He stared at her a moment. “I don’t know what you mean by that last comment, but I’m pretty certain it wasn’t a compliment.”
She waved her hand. “Cowboy will grow on you, is all I’m saying.”
“No, he won’t, because I don’t want him in this room.”
She rose off the bed. Hanging around a dealership all her life, she knew the rules of making a sale. When you’ve got the customer’s commitment and closed the deal, leave. “You won’t know he’s about, I promise.” How she was going to keep that promise with an independent-minded cat, she didn’t know.
Chance eyed her. “Libby, do you really think this is a good idea? Us being together after all these years, with everything that’s gone on between us. I’m not a man to forget a wrong someone has done me. But I am a man.”
“I know, Chance.” There was no mistaking it, she thought as she gazed at his wonderfully muscled torso. He was definitely a man. “I’m not here hoping you’ll forgive me or anything. I know that’s pretty much impossible.” She stared down at her fiddling hands. “But this is something I want to do for you, so whether you want me to or not, I’m helping you.” If for no other reason than to assure he didn’t do something stupid, like use his foot before it was fully healed.
He stared at her a moment and huffed like a snorting Brahman. “Sounds like you’re trying to grow a spine, Libby. But trying it out on me isn’t a true test, you know. Besides, if you think this will square us, think again.”
“I know that—you’ve already warned me.”
“There was once something between us. Something intense. You must be pretty sure that’s all gone to propose this.”
Libby took a dry swallow, definitely not sure of anything, but she nodded anyway.
He stared at her a moment longer than a heartbeat. She wondered if those cold eyes of his could read her mind, her heart. She wondered what either would tell him, because she sure didn’t know.
“Have you eaten yet? Real food?” she asked to break the tension.
“No,” he practically growled.
She held her face steady, proud of herself that she didn’t flinch. “Good, I’ll start there. And any particular bedroom I should or shouldn’t take?”
There was mischief in his grin. “If you want to test out your theories about my abilities, you are welcome to share my bed.”
She flushed. “Very funny.” Was he actually flirting with her?
He took a shallow breath. He was probably in pain through all this yammering. She hadn’t even thought about that. Some nurse she was.
“Are you okay?”
He nodded, looking annoyed that she’d asked. “Room down the hall is usually Lonnie’s when he stays, so that would leave the room next to mine. Linens are in the hall closet.”
“Great.” She turned to gather up her things. Cowboy had started to give a few plaintive cries.
“Libby.”
“Yes,” she said, turning back at him.
“You even know how to cook?”
“Of course I know how to cook,” she fibbed. “We’ll just see what you have in the fridge. And maybe later I’ll run to the grocery store.”
“Grocery store is a half hour away. I’m surprised you even found this place.”
She snatched up Cowboy’s carrier and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. She wouldn’t mention she had two more suitcases in the car. “That’s what the Internet and GPS are for, Chance.” She flashed him a smile as she passed through the doorway. She’d made the sale. Now for the delivery.
Chapter 7
Libby peered into the room he’d assigned her and took in the patchwork quilt on the bed, the blue-and-brown striped curtains, the oak dresser, the comfortable-looking chair covered in brown suede-like fabric, and the wall-to-wall deep-blue rug.
Neat and tidy, the room wasn’t feminine, of course, but it was warm and inviting. So unlike Chance’s response to her arrival.
She dropped her luggage and opened Cowboy’s cage. He bounded out, gave her a quick look over his shoulder that said “about time,” and moved out. As she watched him scurry away, tail erect, she prayed Cowboy would stay away from Chance’s room. She stepped into the hallway, closed the bedroom door, and headed toward the front of the house in search of the kitchen.
The initial confrontation with Chance had been difficult, but she’d survived. And won, she thought as she broke several eggs into a bowl. One thing she could make was a good omelet. She could also make quiche, though when and if she served that to him she’d call it something different so he wouldn’t think he was eating sissy food.