“Covering the farm mural?”
Chelsea’s eyes narrowed. “Not you, too.”
“What did I say?”
“Brent painted a new mural for Finnley at the new house. Why does everyone think I should keep the original? Finnley’s not moving back in.”
“Uh. Who thinks painting over it is wrong? Has Brent said anything? Or Allison?”
Chelsea focused on the fork shoving eggs around her plate. “No. Not them.”
Keanan stared at her. “Then who?” As far as he knew, the topic hadn’t come up at a team meeting. Why should it? The apartment was Chelsea’s until deemed otherwise. No one else consulted about paint colors. He certainly didn’t expect any input on his choices for his new home. Not that he intended to paint the galvanized walls.
“Never mind.”
He opened his mouth to challenge her words, but what would it gain? Nothing. She spent too much time wondering what other people thought of her. Reading into what she thought she saw. But it wasn’t his place to point that out.
“Are you painting the entire room, or only the one wall?”
She shot him a look. What it meant, he couldn’t tell. “The green on the other three walls isn’t my favorite, but it will be okay. Allison had extra of her dark gray paint, and that should cover the mural fine.”
If it wasn’t Allison then who was Chelsea complaining about? He’d never understand women. “I see,” he said with a nod.
Sierra rounded the peninsula into the kitchen and stood facing him and Chelsea. She looked from one to the other.
“Did you have enough breakfast, Sierra? There’s more if you want it.”
“No thanks. I got plenty. It was scrumptious.”
“Thank you.”
“Yes, it’s really good.” Chelsea glanced his way.
He studiously avoided meeting her gaze. “What are you up to today, Sierra?”
She grinned and pointed a finger at him. “Sewing window coverings for your grain bin, buddy. Want to help, Chels? I’ll help you paint later.”
Chelsea picked up her tea and took a sip.
Keanan knew she wouldn’t help him if it hadn’t been decreed from on high. Sierra had asked him last week about his preferences for his windows. Well, why not? Yes, trees nearly surrounded his new home, but that didn’t mean curtains were a bad idea, so long as there were no frills or lace.
He couldn’t resist a little dig of his own, though. “For window covering assistance, Chelsea, I might help you paint, too.”
She narrowed her gaze at him over the rim of her teacup.
Chapter 8
She’d only agreed to help her sister because she was dying of curiosity. It had been three weeks since they’d all tamped straw as insulation into the gap between the two galvanized steel circles that formed Keanan’s home, and Chelsea had heard some of the group talking about how well the place was coming along. Her imagination had come up blank.
Chelsea stopped in the middle of the curved path when the round house came into view. Yes, house. Its sea-green door reminded her of Keanan’s eyes, and the natural wood that framed it and the windows glistened with a protective finish. Small corrugated overhangs for each — and a longer one over the door — had been fitted into the wall. To keep rain from ruining the frames? Must be.
In her mind’s eye, a flower basket hung from the door awning’s brace, while a rectangular planter sat along the edge of the concrete pad in front of the door. This place could look downright welcoming. Who knew?
Sierra nudged her. “Told you it looked great. Brent’s been working here most evenings, and it turns out Keanan’s pretty handy with a hammer himself.”
Was there anything he wasn’t good at? Chelsea clung to the remnants of her dislike for Keanan, but couldn’t even manage to think overgrown hippie with venom attached anymore. Okay, fine. He wasn’t a hippie; he just had long hair. He was even a nice guy. She hated to admit it, even to herself.
“Have you seen the inside lately?” she asked her sister.
“Are you kidding me?” Sierra linked her arm through Chelsea’s. “That’s why we’re really here. To do some snooping.”
Chelsea grinned. “Well, let’s do it, then.”
“Anyone home?” Sierra nudged the door, which had been left ajar, and stuck her head around.
“Come on in!” Brent called.
