A folded-up piece of paper had fallen out of her pocket, he now noticed, while he’d been more interested in watching her walk away. He stared at the square of white against the dirt for a moment before he moved to retrieve it.
He was about to call to her when the corner of something familiar on the page caught his eye. Standing up, he pulled the paper open to reveal the real estate listing of the house next to the fire station.
He didn’t know what to think. Was she interested in buying it? And if she was, what did that even mean?
He placed the paper in his pocket and returned to his work with the shovel, but he couldn’t turn his mind from that flyer. She would consider buying a house next door to his place of work, and yet she didn’t seem to believe he was sincere when he said he was ready for her?
The acrid smell of cow shit pierced his nostrils as he began to dig, and another thought entered his mind. Maybe that house had been the reason she’d run by the fire station all that time. Maybe he had only been an inconvenient distraction to her. Of course. Harper was one intense woman, focused on her work, so much so that she had him shoveling shit for her.
He was first to finish his sample and waited for the women, leaning against the tailgate of the truck. They sauntered up with their bags and shovels.
“I could have done all three samples in half the time.”
Harper blinked at him.
Okay. She was not impressed, apparently. “Not trying to brag. Just mean we could get through the work faster.”
“You want this over with fast?” Harper put a fist on her hip.
“That’s what she said.” He tried for levity with the cliché joke but braced himself for Harper’s lack of humor, stuffed poop gifts notwithstanding.
Bev, however, burst out in laughter. Then she became engrossed in something over by the farmhouse. Waving her arm in a large arc, she said, “There’s Roger—the owner. I’m going to say hi. Sorry to miss out on this banter.” She winked at him before she left.
Harper rolled her eyes before turning her gaze across the field. Christ, woman. She was as icy as Lake Michigan in February.
He held out the folded up flyer. “You dropped this.”
She peered at the paper in his hand. The color swept from her face as she took it. “Thanks.” She stuffed the flyer in her pocket and looked longingly in the direction Bev had disappeared, as if she were willing her to return.
“So,” he sat on the tailgate, the truck creaking beneath his weight, “Are you thinking about buying that house?”
She froze then slowly dropped her specimen bag in the truck bed. Quickly, she resumed her spot several feet away from him. “No. I was just curious.”
“Just curious?” He lifted off the gate and took a step toward her.
“Yes.” She met his gaze dead on.
Thank fuck. He needed her eyes on him so he could have half a chance at understanding what was going on in her mind. But she was giving nothing away.
She adjusted her ponytail. “I have no need for a fixer upper. When would I have the time anyway?”
He shrugged. “Can’t hurt to dream a little.”
The hardness in her gaze gave way to something soft, almost pleading for a brief moment before she turned her attention to the silo across the road.
He missed her eyes on him—like walking away from a patio heater, he chilled. “Harper.”
She didn’t meet his gaze. “We better get moving to the next stop.”
Before he could articulate how to clear up what was bothering him, she returned to the truck and slid inside the passenger door.
Through the next two farm stops, Harper’s cold shoulder continued, Bev making up for the lack of warmth and awkward silences by cracking jokes. He joked back with her, partly to send Harper the message that he wasn’t perturbed.
But he was perturbed all right.
At the fourth farm, after he parked near the barn, Bev announced she’d broken a fingernail and would wait for them in the cab.
“What?” Harper whined. “Really? As if you really give two fucks about fingernails.”
Bev’s eyes went wide on Harper before turning to Jakub for recognition of the earth-shattering event that had just occurred.
Harper Peters cursed. Loudly.
Harper got out of the truck and slammed the door behind her.
Something was bothering her enough to shake her foundation, and he was determined to find out what it was.
She charged onto the dormant pasture grasses. Why had she ever agreed to let Jakub come spend a day with her? All she could think about was that other woman he’d promised to let cook dinner for him. She wanted not to care but she couldn’t shake the thought of him in that woman’s arms. And he was being so casual about everything. A tightness inside her that had been building all day stretched to the point of breaking.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A text from Yamato. What did he want?
Thought you might want to know. Just saw Gordoni having brunch with the Chancellor.
She was about to type out that she didn’t care who the Chancellor had brunch with as long as he signed off on her center when she realized what Yamato was implying.
Gordoni had a vision for a new acute care wing for cardiology. He’d talked about it at the Auxiliary benefit. But there was zero need for something like that other than to make himself look important by rearranging a bunch of already existing resources into one tidy little hallway. Even if he had gone forward with submitting a proposal to the Chancellor, that plan had no chance. The Chancellor wanted innovative. He’d told her so himself.
He couldn’t be seriously considering Gordoni’s idea, could he?
She would not lose her center. She could not. This proposal had been many, many months in the making.
The crunch of boots on cold ground made her jump.
“Easy there, it’s just me.” Jakub’s voice was calm, as though nothing was too burdensome a task for him—fires, emergencies, juggling multiple women.
She turned to see him standing a few feet away gazing benevolently at her. How dare he look so innocent?
“Harper, tell me what’s eating you. Please.” The ease in his voice was replaced with strain.
“Nothing.”
“That’s a lie. You used the F word. On your friend. That’s out of Harper Peters’ realm of acceptable behavior.”
