Oh, God, he was making sense? That was cruel and unusual. How could she argue with him when he was making sense, making his own plans, thinking things through? The fact was, no matter how crazy the idea, she couldn’t. She could not argue with sense and someone else making a decision on their own.
“It also gives me room to do a lot of things if these tryouts my agent is working on come through. There are a couple of resorts around here—I can rent the llamas out for pack animals for hikes in the mountains. Which gives me the income that could offset needing to hire someone to handle ranch stuff when I’m not here.”
When I’m not here. So much for wanting the ranch to be his heart and crap like that. He was already planning on not being here, already planning on going back to hockey.
It was not a shock—she’d known that all along—but something deeply uncomfortable lodged itself in her chest at the thought of him not being around.
Which wouldn’t do. Not at all. “All right. Then, let’s make a plan of what we need to do to get you ready for a llama invasion.”
He grinned, and she looked away. She would not get sucked into that grin.
“Llama invasion. Also an excellent band name.”
“Unless you’re ready to move on to making emo punk music, let’s focus on what kind of buildings you’ll need. Any of your books tell you that?”
He pawed around on the desk. “Here we go, captain. Lead the way.”
She sighed. Leading was getting damn exhausting.
*
Dan loaded the last bundle of lumber into the back of Mel’s truck. After drawing up plans and to-do lists all day yesterday, he’d finally convinced her they could actually start on a project—repairing and expanding the fence around the enclosure his current llama was already in.
He grinned. Couldn’t help it. This doing something—like an actual something with a goal in place, and a plan in mind—was…almost as good as being on the ice again. He felt invigorated, ready to take on the world.
Or maybe just one of Georgia’s bacon cheeseburgers. “Lunch at Georgia’s?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Thought you were determined to do your protein-shake crap this week.”
Right. Staying in shape for possible tryouts. But he glanced down the street toward Georgia’s little diner. “I’ll get a salad.”
“I’m pretty sure their salad dressing has as many calories as a burger.”
“Okay, then I’ll get a burger. I’ve been hauling lumber all morning. I can cheat a little.” Because he knew it would irritate her, he curled his arm up, flexing his bicep. “Muscles still in fine shape.”
She rolled her eyes so far up in her head it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck there. “Work on your humility muscle.”
He lifted shut the truck-bed door and hooked his arm with hers. “Come on, Cowgirl, I’m hungry.”
“You know, if anything, you should be calling me cow woman. Though I prefer Mel. Or rancher. Ms. Shaw if you’re feeling particularly proper.”
He grinned down at her, not letting her pull her arm away. “Ms. Shaw,” he drawled. “That does have an interesting ring to it.”
“It’s my name,” she grumbled, struggling to get out of his grip as they crossed the street.
“Right, but Ms. Shaw…well, it brings to mind a teacher. Hair in a bun. Glasses.”
“Sorry, I don’t have old-guy eyes like you.”
“I’m not old. You need to get over my reading glasses.”
“You brought up glasses. And you’re seven years older than me. That means, when you were graduating high school, I was still in elementary school.”
He scowled. Having reading glasses did not make him old. And if he was a little touchy about being seen as old, it was only because his whole livelihood was a young man’s game, and even he had to admit he wasn’t young anymore.
But he wasn’t old, and if she was going to try and irritate him, he was going to return the favor. “Well, you’re not in elementary school anymore, Ms. Shaw, are you?”
She glared at him, but in that under-the-eyelashes way that tended to remind him of the morning he’d kissed her. That hard-assed gaze she’d leveled him with before initiating that kiss. Kiss. What a lame word for the ass-kicking it had been.
He might have ended that possibility, but it didn’t mean he didn’t regret it. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t mind repeating—
“He bothering you, Mel?”
Dan scowled at one of the cops who’d been in the diner with them the other day. The one who’d made the asshole comment.
Fucker.
“Nothing I can’t handle, Al.”
Before Dan could get a word in edgewise, he felt a sharp rap to the back of his knee, so he buckled mid-step and stumbled. Mel pulled her arm out of his and sauntered ahead of him, that low, husky laugh enveloping the air.
“See?” she said, patting Al on the back as she stepped inside the diner.
“Watching you, buddy. Mess with her, you mess with me.”