A Town Called Valentine(48)

She put her hands on her hips and demanded in disbelief, “How did you know I might need you?”

He grinned. “Hal called me. I picked up your drywall, too.”

“He said he would deliver the panels.” She felt annoyed, as if Hal thought she couldn’t take care of things herself. “You didn’t need to—”

“It wasn’t out of my way.” After donning work gloves, he walked back toward the entrance, saying over his shoulder, “Surely you didn’t want to inconvenience Hal?”

“Inconvenience?” she muttered. “I spent my money there.”

When Nate returned, hefting the first panel of drywall, she pointed to where she wanted it, then stood back and admired the view without guilt. She’d never really thought about how enjoyable it was to watch a man work with his hands. Her ex-husband had always hired men to do any repairs or renovations.

As Nate made a few more trips to his pickup, she consulted her notebook lists, so she wouldn’t delay him. He put down the last panel and straightened, and she found herself studying the width of his back too much. She was only human. As long as she looked but didn’t touch . . .

When he met her eyes, she had a friendly smile waiting. “Thanks so much, Nate. I made a list of the tools I need, so if we could separate them out, you can be on your way.”

“On my way? You’re kidding, right? I’m hardly going to let you borrow my tools without making sure you can handle them properly.”

“But I’ve watched a ton of videos online. I’m perfectly prepared.”

He chuckled. “Sounds like you’re ready to bake a cake.”

“There can be a lot of preparation to bake a cake!”

“Look, Emily, I’m here to show you what to do. Neighbors help neighbors in Valentine Valley. It’ll go a lot easier if you just accept my help.”

Something uneasy seemed to flash across his face before he glanced away.

“Did you buy yourself some work gloves?” he asked.

She hesitated, wanting to protest some more, strangely excited and nervous that they would be spending time together. But if he kept assuming he knew what was best for her, she was going to have to set him straight. She’d already spent ten years letting a man sway her decisions. She was in control of herself now, knew what was important in her life. Having let herself go head over heels for Greg, she would never make that mistake again.

But she couldn’t deny that watching him was a pleasurable sensation all on its own. When he squatted to show her how to pry away the baseboard from the damaged wall, she bit her lip and concentrated on his words, on his gloved hands, so she wouldn’t have to look at the way his jeans tightened over his broad thighs.

Horseman’s thighs.

Oh, God, she’d been reading too many historical romances, she thought, holding back a laugh.

But like a good historical-romance heroine, she had goals for her future to focus on. She took the pry bar, awkwardly inserted it, pulled the wood away from the wall, then moved to the next section. Later, she rose to move a panel of new drywall away from where she’d be working next.

“Hold on there,” Nate said, coming up behind her. “You’re too skinny for that kind of work.”

She drew in a breath when he put a finger in the belt loop at the back of her jeans and tugged.

“I think you need to eat better,” he continued.

She hadn’t been eating as much, trying to conserve her money. Did it show? That was it—she was going to have to get a job.

“Oh please,” she said loftily. “The way everyone in Valentine keeps trying to feed me, I won’t be fitting into these jeans soon.”

He was still standing too close, looking down at her, his face almost puzzled. What was he thinking? She hadn’t said anything outlandish or daring. His eyes continued to study her face, narrowing, and she felt the very air between them begin to shimmer with a growing tension that had nothing to do with renovations and everything to do with seduction. A distant part of her ordered her to be strong, but she felt herself sway toward him, and he lifted a gloved hand as if he might touch her face.

And then he stepped back. “Okay, it’s my turn to feed you.” He pulled off his gloves and tossed them onto the bar.

She was blinking and dazed and barely able to speak. “W-what are you talking about?”

He tugged off her gloves, and with unerring aim, threw them beside his own. “We’re going out for lunch.”