Page 32 of Rough Cowboy
“You’re gonna have enough work outside.” I run my finger over the faux woodgrain countertop peeling at the edge.
“Outside is the easy part, but I’m up for the challenge of restoring in here too.”
“Are we going to clean first?” I flick my fingertips together to rub off the layer of dust. “By we, I mean you, but I’m not opposed to lending a hand. Obviously, cleaning isn’t my first choice ever, but Lena didn’t raise me to be a slob, so I’m pretty good at it.”
“I find that surprising.” Silver joins us.
Normally his quips wouldn’t faze on me. I’d hit one right back at him. Then he’d shoot off another one, and an hour later, we’d be banging in a closet.
Today, I can’t find the energy. And I don’t want to.
Instead, I ignore him. “We’re gonna need a lot of bleach.”
Sammy shakes his head. “No cleaning for you. You’re pregnant, and we don’t want you breathing in the harsh chemicals.”
I know he cares. Deep down, I know Sammy loves this baby as much as me. That doesn’t stop my little resentful part from getting angry at his statement. The part of me that loves Sammy right back keeps me from showing my anger.
“We don’t have to use bleach. What about the local company that sells natural cleaners in town? We could stock up on those.”
“No need.” Sammy flips on the tap and soaks a dishcloth. “Lydia is a professional cleaner, and I’ve asked her if she’s interested in the job.” He begins mopping up years of dirt off the counters.
“Who’s Lydia?” Silver drops the bags beside a long hallway leading to the bedrooms.
“Beck’s fiancé.” It’s the only answer I’m sure no one will argue.
“I don’t know how you keep track. They’re all married, engaged, or soon to be both.” Silver opens the fridge, and I’m surprised to find it clean and fully stocked. “Beer.” He reaches for a can, and Sammy shuts the door.
“You’ve had enough tonight.”
“The night is only beginning.” His alluring gaze slides to me, and I swiftly look away.
“I have days of free time, so I’m open to anything.” I snatch the dishcloth from Sammy and rinse out the black dirt until it runs clear in the sink.
Sammy takes the dishcloth. “You can decorate the entire house. I have accounts all through Whiskey Ridge Creek. You can order the paint, flooring, furniture, all new utensils, appliances, and new cupboards and have everything delivered here.”
“That sounds like fun.” Sarcasm laces Silver’s words.
“That does sound like fun.” I try to sound sincere, even if this minor part hates Sammy’s controlling manner. “I can help paint too.”
“Fumes, Elsie.” Sammy pats my arm like a child before heading to the sink to rinse the dishcloth.
“I’m gonna search that.” Silver slides his phone out of his back pocket. “Siri, can you paint when you’re pregnant?”
He holds out the phone as the generated woman’s voice replies.
The risk from most household paints is very low. It’s unlikely that being around paint fumes or painting while pregnant will harm your unborn baby.
Silver shrugs. “I guess you can paint all you like.” His eyes meet mine, and what looks like caring seeps through.
I inwardly scold myself when a smile steals my lips. Silver doesn’t deserve smiles.
I turn to face Sammy. “It’s settled. I’m in charge of painting.”
Sammy crosses his arms over his broad chest. The thin line of his mouth twitches in debate.
The thin wall of restraint inside me is about to burst.
“You can help,” he finally says, like it’s his decision. “Maybe you could vlog about it.”
