Knowing about it didn't change anything.
But as his thoughts whirled in circles, he realized he was pressing his palm against his forearm where she'd touched him earlier.
6
"This is stupid," Casey muttered.
The words were loud enough for Jilly to hear where she was sitting on a picnic blanket with Lindsey. They'd caught a late fall warm front, and balmy sunshine spilled over her shoulders. She had Lindsey's first grade homework binder open in her lap, and they were working on simple subtraction problems. It was slow going for Lindsey.
And Casey was sorely trying Jilly's patience.
The boys were supposed to be scraping old paint off of Noah's house. But PJ was the only one putting any effort into it. Casey was barely dragging the paint scraper against the old wood siding.
Painting the front of Noah's house was going to take forever at this pace.
She didn't know why he'd changed his mind. She'd been on pins and needles all day yesterday as she'd plowed the eastern field. She'd heard nothing from the sheriff's office.
And then, out of the blue, she'd fielded a text from Aiden that had said she and the boys could remove the graffiti.
She'd been so relieved that Noah wasn't reporting them that she'd shed a quick tear. And then she'd girded her loins and called the social worker herself to report it. The woman had made a note in the kids' file and scared Jilly a little with a reminder that they were keeping a close watch, since this was her first placement.
Her first and maybe her last, if Jilly had anything to say about it.
She'd gotten off the phone with hope singing in her veins.
They'd spent two hours attempting to remove the paint yesterday.
It turned out, spray paint was impossible to remove.
Rubbing alcohol had done nothing. She'd bought a product at the hardware store that claimed to remove anything. And it had done the trick for the black spray paint. Only it had also removed the original paint from the house.
The paint was old anyway, peeling in spots.
So she'd given up on removing the paint and texted Aiden, asking if they could repaint the house. Noah—via Aiden—had agreed to them completing the front only.
She'd decided to take what she could get.
Noah hadn't spoken to them or even peeked his head out the door since yesterday. He'd completely ignored their presence since they'd arrived right after school let out. She hadn't expected any different.
She’d pretty much figured out that Casey was the instigator just by his hateful attitude. She'd spoken to both the boys at the same time, and neither one would tattle on the other. So she'd told them she would have to punish them both. They were grounded from TV for a month, and they would fix the problem they'd created at Noah's house. PJ had been quiet. Casey had been angry.
She'd had this grand plan that the two of them would work together, see the error of their ways, and she'd magically be a good mom.
Yeah, it wasn't working out like that.
PJ was doing a decent job. He'd scraped the bottom three feet of the house from the corner to the window that looking into Noah's office. She’d peeked inside earlier as she’d helped the boys set up.
Casey was basically doing nothing.
And she didn't know how to make him pick up the slack. She didn't want to do corporal punishment. By the way he'd flinched away from her once when she'd been reaching for an upper cabinet in the kitchen, she guessed that someone, at some point, had hit him.
That made her see red.
No kid deserved to be hit.
But she also didn't know how to get through to him. Maybe a spanking would help. Maybe it wouldn’t. At least it would be something. There had to be another way.
"I'm hungry," PJ said under his breath.
It wasn't an outright complaint.
She felt for the kid. It'd been a long ninety minutes since she'd picked the three of them up from school.
She settled Lindsey on the blanket with her homework binder and picked up the extra paint scraper. She joined the boys in the middle of the house, between the both of them.
"What are you doing?" PJ asked.
She put her weight into the scraper, took a few satisfying strips of old paint off. "The faster we get done, the faster we get home so we can eat dinner."
"You're helping us?" PJ's voice held a note of barely-concealed hope.
Casey only grunted, not looking at her.
A little hurt, she kept scraping. Did all parents feel like they were floundering in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight and no life preserver?
Then, she got an idea.
"I betcha I can do two boards all the way across before you can do one," she told PJ. She tapped two horizontal boards that were at eye-level for her. There was one board at eye-level to PJ. It would be a perfect competition.
"What do I get if I win?" the boy asked skeptically.
"Hmm. Extra brownie after dinner?"
PJ's eyes lit up. "We're having brownies?"
She'd discovered early on that they were his favorite dessert. She sent a peripheral glance to the other boy. "You want in, Casey?"
Casey shrugged.
But when she called out, "Go!" and PJ started scraping with a vengeance, Casey was suddenly working his scraper faster than he had all day.
"Hey!" she exclaimed when she reached the halfway point and met PJ. He blocked her progress with his body while he kept scraping.
She couldn't help but laugh as he stuck out his tongue. "Still gonna beat you," she said as he finally moved past and she could reach the wall again.
"No way," Casey said.
A-ha. He was engaging.
"C'mon, c'mon," PJ murmured.
And Casey started smack talking. "You're never gonna make it, Jilly!"
"Almost... there..." grunted PJ.
So was she.
And then, "I won!" PJ crowed.
She had three inches of paint left on her top board. She moved to give the boy a fist bump. "Good job. You, too, Casey." The older boy had almost made it to the end of his board, just above PJ's.
