Page 41 of Hard to Love
“What about God?”
Yeah, he still believed, but Alex wasn’t sure God believed in him anymore. “I don’t think the man upstairs and magic boots have much in common. And even if I bought into the idea those boots have some kind of fortunetelling power, there’s the soul mate shi…uh…stuff.”
Raylene patted his hand and smiled at him in that understanding way older women sometimes did when they thought you weren’t seeing the whole picture. “I know this. If humans were the only ones in charge in this world, it would be crazier than it already is. And if we refused to have faith in things we can’t clap eyes on, we’d miss out on the most amazing surprises. The most unlikely gifts.”
Would he be missing out on something if he didn’t give the boots, this town, these people—Greer in particular—a real shot?
Raylene headed back inside, and as he wrestled the cantankerous old mower through the gate to the backyard, all Alex could think was that his mamá would approve of her. Minutes later, she carried a puke green T-shirt from inside and shook it out. “Not exactly what I’d call fashion-forward, but it’s better than a heat stroke.”
Damn shirt had two sizable rips on the left side and looked as though it belonged to an underfed twelve-year-old. “You know what? I doubt that will even fit so—”
“Then you’re done here.”
“What?”
“I won’t let you cut another blade of grass unless you wear something more suitable for this heat.”
Damn, he had to finish because he needed the money.He had a couple of undershirts in his room at the barn. “I’ll run back to my place and get—”
Raylene peered down at a watch blinged out with red, white, and blue sparkles and shook her head. “Won’t work. I have guests checking in within the hour, and I need this lawn shipshape. And the way this looks right now, even Henry McCormick’s goats could do a better job.”
Dammit. “Fine. You go do whatever you’ve got to do to get ready for your guests, and the grass will be perfect within sixty minutes.”
“Promise?”
As much as he ever promised anything. “Yes, ma’am.”
She gave his arm a squeeze, enveloping him in her scent, a combination of roses, coffee creamer, and what strangely smelled of gold. “Good boy.”
He waited a good five minutes after she went inside to strip off his shirt.
Greer droveup to Raylene’s B&B and found Alex’s car at the curb. What was he doing here when he should be thinking about the darn competition? As many sketches as he’d drawn for Delaney, surely he’d put a little time into something that could net him both PBC’s business and a decent chunk of change.
Because she had no doubt Alex could win the whole thing, even if she wasn’t the one judging.
Greer jogged up the five wide steps to Sweetwater’s front door and rang the bell. She waited several minutes before punching it once more. If Raylene didn’t answer this time, Greer would just let herself into the backyard. Rude, but she needed to talk with Alex.
The door opened, and Raylene stood there fanning herself.
“Are you okay,” Greer asked. “Do you need to sit down?”
“Oh, Lord have mercy, girl. Pretty sure I’m having one of those hormone surges.”
“Hot flash, huh?”
“Depends on whether or not a man mowing your grass can bring on a hot flash.”
“Are you saying Alex Villanueva is mowing your grass?” Greer rushed past Raylene and hustled toward the kitchen. “C’mon. Hurry.”
“What are you—”
“I don’t want to miss this.” Greer skidded to a stop in the middle of the kitchen, with a view out the windows over Raylene’s sink, just as Alex shrugged out of his button-up shirt.
“Greer Maddox—” Raylene started.
Greer grabbed her arm and pulled her to the side so they were both obscured from Alex’s view by the cabinets but could still peek out at him. “Hush. Don’t blow this for me.”
“For you. Well, I—”