If Brent were here working, likely Keanan would be, too. Chelsea followed Sierra onto the smooth concrete floor, etched with warm amber and gold tones much like the floor of the big house. On her left, the underside of an open staircase begged for a coat closet. Straight ahead — when she’d stepped beside her sister — several segments of boxed cabinetry sat in a jumble and, to her right, Brent and Keanan lifted a sliding door to an industrial-looking track. That must be Keanan’s bathroom behind it.
“What do you think?” Brent turned toward them, brushing his hands together.
Keanan rolled the door back and forth.
“It’s amazing!” gushed Sierra. “Wow, it’s come a long way. I can really see the potential here now.”
Brent laughed. “We’re mostly past potential and on to reality. Install the cabinets and the wood stove, and Keanan is good to go.”
Keanan inspected the track.
If Chelsea hadn’t been watching him, she’d never have caught the surreptitious glance he sent her way. Something warmed inside her. He cared about her opinion? Since when?
“Looking good.” That was about all she could come up with.
He turned slightly. “You think so?”
Actually, it did. She’d thrown an engagement party in an upscale Portland loft. This grain bin seemed to contain the best of that space but in a smaller footprint. Doubtless for a lot less coin, too.
She needed to break eye contact. Badly. Chelsea pointed at the cabinetry boxes. “What type of finish on those?”
Brent crossed the area and slit one of the boxes to reveal a light-toned wood with strong markings. “Hickory,” he announced. “Keanan scored these from a display at a hardware store in Spokane. Last year’s models.”
Chelsea strolled over and ran her hand over the smooth finish. “It’s beautiful. That finish will look good in here.”
“It passes inspection?”
She turned to Keanan and came out with a genuine smile. “Yeah, I think so.”
His green eyes crinkled and his mouth curved slightly. “Glad you like it.”
He was definitely focused on her, not Sierra. An uncomfortable, unfamiliar feeling simmered in Chelsea’s gut. She pulled her gaze away and caught a smirk on her sister’s face. That warranted a glare, for sure, but Sierra’s grin only widened.
Whatever.
Chelsea strode toward the bathroom, and Keanan stepped aside, as expected. Straight ahead, a shallow sink cabinet sat under a narrow window. To her left the floor sloped toward a drain. To her right, some sort of giant toilet. She frowned.
“Composting unit.” Keanan’s voice came from right behind her. “This place is too far from the septic field to hook into the main farm system.”
She didn’t even want to know what that was. It sounded disgusting. She pointed the other way. “Are you tiling the shower?” There might be other options, but she couldn’t think of any.
Keanan was silent so long she glanced back. He loomed right behind her, close enough to touch. Not that she wanted to. His green eyes gazed down at her. “I could use help picking out the tile.” Then his mouth clamped shut.
Was he asking her? What had shifted, and when?
“I’m sure you’d have some good ideas. If you wanted.”
He was asking. Her mind zoomed into a tile shop where they’d pick out tile together as though she lived there. With him. Like a couple.
Too much. Way too much. “That would be fun.” Oh, wait. Her mouth hadn’t gotten the memo.
His lips curved in a small smile. “Really? Maybe next Saturday we can run down to Wynnton.” The smile disappeared and
his eyes chilled. “I guess that means I’m asking for transportation.” He ran his fingers through his mass of dark red hair and ducked his head.
Of course that’s all it was. A hippie with no car needing a ride. But still, he’d asked her, of all the people on the farm. “Yeah, we can do that. Next week is good.”
Keanan’s head jerked up and the warmth returned to his eyes. “You don’t mind? I’ve never been in this situation before.”
What situation? Needing building supplies? Guess his old tent didn’t run to tile.
“Hey, Keanan, is this the layout you’d planned?”
His eyes searched hers for a long moment before he turned to Brent’s call.
The tiny bathroom seemed much larger without his presence. She needed a moment to compose herself before rejoining the others. What kind of tile would be best? What size of a budget did he have? They wouldn’t be able to use large squares on the curving outside wall, already fitted with plywood bolted to the steel, but six-inch tiles would probably work. A band or two of glass mosaics might add some sparkle.
