Page 15 of Perfect Pact
Chapter 3
Beth
“I—can’t—believeit!”Isquealas I pull into Mr. Jacobs driveway. Scratch that—mydriveway. I’m a homeowner. A legit, I-don’t-have-to-pay-rent-anymore homeowner.
I honk my horn a few times, not caring if I bother the neighbors—because I. Am. That neighbor. Just me and my new barn! The closest house is five miles down the road, an old single wide I’m renting from a friend. And since I’m here, I’m going to honk my horn as many times as I want.
I can’t help the excitement. When I sat through the reading of the will, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Everything I knew wasn’t necessarily a lie, but it was a different version of the truth that I lived. Even though I was confused why I was asked to be there, the longer the meeting went on the more I realized what was happening. Mr. Jacobs thought of me as family, and that meant more than any amount of money ever could. But in his death, he gave me back my life… a second chance.
Because sometimes we have to hit rock bottom before we can rise to the top. Mr. Jacobs knew that, and I’m going to make the most of this gift I’ve been given. I’m going to pay off my debts and start building my very own dream.I’ll make him proud if it’s the last thing I do.
“Starting with making a list.” I grab the small, pocket-sized envelope and empty the keys into my hand. “You are literally the key to my success.” I laugh to myself as I pick up the brown leather keychain and dangle it in front of my face. “Let’s see what dreams are made of, shall we?”
I swing the door open, hop out, and shut it behind me as a black mid-sized car turns into the driveway, heading my direction. The closer the vehicle gets, the easier it is to recognize exactly who’s behind the wheel.
“Dusty Jacobs.” His name rolls off my tongue as if I’m doing a voiceover for a new action movie: a little dramatic and not nearly as exciting.
He mentioned we were going to be neighbors, but I didn’t think he would actually stay in the house. Maybe he’s just coming to do a walk-through to see what he’s working with.
His door opens.
Here we go.
And out steps the man himself. His dress shirt and slacks have been replaced with a plain black tee that stretches across an athletic frame his fancy boy shirt hid. And then there’s the jeans that look a little too new, but mmm, they sure do hug his backside in all the right places. If I didn’t know any better, I could almost mistake him for a Montana boy. The dead giveaway? His Stetson is a little too stiff, and his boots have the unmistakable shine of brand-new leather.
Holy shit!
He may be a city slicker, but he is playing the role of cowboy perfectly! It’s a good thing he wasn’t dressed like this at the coffee shop or I might have agreed to a date with him.
That will never happen now. Talk about dodging a bullet.
But it doesn’t mean I can’t look—even though I really shouldn’t. Looking is leaving me all kinds of hot and bothered.
I run my finger along the neck of my shirt, trying to cool off. It’s feelin’ hotter than two nuts inside a pair of Wranglers right now.
I wonder if Dusty has on Wranglers.
“Watch it, Beth. Keep looking at me like that, and I won’t be held responsible for what happens next,” his raspy voice warns. I have to tear my eyes away, because damned if part of me doesn’t want to find out.
Busted!
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I bite back as I try to think about anything other than the pastry-thieving neighbor looking like the cat that ate the canary—or, in my case, the pastry.
Dusty laughs as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking then reaches inside a white box and pulls out a piece of cake, or maybe it’s a…
Oh, no, he didn’t!
“Did youstealmy muffins?” I stomp over to where he’s standing as he pops the bite into his mouth.
“I thought you were done with them.”
Breathe, Beth. It’s only muffins.You just inherited some money. It’s going to be okay.
Deep breaths, my ass. He stole my muffins.
“Well, you thought wrong.” I snag the box from him and open up the lid to see two of the three with missing tops. “What in the hell, Dusty? You ate the tops off!”
“What can I say—” he reaches up and wipes his mouth with the pad of his thumb as he eyes me from head to toe, “—love muffin tops.”