Free Mismatch by Tami Hoag Page A

inspector out yesterday.”
    She’d stopped him short. Wade wouldn’t have given her credit for thinking of a building inspector, and it irked him. He usually didn’t misjudge people, but Bronwynn kept throwing him curves. It would have been a lot easier to dismiss the attraction he felt for her if she had cooperated and been a ditzy bimbo.
    The delivery man stepped between them and handed Bronwynn a clipboard and pen. “If you’re Pierson, you can sign on line twelve. Come on, Grayson. We’ve got stuff to unload.”
    Bronwynn gave Wade a questioning look.
    “Don’t ask,” he said with a chuckle.
    He and Wilson unloaded a riding lawn mower, a microwave oven, a stepladder, various cleaning supplies, TV trays, four big fans, and three lamps. Bronwynn stood smiling at the foot of the porch steps with her hands on her hips and her sheep at her feet as she watched them carry things from the truck to the house. She felt so positive. It was wonderful.
    “Gee, Wade,” she said, handing him a can of orange soda as they watched Wilson drive away, “do you want to stick around until the furniture van gets here? You’ve got a strong back for a guy who sits around on his tush all day.”
    Wade scowled at her as he sat down on a step, fishing a cigarette out of his shirt pocket. “What a compliment.”
    Bronwynn held back a giggle. There was something about him that brought out the devil in her. She couldn’t seem to resist teasing him. It probably was because he seemed to take himself so seriously. “I’m sure the delivery-man union wouldn’t let you in. You overdress. What’s the deal with you, Wade? Don’t you own a pair of jeans?”
    His gaze strayed from his neatly creased trousers to Bronwynn’s long silky legs. The answer to the question escaped him. She had legs like a goddess, and she was swearing off men for a year. There had to be some kind of law against that. His mouth went dry at the thought of running his hands over those legs.
    He forced his gaze to settle on her worn-out sneakers. “I see you ran right out to Goodwill and went on a shopping spree.”
    “Actually, I had my sister express me a few essentials,” she said, unperturbed. “Cutoffs are a little more suitable for yard work than evening gowns.”
    Practicality wasn’t their only virtue, Wade thought as his gaze strayed again.
    With an effort, he turned his head and focused on the various vehicles parked in the driveway. “Whose junker truck?”
    “Mine,” Bronwynn said proudly, glad something had distracted him from staring at her legs. In another minute she might have gone nuts and attacked him.
    “You traded your Mercedes for
that
?” The thought made his stomach churn even worse than usual. He’d always had a soft spot for a flashy car.
    “Don’t get a rash, Wade.” Bronwynn chuckled at the look on his face. “I’m storing the car at a garage in Shirley until I can make space for it here. I thought a truck would be the ideal thing to have, considering the amount of stuff I’ll be hauling around while I’m renovating the place. I picked that little beauty up for four hundred bucks. Isn’t it great?”
    Wade reserved comment. What could he have said? Not one woman of his acquaintance would have thought a rusting Ford pickup with half the front grille missing was great.
    “I call it the Blue Bomb,” she went on. “Muffin likes to ride in the back. Don’t you, Muffin?”
    Bronwynn glanced at her new pet just in time to see the sheep nip Wade’s unlit cigarette out of his hand. She grabbed it away before the animal could devour it. “Muffin, you bad girl. I don’t want you taking up a filthy, disgusting habit like smoking; it’s bad for you.”
    She offered the cigarette back to Wade. He scowled at her and popped an antacid table.
    Bronwynn was appalled. Was his stomach so screwed up he had to eat antacid tablets the way she normally ate butterscotch drops? She found the prospect oddly distressing. “Jeez, you chew