A Husband of Her Own (Dundee, Idaho #2)(23)
Author: Brenda Novak

“Isn’t it getting a little chilly for that outfit?” he asked, immediately pulling away and putting some distance between them.

She glanced down as though she’d forgotten what she had on. “It’s cooling off, but there’s no point in dirtying another set of clothes. I want to move a few things before I shower.”

Her rationale made sense but, as far as Josh was concerned, she couldn’t change soon enough. A pair of flannel pajamas might help remind him of the limitations of their new friendship. But if he knew Rebecca, she’d never settle for sleepwear half as bland as he needed it to be. The night he’d taken her home from the Honky Tonk she’d been wearing a sexy white thong and matching lace bra that had looked beautiful against her smooth tan skin….

Maybe if she’d give him just one night, he could get her out of his system. But he doubted their fledging friendship could survive a fling. Besides, he’d have to break it off with Mary first, and Rebecca was engaged, anyway.

“So what made you drop by?” she asked.

Josh thought about what had happened when Doyle came to the salon and decided to test out a theory that had been forming in his mind. “Your father wanted me to see if you needed a hand.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

The hope in her voice made Josh wish her father had asked him to check on her. He would’ve felt a lot better toward Doyle Wells if that had been the case. “Yeah, he thought it would be nice,” he lied.

She smiled as though he’d just given her a wonderful gift, and the fact that such small proof of fatherly concern could elicit that kind of reaction from jaded Rebecca Wells pricked Josh’s heart. Despite the eye-rolling and resentment and arguing between them, Rebecca loved her father much more than she ever let on. He wondered if Doyle Wells knew how she felt, and doubted it. He was too busy complaining about all the trouble she caused him.

“Well, it’s a good thing he didn’t come himself,” she said as they bent to lift the couch. “He’d want to know why I’m moving all this stuff.”

“Why are you moving all this stuff?” Josh asked as they started across the small yard with the couch. “You’re not getting married for another six weeks.”

“Yeah, but—” she shrugged “—it’s better to be prepared.”

“By moving your furniture outside? What were you going to do once you got it out here?”

“Booker’s stopping by later. I was planning to have him help me load it.”

Josh felt a rush of intense dislike. “Oh. How does your fiancé feel about you hanging out with Booker?” he asked as they loaded the couch onto the truck.

“He knows we’re only friends. Anyway, Buddy’s not the jealous type.”

Josh had never been the jealous type, either. Yet he hated the memory of Booker dancing with Rebecca the way he’d danced with her last night, hated the thought of him coming over here so late. As if that made any sense. He was supposed to be jealous over Mary, not a woman who was engaged to someone else. “What’s next?”

“The kitchen table, I guess. But first I need to get out some blankets we can use as padding.”

The inside of Rebecca’s house was certainly different than Josh had expected. Because she came off as rather unconcerned about domestic things, he’d assumed her place would be messy. But it wasn’t. There was no clutter, no dusty corners or blinds, no dirty dishes in the sink, no crumbs on the counters or floors. Even the dishrag had been folded neatly across the faucet. Some of the furniture was obviously old and mismatched, but there was evidence of creativity—an antique icebox that doubled as a sideboard, a tile mosaic that hung above it, a braided rug beneath the kitchen table. One whole wall of the dining room was covered with shelves that had been made using simple planks and cinderblock, but the collection of blue, green and yellow jars displayed there, and the assortment of wonderful-smelling candles, somehow made them look trendy. If he had to pick a word to describe Rebecca’s home, it would have to be…unique, he decided. Like her.

“If you store your kitchen table, where are you going to eat until the wedding?” Josh asked as Rebecca came into the living room carrying a stack of blankets.

“At my new place.”

“What new place?”

She dropped the blankets on a recliner that faced an entertainment center made of distressed pine. “I’m moving to another house until I get married.”

“Why would you do that?”

She went into the kitchen, and he followed.

“It’s a long story,” she said, pulling the chairs away from the table.

“Where is this other house?” he asked, helping her.

“Out in the boonies.” She grabbed one of the kitchen chairs and walked outside with it, and he brought two more.

“Just put them on the lawn,” he told her. “We’ve got to get the table on the truck first.”

“Where’s Mary tonight?” she asked as they headed inside.

“I think she’s home with her mother and her son.” Actually, he knew she was. She’d just called him at his folks’ house and invited him over. He’d told her he was too tired because he’d thought he was. But, strangely enough, since he’d arrived at Rebecca’s, his energy had apparently revived.

Rebecca moved the quart jar filled with fresh flowers that had stood on the kitchen table to the counter. “Do you think you two will be getting married soon?” she asked, positioning herself on the far side of the table.

He glanced up at her, instead of taking hold of his end, surprised by the personal nature of her question.

“Friends ask friends those kinds of things,” she said defensively.

“Right. Well…I don’t know.” He leaned, palms down, on the table. “Do you think we should?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Friends ask friends those kinds of questions,” he said.

She thought for a minute, then obviously tried to sidestep giving him a direct answer. “Everyone says you two are perfect for each other. You know, golden boy marries golden girl. Cheerleading captain marries football captain.”

He made a face. “Golden boy? Don’t call me that. Anyway, that cheerleading captain, football captain stuff is pretty superficial. Is that the best you can do? As a friend?”

She propped her own hands on the table and leaned forward just enough that Josh was distracted by what her blouse threatened to reveal. Working to keep his eyes from straying, he waited for her response.