’d taken since getting the call about his grandfather.
“You okay?” Ella asked.
“Yeah.” He nodded once toward the house. “How’s it going?”
“Good. I’m logging as I go so I can at least pretend I have a tracking system for supplies.”
She was taking the time to log piles and piles and piles of stuff that he would have sworn had outlived its usefulness? “Won’t that slow you down?”
He thought he saw a hint of a wince cross her face, but she was too far away to tell for sure.
“Some. I guessed that you still had quite a bit of work to do before you were ready to list the place.”
“I do. But I can’t do anything inside until it’s cleared out.”
Ella slipped her hands into the back pockets of her shorts, probably unaware of the way that movement accentuated her figure and threatened to make him topple off the ladder.
“How much more do you have to do outside?”
Plenty to keep him busy for several more days, but how could he convey that he just needed all the crap gone, out of his sight, out of his life without sounding like he had an irrational hatred for inanimate objects?
“A bit.” Way to be specific, dude.
“Got it, pick up the pace.”
Before he could respond, she spun and disappeared around the corner of the house. Frustrated by his mental hang-up about his grandparents’ stash, he looked up at the cloudless sky and let out a long sigh. He needed to chill, let Ella do her thing. After all, her hauling everything away wasn’t costing him a penny. He needed to appreciate that positive fact instead of letting his past make him want to throw however much it cost at someone to haul everything out of here today.
Calm the hell down.
Despite his “a bit” answer to her question, he had more than enough to keep him busy that didn’t require him stepping foot in the house.
It seemed being away from Blue Falls for several years had made him forget how to cope with things out of his control—concentrating only on the thing directly in front of him and pretending everything else didn’t exist. Movement out of the corner of his eye revealed itself to be Ella striding to the truck, her arms full of several small, teetering boxes.
How the heck was he supposed to pretend Ella Garcia didn’t exist?
* * *
ELLA STALKED BACK into the house, frustration and fatigue gnawing at her. She wasn’t really mad at Austin. After all, he’d been up-front with her about wanting the place cleared out as quickly as possible, and she’d agreed. But she dreaded trying to log everything after she’d shoved it...somewhere. She couldn’t think now about the fact that she didn’t have enough space for everything here, not even close. She’d have to figure that out later, when she had to move everything yet again to log it, then put it back wherever she’d crammed it. She didn’t have time for doubling or tripling her efforts, but it wasn’t as if she was willing to walk away from the current windfall either. Even if the faster she got away from Austin Bryant, the better.
When she’d been tending the cut on his forehead earlier, her fingers could have easily continued exploring if she hadn’t forcefully reined them in. The man was too good-looking for her comfort. She kept having to dissuade herself from making up reasons to go out and talk to him just to hear the sexy rumble of his voice, to see how nicely his jeans fit his backside, to watch the play of the muscles in his arms as he worked.
It sure had been a while since infatuation had hit her this hard and this fast, not since she’d fallen instantly head over heels for Jacob O’Riley when she was