“And I have the time.”
“I don’t want you here.”
“Never throw a friendly offer back in a man’s face. He might think you don’t appreciate a neighborly gesture.”
Karen knew there was nothing friendly about Grady’s intentions. He was up to something. She could see it in his eyes. And it wasn’t as if he lived right down the road. He lived in the next county, too far away for there to be anything the least bit neighborly about this gesture.
Before she could respond to his taunt, he’d turned his back on her and headed for the barn, where paint she hadn’t bought and tools she’d never seen before waited. He stripped off his jacket as if the temperature were seventy, instead of thirty-seven, and went to work, leaving her to struggle with her indignation and her desire to touch those broad shoulders he’d put on display in her side yard. His flannel shirt was stretched taut over well-developed muscles, not hanging as Caleb’s was on her.
“I can’t afford to pay for all of this,” she hollered after him.
He heaved what sounded like a resigned sigh and faced her. “Did I ask for money?”
“No, but I feel obligated to pay for any fixing up that goes on around here.”
“Then you’ll pay me something when you have it,” he said as if it was of no concern to him when-or even if-she did. “This barn can’t take another winter in the state it’s in. It’ll cost you a lot more to replace it if it falls apart than it will if I take care of a few simple repairs now.”
His gaze locked with hers. “You know I’m right, Karen.”
Hearing him say her name startled her. The day before and in their one prior meeting, he’d been careful to be formally polite, referring to her as “Mrs. Hanson” when he used any name at all. Today, using her first name, he made it sound as if he’d forgotten all about her relationship with Caleb, as if they were about to become friends. She shuddered at the prospect. She didn’t need a friend who made her feel all quivery inside, a man who’d already stated quite clearly that he wanted things from her that she didn’t intend to give. Sure, it was land he was after, not her body, but her erratically beating pulse didn’t seem to know the difference.
“What I know is that you are presuming to intrude in my life, to take over and do things I haven’t asked you to do. Why? So I’ll be in your debt?”
“It’s a gesture, nothing more,” he insisted. “I just want you to see that I’m not the bad guy your husband made me out to be.”
“If you’re such a nice guy, then why won’t you listen when I tell you that I don’t want you here?”
“Because you don’t really mean it. That’s just your pride talking.”
She scowled, because he was at least partially right. Her pride-along with some very sensible suspicions about Grady’s motives-was forcing her to look a much-needed gift horse in the mouth.
“Oh, forget it,” she mumbled. She clearly wasn’t going to get rid of him, so she might as well let him do whatever he intended to do and get it over with. She’d just ignore him, pretend he wasn’t there. She certainly had plenty of her own chores to do.
She stalked past him into the barn, fed and watered the horses, mucked out stalls, then saddled up Ginger, the horse she’d owned since she was a teenager.
“We’re getting out of here, girl.”
“Running away?” Grady inquired from just behind her, amusement threading through his voice.
“No, I’m going out to see if Dooley and Hank need any help.”
“Lucky Dooley and Hank.”
She frowned at the teasing. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Just that I’d welcome your help, if you were to offer.”
“This is your project, Mr. Blackhawk. You’ll have to finish it on your own. If there’s something you can’t cope with, you can always leave.”
His gaze locked with hers. “It’s not a matter of coping. I’d just be glad of the company.”
Goose bumps that had nothing to do with the chilly air rose on her skin. She turned away and concentrated on tightening the cinch on Ginger’s saddle.
“I seem to make you nervous, Karen. Why is that?”
She frowned as she faced him. “You don’t make me nervous, Mr. Blackhawk. You make me mad.”
He chuckled at that.
“You find that amusing?” she asked indignantly.
His gaze settled on her mouth. “No,” he said softly. “I find it promising. A woman with a temper is always more fascinating than one who’s docile.”
“I’m not doing any of this to provide you with entertainment,” she snapped, trying not to acknowledge that his words sent an unaccustomed thrill shivering down her spine and set her pulse to racing.
“I know,” he said, his grin spreading. “That’s what makes it so enjoyable.”
Karen bit back a retort that would only have escalated the ridiculous debate and mounted Ginger. Stepping back, Grady touched a finger to the brim of his hat in a polite salute.
“Enjoy your ride.”
“I intend to,” she lied. She doubted she would enjoy anything as long as this impossible man was underfoot.
An hour later, though, after riding hard, then meeting up with Hank and Dooley to check their progress on the fence repairs, she was feeling more at ease. She expected that to change the minute she reached the barn, but to her surprise Grady was nowhere in sight. His truck was gone, too. The sigh that eased through her was tinged with something she couldn’t identify. Surely not regret, she thought with exasperation. No, it was relief, nothing more.
Unfortunately, though, her relief didn’t last long. The evidence of Grady’s presence and of his anticipated return was everywhere. The tools, paint cans and lumber were right where he’d left them. The ladder was still propped against the side of the barn, and the paint had been scraped only from the highest boards, with plenty left untouched.
She had barely cooled Ginger down and started for the house when his truck appeared in the distance, an unmistakable splash of red against the dull winter landscape. Karen hurried inside to avoid another pointless confrontation.
But as the afternoon wore on and her gaze kept straying to the man who was diligently and methodically stripping the old paint off her barn, she sighed and accepted the fact that he wasn’t going to go away. She had to find some way to make peace with him.
In her experience, home-baked cookies were generally an excellent peace offering. With nobody around to appreciate the results, she hadn’t had the urge to bake for some time now. Still, as a gesture of loyalty to her late husband, she made a deliberate choice to bake oatmeal-raisin cookies, her father’s favorites, rather than the chocolate chip that Caleb had loved.
When the first batch was still warm from the oven, she put some of the cookies on a plate, poured a mug of coffee and carried it all across the yard. As she walked toward Grady, she could feel his speculative gaze burning into her.
The gesture had been a mistake, she concluded as she met his eyes. He was going to make too much of it, twist it somehow and use it as an opening. Impatient with herself for allowing room for him to jump to a conclusion that a truce was in the offing, she plunked coffee and plate down ungraciously and scurried back to the house.
She was all too aware that Grady’s intent gaze followed her every step.
“You are such a ninny, Karen Hanson,” she chided herself as she slammed the door behind her. “Taking the man a few cookies was polite. It wasn’t an overture that he could misinterpret.”
But despite the reassuring words, she was very much afraid that he had. And who knew where that would lead?
Grady was satisfied with the way the day had gone. He’d made progress. At least Karen hadn’t thrown him off the property. In fact, she’d baked him cookies, as if he were a schoolboy who deserved nourishment for doing a chore.
She’d regretted it, too. He’d seen that in her eyes and in the way she’d retreated to the house with such haste that he hadn’t even had time to thank her.