Page 69 of A Fresh Start at Bramble Cottage
“Great. Thank you. Except... I’m reluctant to point it out, but... What’s to stop them coming back in as soon as you’ve gone?”
“The fact that I’m going to mend the fence for you.”
“Oh...” That rather took the wind out of her sails. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
Oh, that smile. It lit his eyes, made her feel as if she was the only woman he had ever smiled at like that. Which was a very dangerous fantasy.
“Do you have any wood I could use?”
“Um... I think there’s some in the garage. There’s probably a few tools in there, too — though I wouldn’t guarantee that they haven’t crumbled into a pile of rust.”
That glint of teasing amusement lit his eyes again. “Well, let’s take a look, shall we?”
She was very aware of him as he followed her to the garage. Her heart was beating too fast, her mouth felt dry. And the faintly mocking smile lifting the corners of his mouth warned her that he knew precisely the effect he was having on her.
Struggling to ignore him, she pulled open the garage doors and pointed to the bits of timber piled at the back. “Will that do?”
“Should be okay. What about a saw, hammer, nails?”
“Here on the shelf.” She picked up an old jam jar full of nails. “These look a bit rusty.”
He took the jar from her and shook some of them out into his hand. “There’s enough that’ll do.” He picked out the best of them. “I’ll just do a temporary fix for now, and get someone to come in and do a proper job for you.”
He hefted the timber easily onto one wide shoulder and strolled off down the garden.
She stood watching him — she couldn’t tear herself away. There was something about him. It was in the way he moved, the easy competence in everything he did. Yes, even in the gentle way he managed his cows.
So much for not falling for him — she’d never stood a chance.
With an effort of will she turned away and walked back into the cottage... only to find herself drawn into the sitting room, where she could watch him through the French windows.
Those hard muscles moved smoothly beneath his skin as he worked — all she wanted was to feel them moving beneath her hands, feel his body against hers, breathe the unique male scent of his skin...
An explosion of curses from the end of the garden broke through her fantasy. Tom had dropped the saw and was sucking on his hand.
“Oh my God! What’s happened?” Without even thinking about it she threw open the door and raced down the garden.
“Damn knot in the wood. The saw slipped.”
“Show me.” She took his hand. There was a long slice across the pad of his thumb, oozing blood. “It might need stitches.”
“No, it’s not that bad. It just needs a bandage or something.”
“Right...” She realised that she’d been holding his hand for rather longer than was necessary. “There’s... um... a first-aid box in the kitchen — there should be something in there.”
He followed her up to the cottage and into the kitchen — the room suddenly felt a lot smaller with him in it. Vicky fussed with digging the first-aid box out from the cupboard, hoping he wouldn’t notice the faint blush of pink in her cheeks.
“Here we are.” Her voice sounded over-bright to her own ears as she carried the box to the table. “Let’s see... yes, there’s bandages, and some gauze. And some TCP — maybe I’d better bathe it first.”
“Go ahead.”
He perched on the edge of the table and held out his injured hand. A strong, well-made hand, with long fingers and a powerful wrist. Soaking a pad of gauze with TCP she dabbed it gently on the cut.
“Ow!”
Her eyes flew to his face. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did that hurt?”
