Page 3 of Forever with the Mountain Man
"I wanted to." She glances around at the work we've already accomplished. "It's looking good. You really think we can have it ready by the start of school?"
"We'll make it work."
She studies my face as if trying to read my certainty level, and I find myself wanting to reassure her. There's something vulnerable about the way she's thrown herself into this project, like she's trying to prove something.
"Your first year coordinating?" I ask.
"Is it that obvious?" She laughs, but there's a nervous edge to it. "The principal said I needed more leadership experience. Dad keeps telling me I should push myself more, take on bigger challenges."
"And what do you think?"
The question seems to surprise her. "I think... I think I'm tired of people seeing me as just Vernon Cooper's little girl. I want to be good at something on my own."
There's steel beneath the soft exterior, and I respect that. Too many people coast on family connections. She's fighting to prove herself, just like I did when I started my own business.
"You're doing good work," I tell her. "Those kids are lucky to have you."
Her smile transforms her whole face, and I have to look away before I do something stupid like tell her how beautiful she is.
"I should let you get back to work," she says, but she doesn't move immediately. Instead, she watches my hands as I roll up some plans, and something in her expression makes heat pool low in my belly.
This is dangerous territory. She's too young, too innocent, too everything I shouldn't want. But as she walks away, I can't help but notice the gentle sway of her hips and the way her hair catches the light streaming through the windows.
I spend the rest of the afternoon trying to focus on measurements and calculations, but my mind keeps drifting to soft brown eyes and the way she said my name. This is exactly the kind of distraction I can't afford, especially when I'm trying to get her classroom finished on time.
But damn if I don't want to see that smile again.
three
Caroline
It'sninety-sevendegreesbyten AM, and the humidity makes it feel even worse. I've given up on the cardigan entirely, switching to the lightest cotton dresses I own, though even those feel like too much in this weather.
I'm organizing phonics materials in the borrowed classroom when I hear the sound of hammering from across the hall. Through the open doorway, I can see into my classroom where Finn is working alone, his crew apparently taking an early lunch break.
He's shirtless.
I drop the stack of sight word cards I was holding, and they scatter across the floor in a cascade of colorful rectangles. The man is built like a Greek statue—all broad shoulders, defined chest, and abs that speak of years of physical labor. His skin is tanned and gleaming with sweat, and I can see the flex of muscles as he swings the hammer with practiced precision.
This is completely inappropriate. I'm a professional educator, for goodness sakes. I should look away, focus on my work, pretend I haven't noticed that Finn O'Sullivan looks like he could pose for the cover of a construction calendar.
Instead, I find myself frozen in place, watching the rhythm of his movements, the way his back muscles shift as he works. There's something almost hypnotic about his competence, the easy confidence with which he handles his tools.
He must sense my stare because he turns around, catching me red-handed. For a moment, we just look at each other across the hallway—me clutching a handful of scattered phonics cards, him with a hammer in one hand and a questioning look in those green eyes.
Heat floods my cheeks, and I quickly bend to gather the dropped materials. "Sorry," I call out, not trusting myself to move closer. "Didn't mean to disturb you."
"You're not disturbing anything." His voice carries easily across the space between us. "Hot enough for you?"
It's such a normal, neighborly comment, but the way his eyes linger on me makes it feel like something else entirely. I'm suddenly very aware of how the thin fabric of my sundress clings to my skin in the heat.
"It's brutal," I manage, straightening up with my cards finally collected. "I don't know how you can work in this weather."
He shrugs, the movement doing interesting things to his chest. "Used to it."
"Well, you should stay hydrated." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "Heat exhaustion is serious, especially with physical labor."
Amusement flickers across his features. "Yes, ma'am."
