“I’ll tell her,” said Hazel. She smiled at Sabrina. “How’s yours? Okay?”

  “Uh…” Sabrina gaped at her burger, measuring it with her eyes. It was huge, overstuffed, dripping with mayo. “It smells amazing,” she said. “I’m just trying to figure out how to fit it in my mouth.”

  “Some folks use a fork,” said Hazel.

  “But those folks are wimps.” Trevor’s eyes locked on hers, sparkling with challenge. “Go on, take a napkin. And then take a bite.”

  Sabrina took a napkin and tucked it into her shirt. Then she took another and spread it over her lap. She pulled out a scrunchie and tied her hair back, then sized up the burger one more time. If she grabbed it just so, balanced the bottom bun on her pinkies, leaned in, opened wide—

  She took a huge, messy bite. Ketchup streamed down her chin. Lettuce and tomatoes rained down on her plate. She squealed, Trevor laughed, and Hazel clapped her hands.

  “Good job! How is it?”

  “Mm-mm…” Sabrina licked her lips. She grabbed another napkin and swiped at her chin. “Delicious,” she managed. “Best I ever had.”

  Hazel left, satisfied, and Trevor’s mouth quirked up.

  “You’ve got a little something,” he said, motioning to his face.

  Sabrina wiped her chin again.

  “No, your cheek—other cheek. Hold on, let me.” He leaned across the table and thumbed mayo off her cheek. “Use your fork if you want to. Most people do.”

  “So, that was what? Some kind of initiation?”

  “More like a tradition. That, and it’s funny.”

  “It really is tasty.” Sabrina reached for her fork. “Does this place deliver?”

  Trevor frowned. “What, so you can eat and work through dinner?”

  “No, but good idea.” Sabrina stuck out her tongue. “Actually, I was thinking our glampers would love this: good country food, messy but delicious. If we could work out a deal where they’d cater a few meals, or where they’d deliver, that’d be a draw. We need to hit those creature comforts, food, sleep, and—”

  “No.” Trevor reached out again and pressed his thumb to her lips. “I mean, it’s not a bad idea, but don’t you ever stop working?”

  “You work just as hard,” retorted Sabrina.

  “I’m not working now.” Trevor sipped his Coke. “Tell me one thing about you that has nothing to do with work.”

  “I used to play the piano,” said Sabrina. “Ooh, music! I forgot. I was thinking we’d do line dancing, and then we could—”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Trevor facepalmed. “C’mon, just one thing, and don’t mention work. I know you can do it.”

  Sabrina felt the heat rise in her face. She hadn’t heard herself doing it till Trevor cut in. The thought had just hit her and jumped straight out her mouth.

  “I…huh.” She dipped a fry in ketchup and took a bite. Something about her that had nothing to do with work. There had to be tons of stuff, but she was drawing a blank. Bags—she made bags—but that led straight back to work, to crafting sessions with eager glampers. When she was little, she’d wanted to be an astronaut…but that was a job, too. Had she saved nothing just for herself?

  Trevor regarded her flatly, his brows drawn together. Sabrina looked down at her plate, then out at the street.

  “I speak French,” she said at last. “Ma vie n’est pas seulement metro, boulot, dodo.”

  Trevor’s eyes narrowed. “What you just said in French—it didn’t happen to have anything to do with work?”

  “I said I’m about more than that. More than the rat race. Sometimes, I like baking. I like to go swimming at night, when it’s dark. When the moon’s out, and the sky’s full of stars. I love music and dancing, chocolate, cheap beer. When I was nine, I got lost overnight in the woods. I like driving alone, for hours and hours, driving and thinking—”

  “I like that too.” Trevor’s frown had eased off. “Nothing like a long drive to get your head straight.” He cleared his throat. “And there’s a pond on the ranch, if you want to go swimming. It’s down past the north road, where the horse trails start.”

  “I know,” said Sabrina. “We should go some night.” She looked away, embarrassed. She hadn’t meant to say that.

  “We could do that,” said Trevor. “You okay? You’re all pink.”

  “Just warm from the burger.” Sabrina wanted to kick herself under the table. For a moment there, she’d got caught up in the moment, like this was a date, and she and Trevor were—

  Stupid.

