Chapter Three

Grace

The afternoon has gone from pretty effing bad to worse. The truck has been towed away. I don’t know much about bodywork, but I guess when they said they’d have to make a second trip to pick up the engine, the truck is totaled. The house looks like it got hit by an F5 tornado. I wanted to go look through the wreckage, but Ben won’t let me.

Won’t. Let. Me.

Those were his words. Now he’s sitting on my porch, sprawled on a chair, talking to the dealership in Abilene. He’s ordering a whole new truck. Just like that. His luggage, two suitcases, sit in the hallway. He managed to get them out of the wreckage and, without asking permission, plunked them down in the hallway. He acts like he’s staying. I’d like to know for how long, but I haven’t built up the nerve. I’m not sure how to kick him out after I wrecked his vehicle.

For the last hour, I’ve been on the phone with my insurance company.

“I’m afraid your homeowner policy won’t cover that, Miss Hopkins.”

A small whimper threads the length of my throat. “Holy shit.”

“I didn’t catch that, hon.”

“Is there some way to appeal, or something?”

“I can pass this on to my supervisor, but the review process takes four to six weeks.”

“Okay. I mean… let’s do that.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you today?”

Her chirpy voice grates on my frayed nerves, but I’m too stunned to say much. “No, thank you.”

“We have a small survey for our customers. Would you like to participate?”

“A survey?”

“Yes, a customer satisfaction survey. It only takes ten minutes.”

Normally, I’d have some smart-ass reply, but not today. “I don’t think so.”

“All right, Miss Hopkins. From our family here at Morris-Rigley Insurance to your family in…Texas, we thank you for your business.”

I end the call just as a text message comes in. It’s Vivian, telling me she and Jeffrey are driving up for the weekend. She’d wanted to surprise me but decided that might be a bad idea. She wants to meet with a realtor just to talk. The message ends with LOLs and xoxox.

Perfect. Of course Vivian’s coming now. And she’s bringing a realtor. Can’t wait to see the realtor’s expression when I show her what’s left of the guest house.

Ben walks in, shoving his phone in his pocket. “They’re delivering the same make and model first thing in the morning.”

“How much is that going to cost?”

“Delivery? It’s free, I think.”

I grit my teeth. “No, the truck.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “We’ll work something out.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Shrugging, he leans against the linoleum counter. The evening light casts a soft buttery glow across the room. It’s my favorite time of day. Dusk. And this is my favorite room in the house, the place that has calmed me from my earliest memories. Not now. Who brushes off the loss of a brand-new truck?

How can he be so calm?

He must see the doubt in my eyes.

“The important thing is no one got hurt, Grace.”

He speaks quietly. His gentle tone and forgiving words make my eyes sting with the threat of tears. I blink several times in rapid succession, fighting off this ridiculous response.

He frowns. “Don’t cry.”

“I hate when people tell me that.” My words sound garbled and thick.

“Well, I hate seeing a girl cry. It’s not your fault. I asked you to move my truck. I should have done it myself.”

God, I hate him. Why is he being so nice?

“After, I thought about how you could have been in the truck. Or in the house. Puts things in a different perspective, doesn’t it?”

I try to swallow the lump of humiliation clogging my throat, and I shake my head.

“I need a place to stay while I get your fence up and while I look around San Felipe. I plan to stay here.”

His words don’t exactly surprise me, or not as much as the other events of the day. I’ll never forget watching his truck roll down the driveway. But still. He wants to stay here. In my house. I can just picture Granddad spinning in his grave. I wait for Ben to say more. Or to laugh off his words. Instead, he keeps his gaze fixed on me.

“I don’t even know who you are.”

My words are true. Technically. But in a way, I feel like I do know him. How many times have I woken in the middle of the night, pulled from a dream of him? I’ve imagined things about Ben that I could never confess to anyone.

He shrugs. “There’s not much to know. I rode bulls for a while but now I want to settle down. I have one more rodeo and then I’m done.”

I run my gaze over his crisply ironed broadcloth shirt, the jeans molded to his narrow hips and muscular legs. His boots look custom-made. Everything about him screams rugged cowboy with a healthy bank account. I’ve already made it clear that I’m not selling my ranch, so I don’t bother repeating that. I don’t want to sound shrill.

“I’m here to find a place to live, Gracie. If you let me stay, I won’t bother you.”

His voice is low, his gaze intense and the very idea of him bothering me sends a shiver up my spine. There’s something different about him this evening. He’s been joking and flirting with me since he stepped out of his truck, but now he’s serious. Thoughtful. He doesn’t act like he’s going to give me a bad time or make inappropriate comments.

