True-Blue Cowboy - Vicki Lewis Thompson Page 0,34
against his hip and holding it one-handed, he looked around until his gaze settled on the box in the corner.
She smiled. “Out of sight, out of mind.”
“I’m afraid not. The sight of those items spread out on the carpet is burned into my eyeballs.”
“You’ve never seen that kind of thing before?”
“Only in magazines on women I didn’t know. This is a whole other level of…” He shook his head. “I don’t know what. Do you have a plan for what to do with them?”
“Not really.” She couldn’t help herself. Watching him blush was too much fun. “Do you have any suggestions?”
“No, ma’am, I do not.” His cheeks turned pink. “I get what you were saying before. Can’t exactly donate that sort of thing to a local charity.”
“But it’s all in such great shape. Throwing it away seems wrong.”
He sighed. “I’m opposed to wasting things, too, but how do you recycle something like that?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out.” She held up the journal. “This was at the bottom of the box.”
He eyed it warily. “Read any of it?”
“Haven’t had a chance, but I will. I’m dying of curiosity.” If this journal turned out to be as hot as Winifred’s outfits indicated it might be, she’d be wise to read it in small doses, especially with a sexy cowboy on the premises.
“Do you suppose she wrote about—”
“I can’t imagine what else if she put it in the same box with her outfits.”
His chest heaved. “Yeah.” He gestured toward the box. “I’d better take this to the back porch.”
“I’m sure it’s past time for your iced coffee and cinnamon roll break.”
“No point in stopping now. I’m almost done. Give me another ten minutes and I’ll have everything out of there except the big mirror and the coat tree. Do you want those brought down, too?”
“I would love that, but the cheval mirror’s going to be a bugger.”
“Cheval?”
“That’s the name of that style, with a tilting mirror in a standing frame. Theoretically you can tighten the screws on the swivel part to stabilize it, but that part’s worn. It’s gonna tilt.”
“Where do you want it?”
“In my bedroom, but—”
“That means it only has to go down one set of stairs. Could you stuff something between the mirror and the frame to stabilize it?”
“It’s not recommended. Puts a strain on the frame.”
“Duct tape, then? Only has to be on there long enough for the trip down the stairs.”
“That could work.”
“If the mirror’s stabilized, I could back down the stairs holding the base while you support the top. I think it’s doable.”
“It’s a deal. Are the rest of the boxes like that one? If they’re light, I could come up and help you finish.”
“I’m not sure if they’re light or heavy, but it’s broiling up there. I’m already sweaty. No reason for you to get sweaty, too.”
She could think of a reason, but it had nothing to do with moving boxes. And speaking of sweat, it looked darned good on him, dampening the front of his T-shirt in a vee-shaped pattern from his strong neck to his impressive abs.
If she took a couple of steps, she could shove the material up and lick salty beads of sweat from his abs to his pecs. Then she’d—
His soft moan startled her out of her impromptu daydream. Her gaze rose to meet his. Whoa. The heat in his eyes scorched her from head to toe.
He cleared his throat. “Good thing I’m holding this box.”
She sucked in a breath as his intense stare ignited a fire in every one of her erogenous zones. “You could… put it down.”
His laughter was choked. “Don’t think so. I’ve punched holes in it.”
She glanced at the spot where his hand gripped the side of the box. “Yeah, you did.”
“I’ll go unhook myself and… calm the hell down.” He turned and headed for the hall.
She followed his progress with hungry eyes. “Don’t calm down on my account,” she called after him.
“That’s exactly why I will. I’m finishing the work you paid for. It’s a matter of principle.” At the end of the hall he turned back to her. “And I’m gonna need your help.”
“But you said you didn’t want me to—”
“Not with the boxes. With the way you look at me.”
“It’s not all my fault. You’re the one who brought up the subject of sweat.”
“Huh?”
“You said you were already sweaty and there was no reason for me to get sweaty, too.”
“So?”
Frustration ramped up her volume. “Are you telling me you didn’t immediately think