Michelle Major - Anything For His Baby

“I didn’t get them,” Paige mumbled.

“Liar,” Shep whispered under his breath then winked, like this was some kind of game.

It wasn’t a game for Paige. This was her life, and Shep was well on his way to ruining it.

“Have you scheduled movers?” Lorena continued as if Paige hadn’t spoken. “Your mother told me—”

“She’s not going to sell the house,” Paige blurted. “She changed her mind.”

Lorena crossed her arms over her chest. Her ample chest, Paige couldn’t help but notice. It was difficult to ignore those assets, encased in a dark gray bandage dress more appropriate for a big-city nightclub than a Tuesday morning in Crimson, Colorado. “I spoke with her on the way here,” Lorena countered. “She didn’t mention that to me.”

Paige glanced at Shep, expecting to see him ogling Lorena. Most men would, but his gaze was still trained on Paige, his head inclined like he was trying to riddle out some sort of puzzle. Not having anything to do with her, she guessed. She had no secrets.

“She probably doesn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Paige lied. Her mother would cut someone off at the knees if it served her purpose. “She appreciates the work you’ve done so far.”

Lorena sniffed, fluffing her wavy blond hair. “I’ve barely done a thing since you wouldn’t give us access to the house.”

“Because I’m not leaving.” Paige congratulated herself that her voice didn’t waver. She said the words strong and sure, the way she’d been practicing in the bathroom mirror every night this week.

“The closing is set for this week,” Lorena reported tartly. “All that’s left is to complete the terms of the financing. Shepherd is going to take possession, so you’ll need to have your personal belongings out of here. You’re under a time crunch, but you have to manage it, Paige. Obviously, the furniture stays since your mother made the sale of it part of the contract.”

“She did what?” Now Paige couldn’t keep the emotion from her voice.

“Take anything that has special meaning to you,” Shep said gently—far too gently—like she was a fragile piece of china. That wasn’t his personality. Although Paige didn’t really know the man, she’d bet her life that gentle didn’t come naturally to him. The fact that he could manage it for her made her feel more pathetic.

“This house has meaning to me.” She jabbed a finger against the counter. “It’s my home. My business.”

“You haven’t even officially opened,” Lorena pointed out, none too helpfully.

“I’m aware of that.” Paige turned toward the counter, gripped the edge and looked down at her flour-coated hands, swallowing back the tears that rose up hot in her throat. The plan had been for The Bumblebee Bed-and-Breakfast to be operational by now. If the plans for renovations and her budget had stayed on track, the inn would be filled with guests for the busy Rocky Mountain summer tourist season.

But nothing had gone quite according to plan for Paige, not for years. She wasn’t supposed to be pushing thirty alone, with only a ramshackle house to her name. No, not even that. Her grandmother had left the beloved Victorian to her only daughter when she’d died a year ago.

It still hurt that Nana had left the inn to Paige’s mother when Paige had always loved the property, but that emotional slight didn’t stop her from wanting to continue her grandmother’s legacy in Crimson.

Susan Harper had wanted to sell the property at that point, but Paige had convinced her to let her move in and begin renovations to once again open as an inn. She just needed a little more time and she’d be ready for guests. Ready for the income that would allow her to purchase the house from her mother and truly make it hers. She could make something of it. Of herself.

“I need more time,” she said, turning around and schooling her features. She wouldn’t let either of these people see how truly desperate she was.

“Could you give us a minute?” Shep asked the Realtor, who flashed him a sickeningly sweet smile. Paige had seen Lorena’s face on shopping carts, billboards and bus-stop benches around town. She was Crimson, Colorado’s top Realtor according to her ads.

“That’s fine.” Lorena walked forward, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Who wore heels in Crimson anyway? Lorena placed a hand on Shep’s arm, an almost proprietary gesture. Paige wondered if the two were an item. It wouldn’t surprise her.

Shep Bennett was new to Crimson. His company had recently purchased the ski resort that sat adjacent to Nana’s house and renovations were underway that would allow him to reopen in time for the upcoming winter season. That made Shep a hot commodity in town, and Lorena seemed the type to want a powerful man at her side.

“I need to measure the bedrooms upstairs.” She arched a brow in Paige’s direction. “I assume that’s okay with you.”

“Fine.”

Lorena left the room, hips swaying as she moved. If Paige tried to swing her hips that way it would probably look like she was being electrocuted.

“You have awful taste in music,” Shep said conversationally as he bent to pick up the dough from the floor. “And you couldn’t carry a tune out of a paper bag. I swear I heard neighborhood dogs yowling along.”

“My nana used to listen to Barry Manilow.” She took the dough he handed her, dumped it into the trash, then grabbed a wad of paper towels from the roll on the counter and flipped on the faucet. “He’s a musical god and it helps me concentrate when I’m baking.”

“It makes me want to concentrate on finding a decent set of earplugs.”

Paige wet the paper towels then wrung out the excess water. It was all she could do not to fling them at Shep. First he made her ruin her bread dough and now he was going to stand in her kitchen and insult her musical taste.

Her kitchen. The place where she was happiest in the world. And Shepherd Bennett was taking it from her.

Jerk.

He walked to the far side of the kitchen, taking in the oak cabinets, which Paige had painted a cheery yellow, and the row of antique plates she’d hung on one wall. “This is the first time I’ve actually been in the house.”

She dropped to her knees and scrubbed the floor. It would be easier to clean up the dough splatter before it dried completely. “What kind of idiot tries to buy a house he hasn’t even seen?”

“This kind of idiot,” he said, the scuffed toes of his work boots directly in front of her. “And I didn’t try to do anything. You know I close on this place this week.”

“Not if I can help it,” she muttered.

“You can’t.” All the gentleness had disappeared from his tone. He stated a fact, and her body burned with anger at the certainty in his voice. “I don’t care about the house. I wanted the land.”

She stilled, staring down at her hands splayed out on the cherry floors, the veins that ran across the tops of her hands faint and blue. Paige might be petite and delicate looking to some, but she had sturdy hands. Hands like her grandmother.

“This property will give secondary access to the ski mountain and allow us to create a Nordic ski trail plus a new terrain park. We’ll bulldoze the house before the end of summer. I’ll give you a couple of weeks to move out if you need it.”

Paige felt her mouth drop open. Blood roared through her head, making her feel at once dizzy and nauseous. “No,” she whispered.

“The furniture was your mom’s idea. I think she threw it in to save the trouble of having to move everything. She claims it’s mostly old junk.”

Paige sat back on the balls of her feet and looked up, past the jeans that hung low on Shep’s hips and the crisp button-down he wore, smudged with stains from the dough she’d thrown at him.