by Vivian Arend
He guessed he couldn’t blame Anna for not giving him contact details on who owned the land before this point. He’d been keeping it pretty secret that he wanted to do something.
But now? To know he wanted the information and still shut him down?
Fine. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to step forward like a conquering hero and have the “I tracked down more land for us to use, look at me, aren’t I wonderful for helping the family” moment he’d envisioned. But the damn secrets were getting out of hand, and he only had time and energy for so much. Tomorrow he was going to sit down with his father and find out what the heck was going on.
Tonight?
Tonight he was going to follow his sister’s encouragement and track down a certain young woman who was also full of secrets, because those were the ones he wanted to spend his time and energy unraveling.
The tractor wheels clicked in time with the pulse in his veins as he drove the beast over the field at a faster-than-normal speed. He was going to see Becky again. He was going to convince her that the Good Neighbour manual included a section on getting to know each other better outside of chores.
But even with plans that made him move eagerly through the final tasks of his day, the thought of all sorts of secrets remained tangled together.
Family wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. Frustrating? Annoying? Always.
Complicated?
Maybe he’d been too busy before to notice, or too stupid, but now that he’d gotten a peek into Pandora’s box, he wasn’t going to simply slide back into ignorance and silence.
Trevor Coleman was ready to figure shit out. But first things first— He had a neighbour to check in on.
Chapter Seven
She’d nearly made it home before Trevor caught up with her, rolling down the driver-side window to lean on his elbow and greet her with a laugh. “Looking good, Rodeo.”
“What do you want, Trevor?” Becky continued to step briskly though her feet were sore from being on them all day in the shop, and the long walk to and from town.
She didn’t want to admit to the bubble of happiness inside that had risen unasked at the sight of his truck.
“You’re walking on the right side of the road. I mean, the wrong side of the road, which is the right side,” Trevor joked. “Good for you.”
“I knew the rule before you told me. I didn’t think there was enough traffic to worry about it.”
“No, I guess not. Good point.”
And with that, the damn man crossed the centerline. He ended up right beside her, driving on the wrong side of the road, grinning through the open window from only a couple feet away.
“Are you crazy? Get back where you belong,” she snapped. “If someone comes along and you crash, you’ll kill me at the same time, and I don’t need that today, thanks.”
“The only people on this stretch of the road will be my cousins or my family, and the road is dead straight forever, so I’ll see them coming. You’re safe.”
Good grief. “You’re amazing.”
“I’m glad you think so. I also have this lovely air-conditioned truck, if you’d like a ride.”
“I’m nearly home, thanks.”
“Becky.” The cheesy joking and laughter vanished, his voice dipping deeper, and his new serious tone sent a shiver up her spine. “Let me give you a ride the rest of the way. Please?”
If he’d ordered her, she would’ve ignored him, but it was the please that made her pause. She glanced up, catching his gaze, and it was there too. That bit of something in his eyes beyond goofing around. “I really am too close to home to make it worth your while,” she pointed out. “If I cross the field here, I can be in the back door quicker than it takes for you to drive.”
He shrugged his acceptance. “Fine. Then can I come over later? I can help you clean up the garden patch some more.”
She was torn. After her full day she’d had a date with the bathtub in mind. But he looked so enticing, with those puppy dog eyes, and whatever strange magic he’d cast over her to make her agree to nearly every one of his suggestions so far. “I will put you to work again,” she warned.
“I don’t mind.”
Of course he minded. He’d put in a full day’s labour by now, too, and the last thing he needed was to do her chores as well as his own.
Stubborn man.
“Pull over,” she ordered. She crossed in front of the massive truck to reach the other side before climbing into the passenger seat. “You win this time, but you’re staying for supper,” she warned. “If I’m going to make you work, the least I can do is feed you.”
“Ha, is that supposed to be a threat? Because, sweetheart, you don’t scare off a guy by offering him food. We’re pretty much empty stomachs, all the time.”
“You don’t know if I can cook,” she teased back, shocked at her daring as she drew a chuckle from him. “I have a liver and lima bean recipe I’ve been dying to try.”
“As long as you’ve got ketchup, I can eat anything.”
She pressed her lips together to stop from laughing out loud, glancing out the window at the line of trees forming the windbreak in front of the house. The light spring breeze made the pine branches sway, shadows flickering on the dry grass at the base of the tall sentinels.
The row ended and the house came into view, and this time she checked it over with a more critical eye. The weathered home was the answer to so many of her problems, but it was looking a little disreputable. “Do you think it’s worthwhile painting the place?”
Trevor pulled to a stop beside the front steps. “While you’re renting? Doubt it. You could give the boards a good power wash if you wanted to spruce it up a little, but it needs more than a coat of paint to make it look new.”
Becky joined him on the steps, staring up and assessing. “You’re right, it would be a little like putting lipstick on a pig.”
He chuckled softly, leaning back on the porch railing as she unlocked the door. “By the way, did you figure out how to fix your leak?”
“Yes,” Becky answered quickly, not mentioning her fix was an oversized bucket she’d found in one of the sheds. It would have to do until she had the time and money to do the repairs up right.