Chelsea inhaled deeply, still smelling Keanan’s musk. Then she let out her breath and leaned across the small sink to the view outside. This was crazy. She was not attracted to this guy. She did not like this grain bin house, and she definitely did not like the idea of a composting toilet. What she needed was to get a hold of herself, stop fantasizing, and go measure windows for curtains.
She turned back into the living area. Sierra’s eyebrows rose above twinkling eyes. Chelsea shook her head and rolled her own. This was so not happening.
* * *
Keanan tilted his head. The thirty-inch sink base sat beneath the double windows with a twenty-four-inch drawer section to the right and a two-door base flanking each side.
“You sure that’s enough kitchen for you?” asked Brent.
Somewhere behind him, Chelsea watched. He could feel her presence. Keanan itched to ask her what she thought, but he didn’t dare put her on the spot again. Not with her sister or Brent here, both probably jumping to conclusions.
Keanan measured the gap to the right of the sink base. Brent had left enough room for the bar fridge. He imagined a reclaimed-wood counter curving the length of the space with the two-burner stovetop inset on the left. Open shelves on either side of the windows.
He glanced at Brent. “I think it’s good. All I need is a place to fix coffee and toast, really. Make some popcorn.”
Sierra ran purple-tipped fingers across a cupboard. “That’s my favorite part of communal living, too. I’d rather cook for the gang a few times a week than cook for two people three times a day.”
“Do you think it’s okay, then?” Keanan flicked a glance at Chelsea, who leaned against the bathroom doorjamb.
“You have as much kitchen as we do in the duplex,” Sierra replied. “I’ve found it to be enough.” She turned to her sister. “Don’t you think, Chels? You like to cook more than I do.”
Keanan’s eyes snagged on Chelsea’s eyes, the blue of a springtime sky.
She nodded, clearing her throat. “Good layout.”
“I have an island coming. With two stools so we can eat at it.” Keanan felt a flush creep up his neck. Where had those words come from? Yes, he could envision Chelsea, hair tied back with one of her flowered scarves, puttering around the little kitchen. Sitting at that island while he passed her a cup of tea. Curling up with him on a living room chair.
Maybe a love seat. Was there room for one? He scanned the area over by the curved stairs. He’d make room.
This place had been designed for one. Just for him. He’d never expected a desire to share his home. His life. His heart.
Keanan blinked and glanced back at Chelsea. She watched him, biting her lip. He grinned at her then turned the smile on the others, too. Not that he’d fool anyone.
Brent scooted a cabinet over a smidge, but Sierra winked at Keanan.
Oh, man. All he needed — all Chelsea needed — was her sister smelling blood. He’d seen how avidly this group watched Allison and Brent’s relationship last spring. He’d done it himself, wondering if they were ever going to mend their differences or if Brent would finish building Allison’s house and the farm school and disappear back to Coeur d’Alene, never to be heard from again.
Now Brent lived in a small apartment in town until his upcoming wedding to Allison. He still worked for his uncle at Timber Framing Plus with several contracts lined up around Galena Landing. These days he was building a mansion for Tyrell Burke, a neighboring beekeeper, and spending his evenings and weekends helping Keanan create this house out of a pair of grain bins. Brent refused payment, saying his needs were being met and this was his current contribution to the farm community.
“Got a tape measure?” asked Sierra.
“Uh. Yes.” Keanan reached into his toolbox and handed one over. “Measuring windows?”
“Yep. Chelsea and I have a lot of sewing to do.” She tilted her head at him. “Want to see the fabric I picked?”
He glanced between Sierra and Chelsea. “Certainly.”
Sierra lifted swatches from her bag. “These are from Rosemary’s stash. She’d planned to make a couple of more quilts for Romania with them, but offered them to me instead.” She grinned at Keanan as her hand smoothed the cloth. “Or rather, to you.”
The top piece was a solid green, not that different from the green of his door, so that would be okay. A solid blue peeked from beneath it. The color of Chelsea’s eyes. More than okay. Beneath that? It was hard to tell. “Let me see.”
