Free A Cowboy's Woman by CATHY GILLEN THACKER Page A

this was a little too cozy, Greta let go of his arm as they stepped into the shadowy interior of the stables. “What kind of horses are you going to have here?”
    â€œCutting horses. I’m going to breed and train them myself.”
    Greta remembered how well Shane had ridden a bronc, even back in high school, one hand held high above his head, the other sure and steady on the reins, his body one with the wildly bucking horse. He’d been so athletic, so physically attuned, even then. She could only imagine how good he’d be at it now, after the years of championship rodeo wins under his belt.
    Unfortunately the interior of the stables was in as bad shape as the rest of the property.
    â€œLooks like you’ve got your work cut out for you here, too,” Greta said, being careful to hold her breath as much as possible.

    Hands braced loosely on his waist, Shane swaggered up and down the length of the barn. “Fine with me.” His boots echoed on the cement aisle. “I like the idea of more or less building a place from the bottom up. Anyway—” Shane paused, dug in his pocket, and pulled out two sets of keys “—I figured that as long as we’re supposed to be making a go of it, you better have keys to this place, too.” He closed the distance between them and pressed one set of keys into the palm of her hand, curling her fingers around them.
    Greta looked down at them, stunned. “Are you sure?”
    Shane nodded and let go of her hand. “You should keep them however long we’re together—it’ll help convince our folks we’re serious.”
    Greta struggled not to show how let down she’d really felt. For a moment there she’d foolishly thought his gesture had really meant something. She should have known, like everything else, that it was just another detail of his latest escapade. If there was one thing Shane was good at, it was playing pranks.
    Shane ran a hand along the underside of his jaw, which—despite the fact he’d shaved that very morning—was already starting to sport a healthy golden-brown stubble. “I was thinking, maybe we should stop by the hardware store before it closes and pick up some paint samples and wallpaper books, too. You know, to make it really look good.”
    â€œSure,” Greta said, feeling her shoulders tense.
    â€œMaybe you could even help me pick out some stuff for the interior of the house,” Shane continued enthusiastically. “I’m no good at that, anyway, and I sure as heck don’t want my mother doing it for me.”
    How about Bonnie Sue Baxter then? I bet she’d volunteer for the job in a nanosecond, Greta thought, then
immediately chastised herself for her jealousy, which she had no business feeling. “I understand totally,” Greta said, struggling for outward calm.
    â€œThen you’ll do it?” He searched her eyes.
    She nodded, telling herself she could do this without getting emotionally involved. After all, it wasn’t as if she was going to be living there forever or something. She was just helping out a friend.
    â€œNo problem.”
    Shane breathed a sigh of relief and swept off his hat. “Thanks.”
    Silence fell between them as Shane shoved a hand through the rumpled, sun-streaked layers of his hair. Aware he was watching her closely, his own expression inscrutable, she tucked her hands in the pockets of her denim skirt. Telling herself firmly she was not going to think about kissing him again, she took a deep, bolstering breath. Then, considering the unwashed state of the stables, was immediately sorry. Wrinkling her nose up at the decidedly funky smell, she hurried outside and gulped in several breaths of fresh air.
    Shane followed, chuckling, the horsey smell of the interior of the stables clearly no problem for him. “Don’t worry, kid.” He patted her consolingly on the shoulder while she struggled to