Page 2 of Big and Grumpy
But the thought of her getting hurt trying to fix this herself has me reaching for my tools before I can think better of it.
I grab my chainsaw and cross the clearing, noting how she's standing on her front steps with her hands on her hips, clearly trying to figure out how to safely remove the branch without bringing the whole porch down.
"Don't touch anything," I call out as I approach.
She turns to see me with my chainsaw, and something in her expression shifts from frustration to relief.
"I wasn't going to!"
"Good. That post's load-bearing. If you try to move that branch without proper support, the whole thing'll come down."
I set down the chainsaw and walk around the porch, examining the damage with the practiced eye of someone who knows what he's looking at. The damage is worse than it looks from a distance. The branch is massive, probably a hundred years old, and it's taken out not just the post but part of the roof structure. This is going to take most of the morning to fix properly.
"How bad is it?" she asks, and I can hear the worry in her voice despite her attempts to sound upbeat.
"Bad enough. The whole porch needs to be re-supported before I can remove the branch." I'm already mentally cataloging what I'll need from my workshop. "Going to take a few hours."
"Oh." Her face falls. "I should probably call someone from town then. I don't want to impose—"
"Already here," I say gruffly, not meeting her eyes. "Might as well get it done."
The truth is, I can't stand the thought of some stranger from town coming out here, maybe taking advantage of a woman who doesn't know better. At least this way I can make sure it's done right.
"Thank you," she says softly, and something in her tone makes me look up. For just a moment, our eyes meet, and there's genuine gratitude there, like she's not used to people helping without expecting something in return.
"Don't mention it," I mutter, already turning toward my cabin. "I'll get my tools."
When I return with an impressive array of tools and supplies, she's waiting with a fresh pot of coffee and a determined smile.
"I made coffee," she announces. "And before you say you're too busy, consider this: I make the best coffee in three provinces, and you're doing me a huge favor. The least I can do is keep you caffeinated."
I pause in my work to look at her. "Three provinces is a pretty bold claim."
"I'm a pretty bold woman."
She's not kidding about the coffee. It's rich and perfectly brewed, with just enough bite to wake the dead. I find myself accepting a second cup despite my better judgment, and when she offers me one of those chocolate chip cookies I rejected yesterday, I take that too.
It's as good as it smelled. Better, even.
"These are..." I start, then stop myself before I can admit how long it's been since I've had anything homemade.
"My grandmother's recipe," Marigold says, settling on the porch steps to watch me work. "She always said the secret was using real vanilla and not skimping on the chocolate chips."
"Smart woman."
"The smartest. She's the one who taught me that there's no problem that can't be improved with good coffee and better cookies."
I can feel her watching me as I work, but it's not the kind of attention that makes me want to retreat. She asks intelligent questions about the repair process and offers to help in ways that are actually useful. More than that, she seems content to sit in comfortable silence when I need to concentrate.
It's been a long time since I've had company that didn't feel like an intrusion.
"You do this professionally?" she asks during one of my coffee breaks.
"Used to. I had my own construction business until..." I stop abruptly, jaw tightening. "Now I just fix things around the property."
There's understanding in her eyes, but she doesn't push for details. Instead, she refills my coffee cup and offers another cookie.
"Well, I'm grateful you know what you're doing. I probably would have brought the whole porch down trying to move that branch myself."