  She took a bite of her burger, and Trevor went back to his ribs. Soon, their dessert came out, and the awkwardness passed, and Sabrina admitted the pie came close to her grandma’s, maybe not better, but in the same league. She ate her whole slice, right down to the crumbs. By the time they left the diner, the sky was red with sunset, and Sabrina raised her hand to shield her eyes from the glare. Trevor whipped off his hat and set it on her head, tilting the brim down to block out the sun.

  “Thank you,” she said. She turned her face up to smile at him, and he turned at the same time, and they were standing nearly chest-to-chest, so close she could feel the heat off his skin. Trevor leaned in slightly, or maybe just shifted. Sabrina froze. Was this—was it happening? She’d just have to step forward and rise on her toes, and they’d be trading cinnamon-sugar kisses.

  Trevor’s rough hand settled high on her arm.

  “Well—” he began, and Sabrina’s nerves couldn’t take it.

  “Just a heads-up, tomorrow might be messy. I’m starting my renovations on the guest suites—the planters, the window boxes, maybe some nightstands. I’ll be making some noise, so…” She realized she was babbling, and babbling about work. “Sorry. I—”

  “That’s okay.” Trevor stepped back with a squeeze to her shoulder. “I get up before you do, so you won’t spoil my sleep. But this mess you’ll be making, how big are we talking? I’ll need it cleaned up by the end of the day. The night’s supposed to be stormy, and I don’t need wood scraps blowing around.”

  “Okay. By night, then.” Sabrina deflated. Trevor had been so close, about to kiss her, and she’d gone and blown it, and sent them back to square one. She followed him to the truck, dazed and frustrated.

  7

  TREVOR

  “Where the hell did you get these?” Trevor demanded.

  It had been a few days since their diner date, and things were back to normal between him and Sabrina. They currently stood together outside her cabin, staring at the formidable scrap heap she’d managed to pile up while he was out mending fences.

  Trevor took his hat off and rubbed his scalp in dismay. “The planters look festive, I’ll give you that. But this is just junk. Where’d you get all this trash? It looks like a funeral pyre out in my yard. A kid could get tetanus just looking at this mess.” He indicated the mangled iron bedframes with a nod of his head.

  “Aren’t they beautiful?” Sabrina enthused. She was either completely oblivious to the cloud over his head, or was deliberately ignoring it to gush over her trash. He wasn’t sure which irritated him more, to be frank. “I found them in the junkyard across the street. Pete let me borrow his truck to bring them in, since you were out with yours.” She ran a finger along the iron of a half-intact frame. “I’m going to use them in the bedrooms—once they’re all pieced together and finished, anyway. These will make perfect king-size headboards for all the beds. They’ll add just the right touch of rustic romance. We’ve been missing that so far, don’t you think?” She concluded with a joyful—and, he suspected, slightly over-caffeinated—laugh.

  As always, Trevor found Sabrina’s elaborate plans hard to follow. What he had no trouble zeroing in on was her mention of a junkyard. “What do you mean you went across the street?” he asked her slowly.

  “Oh, come on.” Sabrina attempted to wave off his question. “If you have a problem with me leaving the property during billable hours, you should have said so in one of your many, many lists, and I could have won this argument sooner.”

  “What I have a problem with is you trespassing on the neighbors’ land!” Trevor exploded. “That property across the street is not a junkyard!”

  “Sure it is!” Sabrina exclaimed. “The one with the busted old mailbox? It’s an unplumbed gold mine for upcyclers like me. I’m doing them a favor by dragging five or ten old bedframes off their hands!”

  Trevor needed a moment to compose himself before he expounded on her grave mistake, and a buzz from his back pocket provided him with the perfect distraction. He cursed under his breath and turned away. He let Sabrina savor her false victory as he read the text from his brother.

  Hey, so you know, the Millers called the station earlier. Said some property of theirs has gone missing. Something about beds? Don’t be surprised if old Mrs. Miller comes sniffing around.