Casey looked away, but she thought she saw a glimmer of pride in his eye.
And then she realized they were missing someone. "Where's Lindsey?"
* * *
Jilly's belly laugh gave Noah chills.
He wasn't even outside. He was sitting on his couch with his laptop, trying to draft an email to Aiden.
There was a wall between him and Jilly. Siding, insulation, two-by-fours.
But he’d left the window cracked because of the beautiful weather outside.
She shouldn't be able to affect him like this.
Hearing her teasing Casey and PJ made him remember lazy summer afternoons spent picnicking and fishing by the pond on Cord's grandma's property. The old lady had been tough as nails, sometimes cruel to Cord. But, every once in a while, she'd been away from the ranch and Noah, Cord, and Callum, and sometimes Cord's little brother, West, had been able to hang out. During senior year, Iris and Jilly had starting joining them. If the fish weren't biting, they'd start an impromptu game of football. Or make a bonfire and roast marshmallows. Or lie in the back of Cord's pickup and dream out loud.
Jilly’s very presence reminded him of some of the happiest days of his life. And also, one of the worst.
He wanted to go out there and join her and the kids.
No, he didn't. He just wanted them gone.
He should never have agreed to let her fix the paint.
He couldn't stop thinking about her. And he needed to.
He didn't care about her at all.
Even though she sounded like the old Jilly he remembered. She didn't sound weak, or sick.
The boys and Jilly were shouting something.
He gave up on the email and got up to go into the kitchen. He was having a steak and baked potato for dinner tonight. He could start that.
And maybe, if he had something to concentrate
on, he would stop thinking about Jilly.
He almost didn't hear the scratching on the back door.
With a sigh, he went to open it and heard a quiet "meow."
Lindsey. Still meowing.
"Hi, kitty. You doing okay?"
"Meow." Yes.
Jilly's voice carried around the house, calling for Lindsey.
He crouched to her level. "Did you run away again? Does Jilly know you're back here?"
"Meow meow." No.
He heard rapid steps come around the back of the house. Multiple sets. Great.
"There you are," Jilly said. "What are you doing back here?" She sounded out of breath.
When Lindsey's "Meow" came, it was almost inaudible.
He heard the slow, forceful exhale through Jilly's nose. Irritated at the girl?
"I'm sorry, Noah," Jilly said.
"She wasn't bothering me." He didn't know where the words came from. He certainly hadn't meant to say them.
There was a pause as if Jilly didn't know what to say to that.
He didn't know what to say either. He considered simply closing the door, but he was afraid Lindsey might be on the threshold and in the way.
"I saw your computer through the window," one of the boys blurted. Maybe PJ? He couldn't be sure. "It's pretty sweet. Do you have any cool games?"
"Don't be stupid," came the mutter from the other boy—Casey?—but he was cut off quickly. Had Jilly made some gesture that Noah couldn't see?
"Noah wasn't much of a video game player back in high school," Jilly said quickly. And then, more slowly. "At least not based on how many times I kicked his butt at Mariokart."
He shot her an incredulous look. She was teasing him?
"How come you don't have any video games now?" The younger boy asked. His voice was projecting toward Jilly, not Noah. At least, that was how it sounded.
"Video games are a privilege," she said quietly. "We can talk later about how you might earn some time to play."
There was a moment of awkward silence, and Noah again thought about closing the door. This wasn't a neighborhood chat. Why were they still here?
"I saw that football up on your shelf," the younger boy said, voice projecting at Noah this time. "Did you play football? Before you were blind?"
"Running back," he said. His voice was suddenly rough. "It was a long time ago."
This time, the awkward pause was shorter.
"He wasn't that great," Jilly said.
"Excuse me?" He coughed the words out.
"Our high school was small," she said. "We needed every guy in our class to make up a full team. I mean, I could always outrun you in flag football."
He laughed out an incredulous burst of air. "No, you couldn't."
He couldn't believe she would tease him like this. Nobody had dared to since high school. Nobody had gotten close enough to have the chance.
"Don't believe her," he told the boys.
"Hey!" she said.
"We've never seen you play flag football," PJ said quickly.
"She probably doesn't even own a football," Casey muttered.
Ouch. Guess she wasn't the boy's favorite person. She was making him fix his mistake, after all.
After that, the conversational pause stretched long and awkward. Finally, Jilly excused herself and the kids.
It was the middle of the night when he woke from a visceral dream of playing football tackling a laughing Jilly. Holding her in his arms. Looking down into her smiling face. Seeing her sparkling eyes.
He rarely dreamed, but when he did, he almost always dreamed as if he were still a sighted person. And this one made him feel as if he'd been tackled by a three-hundred-pound lineman.
He went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face.
This was not gonna work. Two days of her presence outside his house, and he was dreaming about her.
Not good.
7
Just how long could it take to paint one wall?
This was day five—thank God they'd taken the weekend off—and the boys were on their second day of painting on primer. They still had to finish that and then paint the white layer.