Sierra arranged the three pieces with the print in the center. It was kind of wild, swirly, with blues and greens and browns. Then she draped a mottled golden brown across them all.
No flowers. No pastels. Nothing too girly. Good. He glanced at Chelsea, who fingered the fabric. Maybe not girly enough? Her presence zapped his confidence.
“I like them.” He tried to sound in charge, but heard the question in his own voice. “Where are you putting each color?”
Sierra laughed. “Wherever you want.” She met his gaze.
Keanan shook his head. “Surprise me.”
* * *
The upstairs was roomier and brighter than Chelsea expected, with windows on every side. There’d even be room for a king-size bed up here. With Keanan’s height, that would likely be his choice, unless he preferred to keep sleeping on the mat and sleeping bag that lay on the wooden floor.
Sierra nudged her. “I’m wondering if the fabrics are too bold. Too masculine.”
Bold and masculine about summed up Keanan Welsh. His expression had seemed to approve of the fabrics.
Chelsea raised her eyebrows at her sister. “Why would you say that?”
Sierra lowered her voice. “How long do you think our Keanan will stay a bachelor? I’d hate to have to redo all the window coverings in a few months when he decides to get married.”
Why couldn’t the heat creeping up her face dissipate instead? Chelsea turned away from her sister to look out the nearest window with its view of evergreens up the mountain. “Who knows what goes on in his mind? I don’t think you can count on a change in his status any time soon.”
“I should probably inject a bit of purple or pink.”
Chelsea pivoted. “As if.”
“Aw, come on.” Sierra glanced down the staircase then stepped closer to Chelsea. “I saw you two staring in each others’ eyes.”
“You’re imagining things. That’s the problem with all of you mushy in-love people here at Green Acres. You think no one can be happy without a spouse. That just because Keanan and I are the only single people on the property, we must be destined for each other.” Chelsea realized her voice had risen. Hopefully not enough to get the guys’ attention downstairs. “Quit trying to be a matchmaker. I’m so done with that.”
“Whoa, don’t get your knickers in a knot.”
“Do you have all the measurements jotted down? I need out of here.” She didn’t wa
nt to think about Keanan Welsh and his cozy little round house. She didn’t want to think about the king-size bed he’d undoubtedly put right over there. She didn’t want to think about his green eyes and the intense way he looked at her sometimes.
Air. She needed air.
Chapter 9
Keanan loaded three tacos on his plate and took a seat across the round table from Tracy with his back to the serving area. This put both group leaders relatively equidistant from each guest in their Alpha group, plus he wouldn’t be distracted by Chelsea. He had a job to do here.
Wesley slid into the chair next to him then jerked his head toward the serving table. “She’s here again. Man, I need to introduce myself. She’s hot.”
No need to wonder whom Wesley meant. Chelsea was the only kitchen staff who’d been here every week and often the only one under fifty. Keanan ought to cheerfully introduce the pair, but what would he do if they hit it off? No. He couldn’t do it.
Wesley elbowed him, apparently oblivious. “Who is she? Do you know her name?”
Chelsea definitely could be classified as hot, even adding lettuce to a bowl. Clad tonight in a long-sleeved floral top matching both her intense blue eyes and her pink glasses, she also wore slim jeans that tapered to bright pink heels. Crazy shoes for being on her feet for so long, but she didn’t seem to notice as she scurried back and forth to the kitchen.
Memory returned and he glanced at Wesley. “Chelsea. Her name is Chelsea Riehl.”
The young guy’s eyes narrowed for a second. “Wouldn’t want to interfere.”
Keanan shook his head. No more looking at Chelsea tonight. At all. “Nothing to interfere with. She’s only a friend.” Tell that to his dreams. Ever since last weekend when she and Sierra had been in and out of his space hanging bits of fabric, he’d seen her everywhere in his little home. He’d blinked her away so many times that anyone watching him would think he had a nervous condition.
Plum Upside Down (A Farm Fresh Romance Book 5) Page 6
