LITMIR.BIZ

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a little more time and she’d be ready for guests. Ready for the income that would allow her to purchase the house from her mother and truly make it hers. She could make something of it. Of herself.

      “I need more time,” she said, turning around and schooling her features. She wouldn’t let either of these people see how truly desperate she was.

      “Could you give us a minute?” Shep asked the Realtor, who flashed him a sickeningly sweet smile. Paige had seen Lorena’s face on shopping carts, billboards and bus-stop benches around town. She was Crimson, Colorado’s top Realtor according to her ads.

      “That’s fine.” Lorena walked forward, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Who wore heels in Crimson anyway? Lorena placed a hand on Shep’s arm, an almost proprietary gesture. Paige wondered if the two were an item. It wouldn’t surprise her.

      Shep Bennett was new to Crimson. His company had recently purchased the ski resort that sat adjacent to Nana’s house and renovations were underway that would allow him to reopen in time for the upcoming winter season. That made Shep a hot commodity in town, and Lorena seemed the type to want a powerful man at her side.

      “I need to measure the bedrooms upstairs.” She arched a brow in Paige’s direction. “I assume that’s okay with you.”

      “Fine.”

      Lorena left the room, hips swaying as she moved. If Paige tried to swing her hips that way it would probably look like she was being electrocuted.

      “You have awful taste in music,” Shep said conversationally as he bent to pick up the dough from the floor. “And you couldn’t carry a tune out of a paper bag. I swear I heard neighborhood dogs yowling along.”

      “My nana used to listen to Barry Manilow.” She took the dough he handed her, dumped it into the trash, then grabbed a wad of paper towels from the roll on the counter and flipped on the faucet. “He’s a musical god and it helps me concentrate when I’m baking.”

      “It makes me want to concentrate on finding a decent set of earplugs.”

      Paige wet the paper towels then wrung out the excess water. It was all she could do not to fling them at Shep. First he made her ruin her bread dough and now he was going to stand in her kitchen and insult her musical taste.

      Her kitchen. The place where she was happiest in the world. And Shepherd Bennett was taking it from her.

      Jerk.

      He walked to the far side of the kitchen, taking in the oak cabinets, which Paige had painted a cheery yellow, and the row of antique plates she’d hung on one wall. “This is the first time I’ve actually been in the house.”

      She dropped to her knees and scrubbed the floor. It would be easier to clean up the dough splatter before it dried completely. “What kind of idiot tries to buy a house he hasn’t even seen?”

      “This kind of idiot,” he said, the scuffed toes of his work boots directly in front of her. “And I didn’t try to do anything. You know I close on this place this week.”

      “Not if I can help it,” she muttered.

      “You can’t.” All the gentleness had disappeared from his tone. He stated a fact, and her body burned with anger at the certainty in his voice. “I don’t care about the house. I wanted the land.”

      She stilled, staring down at her hands splayed out on the cherry floors, the veins that ran across the tops of her hands faint and blue. Paige might be petite and delicate looking to some, but she had sturdy hands. Hands like her grandmother.

      “This property will give secondary access to the ski mountain and allow us to create a Nordic ski trail plus a new terrain park. We’ll bulldoze the house before the end of summer. I’ll give you a couple of weeks to move out if you need it.”

      Paige felt her mouth drop open. Blood roared through her head, making her feel at once dizzy and nauseous. “No,” she whispered.

      “The furniture was your mom’s idea. I think she threw it in to save the trouble of having to move everything. She claims it’s mostly old junk.”

      Paige sat back on the balls of her feet and looked up, past the jeans that hung low on Shep’s hips and the crisp button-down he wore, smudged with stains from the dough she’d thrown at him.

      “I hate you,” she said clearly and Shep’s mouth curved up on one side, as if he’d expected the words. Been waiting for them even.

      “Sooner or later I have that effect on most women.”

      “Shocker.”

      “I know, right?” He flashed a full smile, the kind that had certainly melted the panties of dozens of ladies over the years. Probably hundreds. Maybe thousands. Shep looked like the type to melt the undergarments of anyone carrying two X chromosomes. A moment later that smile disappeared, and he was all business. “You can’t stop this.”

      “I can try.” She straightened. “I’ll call my mom again.”

      He shook his head. “Your mother won’t change her mind, and if she considers it I’ll up the offer. I always get my way.” He shrugged. “It’s not personal.”

      Not personal? This house—reopening the bed-and-breakfast that had meant so much to her grandmother—was all Paige had in life. She’d come here every summer from the time she was ten years old, tapped to help her grandma manage the small inn. The only time she’d stayed in Denver was between her sophomore and junior years of high school when her weekly chemo treatments had prevented her from being away from home.

      But the following summer Nana had insisted she return, even though Paige still felt like she needed more care than she’d be able to give. Nana had put her to work, easy tasks until she began to regain her strength. Began to believe she might fully recover from the cancer that had changed everything in her world.

      Paige could not see this house demolished. It represented too much to her.

      “Maybe I should talk to Cole about whether your arrival in Crimson is personal,” she said with a composure she didn’t feel.

      Shep’s head snapped back like she’d hit him. For a moment she could see past the mask of either the hard-nosed businessman or incorrigible flirt. For a moment she saw his soft underbelly exposed and it was too much, too familiar. Shep Bennett was the enemy, and she couldn’t afford to forget that for a moment.

      “Wait. I remember you.” His eyes widened and he took a step closer to her, once again the smooth-talking scoundrel. “The toddler whisperer,” he murmured almost more to himself than her.

      Color rose to her cheeks under his scrutiny. They’d actually met—well, not met—but she’d seen him a couple of weeks ago at the Crimson July Fourth Festival. His twin brother, Cole, the town’s popular sheriff, had been in the hot seat in the dunk tank. Unfortunately for Cole, he’d also just broken the heart of Sienna Pierce, whom Paige had befriended when she’d come to Crimson.

      Ever the dutiful friend, Paige had been gamely trying to dunk Cole as a crowd, including Shep, watched. Shep’s young daughter had reached out to her, which wasn’t odd to Paige. Kids and animals tended to like her. She figured it had something to do with her size and the fact that she didn’t have a threatening bone in her body, no matter how much she wanted a few.

      “She seemed to like you at the festival, and Rosie normally hates everyone except me,” Shep told her.

      “Give her time,” Paige shot back then clasped a hand over her mouth. She might not like the guy, but it was wrong to insinuate his own daughter wouldn’t.

      He didn’t react or seem bothered by her rudeness, almost as if it was his due.

      “Well,” he said after a moment, rubbing a hand over his jaw, “she only came to live with me about seven months ago and she’s still crawling so it’s not like she can run away quite yet.”

      “I

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