How to Lasso a Cowboy by Shirley Jump Page B

ago. Maybe if he hadn’t—
    Harlan hammered another shelf into the bookshelf he had started constructing. He drove the hammer too hard and too fast, and the wood splintered, cracking apart with a groan and a creak. “Damn!”
    The dogs jerked awake, saw there was no emergency and went back to their nap.
    â€œAm I interrupting?”
    He spun around at the sound of Sophie’s voice. Good thing he’d stopped hammering or he might have driven his thumb into the joint instead of a nail. “No, not at all.” A lie. She was interrupting his attempts at forgetting she existed. Considering he hadn’t made it more than five seconds without thinking about her, those attempts weren’t going so well.
    â€œI just wanted to thank you again for this morning. And for yesterday, with my grandmother.” She stood in the doorway of the garage, partly in shadows, partly lit by the sun from behind. Her hair was tinged with gold, the sun’s rays dancing on the blonde curls that framed her face.
    Well, darn. He put down the hammer before he accidentally took out an eye or something.
    â€œIt was nothing, really.”
    She stepped inside, and the shadows dropped away, leaving her bathed in the soft white lights of the garage. “It was a big deal, bigger than you know. Ever since my parents moved away, it’s just been Grandma and me. I worry about her all the time, but she can be so stubborn and not ask for help when she needs it. She’s independent and feisty—”
    â€œLike someone I know.” Harlan grinned.
    â€œMaybe,” she conceded softly. “Anyway, I…” She paused, and he could see it wasn’t easy for her to be nice to him, which nearly made him chuckle. “I appreciate it.”
    He shrugged. “Truly, nothing more than one neighbor helping another.”
    â€œWell, given our history, I hadn’t expected you to be…” Her voice trailed off as if she was searching for the right words.
    â€œNice?” Now he did chuckle. “I told you, I’m not nearly as awful as you think.”
    Her gaze met his and another smile curved across her face. This one was the kind of smile that hit a man in the solar plexus and made him wonder if maybe he’d been missing something that was right under his nose.
    â€œMaybe not,” she said softly, and the smile widened.
    â€œAnd I want to say, I do feel bad about the plants my dogs dug up,” Harlan said, his mouth running like a overfilled stream because a part of him wanted nothing more than to see her smile again. “I know I replaced them and all, but I feel like maybe I should do something else for you, you know, as a way to repay you for the aggravation.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œSure, name your favor.” Here he went again. Getting more wrapped up with this woman.
    She considered his words for a second. “A favor besides the footstools you owe me?”
    The footstools. He’d forgotten all about that promise, with the busy schedule he’d been keeping at the radio station, and now the added commitment of the Love Lottery events. For a man who didn’t want to be employed as a woodworker, he sure as hell kept getting asked to build stuff. If he was smart, he’d shut the doors of the woodshopand stick to the job he did best—the one his brother was counting on him to do. “I’ll have those for you soon, long as you make me a promise.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œYou don’t tell anyone who built them. The last thing I need is people showing up on my doorstep, wanting tables and chairs.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œThat’s the deal. Take it or leave it.” He’d build the footstools, and that would be it. Nothing more would come out of this garage.
    She worried her bottom lip, something he noticed she did when she wanted to say something, and was debating whether she should. “Okay, I’ll