The Delivery of Decor (Shiloh Ridge Ranch in Three Rivers #7) - Liz Isaacson Page 0,25

and while he’d brought in wood, Dot had actually started to look for a room with any sort of chaos in it.

She’d found it in the office, though even the folders and papers there seemed to have some semblance of organization. Her opinion of Ward Glover changed by the minute, and she found it once again morphing as he came down the hall with a spotlight that could illuminate the whole house.

“You okay down here?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, quickly filling the glass in the bathroom and rinsing her mouth. Ward kept the blinding light pointed at the ground, which cast the two of them in strange, upward-reaching shadows. “Thanks.”

“It’s only eight-thirty,” he said. “It feels like midnight.” He gave a low chuckle, and Dot smiled at the sound of it in his chest.

“I get up early,” she said. “Shovel rocks all day. I could go to bed right now.” That was what she’d been preparing to do.

“I found some sweats and put them on your bed,” he said. “You can take this torch. I have another one in the pantry I can use. And the generator should kick on any minute now.” He actually cocked his head as if it would simply because he’d commanded it to.

The house stayed stubbornly dark.

Dot stepped to leave the bathroom, but Ward didn’t back up. She reached up and put one palm against his chest, the very real beating of his heart bumping through his T-shirt. “Thanks for everything, Ward.”

“Of course,” he said. “How are you feeling? Everything good with the insulin?”

“Yep.” Dot didn’t want to talk about her diabetes. She knew which foods were high in glucose, and she’d given herself a dose of insulin before eating the pizza and salad. Bagged and boxed things tended to have more additives and extra sugar, both of which threw her body out of whack.

But she had insulin, and she’d stored it in Ward’s fridge the way she did at home. He didn’t have a dog, but he’d scrambled some eggs and put them into a plastic container of leftover stew he said he was going to throw out anyway. George had been pleased as punch, and Dot had said Ward would spoil them both with homecooked meals, and then the hound dog would howl at her for the same thing once she took him home.

Which, hopefully, happened tomorrow.

Dot had not brought a change of clothes with her, and she didn’t carry such things in her dump truck. She had a single pair of socks that had gotten wet coming into the house, and she’d laid them over a heat vent to dry out. They had, and she currently wore them, as well as her jeans and tank top. She had a sweater and a jacket to wear as well, but that was it. No shoes but the steel-toed boots she worked in.

“All right,” Ward drawled. “I’m gonna grab that other flashlight and head to bed.”

“Okay.” Dot let her hand drop, but it slipped down his chest because of how close they stood.

His breath entered his lungs in a sharp gasp, and then he swept one hand around her waist and brought her even closer to him. “We’ll have to see how the weather is tomorrow.”

“It’s Christmas,” Dot murmured, too close to him to focus on his face. She relaxed into his half-embrace and laid her cheek against his shoulder.

“It sure is.” Ward’s breath wafted across her ear and Dot’s skin prickled with desire. “See you in the morning, Dorothy.” He swept his lips along her forehead and stepped gently away. How someone so tall and strong could move with so much grace astounded her, and she took the light from him and watched him walk back toward the kitchen.

“Don’t stand here staring,” she muttered to herself. She’d taken one step when the lights flickered and flared back to life.

“Generator’s on,” Ward called. “I’m going to turn off all the lights we can, okay? That way it’ll focus on the furnace.” He appeared at the end of the hall, his eyebrows up as if seeking her permission.

“Good plan,” she said, as he knew how to keep his house functioning for as long as possible. She reached over and flipped off the lights in the bathroom, as well as the hallway, plunging herself back into the darkness that perpetually clawed at the spotlight’s power.

She went into the bedroom she’d chosen, which was the one closest to the rest of the house—the first door on the right.