Screwdrivered

by Alice Clayton

  Damn, Clark. I’d had no idea a tweed jacket could conceal so much awesome. But this awesome was also the same guy trying to stop me at every turn, so I squelched the staring after getting just one more good eyeful.

  “Impossible woman,” he muttered, his voice muffled by the wadded-up T-shirt.

  “This impossible woman is going to help you now, okay, Clark? Why don’t you put your arm around me and just—and that was my boob. Let’s try this again?” I grimaced as I gripped him around the waist. His skin was so warm.

  As we hiked back down the trail, he grumbled the entire time. I grumbled back, my face red from the exertion. Clark was a tall guy, and he was heavier than he looked.

  My face heated more.

  At the bottom of the trail he pronounced himself capable of driving to the doctor’s on his own, and that if it was broken, I would be paying any medical bills.

  I followed him to the urgent-care clinic in town. Once I’d deposited an in-pain-and-getting-crabbier-by-the-minute Clark there, I headed for my house. Now that I’d decided I was indeed staying, the logistics set in.

  How to do this? Could I afford it? And when the hell could I get rid of this stupid putt-putt rental car and start driving a real one?

  The first thing I needed to do was to tell my parents and see if my father was still interested in buying me out. Which he would be, so it was time to make his day.

  I was glad Simon and Caroline would arrive today. I needed to know where I stood with the house and what they, and specifically Caroline, thought I would need to do to it. And of course, run everything by Clark.

  Clark of the broken nose, angry eyes, and washboard abs. Who would have thunk it? Not me. And speaking of washboard abs, as I turned into the driveway of my house, I saw Hank’s big truck parked there. I looked down at myself, half naked, trail dirty, and a bit bloody, and realized that this guy had never seen me at my best. Ah, well, wasn’t going to be today either.

  Pulling myself out of the car, I headed toward the barn, where I could hear the faint rustling of hay. He must be feeding Paul and Paula. Internally wincing at how terrible those names were, I poked my head around the corner carefully, not wanting to get hit with a mouthful of hay again.

  I looked in, then up, and there he was. Once more, with the pitchfork and the awesome. Once more, with the no shirt and the hot. Once more, with the stunning curve of his spine as it dipped toward the small of his back, each vertebrae carefully selected and placed into position by the hand of God, or at least someone with a sense of divine proportion. Vertebrae. Mmm.

  “Hey,” I called out. He didn’t even turn, which was okay. I could indulge in some more back porn.

  “It is,” he answered in a bored voice.

  “No, I meant . . . oh boy.” I walked farther in, sunbeams pouring through the space between the old barn boards, illuminating the golden strands of hay, making the entire space glow. He was glowing to be sure, his skin tanned a deep and outdoorsy bronze, slick with sweat and promise. I wondered if my skin would slip against his, or would it create just enough friction to set fire to everything in between.

  I had a sudden vision of being thrown down on a cushiony pillow of hay, one strand in his mouth as he lazily drove into me, his jaw tight and clenched. Not only on the hayseed, but in order to contain his words of love and devotion, the honey-laced poems he’d undoubtedly been creating in his mind ever since I had the nerve to blow into his town, his world, and make him change his mind about anything and everything he’d ever believed in. He’d kept silent, keeping his devotion to himself, until this day, when the sight of my body overwhelmed his stoic nature, his steely constitution to resist me. Today, the ravaging would begin.

  I waited expectantly. And waited. And waited some more. He literally stood there with his back to me, shoveling hay, knowing I was there. This onion was going to be harder to peel than I thought. Just as I was about to turn around and head back to the house, he finally threw down his pitchfork and turned toward me.

  “What happened to the other guy?” he asked, starting for the ladder. His top half disappeared for a moment, giving me the chance to admire his equally tantalizing bottom half.

