Page 3 of Picked By the Mountain Man
The dark shaggy hair on his head and full beard looked like they were made for running your hands through and anchoring yourself as buries his face in places that’ll have you begging for mercy and crying for God.
A whimper falls from me as a shudder rolls through my entire body and tingles run rampant. My nipples pucker tight, and my core throbs at the thought.
Of course, the jackwagon is hot enough to melt metal. Just my luck, I’m stuck with a neighbor who is going to test my limits on top of inheriting a disaster of a property.
His tirade has lit a fire in me, though. I will get this place back into shape if it’s the last thing I ever do. I continue my march back to the house while planning my attack on getting things in working order here at Blossom Grove,myapple orchard and future glamping destination.
***
A grunt falls from me as I pull at the vines clinging to the trunk of one of the apple trees. Sweat pools at the band of my bra, making the torture device even more uncomfortable. I’m sure my face is beet red from the exertion. Not even the cooler fall weather, which has moved in since I’ve been here, can keep me from looking like I’m attempting a marathon.
I’m less than a week into my new endeavor, and if it weren’t for my unfairly sexy neighbor I’m bound and determined to prove wrong, I would throw in the towel. The amount of work this is going to take is unfathomable. I’ve spent every minute working on bringing the property back to its former glory, and all I have to show for it is aching muscles and more blisters than I ever thought possible.
Not one thing has gone right, and I haven’t begun to make a dent in the astronomical list of tasks which needs to be done. I managed to clean up the house, but the three broken windows only have plastic stapled over them while I wait to hear from a contractor to fix them and check the integrity of the sagging porch and roof. Everyone is completely booked and can’t give me an estimate of when they might be available.
I’m also waiting to hear from a plumber about the lack of water. Not one single faucet in the house has water when turned on. There’s an outside spigot by the house with a trickle of water, so I’ve been using it to wash up the best I can. It’s certainly not ideal, and it won’t be a viable option as the weather continues to get colder.
The old tractor in the barn won’t start, so I’ll need to find someone to come look at it. For now, I’m using two of the wagons, which were used by people who came to pick apples each fall. They are certainly not being used for that this year.
It’s not optimal and takes multiple trips to move anything because they’re not that big. They can hold four five-gallon buckets at most, but I’ve been piling them high with brush I’ve been clearing. Then hauling it all to one big pile to be burned this winter.
I yank at another vine from the trunk of the tree, but it has no give at all. Leaning back, I tug with every bit of strength I have. It snaps without warning, and next thing I know I’m sailing backwards, squealing before landing on my butt in the brush. I have significant padding there, but it still hurts, not to mention the scrapes on my arms from the bushes.
While I lie there stunned, the brush rustles a few feet away from me before a skunk emerges. It hisses, stamping its feet before raising and shaking its tail. A burst of mist from the backside of the animal sprays onto me.
“AAAAHHHH!!” My scream is cut off as the stench of rotten eggs and decaying cabbage hits me. My eyes water as I retch from the pungent smell, which has my nose and throat burning.
As I alternate between gagging and coughing, cursing my life choices, wondering if sitting behind a computer and staring at mind-numbing spreadsheets is really all that bad, the bushes rustle again with something much larger than the skunk, which has already waddled off.
With my luck, it’s a bear here to eat me.
At least it would put me out of my misery.
A boot clad foot appears followed by worn tan canvas pants. My eyes wander up the mountainous body of my surly neighbor as he comes to a sudden halt, pulling the neck of his shirt up to cover the lower half of his face.
“I was going to see what all the screaming was about, but I don’t have to ask now.” His chuckle is muffled by the fabric. “Skunk gotcha good, huh?”
Which causes me to burst into blubbering tears.
Chapter Four
Keaton
“Oh hell. Look, it’s not that bad. Some vinegar and water and then a good scrub in the shower with soap will have you good as new.” I hastily attempt to calm the woman sprawled on the ground. Like most men, I don’t do well with crying, and for some reason seeing this particular woman weeping has an unfamiliar tightening happening in my chest. Instead of calming her, she starts wailing. I can barely understand her words.
“III dddoon’t hhhaave aaany wwwaater,” she sobs.
My brows pinch. “What do you mean you don’t have water? You’ve been living here for almost a week.”
I know this because I’ve been keeping a close eye on what’s been happening over here. I want to be ready to pounce with an offer the minute she’s ready to cry uncle. Now looks to be the perfect time, but I don’t have the heart to ask her to sell while she’s crying and covered in skunk spray.
“There’s no water in the house, and only one spigot has a trickle of water. I can’t get anyone to call me about coming out to look at it,” she sniffles.
My lips turn down at her announcement. I can’t believe a city girl like her has been living without water. I would’ve thought something like that would have her turning right around and giving up.
It’s becoming apparent that maybe I’ve underestimated her determination. On my way over here, I saw a significant portion of brush had been cleared and gathered into a pile. She’s been doing all of this by hand because the tractor has remained in the barn. I wonder if she doesn’t know how to operate it or if there’s something wrong with it.
I have to admire the grit she’s showing when I figured at the first bump in the road she would be packing up. When I heard her screams, I thought for sure it was my opportunity. At least that’s what I was telling myself as I rushed over here, but my heart had lodged itself in my throat at the thought something could’ve happened to her.