She ducked down the hallway ahead of him, feeling a touch uncomfortable as she glanced around. The week she’d had in the house hadn’t been nearly long enough to make any big improvements. “I know it’s a mess,” she called over her shoulder. “The kitchen is clean, and the bathroom—I’ve gotten those under control. Follow me.”
Trevor obediently followed in her wake as she dodged boxes and led him to the back of the house. “What can I do to help with dinner?”
“Nothing—it’ll only take me a minute to get things started.”
He sat in the chair she pointed him at, but his face spoke volumes. “Interesting decorating scheme in the living room, hallway and dining room. Bet the place is warm in the winter.”
The piles of paper and other “treasures” stacked nearly to the ceiling were hard to miss.
This was one tidbit she felt comfortable sharing. “You know the couple who lived here before me? They weren’t doing that well, I guess. Things got out of control, and they couldn’t handle getting rid of the stuff they’d accumulated.”
“They’d been here for a long time,” Trevor noted.
Becky nodded as she put on a pot of water. “Over ten years, I think. I don’t know all the details, but I said I’d go through and clean it up.”
“No wonder I didn’t notice them moving out. They just up and left.” He made a noise. “I hope you’re getting paid.”
“Lower rent, and the stuff that stayed with the house is basically mine to use. I don’t need to find furniture or kitchen supplies, that kind of thing,” she offered. “It was worth it.”
Trevor eyed the kitchen. “You cleaned this room up nice.”
“Thanks. It took a bit of elbow grease, and there’re a couple piles of things I’m not sure wha
t to do with that I’ve got under tarps.”
“Not in one of the sheds?” He figured it out before she said anything. “Oh, for fuck’s sake—I bet the sheds are full to the brim as well, aren’t they?”
Becky couldn’t stop her amusement from showing. “You sound scandalized. Don’t you know any packrats?”
“I know enough to feel sorry for you having to clean up after them.” He reached a hand her direction, and she offered up the jar of pasta sauce she’d been failing to open. “But, hey, if it got you a good deal with your landlord, good for you.”
She put the pasta on to cook, eyeing the amount and adding extra to make up for the fact she didn’t have much else to go with the plain meal.
It was still worth it, a hundred, million times over to be able to be in her own kitchen, cooking a meal for herself and a…neighbour. Someone she wanted there, if she was honest.
Twisting her body to one side let her stir the pots and watch Trevor out of the corner of her eye at the same time. He couldn’t have come straight from the ranch. Not with the clean jeans and the crisp cut of his flannel shirt. His dark hair was cut short and neat, and his hands were well scrubbed as he turned the pages of a gardening magazine she’d saved during her cleanup of the mess in the kitchen.
He glanced up, catching her eye. “What?”
“You’re…”
Oh, great. Way to back herself into a corner and all but have to admit that she’d been admiring him. Or at least looking close enough to notice that the colours he wore complemented the layer of scruff darkening his jaw. No way was she going to blurt out that his muscular body intrigued her more than she cared to think about, or that the scent of him, clean and fresh, was doing something to her insides.
Trevor’s smile widened as if he’d overheard her racing thoughts. “Tongue-tied?”
“…sitting in a bad spot to read. The lighting is terrible. Why don’t you move to the right?”
“Because the lighting might be bad, but the view is great.” Trevor deliberately let his gaze drift up her body, from her ankles all the way past her flaming hot cheeks until their eyes met again.
She wasn’t ready for this. Not to have those kinds of feelings for someone. A tremor of fear started inside, and Becky turned to the stove, deliberately putting her back between them as she stirred their supper.
Having a good neighbour was another thing to be grateful for—a blessing she’d never expected, and she wanted to hold on to that good thing with both hands.
More than that?
She stared into the pot of boiling water and stirred extra hard to avoid having to answer her mental question.
“Do you have an extra burning barrel?” she asked.
The obvious change of topic away from his light flirting was abrupt. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but Trevor could go with the flow. “I know where one is. Anything else?”
“Right now? A wheelbarrow. There’s probably one in the shed, but…”
Jeez. “You’ll never find it. Sure—there’s got to be an extra one or two of those around somewhere in the Coleman clan. That’ll make it easier to wheel the stuff to the burn pile.”
She nodded, putting two sparkling clean but chipped plates on the table, and for the second time in two days they shared a meal.
This time Trevor focused on finding out more about Becky, but she was good at evading his questions without seeming to evade them. Sticking to talking about house improvements seemed safer.
And vehicles—
“Do you need help finding wheels for you?” He swore as soon as he said the words. “Shit—you’re waiting for your ID. That’s why you don’t have a car.”
Becky twirled her fork in the bit of pasta remaining on her plate. “I’m in limbo for a bit, yes. It’s okay. Walking to town isn’t bad in the summer. And I hope to get things straightened out over the next while.”
Curiosity demanded he ask what the hell had happened. Why she had no ID. Self-control forced him to hold his tongue and wait for her to offer up details when she was ready. It wasn’t any of his business, not yet.
