Reclaimed by Jennifer Rodewald Read Free Book Online

“Your deer?”
    He chuckled. “My tractor. John Deere.”
    “Oh.” Her head fell, and pink crept over her neck.
    Paul squeezed her against his shoulder. “You’ll learn, kid. Don’t give up.”
    She pulled away and swiped at the last of her tears, smearing mud over her cheek.
    Paul bit the inside of his lip as a smile tugged at his mouth. “So, since I didn’t take a mud bath, I’ll go shut that main off.”
    Suzanna turned, her eyes growing as she took him in. “You’re still in your church clothes.”
    He looked himself over. Mud had splattered over his dark Wranglers, and his western button-down was smeared where she’d brushed against him. He was speckled with water spots that would probably dry brown.
    “No worries.” He shrugged, smiling. “I don’t own anything that can’t go through the washing machine. It’ll be fine.”
    She looked up at him, her expression pathetic—miserable. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rustin.”
    “I told you it’s fine.”
    “No, I mean I’m sorry...” She dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry I’ve been so nasty.”
    Paul pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket. “We didn’t get off to the best start.” He brushed at the mud near her nose and then pressed the material into her hand. “It’s not all your fault. I didn’t know about Chuck and the others. Honest. But I have to admit, even without that, offering to buy your place probably wasn’t the best way to introduce myself. Will you forgive me?”
    Suzanna nodded, and a small smile touched her mouth.
    Fierce and Timid. Suzanna Wilton was a bit of a pickle. Maybe not the sour kind though.

CHAPTER SIX
     
    Suzanna tugged on her earbuds and pushed pause. Sitting still, she listened. Yep. There had been a knock. Leaving her computer, she moved toward her kitchen door.
    “Mr. Rustin.” She pulled the door open wider.
    The man smiled, tipping his hat. “’Morning. Too early for you?”
    Suzanna stepped back and swept her hand toward the kitchen. “Not at all. I work on Eastern Standard Time, so I’m up by five.”
    “Eastern? Why?”
    “I work for a resort company in Florida.” Suzanna followed him in and went straight for the coffee pot. She tipped it to him. “You a fellow caffeine addict?”
    “I never turn down coffee.”
    She laughed. “That’s what Andrea said.”
    His grin spread wide, tucking a dimple into his left cheek. “Yep. That’s what our mother always says too.”
    Suzanna smiled and moved to the sink to fill the pot. He wasn’t bad at all. How had she mistaken his friendly overtures for manipulation?
    “So, Florida… how does that work?”
    “I fill in reservation entries. Dates, locations. Really boring, mindless work.” She opened her coffee tin and inhaled the nutty smoothness out of habit. “But it’s a paycheck.”
    He dropped onto a chair at her kitchen table. “How long have you done that?”
    “About four years.” She leaned against the counter while the coffee gurgled and steamed.
    He nodded, laying an arm on the table. A dozen questions bubbled to her mind. Had he always been a rancher? Three thousand acres—that seemed huge. How had he acquired so much so young? How old was he, anyway?
    His face, though weathered from the life of an outdoorsman, looked to be not much older than thirty. His hair, cropped short and indented with the ring of his hat, had a few grays peppered near his ears. Her eyes dropped to the hand resting on her table. His ring finger lacked the pale markings of a wedding band. Had he ever been married?
    Her thumb rubbed at her ring finger. It still felt empty. Turning to the fridge, she reached for the chain hidden under her collar and fingered the thin, simple band.
    “Do you use cream, Mr. Rustin?” She hoped he hadn’t noticed the wavering in her voice.
    “Paul, Suzanna. If we’re going to be friends, you should call me Paul.”
    Friends? She spat nails in his face the first day they’d met, and he was still willing to have a go at