Page 30 of Taming the Wild Cowboy

She cleared her throat, then found her business voice. “Maybe we should get going before I think of a reason to change my mind.”

Trev’s gorgeous mouth curved into a half-smile that did her equilibrium no good whatsoever.

“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe so.”

He waited until she reached her truck and opened the door to let Raisin jump in before heading to his own rig. Mac’s nerves were humming when she settled behind the wheel, and she noticed that her hand was shaking as she turned the key in the ignition. Mac rolled her eyes heavenward before putting the truck in gear.

Really?

She needed to get a grip, take control. Stop behaving like flotsam caught up in storm waters.

Her mouth tightened grimly as she pulled onto the road behind Trev’s truck, taking an odd comfort in the sight of his silhouette through the back window of the Dodge. He’d driven to her campsite not because he had an issue with her trespassing, but because he wanted to help, which felt both threatening and gratifying. The question now was how to deal with living and working in close proximity to a man she found dangerously attractive?

Put her head down, do her job, and pretend he was just another boss?

That was the sane answer.

Address the issue?

That was the dangerous answer.

She didn’t know whether it was exhaustion from being homeless or frustration with her continued lack of autonomy, but she found herself leaning toward danger.

It felt kinda good.

Chapter Six

Mac followed Trev up the walkway to the foreman’s house, nestled beneath an ancient cottonwood tree fifty yards from the main house. Being the original ranch house, built in the 1910s, it was small, with a combined kitchen and living room, two bedrooms, a bath and an enclosed porch where a washer and dryer had been wedged in. Cozy living at its finest. The former foreman and his wife had been perfectly content with their small space. Less space, less cleaning, the wife had said, and indeed they had been minimalists.

Hayes … not so much.

When Trev pushed the door open, it hit a stack of boxes. He pushed harder, shoving the boxes out of the way, then stepped back to usher Mac into the chilly interior.

“Cold in here,” he muttered as he turned up the thermostat.

“It’s not bad.” She pushed her hands more deeply into her pockets.

“If you don’t mind seeing your breath.” He was sure that the truck had been much colder, especially in the mornings after sitting in the damp next to Fremont Creek all night, but he hated leaving her in a house that would take at least an hour to reach a livable temperature. “Sorry about all the boxes.”

Hayes and Bailey, his fiancée, didn’t own a lot between them, but what they did took up most of the small living area. Trev wove his way across the room to open the bedroom door. It was freezing inside.

“The sheets are in that cupboard.” He pointed to the router on the small desk. “There’s internet unless the red light is blinking … which happens more often than we like. The passcode is written on the painter’s tape on the side.”

“Internet. Fantastic.” She dropped her backpack on the mattress.

“Bathroom.” He opened the door. As a poorly insulated 1940s add-on, the room was the coldest in the entire frigid house. “That little heater under the shelf will save your life.”

Maclyn smiled but didn’t say anything.

“That’s the tour,” he said, returning to boss mode as they took the three steps back into the living area.

“What happens when Hayes returns?” He was about to tell her that Hayes wouldn’t be kicking her out of the place anytime soon, when she added, “Will you stay on?”

He shook his head. “I’m on leave from my job.”

“What do you do?”

He gave her a surprised look. “Something where I get by on charm and good looks naturally.”