  “Mmm?” I asked, my jaw falling open as my gaze caught on the deep indentation on either side of his heavenly carved abdominal muscles. He jumped the last few rungs, landing gracefully. He closed the distance between us, his eyes traveling over my smaller frame. A breeze blew in from one end of the barn, a kiss of sea air on my somewhat naked skin. T-shirt abandoned earlier for the cause of Clark, my skin now pebbled. Because of the wind? Or the proximity of the cowboy?

  I shifted my weight, leaning forward as he approached. His eyes lingered on my sports bra, and he let his fingertips follow. Dragging one across my collarbone, he touched my skin, then curled underneath the strap. “I assume this is someone else’s blood. Were you brawling before breakfast?” he asked, stringing more words than he’d uttered to me in our entire lifetimes together. He had an expression on his face that I could only classify as . . . amusement?

  “Brawling?” I asked, barely breathing.

  “I assume you won, right?”

  “I. Was. Running,” I stammered, his nearness scrambling my brain and turning me into Forrest Gump.

  Confusion crossed his face, and he stepped back a bit. I stepped forward, not wanting to widen the space between us. “I accidentally punched someone. On a mountain.”

  I cursed my brain and my inability to string together coherent sentences when this cowboy was near. Seriously, it was like I turned into a different person when alone with him.

  “Like I said, brawling before breakfast.” He winked (he winked!) and moseyed toward the barn door. And he was supremely qualified to bust out a mosey.

  “How’d you know I won?” I asked, testing out my own mosey as I followed him.

  He turned, leaning against the door, one arm over his head. Beef. To the motherfucking. Cake.

  “You look like you can take care of yourself. That’s why.”

  He moseyed away. I sneezed a dozen times.

  Had I peeled away a layer? Perhaps not, but I’d certainly scratched through that papery brown skin on the outside.

  I sneezed one more time, then headed for the shower.

  After my shower I put on my robe and wrapped a towel around my hair, then curled up on the bed for a few minutes to collect my thoughts.

  The idea of selling my company to my father had always felt like selling out. I’d created it, I managed it, I made a great living with it. On my own. But over the last year or so, I’d been longing to do something new. I couldn’t identify what that new thing was, just that it wasn’t in computers.

  Now, my company was a means to an end. Not only that, it was the right means to an end. I knew it would be in good hands, and that it would give me the freedom to start my something new out there, whatever that meant. I had some ideas though, one in particular that was just starting to bubble away back there, hiding behind practical thoughts. I’d put a pin in it for now.

  Curling my feet underneath me, I looked at my phone, simultaneously dreading and looking forward to this call. I scrolled through until I found Dad Office, and called my father. His secretary put me through.

  “Peanut! How are you?”

  “Hey, Dad,” I replied, rolling my eyes at the nickname as I always did. Secretly? I loved it. The nickname, no, but that I had a nickname.

  “How’s it out there in granola land?”

  “It’s pretty cool, actually. There’s a restaurant in town that has a cheesesteak on the menu—but on whole wheat bread!”

  “Blasphemous,” he intoned gravely.

  “That’s exactly what I said!” We both laughed. I filled him in on the details of my trip so far, knowing that my mother had already likely given him a full report, but also knowing that my dad liked to hear it directly from
me. After a few minutes, he asked how long I was planning on staying.

  “Well, actually, that’s what I was calling to talk to you about. I think I’m staying.”

  He sighed. “You think so, huh?”

  “I do.”

  He sighed again. “And what are you planning on doing with your business?”

  I took a deep breath. “Actually, that’s the reason I’m calling. Still interested in buying it?”

  “Wow. You really are staying out there.”

  We were both quiet. I swallowed hard around the surprising lump in my throat.

  “Okay, let’s talk terms here, what were you thinking?” he said briskly, all business.

  After twenty minutes or so we had the beginning of an agreement. Several stipulations of course, and pending an independent review of my books and balance sheets, but the initial number put forth was well in line not only to cover the changes I’d need to make to the property, but to help me really make a new life out here.

