Come On Over - Debbi Rawlins Made in Montana

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no. Not in here, you don’t. Put that away.”

      Violet huffed in annoyance.

      Shelby cleared her throat. “So, I guess we’re back to where we started.”

      Not from where he stood. Although she claimed to have a deed. And he didn’t peg her for a liar. Obviously there was more to the story. “I’d be happy to give you directions to The Boarding House Inn. It’s on Main Street. You can’t miss it.”

      “Actually, I’ll be staying here until one of us can prove ownership.”

      “Are you kidding me?”

      “It’s the only fair thing to do.”

      Violet chuckled. “Attagirl.”

      Mutt barked from outside the door.

      “You can let him in on your way out,” Trent said to Violet, who gave him the familiar glare, basically telling him to kiss her ass. He grinned. “Thanks for the beans and cornbread.”

      SHELBY WATCHED THE interplay between Trent and Violet. Any other time it might have amused her. Neither of them would admit it, but they liked being neighbors. They liked each other. Had it been that way with her great-grandfather and Edgar? Had their friendship been based on harmless banter and a genuine concern for each other...until it hadn’t?

      What had caused the final showdown, she wondered. Violet knew the answer, of that Shelby was quite certain. Just as she was convinced the older woman would never reveal it. Shelby didn’t consider herself the romantic sort, but she couldn’t help wondering if Violet had been the source of the trouble between the two men. Although she would’ve been fairly young.

      Violet still had the pipe in her hand as she walked toward the door. “I reckon I’ll go on home and leave you two to figure out sleeping arrangements.”

      Shelby and Trent looked at each other at the same time. Annoyingly, she felt a blush spread across her cheeks. She was quick to refocus her attention. Which happened to land on his left hand, his ring finger to be exact, and the pale mark that could easily be from a wedding band he’d once worn.

      Violet had mistaken Shelby for his wife. Not ex-wife, and he hadn’t corrected her so they were probably separated. Interesting that Violet didn’t know the woman. Not that it made a difference to Shelby. He could have five wives for all she cared. Though she doubted he’d find that many women willing to put up with him.

      He took her empty bottle and rinsed it out along with his. As he stood at the sink she got her first good look at his behind. His very nice behind. He was tall and muscular without being too husky, a body type she’d always appreciated. Okay, so he had a few decent assets.

      A loud bark made her jump.

      Just as the dog came bounding in, she caught Violet’s mischievous grin. The woman had paused at the screen door and watched her ogle Trent.

      Shelby did the only thing she could do. She smiled back. “Thank you for the food. I’ll be sure to return your dish,” she said. “Or maybe you’d like to join us for dinner?”

      Trent turned, his eyes narrowed. “Excuse me, but this is still my house.”

      “Half,” Shelby said. “Half your house. I think we can agree on that for the time being. Don’t you?”

      “Hell no.”

      Violet let out a howl of laughter as the screen slammed behind her. Shelby could see how her cackle might get on a person’s nerves after a while. She bent to pet the dog’s head and as the sound faded, watched Trent drop the rinsed bottles into a plastic milk crate, purposely ignoring her.

      “I’ll get my things from the car,” she told him, not surprised when he didn’t answer. “I hope there’s a spare room.”

      “Nope.”

      “This is a three-bedroom house. You can’t be sleeping in all three rooms.”

      “Yes, I could, but as it happens, I use one for storage.” He paused. “And the third as my office.”

      She glanced at the laptop sitting on the table, then raised her brows at him. “I bet there’s enough space for me to sleep.”

      “I have private stuff in there. I can’t give just anyone access.”

      “Hmm, well, I suppose I’ll have to take the couch.”

      “I watch TV late. Sometimes till three in the morning.”

      “No wonder you don’t have time to keep the place up,” she said, sweeping a gaze over the cracked linoleum floor and chipped Formica countertops, before returning to Trent.

      His eyes had turned a steely gray. It made him look a bit dangerous, and she suppressed a shiver. “See, that’s the beauty of owning my own place. I don’t have to answer to anyone. And you know what else? The couch is mine.”

      She drew in a deep breath, refusing to look away. If she hadn’t met the other Trent, the more affable man who’d teased Violet, the man who had seemed genuinely stricken over accidentally hitting her, Shelby would’ve left by now. She’d be too afraid to be in the house alone with him. Also, knowing Violet was next door helped.

      No, she couldn’t afford to lose ground now. What was that saying about possession accounting for nine-tenths of the law? “I’d like to see the storage room. And your office. Maybe we can move things around. I don’t need much space.” For now. Luckily, she’d noticed the perfect spot to make her jewelry.

      He snorted a laugh. “Lady, you are something else. You wanna stick around, feel free to sleep in your car.”

      “I thought about it,” she said, pleased that she’d surprised him. “But since neither of us can actually prove ownership, I don’t think I should be inconvenienced.”

      Trent stared back, shaking his head. “You’re willing to stay in a house, alone, with a strange man. I could be a serial killer, a bank robber, an ex-con—”

      “With a whole town willing to vouch for you? I don’t think so.” She smiled. “Shall I poke around on my own, or do you want to show me the rest of the house?”

      He folded his muscular arms across his chest. “Look me in the eye and tell me you honestly don’t believe this dispute is going to turn out in my favor.”

      She blinked, once, then met his steady gaze. A jitter in her tummy prevented her from speaking right away. This last week had taught her several important lessons. Not the least of which was to stop being a pushover, stop compromising her individuality in order to be liked and to belong.

      Shelby understood his anger. It appeared his ancestors had stayed, hers had not. Trent was right. When the dust settled, it was very likely she’d have no claim at all. But in the meantime, in case there was the slimmest possibility she was entitled to even a fraction of the place, she’d stay right here. Where she had the best chance of proving she could stand on her own two feet. Enjoy the creative freedom to design jewelry she loved without having her work belittled.

      “We have no way of knowing what happened to Harold and Edgar’s partnership, or how it affected the ownership of the Eager Beaver,” she said calmly, very aware that she’d skirted the question.

      Unless she was mistaken, Trent was seriously considering calling her on it. He studied her for a long excruciating moment, then brushed past her without a word.

      She followed him out of the kitchen and to the hall. She took a quick peek down both sides. Only one bathroom. That sucked.

      “This is my bedroom,” he said, motioning to his left, his lips a thin straight line. “The one at the other end is yours.”

      The door was open. No furniture in her line

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