  “Do you…” Trevor struggled to get the words out as he turned back to Sabrina. He slid his phone back into his pocket, text unanswered, fighting to keep his breathing even. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

  Sabrina cocked her head. “You weren’t this dramatic about the wood pile,” she said. “What gives?”

  “That ‘unplumbed gold mine’ you claim to have discovered is the Miller family’s private residence!” he hissed through his teeth. “The Millers are hoarders, Sabrina, and infamous throughout Lockhart Bend for it. My brother just informed me that they put a call into the sheriff’s office to report their property stolen!”

  “What?” Sabrina’s jaw dropped. “But I talked to the manager. He said I could—”

  “You talked to who?”

  “The manager?” Sabrina’s voice faltered, and Trevor realized he was looming over her. He eased back a little and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “You mean, a tall guy with long, greasy hair?”

  “Yeah! Yeah, the manager. He said it was fine. He even helped me load the beds in the truck. He said to come back if I needed—what?”

  Trevor took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. “That wasn’t the manager,” he said. “That was their grandson, Ed. He brings over their groceries and keeps the house clean, but he doesn’t own the property, or anything on it. Whatever he told you, the Millers don’t agree.”

  Sabrina’s shoulders sagged, but then she rallied. She pasted a smile on, too wide, too bright. “Well…I’m happy to talk to them, if that’ll smooth things over. Maybe they’d let me help clean up their yard. Or pay for what I took, if that’s the issue.” She bit her lip. “And if they want this stuff back, I’ll load the truck up again and drive it back over. I’ll apologize, let them know—”

  Trevor felt a muscle jump in his jaw. “It’s not that simple,” he interrupted. “They’ve called the sheriff’s office already, maybe filed a report. Do you think I have time to deal with this today?”

  “I’ll deal with it,” said Sabrina. Her voice had gone small.

  “You can’t.” Trevor felt tired. “You don’t know the Millers. You don’t know what they’re like. They’ll tear you a new one, no questions asked. Those are their treasures, and to them, you’re a thief. I’ll have to go over there and plead your case myself, and hope having a sheriff brother counts for something! That’ll be my whole afternoon gone. Do you get it now?”

  “It can’t be that bad.” Sabrina flapped her hand, a dismissive gesture. It made Trevor’s blood boil. “Trent will understand, and so will the Millers. And if they don’t, I’ll let them yell. They’ll get it out of their systems, and then we can—”

  “Sabrina.”

  “It was a misunderstanding,” she repeated, stubbornly. “It’ll be fine. And I thought you’d appreciate my efforts to recycle. The bedframes you’ve got are a real horror show, all tired and sagging, about to collapse. I was trying to save you money, and save you some hassle. A little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss.”

  Trevor growled at her response. Sabrina’s flip attitude was working his last nerve, and he sure as hell didn’t appreciate her trying to make him the bad guy, considering he wasn’t the one implicated in a goddamned robbery. He yanked his work gloves off and slapped them against his thigh, just for something to hit. They tracked a dirt smear down his already filthy Wranglers.

  “You know why I think you’re mad?” Sabrina continued. Her blue eyes narrowed as she scrutinized him, and Trevor didn’t think he liked this shift, not one bit. “I think you’re mad because this wasn’t on your list. Because I didn’t ask first. And, okay, in hindsight, I see I should have. But you’d approved renovations, and I thought—”

  “I approved planters,” he said. “Boxes of flowers. Not piles of junk spread over my lawn, sheriff’s reports, the Millers up my ass. This is why I have rules, to avoid this type of—”

  “What?”

  Trevor groped for the right word, his neck going hot. “Chaos,” he spat. “Goddamn rustic nonsense. If you’d asked me, I’d have told you, go to IKEA. Get a few wood beds and rough up the frames. Splatter some stain on them, and who’d know the difference? Not your damn glampers, with their—”

  “You don’t respect what I do.” Sabrina thrust her chest out, the picture of defiance. “You look at me, and you still see—”

  “Don’t tell me what I see.”

  “Don’t tell me my business.”

  “Don’t tell me my business, on my own damn ranch.” Trevor advanced on her. Sabrina didn’t back down. She got up in his face, all flinty-eyed rage.

  “I’ve worked hard to get—”

  “You never stop working.”