She sighed heavily. “I just found out my center might be in jeopardy.” That wasn’t a lie. Though it wasn’t the full truth. There was no way she could tell him how she wanted him all to herself. That just the thought of him in another woman’s arms was fracturing her heart. How could she say it when the last time she’d poured her heart out to him, it had driven him away, literally out of her body—into memories of his wife.
“That sucks,” he ran a hand through his hair, concern pulling his eyebrows together. “I’m sorry.”
She began to pace in a tight line before him. “It’s not for certain. Nothing is for certain. That’s what’s so infuriating.” She wasn’t even sure if she was talking about the center or Jakub anymore.
A cool breeze lifted the hair off his forehead. “I hate when I can’t fix things.”
She snapped her gaze to his blue eyes. “Me too.”
He closed the space between them. “I want to fix this.” He pointed from himself to her.
She admired his can-do attitude and the fact he nailed her frustration but she wasn’t convinced this was something that could be fixed. Not if he wasn’t being open with her. Not if he wasn’t available to her and only her. God, she had fallen for him. Completely against all her own better judgement. But there was no undoing how she felt. She was stuck with caring for him—like being ill with an infection that just had to run its course.
He slid his palm over her cheek then buried his fingers in her hair.
“Jakub, what are you doing?” She was unable to move away from him. The zing of his touch on the sensitive skin of her nape made her head fal
l toward his hand. Oh, God, she was utterly spineless when he touched her.
She stepped out of his reach. “This can’t just be fixed by kissing me.” I need more than that. More of you. But she’d be a fool to say such a thing when clearly his attachments were already divided. “In fact, I think this,” she mimicked how he’d pointed at each of them in turn, “was a mistake.”
He folded his arms over his chest. Instead of lecturing her, he brought a hand to rub his chin studded with stubble. After a moment considering her, he grabbed the shovel that had fallen at their feet.
“Let’s get on with it then.” The shovel thunked dirt as he began to dig. “Get this mistake behind us.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to make you late for your date.” She hated that the sarcasm in her voice gave away the depth of her hurt.
He stopped digging and held the shovel handle at arm’s length. “My date?” He blinked at her then looked to the white haze of sky above. “Oh,” he drew out the word. “Did you hear me talking to Aurelia this morning?”
She hugged her arms close to her body. “I may have overheard while I was looking at the house. I wasn’t eavesdropping.”
He dropped the shovel all together. “Aurelia is Ritchie’s wife.” He beamed a painfully bright smile her way as if this explained everything.
She cut her eyes to the window of trees at the edge of the farm. “She was fawning over you. Not the kind of thing a friend’s wife should be doing.”
“I just…did a thing for her cousin. She was very appreciative.”
“I’ll say.”
“That’s all it was.”
She dared to glance his way. The adorable set of his mouth in that smile of triumph, more tentative now, sent heat rushing through her.
“Ritchie and Aurelia. They’ve been the best. They were there for me when…” He shook his head. Standing to his full height, he continued, “Let me prove to you that’s all it was.”
“How?”
“Come with me tonight. You can see for yourself how disgustingly in love Aurelia and Ritchie are.”
At his reassuring words, Harper let the smile she’d been holding back win out.
“That’s better,” he said with a wink, her heart fluttering in her chest. “You should smile more often.”
He resumed his job with the shovel, filling the bag and sealing it. Holding the bag in both palms with a little bow as if offering a gift, he said, “Your soil sample, Madame.”
She reached to take the sample, but he snatched the bag away. “Hey.”
One-half of his mouth curled up with a smile. “You can have it on one condition.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
He hooked her waist with an arm and drew her near. His breath hot against her ear, he whispered, “Don’t try to pretend you don’t care anymore.”
She infused the kiss she gave him with all of the care she felt that was nearly bursting her heart. His stubble prickled against her mouth and beneath her fingers as she held his head in her hands. She needed to anchor herself to him this way. She swept her tongue over his, mapping the silk curves of his mouth, the sturdiness of his teeth.
She wanted to know every inch of him.
He slid his fingers beneath her ponytail, wedging himself tightly to her, pulling her closer, impossibly close against the hard wall of his torso. She wanted to feel his skin against her skin. Heat against heat.
A sharp whistle cut the air. Bev, seemingly impressed with the public display, sauntered over.
Suddenly self-conscious, Harper broke away but Jakub kept her in his embrace.
He whispered for only the two of them to hear. “I’ll take that as a yes that you’ll come to dinner?”
She bit her bottom lip to keep herself from blurting that she’d say yes to just about anything he asked right now. “I’ll come.”
A smile split his face as he picked her up and twirled her. She let out a squeal—a sound so happy and carefree she was surprised it had come from her own body.
“Well, well.” Bev stood appraising them approvingly. “Who knew shoveling shit could be so much fun?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
In the cab of his truck outside Ritchie and Aurelia’s apartment building, Jakub rubbed his thumb over the back of Harper’s hand. “There’s probably not going to be a lot of intellectual conversation. And Ritchie is a barnyard humor type of guy.”
