The porch light was on. Hunh. Well, Grandfather did say that George, the ranch hand, would have things ready for him. He hoped that included a hot meal by the fire.
When he finally reached the porch, he sighed in relief, took one step, then felt the barrel of a shotgun shoved up against his back.
“What the hell?” he hissed, waving his arms in the air.
The gun bobbled back and then a gunshot rang out, hitting the porch light and blanketing him and the intruder in darkness.
“St-stay where you are.” The feminine voice was shaky, uncertain. “I have a gun.”
“No shit.” She’d nearly taken off his head with it!
“Don’t talk!”
“Fine.”
“I said”—she shoved the barrel of the gun harder into his spine—“no talking. Now…” Her breathing was ragged. “I want you to take two steps backward and turn around. And go back to wherever you came from. This isn’t your house!”
“Actually—” He coughed, trying to clear his throat. “It is.”
“Crap!” The gun fell to the ground in a clatter then went off, sending dirt and pieces of rock all over his feet.
“Fuck!”
“George!” the woman yelled. “I’m so sorry! You poor thing!” Warm hands wrapped around his shoulders. “Oh no, and you’re so old.”
What the hell? “I’m not—” He barely got the two words out before she started babbling again.
“Old. No, of course not, how rude of me to say that. Come on, up you go.” As soon as he’d picked up the gun and straightened to his full height she scooted around him and made her way up the front steps.
“I mean, of course you’d want to greet me and make sure I got settled in!” She laughed nervously as she pushed open the door and stepped into the shadowy foyer. He put the safety back on the gun and set it on the entryway table.
“Stay here, and I’ll just…” Her pert ass moved back and forth as she jogged in the general direction of the kitchen. He’d just managed to find a lamp—that flooded the room with light when he turned it on, thank God—when she came back with a large ugly black purse and dug through it, finally pulling out a bottle of pills.
“So…” She took a few steps toward him. “I just need to grab you water and—”
With a gasp, she dropped the pills as she uttered a dumbstruck “You?”
His mouth dropped open. “Just Jane?”
“Just Brock.” A smile formed around her sensual mouth. “Clearly not pushing seventy.”
“God, I hope not,” he joked. “Though it feels like it. My car got stuck in the mud. Then I got stuck in the mud. I left my pride about a mile back, highly doubt I’m going to get it back now.”
She made a face as she eyed the mud he was dripping all over the floor.
“What are you doing here?” Jane’s features softened. “Were you the old man who called me about this job?”
“I’d really like it if you could stop leading every sentence with the word ‘old.’” He gave a half-shrug. “You know, pride and all.”
A flush broke out across her neck. “Sorry.”
“An old man called you?” He sat in the nearest chair and tried not to laugh at Jane’s wince over his obvious destruction of said chair. “Why don’t you start at the beginning? Why are you here?”
Her mouth formed an O as she crossed her arms, uncrossed them, then placed them on her hips. It was damn near impossible not to stare at her breasts as they were perkily directing all their attention at him. Never had he been so thankful for wet white T-shirts.
“Well, this old…”
Brock sighed.
“Sorry, this man called and asked for my services—”
Brock’s eyebrows shot up.
“No, no, no.” Her blush deepened. “Not those types of services. That is, I clean houses and offices. I own a business. Cinderella Cleaning Company. He, um, he needed someone to serve as a maid for the house for the next few weeks, get it ready for the tenants and honestly it’s not my normal job but…” She swallowed and looked down. “Let’s just say I needed to get away.”
“Mafia?” He said in a deadpan voice.
A giggle escaped her lips. “Close.” Her eyes met his. “Sisters.”
“Ah, well. I have twin brothers. Pain in my ass, both of them.”
“I, uh…” She tucked a piece of wet hair behind her ear. “Remember.”
“Old man, you say?” His eyes narrowed. “And I imagine he’s paying you handsomely?”
She broke eye contact and then nodded.
“If I were a betting man I’d say my grandfather called you. So I guess, just a happy coincidence that Cinderella left her shoe at the dance club and now she’s here…in my house.” He frowned. How the hell had his grandfather been able to find her when Brock hadn’t even seen her on the guest list?
“Your grandfather,” she said slowly. “Your house…” Her eyes narrowed. “New tenant?”
He stood, towering over her small frame, and her lips parted as she took a step backward, away from him.
What the hell was his grandfather up to? And how the hell was he supposed to survive being in the same house as the one woman he wanted—but couldn’t have? Goddamn his grandfather!