  It was more of a relief than I thought it’d be. No one had signed on a dotted line yet of course, but all signs were leading that way. I’d be on my own, more money in the bank, and an entirely new life ahead of me.

  Almost three thousand miles away from my family.

  That dratted lump rose once more in my throat, making me cough a bit. My eyes were stinging a little as well. Fanning myself, I made to get off the call.

  “So, let’s talk about this again in a few days, huh? Let this sit a bit,” he said, his own voice a little gruff.

  “Good idea.”

  “Your mother and I are talking about coming out there soon to see you. When might be a good time?”

  “You guys can come out whenever you want, you know that.” I sniffed a bit. Argh.

  “Well, I’ll let you and your mother plan those details. Be glad to see you, Peanut,” he said.

  “You too, Dad.”

  We hung up and I stayed on the bed for a few minutes. Almost thirty years old, a woman who’d owned her own business for years, and my father could still make me feel three feet tall in the very best of ways. I tugged the towel off my head, my now-dry hair sticking out in all directions like I’d been electrocuted. Wiping off my face, I looked at the time and realized I needed to kick it into high gear. I scrambled off the bed and went to get myself in some kind of order.

  I had company coming.

  I stood in the doorway, watching for Simon’s car. They were due any minute. Caroline had texted me when they hit the edge of town, and as I bounced from foot to foot I realized I was anxious. Anxious for them to get there, anxious for them to see my new house. It was a good feeling, welcoming someone into your home. And even though it had only been my home for a few days, with lots of work to be done, I was eager to show it off a bit.

  Walking the length of the front porch and back again, I saw a twinkle of headlights down at the bottom of the driveway. And soon, an old Range Rover was parked in front of the house, with four of the best-looking people I’d ever seen spilling out onto the crushed gravel. Seriously, it was like watching the opening credits on a TV series.

  A couple I guessed to be Mimi and Ryan came from the backseat. She was shorter than I was, and I was used to being the shortest in most rooms. Tiny and petite, she had flawless golden skin and shiny black hair. She held hands with Ryan, who was tall and lean with curly blond hair. It was longish, pushed behind his ears, and green eyes danced behind horn-rim glasses. It did not escape my attention that when Mimi dashed in front of him, he clearly checked out her ass.

  That right there said a lot about this couple. Even if you missed the enormous sparkly ring on her left hand.

  And climbing out of the front of the Range Rover was one of my favorite people on the planet, Simon Parker. Dark hair, chiseled jaw, he was the kind of handsome everyone agreed on. No matter your type, no matter your preference, Simon had that generally agreed upon kind of good looks. And charm. A charm I was immune to romantically speaking, and always had been. But even though we had only ever been good friends, I could still appreciate a gorgeous guy. And speaking of gorgeous, his girlfriend was tall and slim and blond and stunning. The kind of girl you wanted to dislike on sight, but then she opened her mouth and she won you over. Funny, a girl’s girl, she could hold her own with Handsome over there, and that was something most women couldn’t do. Points for that in my book.

  “Hey, Parker.”

  “Hey, Franklin,” he said, catching me into a close hug. I patted his backside and winked at Caroline over his shoulder. I saw Mimi shoot her a glance, and Caroline just waved her off. More points. She knew she had nothing to worry about.

  “Quite the spread you’ve got here, Viv,” he said, setting me down and taking in the view.

  “Speaking of spread, what’s up, homeboy?” I laughed, patting his stomach. He smoothed his T-shirt over his still very flat tummy.

  “It’s my girl. She bakes me pie. All the time.” He winked at Caroline, and she blushed.

  “I hear you, there’s a pizza in this town that’s as good as Tony’s back home. I’ve been eating it way too much,” I said, pulling up my own shirt and smacking my still-flat tummy. “Want to run tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, sure, that’d be great. I brought my bike too. There’s supposed to be some great trails near here. Have you had a chance to check any of them out?”

