True-Blue Cowboy - Vicki Lewis Thompson Page 0,2

did her hair for years and she had me over for tea many times.” Wielding the scissors with precision, she began snipping away at his hair.

“How old was she?”

“Ninety-seven. I had no idea she didn’t have heirs. When I found out the bank would eventually put the house up for sale, I was determined to buy it. The contents were a bonus. I discover something new every day.”

“Sounds almost like an archeological dig.”

“Exactly. So fun.”

“You might want to wait on the attic,” Rafe said. “It must be like an oven. Miss Barton didn’t believe in A/C.”

“It’s toasty, all right, especially this week. But I’m dying to know what treasures are packed away up there.”

“I would be, too,” Nick said.

“If I had you for a day, you could bring it all down for me.”

“I doubt that would take all day.” And if she didn’t win the bidding, he’d offer to do that chore for free.

“Probably not. But if I got lucky and won the bid, I’d send you out to the backyard to dig up rocks. The yard’s full of them and I want to plant flowers out there.”

“I’m good with rocks.”

“I can testify to that,” Rafe said. “Nick hauled in the ones we needed for our fire pit behind the bunkhouse. One night we tossed around the idea of building it, and by the next afternoon he had a pile of big rocks, ready to go.”

Eva smiled. “Sounds promising.”

“You could do something with those rocks.” He relished the idea of making something great out of materials on hand.

“Like a fire pit?”

“Maybe, if you want one. You also could create a tiered flower bed. Or maybe a waterfall.”

“I’d love a waterfall.” She met his gaze in the mirror. “See? You’re just the man I need.” She didn’t say it in a flirty way, as if the words had a double meaning. Instead she said it like they were pals. Good buddies.

Evidently his muscles weren’t enough to change that designation. But she was willing to bid on him at the auction. That was a plus. And he’d wear the tightest T-shirt he owned.

Chapter Two

Eva had found a kindred spirit in Beth Owens, who owned Racy Lace, a lingerie shop on the square. They’d begun meeting for dinner once a week at either Eva’s apartment over Tres Beau or Beth’s, also located above her shop.

Several months ago, they’d included Fiona Hildebrand, who’d opened a stationery store two doors down from Racy Lace and lived as they did, in rooms over her place of business. The three of them had rotated hosting and tonight was Eva’s turn to cook.

She couldn’t wait to show them the progress she’d made since they’d first seen the house three weeks ago. That night she’d ordered pizza and served it in the kitchen, the only area besides her bedroom that she’d scrubbed clean.

The house was in decent repair but far from airtight. Dust and cobwebs had collected for more than a year while the Apple Grove Bank had worked through the complexities of an owner who’d died with no will and no heirs. Eva had kept track of the process through a friend at the bank and had been first in line to buy the Victorian.

After a home inspection confirmed the house was structurally sound, Eva had negotiated a lower down payment by agreeing to tackle the cleaning herself. After three weeks of intense labor, the living and dining room were spotless and ready for company.

While the walls, ceilings and furniture had required plenty of vacuuming, everything tucked away in cupboards and drawers had been carefully stored and remained pristine. Winifred Barton had been an excellent housekeeper who’d clearly used and cherished her belongings.

In the living room, two Tiffany-style floor lamps cast jeweled light over worn but elegant furniture from a bygone era. Maybe they were genuine Tiffany and maybe not. Eva didn’t much care. They were beautiful.

A lace tablecloth covered the antique dining table and candles flickered in gleaming brass candlesticks. Vintage wine glasses sat at each place, along with silverware that had been stored in a protective chest and had only needed a little polishing to shine like new.

The rumble of a truck sent her to the front window. Instead of walking the four blocks from the square like last time, Beth and Fiona had arrived in Beth’s sleek black truck with the Racy Lace logo on the doors.

Eva hurried to the porch as they climbed down, chattering about something she couldn’t make out. This week she’d