by Cat Johnson
“I have a better question. How the fuck do you know who this is for?” I glared at Cash.
And shit, was I hoping to get into Harper’s pants, or beneath her covers, with this thing? I hadn’t thought so but Stone junior seemed to like the idea as he perked up in my jeans at the thought.
Cash smiled. “I know things.”
Boone frowned at Cash. “Who do you think it’s for? Because I thought it was for Mom. She’s always reading those paperback books. There are piles of them all over the damn house.”
When I widened my stance and folded my arms, Cash must have realized I wasn’t moving, nobody was, until I had an answer to how he knew this was for Harper.
Cash rolled his eyes. “Fine. I stopped by the consignment shop today and Red was ranting about what happened at last night’s library board meeting. I saw that book box the author chick built on her own. If there’s one thing I know about my perfectionist big bro, it’s that he’s not going to let inferior construction stand when he can do something about it.
“This the chick who’s living at Agnes’s?” Boone asked.
“Yup.” Cash smiled.
“Oh, yeah. She’s fucking hot. Don’t blame you for building her shit, bro.” Boone shot me an approving nod.
“I just thought it would be fun to help fuck with those old bags on the library board. I’m not interested in Harper,” I said.
They both let out a chuckle. What I’d said was perfectly true. I loved the fire I’d seen in her. Her conviction to stand up for what she believed against half the town she just arrived in.
But I knew I’d lost my brothers’ attention as well as this battle to make them believe I wasn’t interested in Harper like that.
This was life in Mudville and how rumors became facts. If two out of the three Morgan brothers said it was true, the whole town would believe it. And no doubt Harper was going to eventually catch wind of it.
Then what would she think? And why did I care?
I didn’t know. All I knew was that I did care what she thought. A lot.
I glanced at the pint of yellow siding paint I’d had mixed up at the variety store in town. I’d asked the owner to look up the color of Agnes’s house in the registry he kept of all the paint he sells to locals. That way Harper’s little library would match the house exactly.
I’d spent half a day and a tidy amount of money on this project. But instead of being annoyed by that, I was counting the hours left to get it done so I could go install it at the house.
Why?
Because Cash was right, that’s why. I was interested in Harper.
Fuck.
From the Journal of Rose Van de Berg
MUDVILLE INQUISITOR
1935
The first patient has been admitted to the Homer Folks Tuberculosis Hospital on Upper West Street.
ELEVEN
Harper
I jerked awake and realized I’d fallen asleep with my laptop on my lap again. I decided to give myself a break and not feel bad about that since I’d been up late building my box and out of the house early this morning hanging it.
With only a handful of hours sleep it was no wonder I’d nodded off.
I heard a noise outside and realized that must have been what woke me. I was still getting used to living in the center of town.
Houses were set close together and sound traveled. I don’t know how many times I’d heard an engine starting and it sounded so close I’d run to the back window to make sure no one was stealing my car.
Maybe I was the city girl I protested I wasn’t. Because who in Mudville would steal my car? Everyone knew everyone else.
And the busy bodies, of which there were more than one, had their eyes peeled day and night. No one could do anything without them knowing. They were better than a neighborhood watch. The town should really get them matching T-shirts.
Chances were one of my neighbors was doing something at his house. I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress anyway and padded barefoot across the aged wood floors to the window.
“What the hell?”
I’d been wrong. This time the noise wasn’t coming from the neighbors. I’d been wrong about something else too. Maybe Stone Morgan didn’t have gravel where his heart should be after all.
With a quick glance down at myself to make sure I was in clothes I could go outside in, I ran around the bed, shoved my feet into my Uggs and trotted down the stairs.
I even managed to get the front doors open—I’d been practicing. I was outside in time to see him sink the last screw into the wood with his cordless drill.
But what really held my attention was the yellow box with white trim the same shape as the carriage house, sitting regally atop the white post Stone had sunk into the ground next to Agnes’s walkway.
It was worthy of a grand old house like Agnes’s.
More than that, it was the perfect little library with the glass front door that would protect the books but leave them visible and the angled shingled roof that would repel the rain and snow.
“It’s gorgeous,” I breathed.
He grinned. “I was wondering if you were gonna ever come out. I’ve been here for like forty minutes. Had to wait for the cement to set for the post.
I shook my head, amazed at all he’d done, right down to digging a hole for the post, all while I’d slept.
“I fell asleep,” I admitted.
“Good. From what I could see, you needed it.”
“Yeah.” I walked around to the front of the box. “I can’t believe you did all this for me.”
He lifted one shoulder. “Eh, it wasn’t that much work.”
I let out a breathy laugh, knowing he was lying. My crappy scrap wood box had taken me half the night. This masterpiece must have taken him even more hours to build.
“I want to pay you for this.”
“No.” His answer was firm and definite.
“But—”
“Consider it my contribution to the ongoing effort to corrupt the puritans of Mudville.”
I let out a laugh. “Okay. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. It was fun. I haven’t built anything in a while. Didn’t realize how much I missed it.” He glanced at my Frankenstein creation hanging below the mailbox. “Want help moving the books over?”
