Page 4 of Oops I Fell For The Rancher Next Door

"Dropping off firewood."

"I didn't ask for firewood."

"Didn't say you did." I set the last armload on the stack. Straighten up. Brush the bark off my jacket.

Her jaw tightens. She looks at the pile against her wall. Enough split pine to fill half her living room. Then she looks back at me. "How much?"

"How much what?"

"How much do I owe you for the wood?"

"Nothing."

"I'm not taking free firewood from a stranger."

"We met yesterday. That makes us acquaintances."

Something flickers across her face. Could be irritation. Could be the ghost of a smile she killed before it got started. Hard to tell with her.

"I'll pay you or I'm not burning it."

Stubborn woman. "Twenty bucks."

"For a cord of split wood? That's worth at least a hundred."

"You know what split wood costs?"

"I know when someone's undercharging me."

Fair enough. "Twenty bucks. Neighbor rate."

She stares at me. Whatever she's calculating behind those tired eyes takes a while. Finally she takes a sip of her coffee, steps back from the doorway, and says the last thing I expected.

"You want some coffee? It's gas station instant. Tastes like regret."

The smart thing would be to say no. Go back to my property. Check the water trough in the north pasture. Stay in my lane.

"Sure."

Her kitchen is cold. No heat beyond the fireplace burning low. Groceries on the counter: canned soup, peanut butter, crackers, instant coffee. Not a lot of food for a woman planning to stay.

She pours hot water from a kettle into a mug. Hands it to me. The mug says WORLD'S BEST AUNT in chipped gold letters.

"Thrift store," she says, catching me looking at it. "Fifty cents."

"Good deal."

We stand in her kitchen drinking bad coffee while the fire pops in the next room. Neither of us sits. She leans against the counter. I lean against the doorframe. A solid six feet between us.

"You ride a horse to visit all your neighbors?" she asks.

"Don't have other neighbors. Property on the west side is BLM land. You're it."

"Lucky me."

"How long you planning to stay?"

The question lands harder than I meant it to. Her grip shifts on the mug. "I live here. This is my house."