Now that Cal Spencer could see the woman up close, she clearly posed no threat, but her unexpected presence at the cottage on his mother’s property had been enough to spike his adrenaline to unprecedented levels.
And her curvy body slamming into his at twenty-five miles-per-hour sure didn’t help to calm him down, either.
He liked to think of himself as a man of routine. A man who cultivated a predictable and consistent life. And since it was the weekend, he stopped by his mom’s house, just as he always did on his longest weekly run. The place stood exactly 3.5 miles from his own house, which made it an ideal water break during his weekend runs. He would jog to his childhood home, help himself to a glass of water, and then turn back around and run the same route back for a smooth seven-mile circuit.
At least that’s how it typically worked. But today, as he’d caught his breath and grabbed a sip of water at his mother’s kitchen sink, he’d glanced out the back window and noticed movement in the souped-up shed his mom kept on the far end of her property.
Knowing that his mom was out of town for the weekend, Cal’s protective instincts went into high alert and he made his way out the back door, jogging across the two hundred feet of well-maintained gardens that separated the structure from his mother’s main house.
He wanted to just barge right into the shed (the “She Shed,” his mother had always— absurdly—called it) but something in his gut told him he should knock. Before he’d had the chance to do so, however, the cottage’s screen door swung open and a woman slammed into his chest with all the grace of a Mack truck.
She had pushed herself off him and backed herself up against the screen door, unabashedly surveying his face, his chest, his entire body, surely trying to determine who he was, what he was doing on the porch, and if he posed a threat to her.
Which of course, he didn’t. He didn’t want to scare her, and the panic washing over her rankled him. Yet he felt more than ready to hear her explanation for what the hell she was doing here.
“So, do I need to call Chief Conrad, or are you prepared to explain your presence on my mother’s property?” he asked, his tone uncharacteristically firm as he waved the phone in his hand.
She winced. The woman was clearly unaccustomed to law-enforcement related threats, which he’d now hurled her way twice in twenty seconds. A twinge of guilt tightened his chest, but he shook it off, seeing as how he wasn’t the one trespassing. Even if the woman didn’t pose an immediate threat, he’d demand an explanation for her presence in the She Shed. Cal looked after his family at any cost. As the oldest and the only son, that had been his role even long before his dad had passed away.
The woman before him was as harmless as she was surprising. His eyes briefly flickered over her, giving her the same superficial assessment she’d just given him, and he might have smiled at the sheer unexpectedness of the woman had he not been trying to ever-so-slightly intimidate her.
She was a quirky thing, at least half a foot shorter than his six foot two inches. A curvy, solid woman with lots of dark hair tied back into a few messy buns on either side of her head. Her fingernails and toenails appeared to be painted about six different colors, perhaps to match her unicorn-print leggings. Her black tank top, featuring what looked like a trail of Cheeto dust where it stretched across her full breasts, declared in flashy silver print: “I’m Sorry For What I Said When I Was Hungry.”
Any amusement inspired by her eclectic style, however, quickly evaporated after she explained her presence.
“I’m Rhonda Spencer’s new renter. I’m supposed to move in today.”
He felt his blood pressure rise at her words. His mother’s new renter? What in the hell was the woman talking about? His mother hadn’t said anything about renting out her damn She Shed. Surely she wouldn’t try to pull off such a stunt without so much as a word to her oldest child about it.
Questions flew through his mind—how could she have coordinated this without his knowledge? Did his little sisters know about this, deciding collectively to leave him in the dark? Where had his mother found this mysterious renter, and had she carefully vetted this woman before handing over a key?
He didn’t have any answers, but if he knew his mom as well as he thought he did, she probably just thought up this plan on a whim and hadn’t bothered to mention it to anyone. Rhonda Spencer seemed to have a deep, intrinsic need to surprise the people in her life from time to time.
“Her renter?” he repeated, unable to formulate a more intelligent response.
“Yes,” the woman said firmly, her brows narrowing as she watched him with suspicion. He ran his hands through his hair. God, he forgot what a sweaty mess he was after running in the unprecedented September heat. This woman probably thought him unhinged, and he couldn’t very well blame her.
“She didn’t mention anything to me about renting out the She Shed.”
At his words, the panic momentarily vanished from the woman’s face and he watched it transform into something brighter —something beautiful —which somehow managed to annoy him even more.
“The She Shed?” she emphasized, her face softening as she clasped her hands in front of her chest.
He sighed and rubbed his brow. Lord, she and his mom were going to get along swimmingly. His mother’s whimsical nature had always mystified him.
“That’s her ridiculous name for it, not mine.”
“That is beyond amazing. I didn’t think I could love this place more, but now I do. The She Shed!” the woman repeated, practically swooning, and twirling around in a little circle.
Cal resisted the urge to mirror the happy curve of her lips. He wasn’t here to flirt, and he was in no mood to do so anyway.
