Luck of the Draw (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 1)(10)
Oh. Lord. She’d almost forgotten how good a man could smell.
“Whoa.” Strong fingertips briefly grasped her arms, steadying her. “Sorry about that,” he said, letting go. “I didn’t expect anyone until later.”
Kate’s gaze skimmed slowly up the damp vee of sweat on the man’s T-shirt. A smile creased his lean, tanned face. She swallowed, her heart doing an odd somersault in her chest. “And you are...?”
“Jim Pearson. Ruth Pearson’s grandson.” He reached out his hand and Kate shook it numbly. It was warm. Firm. “I’m sorry. I’d come back another time, but Grams insisted I do this ASAP.”
“She insisted?”
“I think her exact words were, ‘get your butt over there before she grows desperate.’ My guess is she thought you deserved something more, ah, reliable. So…?”
Kate stared at him, perplexed, but then his words finally sank in. She could feel the heat creeping up her neck. Oh. Dear. Lord. Did Ruth Pearson think she was so desperate for a man she needed one delivered to her doorstep the moment she arrived? Don’t people normally send cookies or a batch of brownies? Quiche, maybe? But a man?
And if this man was sent as a sacrificial offering on the altar of her non-existent love life, what must Nana’s friend have told him? What must he think of her? And how pathetic did that make her appear?
Good grief. Good-looking or not. Gracious or not. She wasn’t some sorry charity case!
He gestured toward the door. “Can I come in?”
“Ah... you know...” Kate blocked the doorway, trying to ignore the lean, well-toned torso in front of her. How could she tell him he was wasting his time with a capital W? “I don’t know what your grandmother told you, but... I’m really not interested.”
“You’re not?” He stared at her, nonplussed.
“It’s nothing personal, but the thing of it is, I usually kind of like to choose my own—”
A furrow appeared in his brow. “You want to choose your own.”
Kate nodded, wondering why this should be so surprising. “Exactly. I know your grandmother meant well, and I’m sure what you have to offer is very...” She swallowed again. “Nice. What I mean is—please, don’t be offended—but I really don’t see any reason for you to come in.”
Despite what she felt was a crystal clear ‘no-thank-you’ he didn’t make a move to leave.
“Um.” He cleared his throat. “Do you want to look at it first? It’s gotten good reviews. If you come over to my house, I’d be happy to show you—”
“Show me?”
He shifted his weight to his other boot. Cleared his throat again. “Ah, what are we talking about?”
Kate gulped, her gaze resting uneasily on his shirtfront. “Um... hooking up, er, dating?” she wheezed. “What are you talking about?”
He touched her chin, his long fingers urging her to meet his eyes. They were hazel. And incredibly sexy. The corners crinkled with humor.
“Toilets,” he said evenly.
“Toilets?”
“Yes.” He dropped his hand. “What made you think I was talking about… that other thing?”
“You’re kind of cute. I thought...”
A grin creased his features as he touched the brim of his faded baseball cap. His eyes went dark. “Thanks.”
She wanted to die, to dissolve into a puddle and seep through the floorboards.
As he watched her, he pulled off his cap and turned it in his hands. His hair was light brown, soft waves streaked with highlights from the sun. He tilted his head toward his pickup. “You still want to look at it, or should I just put it in?”
“Put it in?” Aargh! If she could stop ogling his hair, perhaps she could stop parroting him like some brainless twit! What was wrong with her?
“You’ve obviously just arrived, or you would have already seen there’s no—”
“Hey!” Liam cried from inside. “Somebody took the potty!”
“—toilet,” he finished. “Why don’t I bring it in?”
“Good idea,” she managed to croak around her mortification.
“I’m going to get my tools now,” he said, putting on his cap, “and by that, I mean... tools.”
She nodded. “Got it.”
He paused, and when he next spoke his voice had a low cadence that had Kate leaning toward him ever so slightly. “Just so we’re even,” he said, “I think you’re kinda cute, too.”
The breath stuck in her throat as she nodded. It had been so long since a man had flirted with her, she wasn’t sure if she’d heard him right.
By the time she regained the ability to speak, he was halfway to his truck, his legs eating up the uneven ground in long, loping strides.
She hurried down the stairs to the car to get her other bags, the breeze doing nothing to cool her hot cheeks.
But she didn’t care.
She’d take Jim Pearson over a quiche any day.
KATE FOLDED THE LAST grocery bag and set it on the kitchen counter. Thankfully, Liam had played contentedly with the toys from the bin she’d hauled into the corner of the living room while she brought in the rest of their suitcases and unpacked.