He hated working with no plan, but he wasn’t going to risk another argument. No, he’d love to have another argument—he couldn’t see any rhyme or reason to what she was doing, and he didn’t think the base of the structure had the proper support to hold any kind of weight—but he wasn’t going to risk another kiss. So he kept his mouth shut. He could hardly put his tongue in her delectable mouth if he had his teeth clamped tight in front of it.
She had amazing eyes, plump, beautiful lips, and a sweet mouth, but he wasn’t going to fall for any of that. No, sir. He’d build this float and get the heck out.
At one a.m., she stopped. “I can’t believe it’s that late,” she said after asking him the time. “I can’t believe the kids haven’t been back down.”
“Wyatt texted me two hours ago. Said your father-in-law was taking him home.”
“Oh. Harper probably went to bed, then.”
“It is a school night.” He refrained from saying most parents would have insisted their children be in bed long before this.
“Well, I wanted to have the frame done so we could finish it up tomorrow.”
“Hmm.”
“I just want to put one more board up there.” She pointed to a corner.
“I’m not sure how sturdy it is,” Fink said.
Mrs. Bright rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Fink. You’re such a downer. This thing would give the Brooklyn Bridge a run for its money.” To prove her point, she grabbed a two-by-four and yanked back and forth on it. The wagon rocked forward and the structure swayed. She let go, but it was too late.
“Watch out!” Mr. Finkenbinder grabbed Mrs. Bright and dove into the far corner of the barn as the structure he’d spent the last five hours building came crashing down.
Chapter Six
Dust flew. The wagon lurched. Mr. Finkenbinder didn’t look back, but kept Mrs. Bright covered, in case a stray board fell this way.
The crashing and bumping stopped, and quietness filled the shed.
Mrs. Bright, stretched out under him, seemed to slump into the floor after she peeked over his shoulder at the mess scattered around the wagon. She closed her eyes and lay her head back.
“This must be where I say you were right,” she whispered.
Something stirred in his chest. He’d seen her hassled. He’d seen her harried. Angry. Defiant. Smug. Tired. Determined. But he’d never seen her defeated.
“Hey.” He grabbed her chin and gave it a shake. When she opened her eyes, he put his face in front of hers. “We’ll get this. Now we know what doesn’t work.”
She snorted. “No. It’s hopeless. This was too big of a project for us.” She looked away, and he nudged her chin again, but she ignored him. “There’s a bunch of mangled up two-by-fours beside us, and it’s all my fault. You can say it. I know you’re dying to.” She bit her lip.
“I’m dying to say…” He was dying to say she had spectacular blue eyes. Kissable lips. A mouth sweeter than any he had ever imagined. “I’m dying to say I loved your idea of the big, full moon with silhouettes on it. And we can do it.” He focused on her forehead. “But not tonight. Right now, we’re going to take that thing apart, salvage what we can of the boards, and then call it a night.”
She sighed and shut her eyes. Her body moved slightly under his. He closed his eyes. When had Ellie, er, Mrs. Bright, become a temptation?
Ellie had planned to be on time Tuesday morning. She really had. But school had been in session for at least a half an hour before her truck careened around the turn and into the parking lot.
Drat Bubba down at Dick’s garage. He’d charged her full price for a brake job that only worked half the time. Or possibly the old jalopy’s brake lines had sprung another leak. Whatever. She definitely needed Bubba to bump her next appointment to the top of the waiting list so she wouldn’t have to park on the sidewalk where it dipped and cracked in order to keep her truck from rolling and hitting anyone since the emergency brake didn’t work either.
She hadn’t had time to ream him out about it, since it’d been almost three this morning before she and Fink had gotten everything taken apart. They’d have been done a heck of a lot sooner, except Fink had insisted on stacking everything neatly, organizing it in rows according to length, putting the reusable nails and screws back in the bin and throwing the rest away. More than once, she’d picked up a board, at his command, and carried it to its proper pile while repressing the urge to remove his internal organs and line them up into neat little rows too.
