paws,â she said, eyeing the dusty wood floor. âIf you care.â
She immediately regretted being snide. Trent ignored it, but she knew heâd heard. It wasnât like her to be rude. But she was tired, hungry and not completely enamored of the run-down Eager Beaver ranch. Stupid name, anyway. Sheâd look into changing it first thing.
And then there was Trent, whoever he was...besides tall and hot. Though being good-looking didnât work in his favor. Not with her. Sheâd had it with men. And their expectations. And...well, just about everything.
âHow many times have I told you to use the doormat?â Trent said to the dog, then ducked out and returned with a faded towel. âHe get any mud on you?â
She shook her head, then looked up. Trentâs eyes were an unusual gray. She hadnât been able to tell earlier, but sheâd noticed the strong jaw shadowed from a couple daysâ growth of beard. With his dark wavy hair, tanned skin and long, lean body, he was the perfect image of the untamed cowboy conquering the rugged West. If a woman had a fanciful imagination, which she did not. Anyway, she was from Colorado and knew better. Not all cowboys were equal. But all men were.
No, that wasnât fair. She looked at her left hand, where her engagement ring used to be. She was still raw from Donaldâs betrayal. From the proof that while he wanted to marry her, he didnât know her at all. In time the sting would fade. She had to believe that if she wanted to start fresh, prove to herself she could be successful on her own terms.
âCome here, boy.â Trent crouched beside her and gave the dogâs collar a light tug until his front paws were on the towel.
Huddling between Trent and a console table felt too intimate so she stood. âWhatâs his name?â
âMutt. Actually, itâs Ugly Mutt. Sometimes I call him Ugly. But mostly just Mutt.â
She stared down at him, ready and waiting to disappoint him when he looked for her reaction to his baiting. But he never looked up, simply concentrated on cleaning the dogâs paws while her gaze followed the play of corded muscle along his forearms.
âYouâre kidding, right?â she said finally.
âAbout?â
âHis name. You donât really call him Ugly.â
âSure I do.â He gave the dog an affectionate pat. âLook at him.â
âThatâs awful.â How could he treat the poor animal that way? â
Youâre
awful.â
Trent smiled. âYou know he doesnât understand, right?â
Her gaze caught on the laugh lines fanning out at the corner of his eye. Then slid to his muscled bicep straining the sleeve of the T-shirt. When she finally noticed that he was giving her a funny look, she realized sheâd stopped listening.
She cleared her throat and surveyed the room. âWe need to straighten out this mess.â
Trent glanced over his shoulder and frowned at the magazines and newspapers littering the coffee table. A pair of boots, one turned on its side, butted up to the burgundy recliner. âWhich mess are we talking about?â
âThe Eager Beaver,â she said, as it slowly dawned on her that the place was furnished with chairs, a high-quality leather sofa, a flat-screen TV, rugs... Trent wasnât simply squatting or passing through. âAnd how quickly you can clear off my property.â
He wasnât taking her one bit seriously. With a lifted brow he slid his gaze down her body. âYou suddenly found that deed somewhere?â
âNo. I explained where it is. But you seem so sure of yourself, Iâm assuming you have one.â
That wiped the smirk off his face. âI do. Not here. My folks have it in their bank safe-deposit box.â
âIn Blackfoot Falls? Shouldnât take you long to get it.â
âThey live in Dillon, four hours from here.â
âOh, how
R. K. Ryals, Melanie Bruce