“Jakub, it’s okay. I’m sure I’m going to have a fine time.” She lifted those dark lashes and pierced him with brown-eyed earnestness. “I’m with you.”
Warmth spread through him at her admission that being with him was enough. He leaned to brush his lips over hers, stealing this one last intimacy before they’d be sucked into the whirlwind of Ritchie’s family.
The doors opened to Aurelia’s halo of black curls. She flung the door wide and hugged Jakub. As she released him and held a hand to Harper, a foam bullet sailed between them and plucked Harper in the cheek.
Aurelia placed her hands on Harper’s shoulders. “Shit, I’m so sorry.” With one fierce swivel of her head she addressed the mystery shooter in the depths of the house, “Put those goddamn guns away now boys. You’re shooting the guests!”
Once Harper’s look of shock yielded to amusement, Aurelia ditching the handshake and drawing Harper into a close hug, Jakub chuckled to himself. He’d forgotten to warn her about the cursing.
“Oh, shoes off if you don’t mind.” Aurelia pointed to a rubble pile of shoes by the door.
“Aw, let them keep their shoes on,” Ritchie’s voice pleaded from deeper within the house.
“Not unless you start mopping the floors,” Aurelia shot back.
“It’s no problem,” Harper said, toeing off her heels and adding them to the heap.
Her cherry red pedicured toes sent a twinge of longing through Jakub to unburden her of the rest of her clothing. He removed his own shoes.
Ritchie approached from the kitchen breakfast bar loaded with a spread of salsa, chips, and guacamole. A bowl of limes and…shots of tequila. A cluster of little glasses were already filled with the golden fire.
Jakub was such an idiot. The events of the day had all come together so fast he hadn’t thought to warn Ritchie about Harper’s non-drinking status, or rather, the reason for her non-drinking status.
Ritchie greeted them as two of his sons still armed with Nerf guns leapt over the couches behind them.
“Stop all that noise!” Aurelia shouted. “So sorry,” she turned to Harper. “And why is the TV on?” She stalked over to the television that blared the evening news and grabbed the remote.
On the screen, an interview with some talking heads morphed into video footage of a raging fire sweeping over a barren hillside landscape.
Ritchie, one eye on his wife, grabbed a couple of shot glasses and thrust them to Jakub and Harper. “Hey, leave that on a sec.”
Jakub looked to Harper whose face had flushed red as she had no opening in which to refuse the drink. She took the glass and held it away from her body as though it held some kind of toxic fluids and not a beverage.
“California wildfire season,” Jakub said stupidly. He took the shot glass from Harper and set it along with his own on the counter.
“We should be there, man.” Ritchie said, gazing wistfully at the fire on the TV screen.
“Hell no, you shouldn’t!” Aurelia jabbed a fist into her hip, punching the remote with her other hand so the TV screen went black.
“Worst season they’ve had in twelve years with a shortage of firefighters.” Ritchie noted the shot glasses on the counter and side-eyed Jakub.
Jakub held up a hand. “Taking a pass tonight.”
“You’re no Hot Shot. Let someone else volunteer.” Aurelia spun on Ritchie. “You’ve got a family to think about.” She looked to her guests and her expression relaxed. “We’re here to have fun and celebrate tonight, so don’t piss me off.” She marched to the counter, picked up a shot glass and stared at Ja
kub and Harper’s empty hands. “What’s the matter with you? Didn’t you offer them a drink?”
Ritchie just shrugged that resigned gesture of a man who knew well what hills weren’t worth dying on.
“I don’t drink,” Harper said, stepping forward. “Thank you though.” She flashed Aurelia a charming smile. “I do love guacamole, however.” She grabbed a chip and scooped up the green dip.
The evening settled into an easy, relaxed vibe. Over dinner, Harper chatted with Aurelia about her kids’ bouts of various infections and other things Jakub couldn’t hear as Ritchie regaled him with a story of a prank he’d pulled on Caldwell.
Jakub sat across from Harper who shot him secret, coy glances. He longed to announce their departure, take her home, then finish properly what he’d started with her too many long weeks ago. Thankfully, Aurelia was a no-shoe household kind of hostess. Jakub swam a socked foot blindly under the table, searching for any contact with Harper he could get and found her toes, so small beneath his.
She snapped her gaze to his, color rising on her cheeks. Touching her felt like plugging into an energy source, a welcome heat to bask in while dinner went on around them.
When they finished eating, Aurelia stood to clear dishes. Harper hopped up too and broke the connection with his feet. His whole being fizzled.
Aurelia returned with a plate full of multicolored cookies and placed them in the center of the table. Ritchie reached for one.
“Guests first.” Aurelia slapped his hand away.
“Jakub is family.” Ritchie said in his defense. But he passed the plate in front of Harper. “Ladies first.”
Aurelia grasped Ritchie’s chin, manhandling him like a grandmother. “There’s my gentleman.”
“Oh, you think so, do you? Come over here. I’ll show you I’m no gentleman.” Ritchie grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his lap.
Aurelia batted at his arms, but then relaxed into his chest in a fit of giggles. Ritchie growled and dipped her backward for a kiss.
A Beautiful Fire (Love at Lincolnfield Book 4) Page 15