But that was then, and at least she’d learned this about herself: even when provoked, with easy access to sharp tools, she was unlikely to commit coldblooded murder. Much as she desperately wanted to kill him, not kiss him, of course.
Because after she’d gone to bed, she’d felt his kiss when she had closed her eyes. And his surprisingly hard abs, soft lips, and gentle hands.
It had been hard to roll out of bed this morning.
As she ripped into the parking lot, she spotted a man getting out of his four-door sedan. A sleek, expensive-looking model. A boy, looking a lot like Wyatt, got out of the passenger side. The man, briefcase in hand, wearing dress shirt and tie, but no suit coat, power-walked toward the sidewalk. The boy ran.
“Mom.” Harper’s voice shook from the wrenching of the pickup. “That’s Mr. F and Wyatt.”
“Fink is late?” She did a double take. “Fink isn’t wearing a suit coat?” What was the world coming to? She’d never seen that man at school in less than a full-out suit. Buttoned up to his chin.
“Looks like it.”
“Later than us?” Ellie couldn’t believe it. She hopped out of the truck and rushed around the front, her boots clomping. Fink reached the door just before her. He yanked it open, then stood, holding it for Harper, then her.
“Good morning, Fink,” Ellie said as she swished past him, pleased she’d taken the time to throw on jeans and a flannel shirt. Her hair, well, she’d work on that tomorrow.
“Good morning, Elli…er…Mrs. Bright. Harper.”
Wyatt had gone ahead of his uncle, and now held the second of the pair of doors. Ellie greeted him as she swept past.
She pulled the blank paper out of her pocket. “Do you have a pen, Harper?”
“Just a pen?”
Ellie looked back, waving the paper.
“Wow, Mom. You’re organized this morning.” Harper placed a pen in Ellie’s outstretched hand.
Ellie looked back, intending to smile at her daughter. But Fink’s gaze captured hers.
He didn’t yell at her for being late. Rather, he smiled. And, drat her crazy heart. It flipped like a performer on a trapeze. That was when she noticed something else about Fink: he had straight, white teeth.
Darn it to the pea patch and back. She was a sucker for good teeth.
Mr. Finkenbinder walked into the shop at a quarter ’til eight. He’d wanted to start earlier so he wasn’t late for school again, but Mrs. Bright couldn’t leave until closing time. Which turned out well since he was able to meet with Jordon to help with his Trig homework.
Mrs. Bright stood beside the wagon, staring at it with her head tilted. She glanced at him and waved when he walked in.
“Good evening, Mrs. Bright.” They were not going to fight tonight if he could help it.
She looked back at the wagon and crossed her arms over her chest. “We tried it my way yesterday, and that didn’t work. So tonight I figured we’d do it your way. Only I was hoping we could use the wagon and tractor rather than a pickup.”
“Hmm.”
She glanced his way again. “Is Wyatt with you?”
“He’s at your house and going to come down when Harper’s pies come out of the oven.”
Mrs. Bright snorted. “Well, I think we’ll really need them tonight. I have everything we need to decorate this in a traditional way, but most of it is still out in the field—we didn’t carry in anything we didn’t need for the shop. Thankfully there hasn’t been a hard frost yet this year
, so all we have to do is go get it. Except the hay bales. They’re in the barn.”
Fink walked to where she stood. Did she stiffen beside him? Was she afraid he was going to grab her and kiss her again? Maybe he should apologize. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t sorry.
Holding up his briefcase, he said, “I brought a couple of pictures.”
Her brows furrowed. “Huh?”
After brushing off the back of the wagon, he set his briefcase down. The clasps clicked as he opened them and pulled out some papers. The finished design was on top. He held it up. “This is the closest I could come to what you described last night.”
Ellie gasped. She covered her mouth with her hand and leaned closer to the paper. Her eyes lit up. They searched the page, looking for flaws, probably. “It’s perfect,” she said. “Exactly what I was talking about.”
