Page 9 of Anything for You
Small gesture, but shaking my men’s hands, and especially my obviously teenaged farmhand? I liked that. Every interaction with the sheriff had been like this—one in which he presented as capable, to the point, and respectful of everyone, not just the person in charge. We were in good hands.
And for now, we’d do something else until we got word on whether the Sego Lily Commune would be helping in their trash removal.
After hours of hauling and shoveling garbage into a truck, then driving it to the county dump, I tossed my gloves on the dash and got out, taking a moment to stand in the driveway and feel the soft summer breeze blow through the damp hair at my temples and neck.
In the madness of being overheated from the bright midday sun on my back while working, the truck’s broken AC, the long-sleeved button-up I’d torn open and no doubt destroyed once back in my vehicle, and the frustration at how the neighbor relationship was rapidly deteriorating, I’dconsidered taking the pruning shears to my overgrown beard to free myself from the heat-trapping monstrosity.
But back here in this little slice of perfection where the trees provided shade and the scent of pine needles lilted on the breeze, I inhaled peace and exhaled frustration. Inhaled calm and exhaled anxiety. Inhaled safety and exhaled instability.
“Hey, uh… are you okay?”
Dove’s voice startled me, and I glanced to the left, finding her where she stood on the cabin porch.
“Odd day.” Not much of an explanation, but I didn’t want her to think I was out here having a meltdown. Just taking a moment.
If she was going to be alarmed by me standing out here breathing for a few minutes, this setup wouldn’t work.
“Sorry. Looks like you were, uh, w—” Her eyes widened, gaze dropping to my torso as I turned toward her.
I waited. Her gaze stayed glued to me for another beat, then jumped up to meet my eyes.
“Um, sorry. You’re— It’s just that you— You look like you were working hard today, is all. And it’s hot. So you look hot. From the working. You look like you got hot working. The work is what made you hot. Well, and the air. Because it’s desert, and even though we’re in the mountains, it gets really hot, so you did, too, and now?—”
Her hand smacked over her mouth, and she turned away for a moment.
I kept my face neutral, not wanting to betray how easily I could see she was flustered. Damn, she was cute when she started babbling. I couldn’t recall anyone who did that like she did, not even Kenny. I’d rather listen to her rattle on about how hot I got working than listen to… anything Kenny had to say.
Okay, not true, but right about now, I didn’t need to be thinking about anyone but her, especially since I just remembered I was supposed to help her with her shower.
“I’ll run inside for a minute. Get cleaned up. I’ll be over in a few.”
She turned back slowly, nodding, but hand still covering her mouth.
She shouldn’t feel bad. I had gotten hot. I had been working hard.
And I took a very cold shower.
CHAPTER SIX
Dove
The ways I had been awkward so far in my tenant-landlord relationship were numbering in the dozens and I hadn’t even lived here for two weeks. I wondered what new embarrassment I might cause myself when he came into the house any minute now.
I scrubbed the sink in the bathroom and checked the shower. If the man was about to enter my bathroom, I wasn’t about to have toothpaste remnants or a tumbleweed of hair haunting the place. I’d done enough damage with my borderline drooling.
Though honestly, could I blame me? No. No, I could not.
The thing about Dorian Forrester was, he could be a little… off. Odd, at least. Mysterious and cagey and unknowable. That was how he’d seemed to me until I’d moved in.
He was this large, imposing figure with an unruly beard and eyes I’d figured out were a shockingly light brown.
And this afternoon, he’d gotten out of his truck in a pair of filthy jeans and muddy work boots that did remarkable things for him, no hat covering damp, wild hair, and he’d just… stood in the shade with his face to the sky.
Hat and keys in one hand, forearms bared under rolled-up sleeves, he’d just stood there. Breathing.
I couldn’t have said why it was compelling to see this large man take a moment for himself, but it had nicked open something in me I’d let grow hard. How often did I stop and take a breath? When was the last time I’d let myself pause, let alone be grateful and feel the breeze on my face?
And sure, maybe he was standing there cursing his enemies or manifesting billions, but my suspicion said that wasn’t the case.
