True-Blue Cowboy - Vicki Lewis Thompson Page 0,24

he’d stopped with one. Rafe had said a woman didn’t cook for a guy unless she liked him.

If Rafe was right, then Eva liked him a whole lot. And he risked derailing her positive feelings if he skimped on the food she’d worked so hard to make.

When she’d offered another helping of casserole, he’d taken it, too. Her cheeks had glowed pink with pleasure when he’d raved about the meal. Worth a little pain, right?

Scratch that. A lot of pain. His stomach had ached in silent protest during the drive out to Ed’s place. Coming back, he’d been by himself and he’d loosened his belt a couple of notches.

But the mark from his typical cinching showed on the leather. Vanity had made him tighten the belt again before leaving the truck.

He’d never been so stuffed in his life. But the food wasn’t the only culprit. Under normal circumstances he might have handled two heavy meals in a row. These weren’t normal circumstances.

For the first time, he was completely alone with Eva. Judging from her cooking frenzy, she was warming to him. That suggested possibilities that stole his breath and tightened his gut. His very full gut.

Ahead of him on the stairs, she lovingly described the many idiosyncrasies of the house. He managed some appropriate responses and studied the worn tread beneath his boots to avoid looking at the sweet curve of her backside as she climbed.

He had a slight tendency toward impatience that could tank the whole program. Just because he had the opportunity to initiate something didn’t mean he should.

The day was young. He’d give them both time to get used to each other. Let things happen naturally.

“These stairs creak a lot more than the ones between the first and second floor.” She reached the top of the stairs and opened a rustic wooden door.

“Is that something you’d like me to work on?”

“Not really. Creaking stairs don’t bother me. Aunt Sally used to say it was the house talking to her.”

“She had a house like this?” That could explain a lot.

“Very similar.” She walked into the attic. “Watch your head when you come through the doorway.”

“Thanks.” He ducked, stepped over a sill and into the musty attic. At least somebody had laid down a floor. He straightened and glanced around. A low-wattage bulb hanging from the rafters gave off enough weak light to get a vague idea of what was up here.

An oval full-length mirror stood in a far corner next to a carved wooden coat tree hung with a pink feather boa. Cardboard boxes and wooden chests were piled within the circle of light. Could be more in the shadows.

To his right sat the most visible item in the attic and the only one without a speck of dust. What little light there was gleamed on the lustrous black surface of a large leather trunk with a curved lid.

He pointed to it. “Looks like something out of a movie.”

“Doesn’t it? It might be too big for one person. I could take an end so we can get it downstairs.”

“I can handle it.” He walked over, grasped the leather handles on either end and lifted it a few inches off the floor. No heavier than a bale of hay. “Piece of cake. What’s in it?”

“I don’t know. It’s locked. I’ve found a few keys in a drawer but none of them fit. If you can haul it to the first floor, I’ll call a locksmith tomorrow.”

Crouching down, he examined the old-fashioned keyhole. “I could probably open it.”

“Yeah?”

“I think so.”

“Is that something Henri and Charley taught you, too?”

“No, ma’am. I perfected that skill a long time ago.” It had come in handy when he’d had to live by his wits.

She gazed at him. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“Not a very interesting one.” Petty theft, a stint in juvie—he’d rather keep those tales to himself. “Want me to start with this trunk, then?”

“I’d love that, especially if you can get it open.”

“Let’s do it.” He hefted the trunk, eager to be the hero who worked some magic with his pocket knife. He turned sideways so he could get the trunk through the narrow door.

How cool it would be to throw back the lid and solve the mystery of what had been locked away, maybe for years. Eva would be so grateful for—bam. Smacking the side of his head on the doorframe wasn’t part of the plan.

“Nick!”

“No worries.” Ears ringing, he ducked the way he should have in the first place