Noah had to admit he was a little impressed that, other than the first day when she'd helped them scrape, Jilly had instructed and encouraged but had let the boys do the work themselves. She was sticking to her guns with the punishment.
Hearing her voice was torture. Every day, it reminded him of the past and what he'd lost. So he'd made a plan to keep from hearing it today.
He was putting his plan into place when he heard her car in the drive. It was a mild afternoon, and he had the window open, making it much easier to hear the car doors slam. The boys were chattering—no, arguing—about a playground basketball game.
He had his computer programs cued up and waiting until they stopped clattering with the paint can when a small voice piped up from the window.
"Meow."
He took off his headphones and spun in the desk chair, though he didn't stand
"We brought you something." Jilly. Of course.
A warm, sugary, chocolatey smell floated to him on the breeze.
"That's not necessary." But, oh, it was difficult to say the words. He had a sweet tooth, and his mouth was already watering. He could practically taste the treat, whatever it was.
"Meow."
"Lindsey and I made this chocolate pie, and she wanted to share it with you."
He knew how stubborn Jilly was. He was going to end up with the dessert whether he wanted it or not.
He stood, heart tap-dancing as he strode to the window. "Is that true?" he asked the girl. "Did you make this for me?"
"Meow."
At this proximity, the scents of chocolate, flour, sugar, and cinnamon were much stronger. As if they'd both ended up with the pie-makings all over them.
He was terribly conscious of Jilly. So he ignored her and spoke only to Lindsey.
"Was it hard? Did it take a long time?"
"Meow meow." No. But that didn't take away the pleasure he felt that she'd been thinking about him.
"Thank you. I know I'll enjoy it." He reached out empty hands, prepared for Lindsey to thrust a pie plate into them.
But it was Jilly whose fingers brushed against his palms as she gently turned over a tin pie plate.
At least this time he'd been able to brace for the touch. He didn't let his face reveal how it affected him.
Some unspoken communication passed between woman and girl. He sensed it, but he wasn't a part of it.
"Bye," Lindsey whispered. He heard her footsteps fade away in the grass outside.
Somewhere nearby, the boys were still arguing. He could hear the dissonant cadence of their voices, but the words weren't clear.
"She likes you," Jilly murmured softly. "I let her skip the afternoon at school. We called it a mental health day. I thought we'd go shopping or go to the park but she wanted to come home and make that pie for you."
She sounded as puzzled as he felt. Why? He'd done nothing to encourage the girl's trust or kindness.
When he didn't answer, she spoke again. "Maybe it's the whole grizzly bear-just-woke-up-from-hibernation vibe." He judged from the way her voice was fading that she was backing away. "I don't know. It's kind of a siren song for me too. That needs to be refrigerated."
The amused tone in her voice killed him. He could imagine the ornery smile that would be playing about her lips.
Teasing him again.
He wanted to shake her.
He wanted to kiss her.
He did neither. He abandoned the window and took the pie to the kitchen and put it in the fridge.
When he returned to his office, he didn't hear woman or girl. Only the brush of two paintbrushes against the wall outside. The piquant, chemical scent of paint was there, but not overpowering.
Time for his plan.
He occasionally recorded books that were in the public domain and donated the recordings to a free
online library for the visually impaired. He'd chosen one today that had been a childhood favorite of his. It was about a boy who lived alone in the wilds of Canada and the dog who came into his life and changed everything.
If he was working, he would have to concentrate. Push all thoughts of Jilly and the kids out of his brain. There would be no room for them.
So he started reading in his halting way. He listened to the computer read one sentence in his headset. Then he repeated it aloud.
He hadn't thought about how awkward it would be to have the boys listen while he recorded. His process meant there were long pauses between sentences. Aiden acted as his sound engineer and would later edit them out, along with any mistakes. The little slip-ups where he mispronounced a word disappeared with the magic of technology.
Noah's face went a little hot as he began reading aloud, but he forgot about it as he became absorbed into what had been one of his favorite childhood stories.
During every pause, he could hear the muffled sounds of the boys still at work, their paintbrushes sweeping across the wall.
He kept reading.
* * *
Jilly didn't know whether Noah's strategy was to keep the boys interested as they worked on his house, or to keep from having to interact with them.
Whatever he'd meant by recording what he was recording, it was working. Both boys were wrapped up in the story, though Casey was pretending to ignore it. She kept seeing the tilt of his head as he tried to listen when his painting took him too far away from the window.
Honestly, she'd thought the boys too old to enjoy listening to a book being read aloud.
Wrong. One hundred percent wrong.
Maybe it was the story. She couldn't stop listening as a boy and his dog got lost in a blizzard in the wilderness. Lindsey was lying on her stomach on the picnic blanket, enjoying the sun and captured by the story.
Or maybe it was the man reading.
Jilly didn't want to miss one word. She hadn't realized Noah was so talented. His rich baritone was like honey. Flowing smoothly, but not too fast. Something about it stuck. And it was so delicious that she couldn't get enough.
She would've listened to him read a phone book.
Cowgirl Next Door (Sutter's Hollow Book 3) Page 5