“But, I have a copy of my signed lease with me, if you need confirmation,” she continued once her spinning ceased. “It’s totally legitimate.”
“Why would she do this?” he muttered to himself, but the woman replied anyway.
“I can’t answer that. It sounds like you and your mother have some things to talk about,” she said, a touch on the smug side. He tried not to grimace.
His mom didn’t need money from a rental. She was hardly rich, but the mortgage on his childhood home had been paid off for years, and she could live comfortably on her modest income, especially in this part of the country. And with four grown children, two grandkids, and dozens of neighbors and clients who adored her, it’s not like his mother needed the company.
The She Shed had been her private oasis, one she had tinkered with for years to get how she liked. She never let Cal go in there, and his father had known better than to even ask for admittance back when he was still alive. In fact, no men went into the ladies-only zone.
This meant that his mother would only rent the space to a woman. And it’d have to be a single woman, seeing how the shed barely fit one.
Suddenly Cal’s stomach lurched, the same way it did every time he thought about his mother and single young women in the same breath.
Though his mom was semi-retired, he often joked that she continued to work full-time as matchmaker for her only son, whom she believed to be withering on the vine at the ripe old age of 30.
Hell.
He’d seen his mother pull some outrageous stunts over the years to try and put eligible young women in the path of her notoriously noncommittal son, but this would be taking it a step too far even for her.
“Do you happen to have a copy of the rental announcement that you responded to?” he asked.
“I do, but…”
“Could I see it?” he interrupted.
She hesitated. Yeah, she definitely thought he was unhinged.
“I could wait and get it from my mom tomorrow when she’s back in town,” he relented. No need to spook this woman any further than he already had. As it was, his mother would already be livid about how he’d treated her new renter.
“No, I guess there’s no harm in showing it to you. It wasn’t private or anything. I found it online. Just wait here.”
He couldn’t blame her for not inviting him in, but as she began rifling through a bag on the kitchen table, he took the opportunity to peek into the She Shed.
Damn. His mom had certainly been busy. How much money had she sunk into renovations on this place, and could she possible recoup it based on the rent she charged? The last time he’d seen the space, it was little more than a massive tool shed with some pretty paint slathered around. Today the place looked fantastic, he’d give her that.
“You found the ad online? So you’re not from around here?” Cal asked, though he already knew the answer. Having grown up in the small town, he knew most everyone within five years of his age around a three-county radius. He would have remembered a woman like the one before him.
“Uh, no, I’m not from around here,” she said, avoiding his gaze as she dug through her purse. Since she wasn’t watching him, he allowed himself a small smile at the odd collection of items she pulled out of the bag—a pack of Crayola markers, a romance novel, a bag of gummy worms, a sparkly pink notebook, a tiny rubber duck wearing a Hawaiian lei. “I’m relocating from Chicago.”
Chicago. That response surprised him even more than the rubber duck in her purse. It was almost unheard of for someone from a major city to relocate to a small town like Bloomsburo, a town that couldn’t even claim quite 4,000 residents.
“Wow, so you’re pretty far from home, huh?” he asked.
Her rifling stopped briefly. “It wasn’t home,” she said quietly. Her tone made it clear that follow-up questions were not welcome, and he refused to cater to the part of his brain that hungered for this woman’s full story.
She rooted around for a few seconds more, finally locating the desired piece of paper beneath a pair of star-covered socks. She walked over and handed it to him.
“Here you go,” she said, her eyes reaching his once more, only bolder this time. The initial fear he saw there had vanished, thankfully, replaced by a spark he couldn’t quite identify. “And I’m Winnie, by the way. Thanks for asking.”
A surge of shame coursed through his veins. With his adrenaline high now tapering off, he realized what an impolite ass he’d been to this woman. Having grown up with a strong mother figure and three little sisters, Cal always prioritized respect toward women, but today he failed to live up to his own standards.
“I’m Cal Spencer. And I’m sorry for startling you on the porch.”
“Are you also sorry for insinuating that I’m a burglar, here to steal the throw pillows and the box of baking soda in the otherwise empty fridge?” she asked, one brow arching.
A hint of a grin pulled at the corner of Cal’s mouth despite himself. He took her sass as a small sign of forgiveness.
“Yeah. Sorry for that, too. But in my defense, you’ve got a dangerous edge about you,” he added, his lips spreading involuntarily. “I couldn’t be too careful.”
She snorted. Why such a graceless sound managed to come across as endearing to him, he couldn’t say. All he knew for sure was that his brain was clearly fried, and he needed to finish his run and get his wits back about him.
“Yes, I’m sure that the Chicago PD has already called up your friend, the chief, to warn him about my arrival,” she joked. “They probably have my picture on a poster down at the station.”
He quirked a brow at her before opening up the piece of paper and reading his mother’s rental ad aloud.
“Single-occupancy studio cottage for rent. Idyllic space for young professional looking for privacy. Austen-esque rural setting. Bountiful flower gardens border on all sides. Cottage is furnished to feminine tastes. Family-oriented is a plus, as grandkids often play in the shared lawn.”
