up on her toes.
Shane’s gaze went to her breasts and then away.
“This always happens,” she finally said, and grabbed one of the couch cushions. Shane grabbed the other, then eyed the crooked hill they’d made with suspicion as she picked up her iPad and plopped into an uncomfortable seat.
Luckily Shane’s old-fashioned chivalry must have kicked in, because he just offered a puzzled smile and took a seat next to her, probably thinking that she was one of those stereotypically unhandy women. Fine. She’d perpetuate that prejudice, as long as he didn’t realize just how handy she’d been a minute ago.
Her hands froze over the iPad screen just as he leaned closer to watch. The brochure bloomed to life in full color beneath her fingers, but all she could do was stare at her hands. Her guilty hands. The glowing screen drew Shane’s attention like a spotlight to every digit that had acted out her dirtiest thoughts about him .
“Would you like a beer?” she squeaked, jumping up and dropping the iPad to the couch where it slid down the slope of the cushion before getting caught in the corner.
She didn’t hear his answer; her heart was pounding too hard as she rushed to the sink and turned on the hot water. She tried to imagine how she’d feel if she went to a near stranger’s house and found out he’d just been masturbating to dirty thoughts of her. Shuddering, Merry scrubbed her hands and regretted even considering getting her groove back.
This was the last straw. It was going to be the nunnery for her. Maybe she could find one in commuting distance.
* * *
S HANE KNEW THAT Merry was acting strangely. She was up to something, maybe something underhanded concerning Providence. He knew that, but he kept getting distracted by her breasts.
She’d always had breasts, obviously, but this time she wasn’t wearing a bra under her T-shirt, and unfettered breasts were an entirely different distraction.
They looked fucking perfect. So perfect he had the urge to blurt it out to her, just because it needed to be said. Her yellow T-shirt was so pale he thought he could see the faint darkness of her nipples beneath the fabric, but he was left wondering because the picture of a weird telephone booth on it interfered with the play of shadow and light. It teased him with the possibility. He kept watching in hopes of being more sure.
When she brought a bottle of beer he downed half of it quickly and told himself to stop being a creep. Not that that was possible. After all, he’d come over here with the sole intent of gathering information about the ghost town. That ridiculous ghost town. He felt bad that she was so damn enthusiastic about it, but what business was it of hers? She’d come here from Texas. The town was a lark for her. For him, it was a bad memory and now a serious nuisance. His grandfather had left him the burden of the Bishop land and none of the damned money. How was he supposed to pay tens of thousands of dollars of property tax every year? Shit, he could charge grazing fees to neighboring ranches, but the federal land higher up was a hell of a deal compared to what he’d need to charge.
All he really wanted to do was build a house on the land that had been passed to him. And he wanted to preserve that land. Not in a way that brought tourists to it, but in a way that kept them out.
Jesus, his ancestors hadn’t founded Providence to attract strangers. They’d built a town in the middle of nowhere because they’d wanted it to be their own.
Not that he gave a damn about that. It was just another reminder that the men of his family ran. First, they’d run to Wyoming Territory, leaving behind whatever complications they hadn’t wanted to deal with in Missouri. Then, after a little trouble with water, they’d left Providence behind, too, and moved on to greener pastures.
The habit hadn’t died with the early twentieth century. His grandfather had been married three times. And Shane’s father had
Shane’s gaze went to her breasts and then away.
“This always happens,” she finally said, and grabbed one of the couch cushions. Shane grabbed the other, then eyed the crooked hill they’d made with suspicion as she picked up her iPad and plopped into an uncomfortable seat.
Luckily Shane’s old-fashioned chivalry must have kicked in, because he just offered a puzzled smile and took a seat next to her, probably thinking that she was one of those stereotypically unhandy women. Fine. She’d perpetuate that prejudice, as long as he didn’t realize just how handy she’d been a minute ago.
Her hands froze over the iPad screen just as he leaned closer to watch. The brochure bloomed to life in full color beneath her fingers, but all she could do was stare at her hands. Her guilty hands. The glowing screen drew Shane’s attention like a spotlight to every digit that had acted out her dirtiest thoughts about him .
“Would you like a beer?” she squeaked, jumping up and dropping the iPad to the couch where it slid down the slope of the cushion before getting caught in the corner.
She didn’t hear his answer; her heart was pounding too hard as she rushed to the sink and turned on the hot water. She tried to imagine how she’d feel if she went to a near stranger’s house and found out he’d just been masturbating to dirty thoughts of her. Shuddering, Merry scrubbed her hands and regretted even considering getting her groove back.
This was the last straw. It was going to be the nunnery for her. Maybe she could find one in commuting distance.
* * *
S HANE KNEW THAT Merry was acting strangely. She was up to something, maybe something underhanded concerning Providence. He knew that, but he kept getting distracted by her breasts.
She’d always had breasts, obviously, but this time she wasn’t wearing a bra under her T-shirt, and unfettered breasts were an entirely different distraction.
They looked fucking perfect. So perfect he had the urge to blurt it out to her, just because it needed to be said. Her yellow T-shirt was so pale he thought he could see the faint darkness of her nipples beneath the fabric, but he was left wondering because the picture of a weird telephone booth on it interfered with the play of shadow and light. It teased him with the possibility. He kept watching in hopes of being more sure.
When she brought a bottle of beer he downed half of it quickly and told himself to stop being a creep. Not that that was possible. After all, he’d come over here with the sole intent of gathering information about the ghost town. That ridiculous ghost town. He felt bad that she was so damn enthusiastic about it, but what business was it of hers? She’d come here from Texas. The town was a lark for her. For him, it was a bad memory and now a serious nuisance. His grandfather had left him the burden of the Bishop land and none of the damned money. How was he supposed to pay tens of thousands of dollars of property tax every year? Shit, he could charge grazing fees to neighboring ranches, but the federal land higher up was a hell of a deal compared to what he’d need to charge.
All he really wanted to do was build a house on the land that had been passed to him. And he wanted to preserve that land. Not in a way that brought tourists to it, but in a way that kept them out.
Jesus, his ancestors hadn’t founded Providence to attract strangers. They’d built a town in the middle of nowhere because they’d wanted it to be their own.
Not that he gave a damn about that. It was just another reminder that the men of his family ran. First, they’d run to Wyoming Territory, leaving behind whatever complications they hadn’t wanted to deal with in Missouri. Then, after a little trouble with water, they’d left Providence behind, too, and moved on to greener pastures.
The habit hadn’t died with the early twentieth century. His grandfather had been married three times. And Shane’s father had
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