From Texas, With Love. Cathy Thacker Gillen

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      Good to know.

      Preferring Will in the line of fire rather than herself, Samantha took out the plastic sack lining the trash can, and tied it shut. Her anxiety building once again, she carried the empty can to him.

      Will took off his leather jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his cotton shirt. “You need to step back.”

      Samantha didn’t know whether to laugh or run for cover, given how wily and agile the mouse had been thus far. “You’re going to do this all by yourself, I suppose,” she stated dryly.

      He shifted his stance. “Yep.”

      Samantha positioned herself a safe distance away and folded her arms. “This I have to see.”

      Without missing a beat, Will swiftly moved the sofa from the wall, reached down and grabbed the exposed mouse by the tail, then dropped it into the garbage can. That quickly, the problem was resolved; the mouse that had terrorized her for a week was in rodent jail.

      Feeling more than a little foolish for all her antics with the broom, Samantha stared at Will.

      “Mind if I wash my hands?” he asked.

      “Go right ahead,” she murmured, peering into the trash can. The mouse was scampering about in a panic, but every time it tried to get up the sides, it fell back to the bottom. About three inches long, with its tail another four inches, it looked harmless enough.

      Her heart still racing, Samantha glanced at Will. She sensed they weren’t out of the woods yet. “Now what?” she demanded.

      He sauntered to the kitchen sink and turned on the faucet. “You need to take the mouse at least a half mile away if you don’t want him visiting you again. And you need to plug up any openings larger than a quarter inch if you want to avoid any more ‘company.’”

      After glancing again at the little critter, Samantha edged closer to Will. “Plug the holes with what?” She watched him pump a generous amount of antibacterial soap in his palm, then start scrubbing his large, square hands.

      “A mixture of steel wool and caulking compound works best,” he said with a grin. “Got either here?”

      Flushing from the close quarters, Samantha knelt beside him to check beneath the sink. Too late, she remembered how scantily dressed she was. “Actually, both.” She wondered if it would be too obvious if she went and put on a robe. Then again, he had already seen her in her nightshirt and hard-soled hiking boots.

      He stepped slightly to one side and looked down at her, clearly oblivious to the reason behind her indecision. “Get ‘em out,” he told her gently. “And I’ll do it for you.”

      Trying not to think about his denim-covered thighs, Samantha stood. There was no reason solid male muscle should be such a turn-on. She swallowed to ease the parched feeling in her throat. “You’re awfully nice.” She handed over the items he requested.

      He lifted a brow, bemused. “And that’s a surprise because?” His voice dropped another notch.

      Feeling her cheeks heat all the more, she pulled a spackling tool from a drawer. Their fingers collided as she handed it over, his warm hand brushing hers. “You’re an associate of my brother’s.”

      Will looked at her but made no comment. Inexplicably, Samantha was flooded with guilt. She pushed it away, prepared to stand her ground. “But just because I appreciate your assistance,” she continued frankly, “does not mean I’m going to Laramie with you. Because I’m not.”

      He gazed at her another long moment.

      She could have sworn he was disappointed.

      “Suit yourself,” he said finally.

      Samantha sighed, hating the guilt flowing through her once again. She had no reason to feel beholden to her brother after the way Howard had treated her. And yet… “You think I’m being unreasonable, don’t you?” she asked.

      Will’s broad shoulders lifted and fell. Holding her eyes deliberately, he replied, “Let’s just say I know when a lady is doing herself in—repeatedly.”

      Anger knotted her gut. “You don’t know our history.”

      He scanned the baseboard until he found a place that needed patching. “Sure I do.” He knelt down in front of it and pried open the can of spackle. “You and Howard were both orphaned when you were kids.” Will removed the lid, set it aside, then stuck the putty knife in the compound. “He couldn’t take care of you and you ended up in foster care. You’ve never forgiven him.”

      Samantha sighed. So many people thought that. So many people were wrong. “Howard could have taken care of me,” she fumed, as the old bitterness came back to haunt her. Deciding she needed more cover, anyway, she walked into the bathroom and snatched her plaid flannel robe off the hook on the door. Struggling into it, she walked back out. “He was eighteen.”

      Will cast her a censoring look before he pressed steel wool into the small hole, then covered it with caulking compound. “And you were eight, Samantha.”

      His calmness in the face of her pain sent her temper soaring. Samantha stomped nearer, her heavy boots slapping against the scarred wood floor. “So? He could have gotten a job!” She pushed the words through clenched teeth. “Found us an apartment or something.” Had Howard wanted to do so, she amended silently. To her heartbreak, her brother hadn’t.

      Will sat back on his haunches and looked at her with sympathy. “Howard was little more than a kid himself,” he pointed out.

      “And that gave him the right to join the navy? To go off for months and months and months at a time?” Her voice choked at the memory. “I cried my eyes out, missing him.”

      Will rose to his feet, every inch of him lithe and masculine. “And you still are, from the looks of it,” he noted softly. Finding another mousehole, he began patching that, too.

      Agitated to even be having this conversation, never mind with someone as handsome and commanding as Will McCabe, Samantha paced back and forth. She pressed her lips together mutinously. “I gave up crying over my big brother years ago.”

      “Then why is the idea of going back to Texas to see him so threatening?” Will challenged.

      She clenched her fists, watching as he located and filled yet another gap in the baseboard. “It’s not,” she declared, telling herself it was her tension causing her heart to pound and her mouth to go dry, and not his nearness.

      Will looked at her as if she had either lost her mind or was a disaster waiting to happen. He smirked. “Then prove it.”

      “I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

      “True.” He rose slowly and squared off with her. “But you’ve got a heck of a lot to prove to yourself.”

      She lifted her chin. “I do not.”

      He flashed a goading half smile, then headed back to the kitchen to put the patching compound and steel wool in the cupboard beneath the sink. As he bent over, she was treated to the sight of his denim-covered backside. Then СКАЧАТЬ