A Husband of Her Own (Dundee, Idaho #2)(22)
Author: Brenda Novak

“You shouldn’t be moving anything this early, Rebecca,” he said. “You’ll end up packing things you need. Wait a few weeks.”

Rebecca hoisted herself into the bed of the truck. Briefly Josh wondered why she was even trying to help them unload. Greta certainly felt no similar compulsion. Rebecca’s sister took charge, telling them what to do and how to do it, but she didn’t come within ten feet of the wedding arch. Now that they had five men, Josh didn’t think they needed Rebecca, either. But this was Doyle’s show, not his.

“I don’t want to wait a few weeks,” Rebecca said.

“If you try to do too much by yourself, you’ll end up hurting your back,” her father warned.

Then why don’t you go over and help her out? Josh wanted to ask. Support her a little? But it was none of his business. Getting involved detracted from his primary objective. So did that blouse Rebecca was wearing, but there were some things that couldn’t be helped.

“I’ll only lift the light stuff,” Rebecca said.

WAS THAT A COUCH she was trying to wrestle through the door?

Josh slowed and craned his neck to get a better look. It was difficult to see very well. The sun had set, and the light inside Rebecca’s small house provided only a backdrop. But after a few moments he could tell that she was indeed shoving her couch outside, an inch at a time. What she planned to do once she got it on the sagging porch, he had no idea, because there wasn’t any way she could load it into the truck waiting in her drive. At least not by herself.

With a sigh of resignation, he parked in front and cut the engine. He’d come by her place in spite of the many times he’d told himself he wasn’t going to. And now that he knew she needed him as much as he’d suspected she might, he wouldn’t be able to talk himself into going home until he’d moved the heavy stuff.

Climbing out of his Excursion, he slammed the door and started up the walk. “Hang on,” he said. “I’ll get this end.”

She hadn’t changed clothes since she’d left her parents’ house. Which wasn’t a good thing. That blouse, or rather the strip of bare skin beneath it, tended to make him forget some pretty important realities. First, that she was engaged. Second, that she was trouble with a capital “T.” Third, that he sort of had a girlfriend, though there’d been no promises spoken between them. And last but not least, that Rebecca had made it abundantly clear she’d never found him appealing.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, blinking at him as though he’d just beamed down from another planet.

“I was on my way home. Thought maybe you could use a hand.”

She arched a skeptical brow. “You came over to help me?”

“Isn’t that what people typically do once they’ve decided to be friends?”

“Calling a truce doesn’t make us friends,” she said.

“So? Would it be so bad,” he asked, “if we became friends?”

She propped a knee on the arm of the couch, which was mostly out of the house, and leaned against the open doorway. “We’re not really cut out for friendship.”

“Who said?”

“You’re a Scorpio.”

“Your birthday’s the day after mine. Doesn’t that make you a Scorpio, too?”

“Exactly. Scorpio is an extreme sign. We’re all-or-nothing people, far too intense to ever get along.”

“I didn’t know you were into astrology.”

“I’m not, but I know that much.”

“We can get along,” he said. “We’ve just never tried.”

“We lived across the street from each other for years.”

“We don’t live across the street from each other anymore. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe now it’ll be easier.”

“Somehow I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think friends force friends into their cars, for one,” she said.

“They do if it’s in the friend’s best interest, right? If one friend’s drunk. Or, as in your case, if she’s about to pass out.”

“I wasn’t about to pass out.”

He smiled at her denial. She pulled on her tied shirttails in what seemed to be a self-conscious movement. “Besides, we don’t even like each other.”

“Yes, we do.” Circling the couch, he purposefully invaded her space. He wondered if she’d retreat inside, maybe even tell him to get off her property, but he should’ve known better. Rebecca Wells didn’t back away from anything. She stayed right where she was and watched him with a certain wariness in her eyes.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

He nodded. “Positive.”

“You did trust me to cut your hair,” she said, nibbling on her bottom lip. “Maybe we could give friendship a trial run. But I think we should define the term.”

He leaned against the same doorjamb she was leaning against, just inches away. “Okay, define it.”

Her eyes flicked downward, as though noting this further encroachment. But she still didn’t move. “First and foremost, it doesn’t mean that we ever have to hang out together.”

“So we’re not close friends.”

“Right.” She stood up straight. A subtle move to ease away without appearing to be the first to withdraw? “Second, we agree to forget our past sins.”

“Hallelujah. Now we’re making progress,” he said, “especially since I’m not really sure what my past sins are. At least the ones you can’t forgive.”

She glossed over his words by continuing, “And third, whether or not we’ve become friends is nobody’s business but our own. We say nothing about each other to anyone. There’s plenty of talk in this town as it is.”

“Done.” He folded his arms. “Anything else?”

She frowned at his arms, now almost brushing her br**sts. “Not that I can think of.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I won’t ask you to sign in blood. We can amend the arrangement as we go.”

She nodded as though she should’ve thought of that herself. “Then it’s a deal.”

He reached out to shake on it and knew he’d made a mistake as soon as she slipped her hand in his. Her touch had the same effect on him as her bare midriff—it immediately brought him back to that night a year ago last summer.