  “Because I care.” She jabbed a finger in his face. “I care about this place, and I care about…”

  “What?”

  “About—”

  Trevor dropped his gloves and hat and seized her around the waist. Sabrina broke off in shock as he pulled her against him. Her hands flew to his chest, but there was no warding off his advance, his indomitable strength. They collided at the hips, and before Sabrina could draw another breath, Trevor swooped in and put a stop to whatever she might’ve said next. He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilted her face up, and leaned in so close he could have counted her freckles. His lips brushed hers, not quite a kiss. He could feel her chest hitching, her heart beating fast.

  “Care about what?” he rumbled.

  “About…oh, shut up.” Sabrina kissed him, and her lips were fire. Her hand slid up his back and tangled in his hair. He gripped her arm and kissed her back deeper. He pulled her to him, then pushed her away. She chased his lips with her own, and moaned low and heated.

  This was a bad idea, maybe the worst he’d ever had, kissing Sabrina in a fit of frustration turned to passion. Those soft, pink lips that drove him crazy when they parted to speak now opened against his mouth in a breathless gasp. Trevor held her close, one hand in her soft hair, one on the small of her back.

  Now he knew what he had been missing, he couldn’t get enough. He drew her harder against him, and she came unresisting, her fingers tightening in the dark crop of his hair. His tongue swept along the voluptuous curve of her bottom lip. She tasted warm and safe, like the brand of coffee he’d favored since his first taste of the stuff. He slipped his tongue past her lips, past the perfect teeth that formed that perfect, ambitious smile, and Sabrina sighed quietly against him. His tongue slid along the length of hers, parrying each thrust. If she thought she’d win their fight this way, she had another think coming. He’d give as good as he got. Kiss her into submission.

  If only he could remember what they’d been fighting about.

  When he had satisfied himself, Trevor withdrew, expelling a hot gasp as he went. Sabrina lingered in his arms and rested her forehead against his chin. The yard felt strangely silent after all their shouting. Trevor wet his lips and was about to speak, but Sabrina beat him to the punch.

  “Do you…want to come back to the bunkhouse?” she asked him quietly.

  I really shouldn’t be doing this, Trevor thought as he ducked into Sabrina’s bunkhouse. I’m not even halfway through my day’s chores. Didn’t I tell her I don’t have time for distractions today?

  But he was like a willingly broke horse on an invisible lead, and Sabrina was calling the shots. After a kiss like that, he would damn near follow her anywhere…

  “We shouldn’t,” said Sabrina, echoing his thoughts. But when she turned to face him inside the bedroom, she pushed him back against the door, and leaned up and stole a long, hungry kiss. One of Trevor’s hands was trapped between them, and Sabrina caught it and pinned it to the wall. Trevor could have pulled free, but he preferred to stay captive, letting her tease him, nip at his lips.

  She trailed burning kisses up the side of his neck, along his coarse jawline, up to his ear. Her teeth grazed his earlobe, and he shuddered against her, and his cock throbbed in his pants. He wanted her, needed her, right here and now. Against the wall, on the floor, over the counter. Would she scream with abandon or try to stay quiet? He’d make her scream, coax his name from her lips.

  She ground up against him, and he burned all over, a hot thrill of need chasing up his spine. He growled, jerked his hands free, and captured her waist, tugged her toward him, and—

  “Wait, Trevor…”

  —chased the heat of her lips, aching to taste her, to—

  “Trevor, no. Stop.”

  Trevor let go, and Sabrina stepped back.

  “We shouldn’t,” she said.

  “You said that already.”

  Sabrina just looked at him. She was flushed chest to cheeks, her upper lip dewy with sweat. Her breath came in quick bursts, like she’d just run a mile.

  “We really shouldn’t,” she said, but her tone lacked conviction. She took Trevor’s hand again and grazed her thumb over his knuckles. “Don’t get me wrong—I want to. I do. I want to tear your clothes off and, uh…”

  And what? Trevor wanted to grab her and throw her down on the rug, and smother her with kisses, and feel her melt at his touch. But Sabrina was frowning, toying with his hand. Turning it over to stare at his palm.