Fink allowed himself a small smile. A thrill shot down his spine. Victory. No. Actually the look on Ellie’s face was what caused his thrill. Half wonder, half admiration. It made him want to do something to cause that look again. To have those amazing blue eyes settle warmly upon him. And, heaven help him, this morning she’d worn jeans to school rather than her normal sleepwear. Hotdog with anchovies. Ellie had a nice, well-rounded little tush. Very nice.
He swallowed. Focus.
“But I don’t want to do it.”
“What?” he asked. “Why?”
“It’s too much. You were right yesterday. I wanted to do something nice. Something better than anyone else. The best float ever. But you can’t start at the last minute, whacking something together slipshod, and expect it to turn out. You need a plan. And you need enough time to accomplish it.” Her lips turned down, and she looked at the wagon where her framework had disintegrated. “This needs to be done by Saturday. I think we could spend the time and do something a little nicer, but this is important to you, so let’s get it done.”
She was giving up the design she wanted for his peace of mind?
He laid the paper back down inside his briefcase and cleared his throat. “Thank you.” He paused. “I did think that since you are helping, if you want to put a banner or some kind of advertisement for the farm on the float or tractor, that would be fine.”
Her brows shot up. “Wow. If it won’t ruin the look of the float, I might do that. I’ve been trying to increase business enough to make it finically feasible to hire someone to help so I can spend more time making decorations. I certainly won’t turn down a little free advertising for the farm.”
“Well, it is the school float and we can’t do anything big or gaudy.”
“I know that,” she snapped.
“Of course you do,” he snapped back. “Just like you know what time to get up in the morning.”
“Are you incapable of allowing the past to rest?”
“That was today.” He was actually tempted to roll his eyes.
“You were late too.”
“You rubbed off on me.”
“Stop acting like I’m stupid.” She crossed her arms and stomped her foot.
“I can hear you just fine. You don’t need to screech. I was only saying I want to make sure the school comes first.” He tried to keep his voice under control.
“I wasn’t trying to overshadow the school.” She stepped toward him.
“Just making sure.” He didn’t back down. They stood toe to toe.
“If you didn’t want me to put the farm name on the float, why did you offer it?”
“Why do you always get upset with everything I say?”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t. You’re the one who got upset first.”
“It was you. I want the farm on it.” He planted his feet. He would not back away from her. Drat this stubborn woman.
“You’re not acting like it.”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t.” His neck was hot and he couldn’t keep his voice from matching her volume. Exceeding it.
“Just forget about it. Keep the farm out of it.”
“I said the farm could go on.” He enunciated each word clearly. And loudly.
“You didn’t mean it,” she shouted. Bright red spots lit both her cheeks.
“I meant it,” he shouted back.
They stood with their faces inches apart, panting. Her breath was hot, but sweet on his lips. Her eyes shone. She was, quite possibly, the most alive woman he’d ever met. Or maybe she just made him feel alive. Because he did. His heart was thumping, his entire body tingled, and, although irritation bunched in his chest, something else, something bigger than his body could contain, made him want to float up or expand. Like joy that bubbled in his soul. Only he was face-to-face, toe-to-toe, and shouting at the woman in front of him. He should be angry. And maybe he was a little, but that wasn’t the emotion driving him right now.
His eyes widened. He knew what it was. Passion.
Which was why he shouldn’t have been surprised when Ellie stood on tiptoe, leaned in, grabbed his neck, and covered his mouth with hers. Shouldn’t have been. But was.
But his body wasn’t. His arms swathed around her, pulling her close. He pressed into her, her back against the hay wagon, her hands shoved in his hair, her lips moving under his. His hand slipped under her shirt, touching the smooth, warm skin of her back, the curve of her spine. She shivered, and bright orange lights exploded behind his closed eyelids.