Didn’t mean he couldn’t help in other ways. “I can drive—” Trevor began before being offered the evil eye once again. “Wow, you’re good with that Icy Stare of Death. You whipped it out in under three seconds flat.”
Her lips twitched. “Icy Stare of Death?”
“Kind of like you’re daring me to do something stupid. Hate to tell you, this is another warning that doesn’t work with guys. Just like food, we’re always willing to be stupid.”
Becky shook her head. “Don’t offer me your truck, since I can’t drive it. And I like walking, so don’t accidentally show up every morning ‘going my direction’ or I’ll be pissed.”
He didn’t like her ultimatum. “What if it’s raining? Or I’m going on a coffee run? Or I need something from town? Can I pick you up then?”
“You can be really annoying,” she muttered as she pulled their empty plates from the table and stacked them in the sink. “You get on a topic and keep going at it and going at it.”
He laughed as he followed her to the back door and opened it for her. “My mom’s nickname for me when I was little was Tigger. She said I’d get wound up tight like a spring, and then bounce and bounce until I’d crash.”
Absolute confusion flooded her face as she walked past him.
“Oh, come on. Winnie the Pooh? Hundred Acre Woods? Tigger with the spring in his tail…?”
Nope, she clearly had no idea.
Well, then. “You’ve never read Winnie the Pooh?”
She pulled the basket of seeds from a shelf beside the door and they walked together to the garden. “Never.”
“Want to go to the library to grab a copy tomorrow? You can use my library card, since you don’t have one yet.”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened excitedly before she made a face. “I’m working tomorrow night. And Hope asked if I’d make a list of some designs I might want to teach, so I’ll be doing that as well.”
“No rush,” he said, casually taking the rake and getting ready to be her flunky. “What section do you want to do first?”
They worked for an hour, getting areas prepped for Becky to drop in the first of the seeds. His muscles ached from the long day, and his stomach was growling because as good as the food had been, he hadn’t had enough to eat, not that he’d ever tell Becky.
He didn’t care one bit about those faint annoyances—he was having a blast. His mysterious woman was becoming more intriguing by the minute, and he couldn’t wait to start untangling the little bits and pieces that made up the whole.
Trevor lasted until they’d plotted out where the beans were going to go, a thin cotton string drawn between two stakes setting a straight guide to plant the seeds. Becky had been so insistent how she wanted to organize things, and he’d carefully followed her orders, wondering if she realized she was bossing him around like they’d been friends for years.
It burst out of him.
“You want to go out sometime?” Trevor asked in a rush.
Becky stared as if he’d spoken in some foreign language. “What do you mean? Like a date?”
Her shock amused him all over again. “Yes. A date. Exactly like a date. How about we go out for dinner. Or to the movies, or—”
“I don’t think so.” Becky avoided his gaze, absolutely fixated on the line she’d drawn in the soil. Bean seeds fell from her fingers one after the other exactly the same distance apart, and she moved away at a steady pace.
“Oh, come on,” Trevor teased. “I’m even more entertaining on a date. You’ve only seen me at moderately charming while I’ve been hanging around here.”
“Well, then, it’s a definite no. I can barely handle you at moderately charming.”
That was part of the trouble. She wasn’t handling him, and he wanted her to be. Those hands of hers that were meticulously planting the garden—he’d prefer to have them all over his body, shaping and
touching him, driving him wild.
“No, I think it’s a really good idea,” he insisted.
She finally looked up. “Which? For you to be charming, or for us to go on a date?”
“How about both the same time? I multitask really well.”
Becky sat back on her heels and stared at him for a good long time. Long enough he felt uncomfortable looming over her, so he got down in the dirt too, reaching for her hand and taking it in his.
“What are you doing?” She wiggled uncomfortably. “I’m dirty, my fingers are a mess, and you’re wearing clean jeans.”
“Who cares? Becky, I like you, and I think you like me, so why don’t we go out. Just say yes.”
Her hand was warm and strong in his, and yet femininely soft. But she was trembling, so he stroked her fingers, trying to figure out what was making her gun shy so he could talk his way through it and get her to accept.
For one moment her fingers closed over his in a gentle caress, and he was sure she would say yes—and then she was gone.
Not only gone, but standing a good two feet away, looking down at him with an expression verging on terror. “Thanks for your help today. I’m really tired. I’ll see you around.”
And she fled, leaving her basket abandoned behind as she escaped through the back door. It closed with solid snick behind her, the door lock twisting into place.
Something twisted inside Trevor as well. He’d never had a woman look at him like that. Like he was someone to be afraid of. Like he was the enemy at the gates. He’d thought his banter and teasing had been lighthearted, yet he’d clearly crossed a line.
What had he done?
Trevor took a deep breath and sat there on his heels to figure out his next move. It had to be something that wouldn’t involve crawling on her roof, or knocking on her door, or anything else that might frighten her even more.
He didn’t know her phone number—hell, did she have a phone?
It suddenly sank in exactly how strange this whole situation was. How far from the norm her life must feel, how out of control, being in complete limbo. He’d pushed her too fast. That much was sure.
