Page 23 of Unspoken Hearts
Walking inside, sawdust and glue hits my nose uncomfortably. The kitchen-living room area is open, overlooking the spring below. Sunlight ripples gently on top like ribbons of gold.
It’s a fine spot. One of the best on the ranch.
It has three bedrooms, which is more than I need right now, but when I take over the ranch, it’ll hopefully be the place that I can bring up my family.
I wonder what Macie would think of it if I showed her?
The sound of a ute pulling up forces me to walk back outside as a door slams shut.
Out on the porch, Bennett, my contractor, strolls towards me with a growing smile. “Just the man I wanted to see.” He climbs the three timber steps.
Slightly shorter than me, with pale skin covered in black ink and long brown hair that’s always pulled up into a bun, Bennett cups my shoulder loosely. He’s been my friend since high school and is a good worker, which is why I hired him for this project. Managing the crew and working at the house has been easier knowing that it’s in his hands.
“Are you stalking me?” I ask with a smirk.
He chuckles before stepping through the front door. “Not exactly. I came to measure for the skirting boards, but since I have you here,” hepulls out a small stack of coloured cards from his tool belt, “I need you to choose what paint colours you like. Not today, but within the next week or two. The painter will come in last to patch anything, and obviously paint the place inside and out, then you’ll be all set to move in.”
Nodding, I take the thick bundle, noticing too many shades of white, grey and blue, and already know that this is going to be harder than I anticipated.
“Thanks. I’ll have to think about it.”
“Great,” Bennett says with a grin. A thin white scar runs through his eyebrow. It’s been there since he fell off his Dad’s dirtbike. “It will be about a half hour for the measuring. Then I’ll go get them cut, have someone come in tomorrow to fit them…” He keeps going for a few solid minutes as I watch him.
He’s so lively and passionate about his work, but I’m really not focused on his words. I understand building—I helped build the barn with Dad—but my brain is a little preoccupied with a pretty red head that I’m meant to be staying away from, as much as it kills me.
My eyes wander, taking notice of all the small things in my house. The unused fireplace, the light bulbs hanging down without fixtures, the windows with nothing covering them.
I’m going to need to decorate this place, and honestly, I don’t have a clue where to begin.
“—and then in four or five weeks, you should be good to move in.”
Blinking back to Bennett, I grin slowly. “Sounds perfect.”
“It will be perfect.” He pats me again before taking out his measuring tape and disappearing into the living room.
Sighing, I run my fingers through my hair. A weight presses on my shoulders with the realisation of how much work I’m going to need toput into this place to have it ready. And I don’t have a clue on where to begin with decorating.
After taking Whiskey out for a ride, giving him a good clean, and driving around on our quad bike to assess the fences, I head back to the main house right before the rain starts.
I could smell it in the air, thick and heavy with dew when the droplets started falling. I just know this one is going to be a big one.
When I step into the house, slipping my boots off, I find Cole is busy playing a video game on the TV, Holden is with Aspen doing some finger painting on the dining table, and fresh bread is baking the oven, making my stomach rumble.
It's also feeling too crowded in here.
“Reid, did you want something? You missed breakfast and lunch,” Mum asks without looking in my direction.
Blowing out a slow breath, I walk behind her, grabbing a glass of water. “Yeah, I’ll make something.”
“I have extra sandwiches in the fridge.”
Turning, I pull two out, filled with chicken, mayonnaise and beetroot. I smile. “Thanks, Mum.”
“You’re welcome,” she chirps, dressed in her white linen apron with her short blonde hair pulled back with a claw clip. “I’m glad you came in when you did. The storm is meant to be really bad.”
Sipping on my drink, I lean against the bench, resting one hand on the edge. “How bad?”
Her light eyes meet mine, lined with brown liner and mascara. “They said on the radio that it’s meant to be damaging. Some light flooding as well.”