  “Nah, don’t have my bike out here yet, I need to—Christ, where are my manners?” I asked, turning around as Simon and I were halfway up the steps. Caroline, Ryan, and Mimi were standing in a semicircle in the driveway, grinning up at our retreat toward the house. I ran back down the steps, reaching out to hug Caroline.

  “Girl, I’m a terrible host. How the hell are you?”

  “Great, now that I’m here. I’m dying to see this house! And of course, you know, you too.” She smiled, swatting me on the butt as she caught up to Simon.

  “And you must be Mimi and Ryan, nice to meet you!” I said, shaking both their hands. Ryan started to say something, but Mimi was nearly bursting out of her skin.

  “I heard a rumor that when you inherited this house, it was filled with all kinds of things! Things and stuff and very unorganized, is that right?” she asked, dancing from one foot to the other.

  “Um, well, yeah, that’s true. I’ve gotten some of the bedrooms upstairs started but there’s still junk everywhere and—”

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” she chanted, pumping her fist in the air and skipping up the steps, almost plowing Caroline over in her haste to get inside the house.

  “She on the crack?” I asked her fiancé, who laughed out loud.

  “She’s a professional organizer. Your house will be like crack to her.”

  “Then she’s going to need rehab after this,” I warned, leading him and the rest of his friends inside. Where Mimi had already gone. Where she was turning circles, cheeks already pink with excitement over the stacks and piles crying out for attention. And someone with a tool belt full of labels and black Sharpies.

  Once inside, I had this sudden sense of . . . unease? Shame? I saw the house the way I did that first day, so full of clutter and crap. And now that there were people in it, my default reaction was almost embarrassment, like I was the one who had done this. I could only imagine how Aunt Maude had felt, if she was overwhelmed with all this stuff and had no clue where to start.

  But they all seemed to take everything in stride. The guys went immediately to the back window, looking out at the view and exclaiming over the height of the waves. But the girls were staring, wonder apparent in their expressions. That made me happy.

  Mimi was back to bouncing, her eyes lighting on every pile, every stack, every opportunity to restore order and balance. Caroline was taking in every detail, every spindly thingie, every woodwork dealio. Every knickknack that looked old and original, she’d zeroed in on it immediately.<
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  “Viv, this house is incredible,” she breathed, running her fingers down the intricately carved bannister.

  “Right? I spent a summer out here when I was a kid, and I never forgot it,” I replied, scooping up an errant tube sock and putting it back into the bag it’d jumped from. “The house isn’t quite how I remember it, but it still has the feel, you know?”

  “Can I see the rest?” she asked, and Mimi popped her head around the corner from the dining room.

  “Yeah, can we see the rest?” she echoed, holding one of the Johnny Mathis records.

  “Of course, come on,” I replied, waving the boys forward as we headed into the kitchen. And as I walked them through the house, they all reacted differently to different things.

  Caroline almost had to be hosed down when she saw the stove. “There’s a vintage Magic Chef stove? Are you kidding me?”

  Mimi almost bounced her little feet right off when she saw the stacks and stacks of old Life magazines. “These go back to the forties, like the 1940s!”

  They all had the standard response to the legless knight—“weird”—and the claw-foot tub—“awesome!” The girls were reduced to dreamy sighs when they saw my bedroom and the view I woke up to every morning. The breeze was blowing off the Pacific today, the water calm and the bluest blue. Lacy curtains flapped in the window, freshly laundered and white as snow. All this room needed now was a coat of paint and—

  “We should do a creamy ivory on the walls, accented by this stunning woodwork, which will need to be restored of course. We can pick up the deep green from this quilt and create some custom throw pillows, and I’m thinking a deep plush rug, the kind you lose your slippers in. And then over the bed we can—”

  “Babe, easy,” Simon said, slipping his arms around Caroline’s waist as she spun every which way in the room, clearly seeing an entirely new room in her head. She turned beet red, looking my way.

  “I’m so sorry, it’s just a house like this, with this much natural beauty, it’s amazing, Viv. Truly amazing,” she said, smiling genuinely at me.