Page 12 of Home to You
Gage nodded, rolling up his sleeves. “You want these folding tables set up in any particular way?”
I shook my head, leaning on the broom handle. “Nah, Eden will probably have opinions about that when she gets here.”
I was adjusting the last stack of hay bales when a truck pulled in.
I made my way to the wide double doors just in time to see her hop down out of the cab, her face flushed from the heat, and her hair falling out of a messy bun. She had on a t-shirt thin enough to show the outline of her bra and an old pair of Levi’s. My gaze dropped to her feet and stuck there. Those boots. The same Tony Lamas I’d bought her when she’d shown up here ten years ago in some cheap knockoffs that weren’t even genuine leather. No woman of mine was walking this ranch in anything less than the best.
My throat went dry remembering all the times I’d seen her wearing nothingbutthose damn boots.
“Hey,” she called out, shielding her eyes from the sun.
“Hey,” I managed, wiping my hands on my jeans. “You find the place okay?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I immediately felt like an idiot. Of course, she found it all right. She’d been here probably fifty times back when we were together.
My face heated up as I shook my head. “Sorry, stupid question. You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t.” I snapped my mouth shut, my teeth clacking, to stop my babbling, and ran a hand through my hair, trying to pull myself together.
Eden studied me for a moment, something soft and warm crossing her face. Then she smiled—not the careful, polite smile I’d gotten used to seeing on her face since she’d been back, but something that felt more like the old Eden. The woman I’d once fallen head over heels in love with.
“Well,” she said, glancing toward the truck. “If I can get your help unpacking, I’ll be out of your hair.”
We fell into an easy rhythm unloading the truck. She grabbed a box marked “Silent Auction Items” while I pulled out what looked like a box of decorations, streamers, and ribbons spilling out the top.
“Careful with that one,” she said, gesturing with her chin to the box. “Mrs. Henderson spent all day Sunday making those tissue paper flowers.”
“They certainly look … colorful.” Honestly, I hadn’t been able to tell they were flowers. They just looked like crumpled-up tissue paper stuck on top of green pipe cleaners.
“They look like a craft store exploded, but don't you dare tell her I said that.” She grinned. “That woman takes her volunteer work very seriously.”
“Hey!” She paused mid-step, turning toward me with sudden excitement. “I saw Rae Griffin’s performing at the Fieldhouse in a couple of months. Know anyone who might be willing to sell me a ticket? It’s already sold out.”
I hefted another box out of the back of my truck, the weight making me grunt slightly. “Not off the top of my head, but I can ask Nash if he knows anyone willing to part with one.”
“Thanks!” she chirped, tossing me a pretty smile as she bounced on her toes, her dimple popping in her right cheek.
I crossed the barn and set the box down on its table, dusting off my hands. “If you’re still listening to Rae Griffin, I reckon that means you’re still obsessed with Taylor Swift, too?”
“Always.” Eden grabbed a lighter box, hugging it against her chest. “She’s one of our great American poets.”
“You won’t see me argue with that,” I said, moving back to the truck and leaning against the tailgate. “Though I still say you’re missing out on some good traditional country music. Not that pop stuff masquerading as country.”
Eden rolled her eyes and popped her hands on her hips. “Let me guess—you still have George Straight on constant rotation?”
“What’s wrong with George Strait?”
“Nothing, if you enjoy songs that all sound exactly the same. Or like trucks.”
“He hasonesong about trucks … and it’s actually about truckers.”
She threw her head back and laughed, the sound echoing through the rafters. “God, I missed riling you up.” Her words hung in the air between us. I watched her face change as she realized what she’d said, the laughter fading as she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and glanced away. “You know what I mean.”
I set the last box down slowly, not taking my eyes off her. “Yeah, I do.” Because fuck. I missed her riling me up, too.
Eden cleared her throat and turned to head back outside.
I followed a step behind, watching the way her hips swayed in those jeans, the way her boots kicked up little puffs of dust.
“I was talking to Carol yesterday,” she said over her shoulder in what felt like an attempt to try and shift the conversation away from the charged comment about getting riled up. “She said tickets for the fundraiser are sold out, and several families have even asked for extras. The head of the PTO keeps calling it our ‘autumn spectacular,’ which makes it sound like something out of a?—”
Her toe caught on a loose board, and she pitched forward. I lunged after her, my arms wrapping around her waist from behind, pulling her back against my chest before she could hit the ground. Her breath hitched, and her spine straightened as she lifted her head to look up.