“Sure.” There was only half a dozen in there, but when a hot, sweet man asks if he can help me, I wasn’t going to say no.
We walked together to my box and I stumbled to a stop. “How did those get in there?”
The box was filled to overflowing with romance novels.
He frowned. “Didn’t you put them in there?” Stone asked.
“No. I mean I put six. That’s all I had. I was going to go out and get more today. I have no idea where these all came from.”
“Looks like your Little Free Library is working. Take a book. Share a book.” His repeating the official slogan perfectly had me staring.
“How do you know that?”
“I googled.” He lifted one shoulder and didn’t make eye contact as he started stacking books in one muscular arm.
I didn’t want to embarrass him further. Another time, maybe, but not today after he’d done something so nice.
Besides I was in too good a mood after seeing all these books. It proved everyone in this town weren’t as backward as the library board. It was just a shame the board members were the ones who were in the position of power around here.
I’d have to talk to Red about getting herself on that board of directors. This town needed some shaking up. I wasn’t a resident so I couldn’t do it, but I could sure try to convince her to.
“Oh my God. That’s amazing.”
Speaking of Red . . . I turned at the sound of her voice. “Isn’t it? Stone made it.”
“Really?” A sly smile twitched her lips. “Hello, Stone.”
“Hello, Red.” He greeted her then focused on lining up the books by size order inside the new library. The small ones o
n the top shelf and the tall ones on the bottom.
I didn’t dare tell him I’d planned on putting them in alphabetical order too. I could do that later after he left. For now, I turned to Red. “Did you fill up my box with all these books?” I asked her.
“No.”
I didn’t believe her. “Red . . .”
“Harper, I swear. I didn’t. I was going to go in to the shop this morning and pull some romance from the book section to give you, but it doesn’t look like you need them. Where did all these come from if you didn’t put them in there?”
“I don’t know. People in town, I guess.” I shrugged.
She grinned. “I love it. Screw those crotchety old library people.”
I couldn’t agree more.
As Stone silently kept up with the book transfer, and Red and I shamelessly watched him work, she spun to me. “I almost forgot. Here.” She handed me a large envelope.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Open it and see. I had my sign girl make it up.”
I opened the envelope and pulled out a decal that read, Warning: Kissing Books Inside.
“Oh, my God. It’s perfect. Red, I love it.”
“You sure?” she asked.
“Yes. Absolutely. I want to put it on the door. Right in front for everyone to see.”
Stone stopped his work and came to look over my shoulder. He let out a chuckle. “Nice one. Want me to put it on the glass?”
“Yes, please. Would you?”
“Sure.” He took it from me and swaggered to the box and I caught the sideways glance Red sent me.
I could guess what she was thinking. It looked like I’d gotten myself a handyman to help me out. And he was the last man in town I could have guessed would volunteer for the job.
The only question was what else did I want him to do for me.
I had a few ideas . . .
Just over a week ago I’d first laid eyes on this man—and hated him. Although hate was a strong word. Let’s just say I’d disliked his attitude intensely.
Now, I was imagining him helping me get the stuck window in Agnes’s bedroom closed . . . and then spending the night.
That was a pretty huge change in not a large amount of days. But time moved at a surreal pace here.
It was Friday. If I made it through tonight’s pig walk, I’d have survived my first week of living in Mudville.
In that week I’d managed to incur both the ire of the old biddies and puritans, and the support—albeit anonymous—of the closet romance readers in the community.
I’d managed to keep all the animals in my care alive and I’d written an enormous amount of words in my book. And I’d also managed to make a friend who I suspected would only grow to be a bigger part of my life the longer I knew her.
All in all, if I could get Petunia to the high school without either one of us ending up flattened like bacon on Main Street I was going to call this week a resounding win.
And if the cocky corn farmer continued to impress me and somehow ended up becoming more than just a man with a cordless drill at my service—well, so be it. Though I’d better not put the cart before the horse.
But damn, wouldn’t that be something? The ultimate Karma slap down for my mother. The fact I did the one thing she didn’t want me to do—volunteered to watch Agnes’s house—and it yielded the one thing she did want—me with a man in my life . . .
I lost my train of thought as I caught a glimpse of Stone’s denim-clad ass as he bent to gather his tools. He straightened and I watched his back muscles flex beneath his T-shirt as he lifted the items into the back of his truck.
“You hear the weather for tonight?” I asked Red, who was silent as we watched the Stone show play out in front of us.
“Supposed to drop into the fifties,” she answered.
Looked like I might have to have him help close that bedroom window sooner rather than later.
From the Journal of Rose Van de Berg
MUDVILLE INQUISITOR
1938
The last local survivor of the Civil War, William A. Kelley, died Jan. 9.
TWELVE
Stone
“Why are you rushing out of here so fast?” my father asked.
As I put my used dish and fork in the dishwasher, I glanced back at the rest of the family still sitting at the table in the kitchen. “It’s the first game of the season.”