“I can swear on the Bible if that would make you feel better, Gracie.”

I close my eyes and take in the events of the afternoon. I need a fence. I need to figure out how I can deal with the truck. So, in the meantime, I guess I’m taking in a roommate. But that doesn’t mean I won’t make him swear to keep things professional.

I get up from the chair and find Gran’s Bible in the den bookshelves.

His lips quirk, and as I hold the worn, leather-bound book in front of him, he sets his left hand on top. Raising his right hand, he holds my gaze even though he’s a head taller than me.

“Okay, swear you won’t bother me,” I say.

“I, Benjamin Calhoun, swear I won’t bother Grace Hopkins.”

I wait, because there’s a light in his eye that suggests he’s thinking of something more he wants to say.

He lowers his voice. “Unless she bothers me first.”

I give him a frosty smile. “Right. And I swear to finish the fence in a week’s time.”

“I swear to finish the fence in a week’s time.”

“That you won’t touch me while you’re in this house.”

“I won’t touch you while we’re in this house.”

I scoff and return the Bible to the den bookshelves. “I’m onto you.”

“Okay,” he says. “By the way, I’m getting some help with the fence, just so you know. I’m paying for the extra help.”

I don’t know what he’s up to, but something about his demeanor makes me believe him. If he wants extra help, what do I care? I just need a fence.

He follows me, stops in the doorway and looks around the room, eyeing everything from the windows to the green easy chair. Wandering to the bookshelves, he studies the knickknacks first, and then the shelves. He’s scoping out the house. Could he possibly be more obvious?

“Would you like me to give you a tour?”

He picks up a picture my gran took of me when I was seven. I’m wearing my first pair of chaps. “You grew up here?”

“I did. My parents died when I was little.”

He picks up a picture of Vivian. She’s in tenth grade, posing in her twirler uniform. I’m used to disappearing from people’s radar the minute they catch sight of her. It’s like I become invisible.

“That’s Vivian. My sister.”

I watch him closely, but he just nods absentmindedly. He sets the photo aside and he scans the book titles on the next shelf.

“Are you two close?”

“Yes. Very.”

He turns his gaze to me and narrows his eyes. “That’s not really true, is it?”

His question flusters me. “Why do you ask me that?”

“Something about your voice. It shifted.” A slow smile curves his mouth and he goes back to looking at the books. “I think you’re fibbing.”

“What do you care?”

“None of my business,” he murmurs, sliding out Granddad’s copy of Cowboy Tails. He flips through the pages, a smile ghosting his lips.

“You can take the book with you. I don’t have television by the way. Let me show you the rest of the house.”

He follows me around. Since he’s already seen most of the downstairs, we head upstairs. The narrow steps creak as we ascend.

“I don’t suppose you’re a very good poker player, are you?” he asks.

“That’s kind of a random question.”

“You’re not a good liar.”

“My great-grandfather won this ranch from your great-grandfather, playing poker, so I have it in my blood.”

“Maybe we’ll play sometime.”

I stop at the bathroom door. “You’re only here a week, Ben.”

“That’s plenty of time to think of some interesting stakes.”

I ignore his sultry tone. I also resist the urge to remind him he just swore an oath to be a gentleman. “This is the only upstairs bathroom. You’re going to have fun trying to fit in that shower. Don’t bump your head on the gabled roof.”

After that I show him the guest room. The antique iron bed is going to be too small for him, but there’s nothing I can do about that. He follows me around as I show him the rest of the rooms. He has to duck his head to go through doorways.

After he’s taken his suitcases to the guest room, I stop in the doorway. “When can you start on the fences?”

“At dawn.”

“I need to get up early too. I have to work on the books. I’ll make breakfast.”

He grunts as he tugs his shirt off and tosses it aside. I hadn’t expected that, and suddenly I’m facing a giant, bare-chested cowboy, with a torso that looks like it was hewn from granite.

“Damned straight.” He unzips his suitcase, rummages through his belongings without looking up.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll take bacon and three eggs over-easy.”

I’m nodding, like I agree with him, and the traitorous part of my brain is actually agreeing with his demand for a made-to-order breakfast. I turn away, gritting my teeth. A week, I tell myself. That’s all I need. One week to fix my fences and then I can be on my way to making money with this ranch.

Unless I need to purchase a new truck for my fence builder.

That could be, as Granddad liked to say, a small fly in the ointment.