Free Coming Home by Shirlee Busbee

A-frame.
    Since there was no electricity at present, the cabin had no air-conditioning, but it was much cooler inside. Jeb looked around, noting the signs of vandals from the ripped walls to the patched holes in the floor and the Spartan furnishings. “Not much furniture,” he commented as she led him into the kitchen area.
    Glad of a safe topic, Roxanne replied, “I'm having a lot of renovations done starting next week so it didn't seem practical to try to move in before they're done.”
“You're really going to move in here permanently?”
    “Yes, I am,” she said, fixing him a tall glass of iced tea. “I have lots of plans for this place.” She made a face as she glanced around the tiny corner kitchen. “And one of them is a decent kitchen.”
    Jeb took the glass she handed him and drank deeply. Putting the empty glass down on the small counter, he smiled at her and said, “Thanks. I enjoyed that.”
    Fiddling around with the pitcher, more aware of him than she'd like to be, she asked, “What did you want to talk to me about?”
    Jeb pulled on his ear. “I wanted to apologize.”
    Roxanne's lovely mouth fell open. “Apologize? You? To me?”
    “Yeah, I know it's hard to believe.” He shrugged. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I didn't have any business making all those cracks that I did the other day. It's none of my business what you do up here and I don't really think you're going to start growing dope. You got me riled and I just shot my mouth off.”
    She gaped at him. He was actually apologizing. Jeb Delaney apologizing to her. Would wonders never cease?
    “Um, that's OK,” she muttered. She flashed him an uncertain smile. “I shoot my mouth off all the time.”
    “That you do,” he murmured, his black-eyed gaze skimming over her. He wondered if she knew how tempting she looked in that skimpy top and those low-cut jeans. Especially those low-cut jeans. His gaze dropped. She had the cutest damn belly button he'd ever seen and it was all he could do to keep from picking her up and putting his mouth right over that spot. And if he did that, he knew he'd have her out of those jeans and flat out on the counter before he could count to three. The picture of Roxanne, sans her jeans, lying on the counter before him, flooded his mind. And he was instantly, immediately, so hard he was certain he'd trip if he tried to walk. He swallowed. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. Roxanne was a whole lot easier to deal with when he was angry with her.
    “Are you trying to start another argument?” Roxanne asked suspiciously.
    He shook his head. “No, ma'am. Absolutely not.”
    “Well, it's a good thing,” she said. “Let's quit while we're ahead. OK?”
    “Sounds like a deal.”
    She gestured toward the sink. “You want to wash that cut?”
    “Sure.”
    She threw him a towel and leaving him to wash at the stainless-steel sink went looking for some first-aid stuff she knew she had in her overnight bag near the bed. It took her a few minutes to find what she was searching for and straightening up, she turned back toward him. She gasped. He'd taken his shirt off and her heart slammed into her ribs at the sight of Jeb standing thete half-naked in her small kitchen. His head was hidden in the towel as he vigorously rubbed himself dry, oblivious to her smothered gasp.
    Her mouth dry, a prickle of sexual awareness running through her, Roxanne just stared dumbstruck at that magnificent chest. Reminding herself that she had to be crazy, that she didn't like him in the least, didn't cause her to stop looking at all that masculine beauty before her. And Jeb was beautiful—everything about him perfectly proportioned. He was a tall, big man and had the deep chest and wide shoulders that went with his height. He also had powerful, well-shaped muscles, and she watched fascinated at the way those very nice muscles bunched and flowed along his arms and beneath his chest as he moved. She'd never liked hairy men, but