Too Hot to Handle. Victoria Dahl
glanced toward the house. She couldn’t just leave it there. It would look as if she’d done it deliberately because they’d insulted her. And she couldn’t go back in and confess, because she’d left in a huff and their only apparent attachment to her was her cheap price tag.
“Oh, God!” The tears flowed freely now, inspired by panic and anger and the awful knowledge that she could feel as humiliated as she wanted but she couldn’t lose this job. She couldn’t.
Merry looked helplessly down at the mailbox, feeling as if she’d murdered some precious icon. The thick white post wasn’t broken. Maybe she could just stick it back in the ground. A glance at the house confirmed that no one else had left yet. They were probably still bickering over whether it had been dishonest to hire her for a job that didn’t exist.
A job that didn’t exist. The perfect job for a bit of fluff like her.
Rage pushed her past her guilt over the mailbox, and Merry bent down and wrapped her arms around the box, lifting it with a grunt of impatience. She slid it a few inches and fit the tip of the post into the hole. It dropped right in.
“Thank God.” After pressing down a little, she let it go…and watched the mailbox tilt toward the left. Crap. Merry wrapped her arms around it and straightened it again, then pulled down as hard as she could. She lifted her feet and let her body weight hang for just a second. This time, when she stepped back, it only tipped a tiny bit. Like the erection of a man just registering that you’d made a Star Wars joke in the middle of foreplay.
Not that that had ever happened to her.
Merry took a few more steps back, hands raised as if she could catch the mailbox if it fell. But it held steady, and with one last look at the house, she darted to her car and drove away.
But as she drove down the gravel road, watching dust billow behind her like a plume of guilt, Merry set her jaw and steeled her heart.
It didn’t matter why they’d hired her. It didn’t matter who they thought she was. She’d come here to make a place for herself, and that was what she was going to do.
* * *
SHANE HARCOURT WAS so damn tired he wasn’t sure he could make it up the front steps of the Stud Farm. Two weeks of carpentry work on a ranch in Lander, followed up by a week of fencing on the high plateau outside Big Piney, and he was dead on his feet and nearly weaving side to side as he opened the door and headed for his apartment.
Not for the first time, he thanked God that Cole had finally gotten back on his feet and out of Shane’s ground floor place. Shane couldn’t have trudged up to the second floor today. Not in this state. He watched his key disappear into the lock like he was watching the perfect porn movie. A beer. A hot shower. Bed. Then he planned to sleep for two days straight. Sheer pleasure.
He turned the key.
“Shane!”
Shane blinked at the idea of his neighbor Grace greeting him with such unbridled excitement. Frowning, he slowly turned around, hand still hopefully clasped to the doorknob.
“Hi!” a woman who was definitely not Grace said.
He took in the tall brunette in the Oscar the Grouch T-shirt and automatically touched the brim of his hat in greeting. “Morning,” he said.
“It’s afternoon now,” she answered.
“Is it?” He realized he was just standing there staring while she grinned at him. Her long dark hair framed a harmless round face and an open smile. “Do I know you?”
“Seriously? Wow. I’m kind of insulted.”
Shane’s brain scanned quickly through the past few sexual encounters he’d had, just in case. But there weren’t that many, and he was almost immediately sure he hadn’t slept with this girl. “Sorry?”
“Shane, I’m Merry.”
Mary? He stared.
“Merry Kade. Grace’s friend?”
“Oh,” he said. Then “Oh! Merry. Right. Hi.”
Her wide smile had faltered at some point, so Shane tried again. “It’s good to see you. Are you visiting?”
“No, I moved here. I’m living with Grace for a little while.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Good.” His eyes nearly crossed with exhaustion.
“Anyway, I’m glad you’re finally back. You’re a carpenter cowboy, right?”
“I’m just a carpenter, not a cowboy.”
“Sure you are.” She waved a hand up and down his body. “Look at those boots. And the hat.”
“Being a cowboy is a job. It’s got nothing to do with the boots.”
She looked pointedly at his Stetson.
“Or the hat,” he said wearily.
“Okay, but you are a carpenter.” When he nodded, her smile returned, lighting up her fresh face. “You’re just what I need!”
Too tired to bother with a sly reply, Shane just nodded. “Need some help with a bookshelf or something?”
She laughed so loudly that her voice rang through the entry. “Sure, something like that.”
He forced a smile. “Okay, I’ll come by later. Right now—” He held up a hand to stop the words forming on her lips. “Listen, I’ve been working twelve-hour days for two weeks. I would normally come over straightaway and assemble your shelf, but I’m swaying on my feet and my eyes can’t focus. All I can even consider is a microwave burrito, a quick shower and then ten hours of sleep. Actually scratch the shower. That’ll wait.”
Her eyes flickered down before she blinked a few times. “Sure. It’s no problem. The shelf can wait. You sleep. And eat. And shower.”
“Thanks, um…Merry. I’ll come over later.” He pushed through the door and nearly stumbled over a thick envelope that must have been slipped through the old mail slot that no one used anymore. When he spotted his lawyer’s name printed across the top, Shane picked it up and set it on a table to open later. He didn’t need to think about that bullshit right now. The only thing worse would be trying to navigate a conversation with his mother. He couldn’t think coherently about even the simplest thing, such as being polite to an acquaintance.
He turned, meaning to apologize to Merry before he closed the door, but she was gone, the only evidence she’d been there the sound of Grace’s door clicking shut.
“Shit.” He’d go over to Grace’s as soon as he’d showered tonight. But first… He locked the door, shucked off his boots, forgot about lunch and headed for bed to collapse.
CHAPTER TWO
GRACE FROZE IN THE ACT of sliding a perfect smudge of black liner across her lash line and aimed a hot glare in Merry’s direction. “What do you mean Shane’s coming over?”
Merry stared in wonder. “How do you do that?” she asked for the hundredth time since she’d met her best friend. “I don’t get it. When I put eyeliner on, I look like a five-year-old playing dress up. Or an eighty-year-old alcoholic trying to recapture her glory days.”
“Close your eyes.” Grace scooted Merry around and swiped the pencil quickly over her lids. “There. I’ve shown you a million times. Now tell me why Shane’s coming over.”
When she opened her eyes, Merry sighed at the sight that greeted her. Her plain brown irises now looked large and whiskey-colored. At least she was living with Grace right now. She could use her friend like a personal makeup artist whenever she wanted. Of course, that didn’t change the fact that Merry’s liner would be smudged and smeared within an hour. Her body rejected any transplants of prettiness.
“I need a carpenter,” she said