Page 33 of Hard to Love
“Guilty.”
“Knew it.”
He wasn’t completely surprised to discover Greer was driving them in the direction of the old barn. When they got out of the car, Greer’s brother wasn’t barring the building’s door and wielding a sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun. So far, so good. The sun reflected off the metal roof, making it hard to see clearly, but it looked…cleaner.
Sure enough, when they approached the same door he’d strong-armed the other day, it was hanging perfectly on its hinges. “You’ve been busy.”
“My brother helped.”
“You could’ve—” He cut himself off before he could blurt out that she could’ve called him. He wasn’t in town to get caught up in Greer’s brainchild. He’d already seen a handful of flyers around town advertising the competition starting a few days from now and ending the week after. When this woman had an idea, she ran with it. Foolish for her, but preferable for him.
Greer pulled open the door, and the musty, dusty smell had transformed to sweet hay and fresh air. The dried amber grass was scattered throughout the huge area. But it was empty otherwise. How in the hell did she think she would pull this off? She touched his hand, gently skimminghis wrist bone. “You are staying for the competition, aren’t you?”
What the hell choice did he have? If he wanted PBC’s business, he had to win this thing. “If I wasn’t, I would’ve walked out of the boot shop the day you came up with this dicey idea.”
“You did walk out.”
“But I stayed at Sweetwater.” He had experience with walking away for good. He knew exactly how it was done. Straight ahead, no looking back, blocking out the memories with hard work and—early on—multiple 40s of malt liquor. But eventually the past came creeping back up on you, knocking on your brain’s door, demanding attention, demanding you make it right.
Which he planned to do once he won Greer’s competition.
“I thought you might’ve suddenly fallen in love with the frilly canopy.”
“Only the next time the winter Olympics are held in hell.”
“Then you’ll want to see this.” She took off in that quick walk only short women seemed to have. Didn’t bother him because it made her hips swing underneath that floaty skirt.
But it was obvious she was taking him back to revisit the monk cell upstairs. The canopy at the B&B might be oppressive, but at least there he didn’t have to worry about rodents living in the air conditioning. Raylene would’ve taken care of any rats, as she said, “right quick.”
Greer swung open the door to the room then stood back with a wide smile on her face. A wide, expectant smile.
Shit.
A disappointed woman was not his happy place.
Alex breathed, bracing himself. Then he walked inside.
Not shit. Holy shit.
The walls were now a warm sepia color. The scary cot was gone, and in its place was an iron-framed double bed covered with a simple quilt. Nothing frilly. The floor sported a Persian-type rug, the kind that only looked better with some age on it. In the corner sat a recliner facing a damn big flatscreen TV. “Greer, I…uh…”
Hell, he didn’t even know what to say. He took in the small kitchenette, completely spotless and stocked with cooking utensils and other stuff. Wait a minute…was that…
He strode over to the stove and flipped over the Dutch oven sitting on top. It was. “This is Le Creuset.”
“I raided the Junior League Bargain Basement sale a little early.”
He poked his head inside the adjoining bathroom. Just as spotless as everything else. Thick brown towels were rolled and stashed inside a metal bucket. New shower curtain. Matching rug.
Chilly air crept up the back of his neck, and he swung around to eye the AC unit. “That has to be a replacement.”
“Nope. Amazing how well it works once I encouraged the neighbors to move on and shot a little freon into it.”
“What do you want from me?” Because someone didn’t do all this work without an ulterior motive.
“Who said I want—”
“You took the time to clean up this place. Hell, you decorated it. Where did this stuff come from?”
