Page 40 of Hard to Love
The space behind her ribcage seemed to expand painfully. She hadn’t blown a single piece of glass since Alex hit town, and she hadn’t missed it one bit. What was wrong with her? Yes, she was excited about the artisan village, but this was ridiculous. Of course, she missed her own studio. Even if she’d been thinking of changing mediums before this whole concept crashed into her world, she’d always loved being in, creating in, that snug little workshop.
With a nod in Alex’s direction, she said, “I guess this means I have time to do a little work of my own today. Have you ever seen a glassblower in action?”
“Just on YouTube.”
She smiled at him, because he wasn’t going to slip through her fingers today. “Then I think it’s time for you to see one and feel the heat.”
“Greer, around you,” he said, winding one finger into her hair and tugging lightly, “the problem has never been feeling the heat.”
Alex had triedto get the image of Greer out of his head. Should’ve been easy what with the lack of any sexy factor in her glassblowing outfit of heat-resistant gloves, protective eyewear, and an aluminized apron. But the way she’d held her blowpipe’s mouthpiece to her face and breathed life into molten glass was one of the sexiest things he’d ever witnessed. She’d handled the hot glass with exquisite skill, rotating and shaping it until it made him think of her body’s curves—rounded and lush.
He’d wanted to take the pipe and glass away from her, toss it to the side, and pull her down on the floor with him. Make love right there in the heat from her furnace and the light from inside her.
But when she’d finished the piece and cut it off the pipe, it had reminded him where he was. Who he was. Who he wasn’t.
And could never be.
But he’d be lying to himself if he pretended Greer wasn’t still haunting him as he dragged a decrepit push mower out of Raylene’s detached garage.
He took one look at the damn machine and realized why Sweetwater’s grass had grown straggly. The thingcould use an overhaul, but the yard needed to be cut today.
Partially because he needed cash today. He had a couple of tooling jobs with outstanding invoices, but those customers had a habit of pushing the net-ninety up until the last day. His savings account couldn’t handle the strain he’d already put it under, even before he’d promised Greer some of it when he could’ve stayed at Sweetwater on PBC’s dime.
But then he would’ve felt like that charity case he didn’t want to be.
When he’d mentioned mowing to Raylene, she’d offered him a hundred bucks, which was way too much for her half-acre of grass. They’d settled on fifty and Alex still felt like he was taking advantage of her. When he was flush, he would mow again without taking a cent because Raylene was down-to-earth and just plain kind. The world could use more people like her.
Her mower was an old model with a pull string. He fiddled with the choke and finally got the thing sputtering after yanking the cord in the neighborhood of eight times.
Mother Mary help him if the damn thing died on him.
Three passes around the front yard, and sweat was dripping from Alex’s hairline into the neck of his long-sleeved T-shirt. He glanced toward the house to find Raylene waving from a window. She’d asked him if he wanted to change clothes before getting started, but he’d said no thanks.
In the Montana summers, keeping his body covered hadn’t been much of a challenge. But here in Texas, even early spring weather could be hell.
The front yard took him half an hour to mow, and cutting the engine was a risk, but he wanted to edge here before he started on the backyard. As soon as he powereddown the mower, the door swung open, and Raylene came out with a huge plastic glass of ice water.
“Look like you could use this,” she called, navigating down the steps from her porch.
He strode over to meet her and take the cup. The water was so icy it gave him a massive case of brain freeze, but it tasted so damn good he didn’t care. He forced himself to stop gulping it down before he drained it all. He took a few steps away from Raylene and dumped the rest over his head.
“Thanks,” he said, handing her back the glass.
She propped a hand on one hip. “You might avoid heat stroke if you were dressed for yard work.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re gonna kill yourself out here,” she said. “I’ve got a short-sleeve T-shirt a man left in his room a couple of months ago. Probably a little small for you, but it’ll keep you from visiting the ER this afternoon.”
She was right. This was stupid and dangerous. Besides, he’d be in her backyard for the rest of the work. “I’d appreciate it.” She turned to head back to the house, but Alex caught her elbow. “I…uh…I’ll meet you in the backyard.”
“Whatever it is that you don’t want people to know about you, I won’t tell. You may have moved out to Whit’s barn, but I still consider you a guest here. I don’t tell tales on my guests.”
Relief streamed through him as though he’d just downed another glass of cool water. He believed her because in the time he’d stayed at Sweetwater, he’d learned Raylene might like gossip, but she could be trusted to keep her mouth shut too. Which meant he could trust her to tell him the truth as well. “Do you think all this prophecy bootstuff is true?”
“You sound like you don’t.”
“I don’t believe in much I can’t see.”
