City Girl Read Free Page B

thrown at the dog. Hugging it across her chest with both arms, she left the room without looking back.
    Oh, hell, what had made him say she wasn’t welcome? he wondered as he looked through the doorway toward the stairs, listening to her ascend. It was a filthy thing to say to a woman whose only fault was that, because she resembled a long-dead relation she probably didn’t even remember, she’d been left part of his ranch. She’d likely had as long and exhausting a day as he’d had, and was as tired as he was, maybe even as hungry.
    Hungry? It was then that he smelled scorching food and looked at the stove. A congealed mess that had once been scrambled eggs now smoked in a pan, turning brown around the edges.
    With a growl of disgust, Kirk lifted the pan and shoved it, eggs and all, into the overloaded sink, then sat down at the table and pulled off his boots, leaving them lying where they fell. He was too damned tired to do anything else. Except, not only was he tired, he was also hungry, breakfast having been a long, long time ago and lunch non-existent. Hell, Liss Tremayne was probably tired, too, and hungry. It was clear she hadn’t taken so much as a bite of those eggs she’d left burning on the stove.
    He dumped out the crusty mess, scrubbed the pan, then whipped up half a dozen more eggs. He put some ham on to fry, the slowly poured the eggs into a larger pan, letting them cook slowly with a lid on. After a few minutes, he lifted the edge of the congealing eggs, let the liquid top run into the bottom of the pan, then added shredded cheese. He flipped the thick slices of ham and turned the oven onto warm. When the eggs were ready, he folded the omelet over the cheese, divided it more or less equally onto two plates, added the ham set it in the oven. He dropped four slices of bread into the toaster and forced his  weary body up the stairs.
    Liss lay on her bed, tears slowly leaking from her        eyes. She was feeling sorry, not for herself, of course, but for poor Uncle Ambrose, a cold, hard man who’d been embittered by his young bride’s death. At least that’s what Liss’s father had told her, and she figured he should know. His sister had been Ambrose’s wife. How sad, Liss thought that her aunt had died in childbirth, along with the infant, leaving Ambrose with this huge, empty house.
    She groaned softly when someone knocked on her door. “Go away,” she said, rubbing hastily at her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater.      
    He didn’t. The door opened and he stepped in, still wearing the same damp jeans, but minus his boots and jacket. The three-day growth of beard remained. His eyes were dark and tired, and so oddly compassionate that she had to look away lest the kindness undo her completely and start the tears again.
    When he reached out and touched her shoulder, he felt her flinch then become so rigid, he thought her muscles might snap.
    “Hey, come here,” he said quietly, urging her to turn around and face him.
    She rolled off the bed and slipped away to the window, standing with her back to the room.
    “Come on, Liss,” he said, his voice quiet and deep. “I’m sorry I said you weren’t welcome. Believe me, you’re a whole lot more welcome than our third partner in this venture. I was . . . I guess I was responding in kind to the way you greeted me, but I shouldn’t have. I know you were badly scared and had a lot of adrenaline to use up, and that’s what all the shouting and crying was about. I shouldn’t have said what I did and hurt your feelings.”
    “Please, go away,” she repeated.       
    Kirk knew he should do as she asked, but something about the stiff set of her slim shoulders, the guarded quality in her posture, held him there. Walking away from her right then would be like turning his back on a child in pain.
    Stocking feet silent on the carpeted floor, he approached. He drew in a deep, unsteady breath. “Please, don’t cry