A little moan escaped her lips and she pulled him even closer, her tongue touching his, dueling, the way their words had been dueling earlier. She was so sweet, so alive in his arms. The hand on her back slid up, fitting to the side of her rib cage, moving up…
Chapter Seven
“Uncle Fink?”
“Mom?”
He broke the kiss, but this time he didn’t drop her like she was on fire. He was the one on fire. He rested his forehead against hers, trying to regain a semblance of normalcy. “We should have expected that, right?” he whispered.
“The kiss or the interruption?” She laughed. Shakily. Her hands fell from his shoulders to his waist, but stayed there like she couldn’t quite let go. Or maybe needed the support. He certainly did. But her face was upturned, her blue eyes sparkled into his. He could get used to being around a woman with so much vivacity.
“Both?” He slid his hands out from under her shirt. Reluctantly. Her eyelids slid closed, and it was all he could do not to pull her back to him. But he forced himself to step away.
“I suppose you two were discussing float ideas again?” Harper asked with not a little sarcasm.
“From the house it sounded like they were killing each other. But we walk in and it looks like they’ll be announcing wedding plans.” Wyatt shrugged.
Fink’s eyes widened, and he turned. Was she as shocked at that statement as he?
Her face had gone white and she wouldn’t meet his eyes.
Yeah, that’s what he thought. The kissing was a fluke. Ellie and he were not relationship material. How could people who were such polar opposites get along in a romantic relationship? Every time they were together, they fought like cats over a clothesline.
Ellie pushed herself away from the wagon. She tugged the bottom of her shirt down. Fink’s hand was halfway to her to help before he realized it. He ran it through his hair instead and turned around.
Remembering the float, he asked, “So, um, Mrs. Bright, what do you want us to carry in for you?”
She moved away from him, to the back of the wagon, and looked at it. “I’d say we need at least ten bales of hay. Those are in the barn. Maybe fifty stalks of corn.” She looked at Harper. “Is there any of that pretty Green Dent indian corn left?”
“I can check.”
“If we have any, bring ten ears or so. And some of the regular indian corn.”
Fink reached around her for his briefcase. She was rattling this stuff off, and he couldn’t shake the need to make a list. He took out a notepad and pen.
She slid sideways and crossed her arms over her chest as t
hough in self-defense, and he couldn’t blame her. He breathed in the scent of pine and passion that he would forever associate with her.
He tapped his pen on the paper. “So, ten bales of hay, fifty stalks of corn, ten ears of green indian corn, and some regular indian corn. Anything else?”
“I’ll get string and scissors,” Ellie said.
He jotted those down too.
“Also, we’ll carry pumpkins and gourds from the fields. The gourds can go in a bushel basket, with two people carrying it between them. That’s a lot more efficient than trying to make a hundred trips, dropping them the whole way.”
“Wyatt and I will get the corn and we’ll use the four-wheeler for the hay bales. If you two can keep from fighting—”
“And kissing,” Wyatt added.
“If your uncle can keep his hands off me.” Ellie threw the words over her shoulder as she moved the hammer and nails out of the way.
He paused, his pen in midair. “If you can keep from throwing yourself at me.”
“I most certainly did no such thing.”
“If I hadn’t caught you, you’d have drilled your nose into the floor.”
“Of all the arrogant, no-good, nasty things—”
“Mother.” Harper sounded like the parent.
She must have the patience of a saint to live with that woman. Fink put his list and pen into his briefcase and set it on a shelf.
Harper handed Ellie the bushel basket. “Can you and Mr. F get the gourds and pumpkins?”
“If he can keep his mouth shut, it won’t be a problem,” Ellie mumbled. “Turn on the floodlights when you go out, please,” she said to Harper as Harper disappeared out the door.
Fink reached for the basket. “I’ll carry it.”
“Fine.”
“Ellie…” He placed a hand gently on her arm. She stopped but kept her head bowed. “Could we maybe…be friends?”
Harvest Moon Homecoming Page 5