Cash let out a snort. “Yeah, the game. That’s why he’s running off.”
I shot my trouble-making brother a glare.
Boone glanced at the clock that had been hanging on the wall of the kitchen since before I was born. “Game doesn’t start for two hours.”
“I think it’s nice he wants to get there early and support the players. It shows team spirit,” Mom said.
Always the supportive one, my mom. Little did she know why I was really rushing.
Yes, Petunia needed to get to the school on time, but I couldn’t deny the motivation for me to appoint myself chief pig escort was Harper.
“We’ll see you down there.” Mom smiled.
“Not if he sees us first.” Cashel laughed at his own joke as I shook my head and reached for the door.
“See you all later.” Letting out a big breath of relief that I’d finally escaped, I headed for my truck but pivoted for the barn on my way.
Grabbing a blanket from the tack room, I refused to think that I was bringing it so I might have a chance to share it with Harper. But, fuck it all, that’s exactly what I was doing.
Jesus, I was acting like I was back in high school again. Trying to cozy up to a hot girl. Hoping to get lucky.
Scowling, I shook my head at myself. Still, I didn’t put the blanket back. Oh no. I tossed it next to me on the seat.
I slowed by Harper’s house but kept driving. I didn’t want or need the town gossips to see my truck parked in front of her house for hours. Instead, I parked in the school lot and walked the block back to Harper’s.
Halfway there I realized I was already thinking of it as Harper’s house, rather than Agnes’s.
I felt a little bit guilty about that as I remembered how many cookies the old lady had made for my brothers and me. And how she would carry out hot cocoa to me when I’d shovel her sidewalk.
But damn, the woman wasn’t dead. Just traveling. I didn’t have to feel all that guilty for momentarily forgetting about her.
Harper had become such an overwhelming presence—in town and in my life—that memories of the sweet old lady’s cocoa couldn’t compete.
I didn’t know quite what this thing that had sprung up between Harper and me was. Physical? Chemical? Simply that we both enjoyed a good verbal sparring once in a while?
Thanks to Harper’s hourglass figure and her habit of wearing tight little tank tops and yoga pants, I’d started to imagine ending one of our debates with a good rigorous fucking . . .
No more thoughts of that. I adjusted my jeans and walked a little faster. I had been planning to head for the front door, but I saw a flash of movement at the side of the house.
Pausing, I saw one of the chickens running, followed by two more.
What had them spooked? I decided to cut around back and check it out. This town was full of dogs and in spite of the leash law within the village proper, dogs got loose. And there was the occasional hawk, another natural enemy of the chicken.
It would destroy Agnes to lose one of her girls. And poor Harper wouldn’t know what to do if that happened.
Coming around the side of the house I saw why they were running. Harper, lounging in a wicker chaise I’d never seen at Agnes’s before, was throwing what looked like dried corn to the girls. And they were eating it up—literally. Jumping up onto the chaise with her when she didn’t throw the food fast enough.
Her face lit as she laughed and struggled to chase the chicken off her laptop. “Hey. Watch the computer, girls. You’ll all get a treat.”
She closed the laptop and twisted to se
t it on the ground by the chaise. That’s when she saw me, standing there half hidden behind a bush, creeping around like a damn stalker.
I remedied that and came out of hiding. “Hey. Look at you. Making friends with the chicken population.”
“The meal worm and corn party mix I bought them helps,” she said
I chuckled. “Smart. Though I didn’t think that car of yours had moved since you got here. You actually left and drove to the feed store eight miles away?
“No.” She shook her head. “The nice mail lady delivered the Amazon box right to the front door.”
“Ah.” I nodded. Yeah, that made more sense.
Getting an Amazon delivery of dried corn for the chickens . . . Yup, she was a city girl to the bone. I hated to even think what she’d paid for that tiny bag of dried mealworms and corn. Especially since we had barrels of corn by the end of the season.
But I couldn’t deny she seemed to be doing a good job with the chickens.
Now that they’d eaten all the corn she’d thrown for them, they’d flopped over and were sunning themselves in the grass right next to her chair. Like they were damn pets.
“The girls deserved a little treat for all the eggs they produce.” She smiled at them, then looked to me. “By the way, want some eggs? I’ve got a few dozen extra.”
I laughed. “Yeah, no. We’ve got chickens at the farm so I’ve got plenty of my own eggs. But thanks for the offer. Red will probably take some off your hands.”
Harper wrinkled her nose. “No, she doesn’t cook. I asked. But maybe I’ll bake her a quiche as a thank you. I told her I wanted something comfy to sit on so I could work outside and she sold me this wicker lounge with the cushion for only twenty bucks. I know it should have been more than that. And she gave me the kissing books sign.”
“That was pretty amusing. Any comments from the puritans?” I asked.
“Not yet, but I keep waiting.” She looked down, then finally raised her gaze to me. “So . . . what do you want as your thank you for building me the library?”
That question cut straight down to my balls as my mind went to bad places imagining all the things she could do to thank me.