Jesus, his mother was about as subtle as a hammer to the head.
“This is going too far, even for her.” Cal groaned, suddenly wishing he’d wake up to discover that his whole afternoon had been a dream.
“I loved the description! It caught my attention immediately,” Winnie said. It wasn’t lost on him that Winnie defended his mother, while her own son griped about her.
“Of course it caught your attention. Because it’s basically a single’s ad, masquerading as a rental agreement.”
Shock swept across Winnie’s pretty face.
“A single’s ad?” she sputtered, grabbing the paper from his hand and scanning it again. “How do you figure?”
“Do you happen to be a single, educated, professional woman with a romantic streak, who happens to love the outdoors, flowers, and dreams of marriage and children down the road?”
Winnie puffed out an indignant sigh.
“Well, I mean, maybe,” she stammered, her cheeks flushing the most compelling shade of pink. “I guess that could describe me a little bit. Or maybe me-in-the-future. But that description fits lots of women. That has nothing to do with the ad.”
“I would never respond to an ad like this,” he said flatly.
“What, you’re not a Jane Austen fan?”
“Nah, I’ve always been more of a Bronte guy,” he said, not missing a beat.
She did a double take. He shouldn’t have taken so much satisfaction from the quick grin his quip inspired from her, but he did. He felt suddenly grateful for the literary references he learned courtesy of growing up in a house full of little sisters.
“Okay, so your mom put out a single’s ad? Is she, um, interested in women?”
Cal laughed despite himself.
“Sure, she’s interested in women to set me up with.”
He’d never seen the blood drain from a woman’s face quite that quickly. It was humbling, really.
“She rented me the She Shed because she wants to set me up with you?”
The disdain with which she said you was a swift kick to his pride, but he felt some relief that at least one other person found his mother’s meddling to be as preposterous as he did.
“That’s my guess.”
“I can assure you, I was just looking for a place to live. You weren’t mentioned as part of the package deal. She might have offered me a discount on the rent if that were the case.”
He laughed at the jab.
“And my mom was just looking for a potential daughter-in-law. That’s what she does.”
“I can’t say I blame her. You seem like the kind of guy who would need a bit of help in the romance department,” Winnie teased.
Had a woman ever simultaneously flirted with him and insulted him? More importantly, Cal wondered why, when Winnie did just this, a small flame seemed to light somewhere deep inside of him, as if she were turning on a pilot light he didn’t even know existed.
This uninvited ignition made him want to growl. He didn’t do girlfriends. He didn’t do “marriage potential.” He didn’t date cute, quirky, Pride and Prejudice loving, girl-next-door types in unicorn tights, and his mother damn well knew it. He had no interest in pursuing something serious with any woman, but especially not one whose romantic sensibilities were even remotely influenced by Mr. Darcy.
“She’s barking up the wrong tree, anyway,” Winnie conceded. Her gaze dropped to her zebra-print flip flops in a failed attempt to hide the discomfort that flashed across her face.
“So you’re interested in women, then?”
“If only,” she sighed, a comment he couldn’t even begin to interpret. “I’m not interested in women, but I also happen to be temporarily disinterested in men. I’m not dating right now.”
He hated the part of himself that interpreted her comment as a challenge.
Damn it, he really needed to go finish his run and burn off this excess adrenaline.
“Well, I’ll tell my mom that you already shot me down, and hopefully she won’t make you pack your bags and head back to Chicago in order to bring in a new candidate.”
Winnie’s eyes widened and he saw panic return to them, the same panic that met him when she first slammed into him on the porch. He didn’t like it—neither the anxiety he saw there, nor whatever it was back in Chicago that made the prospect of returning so terrifying.
“Hey, I’m just kidding with you,” he assured her, his voice gentling. “My mom’s going to adore you. She’s probably already talked to you on the phone a half-dozen times and is completely enamored with you. She’s probably already planned to trade me out for you.”
She avoided his gaze, but she relented a small smile that confirmed his suspicions.
“Well, I had better get to unpacking, that is if you’re going to call off the SWAT team,” she said with more than a touch of orneriness.
He glanced down at his sweat-soaked shirt. Satisfaction simmered deep within when she followed suit, her eyes seeming to darken as she scanned the contours of his chest once more.
Winnie Briggs might not be interested in dating, but he’d bet his life that her interest in men was alive and kicking.
“I’ll let you get to it, then,” he said. “It’s time for me to get out of these clothes and into the shower, anyway.”
For the three-and-a-half-mile jog home, Cal didn’t think about the September heat or the stitch in his side or his irritation with his mother or the work waiting for him at his desk Monday morning. The only thought his mind wanted to mull over was that final image of Winnie Briggs’ face—her deep brown eyes wide, her mouth parted, and her cheeks flushed the prettiest pink at the thought of him wet and disrobed.