by Anna Argent
His eyes were gritty from all the dust he’d kicked up, and it took him a minute to see his watch well enough to read that it was barely past eight in the morning.
He pushed himself up from the air mattress enough to peer out of the window. Below was a rig hauling a giant metal trash bin up the hill to the house. Daisy was standing at the side of the driveway, guiding the big truck closer.
His heart thumped hard at the sight of her, and he tried to convince himself that it was anger at her invasion that had caused the reaction, rather than his childish loneliness.
With muscles stiff from exertion, he pulled his stiff, dusty jeans back on and hurried down the steps. Loud enough to be heard over the backup siren on the truck, he bellowed, “What the hell, Daisy?”
She ignored him and gave the driver two thumbs up. The rig rolled the giant metal container onto his weed-riddled front lawn.
Mark waved at the driver. “Take it back. I didn’t order that.”
The man behind the wheel frowned, and hopped out of his truck carrying a grimy clipboard. Daisy scampered over to him, digging deep in her pocket for some cash. Before Mark had the time to even cross the space to them, the driver took her cash, raced back to his truck and went down the drive faster than was safe.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” demanded Mark.
She had the nerve to grin at him. “Helping an old friend with a big job.”
Help him? Hell, no. “Did I ask for your help?”
“Nope. And really,” she said with a gratingly sunny smile, “should you have to ask? I don’t think so.”
“I don’t know what you think you’re going to accomplish here, but you might as well stop while you’re ahead. I don’t care how much you try to butter me up, I’m not going to that wedding.”
“This isn’t about the wedding.” She turned away and hiked back to her work van, lifting her legs high to wade through the weeds.
He had no choice but to follow her if he wanted to keep fighting. And right now, he really wanted to keep fighting. “No? Then what’s it about?”
She leaned into her van and pulled out a tall paper cup of coffee. Real coffee. Not the instant shit he brewed on the wood stove that always seemed to taste like a rusted trash can, no matter how strong he made it.
Her smile was blindingly bright as she offered him the cup. “Lots of sugar and cream, right?”
Mark stifled a groan of need. He still wasn’t fully awake, and here she was offering him temptation in a cup.
“I don’t want your coffee,” he grated out.
“Fine then. Just dump it out. I’ve got my own.” She shoved it into his hands, and he had no choice but to take it or let it hit the ground. And once it was in his hand, driving away the morning chill in the air, beckoning him with its scent, there was no way he was wasting a drop.
The first sip was heaven. The second was even better. By the third, he’d forgotten all about why he’d been mad a minute ago.
“You just sit down and enjoy that,” she said. “I have a few things to carry in.”
“Things?”
She patted his bare shoulder. “Nothing to worry about. I won’t go getting my girl germs all over your hovel. Promise.”
Mark flinched at her touch. Her hands were a spot of warmth inside the morning chill. Her golden blond hair caught and held the sunlight. A dusting of freckles swept across her nose and cheeks. Her green eyes were so bright he could barely stand to look for more than a second. A shiny layer of lip gloss tinted her mouth, and drew his attention for a moment too long.
Her gaze dipped down to his naked chest, and her smile faltered. A moment later, it came back again, only this time he could tell that it was forced.
She swallowed hard and walked away to the back of her van. He looked down at his chest to see what had upset her, but all he could see was dirt layered over muscle. He knew he’d lost weight based on how his clothes fit, but he hadn’t realized how much until now. He was almost gaunt.
Her work boots trampled the long weeds, creating a path. The legs of her jeans were damp with dew all the way up to her knees. His eyes wandered higher until he was staring at her ass, enjoying the way the faded denim hugged her tight.
As soon as he realized what he was doing, he ripped his gaze away and focused on the steam rising from the lid of his coffee.
“Here,” she said when she came back carrying a folding lawn chair. “Go park yourself somewhere and enjoy your coffee.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Make breakfast.”
“And then we’ll talk?” he guessed.
“Nope. I’m done talking. You made your decision about skipping the wedding clear. I’m respecting it.”
It seemed too good to be true, but with the coffee lulling him into a false sense of security, and a real chair in his hand, it felt nice to let himself believe she meant what she said. So he did. He parked his lawn chair on the side of the porch that wasn’t falling apart and went inside to grab a shirt.
The one he’d left lying on the floor last night smelled like goat sweat, which meant he did, too. And no one should be subjected to that, especially not the bearer of coffee. A cold shower was never his idea of a good time, but knowing there was a hot cup of coffee waiting for him made the job bearable. A few minutes later, he was shivering and dressed in clean clothes.
The smell of bacon hit him as he went downstairs. His mouth watered, and his long-dead stomach woke up with a growl.
Daisy was in the kitchen, standing in front of a microwave. The sound of a gas-powered generator hummed outside.
He stopped in the kitchen doorway, shocked. “How did you get the generator to work like that?”
“I didn’t. You said yours wasn’t in great shape, so I brought my own.”
“To make breakfast?”
She glanced at him, but her gaze darted away so quickly he knew she was hiding something. “Among other things.”
“Like?”
“Coffee. I brought a coffeemaker since I didn’t see one.”
“What else did you bring?”
“Just a few necessities.”
He opened his mouth to interrogate her about why she needed anything, but the microwave beeped, and she said, “Bacon’s done,” before he could.
After that, asking her questions became irrelevant. She’d magically produced pancakes and orange juice, and his stomach refused to rent out his mouth for something as meaningless as questions when there was food to shove in it.
He hadn’t even realized that he was sitting at a real table until he was stuffed full.
“How did you manage all of this?” he asked, eyeing the dwindling spread she’d laid out.
“Frozen pancakes, pre-cooked bacon. No big deal.”
“And a table and chairs.”
She sipped her coffee. “I’m not eating on the floor again.”
“I don’t remember inviting you over to dine.”
“No, but since I’m going to be here a while, I wanted to at least be comfortable.”
His body was so happy over being full it took him a minute to register what she’d said. “Be here?”
“What did you think the trash bin was about? A little spring cleaning? I’m here to help with the house. I know my way around construction zones, so you don’t have to worry.” She licked a drop of syrup from her mouth, and for some reason, Mark couldn’t pull his gaze away from the sight. He was so distracted by her pink tongue moving over her mouth that he barely understood the words that came out of it.
And when he did, a burst of fury hit him like a blow torch. “I don’t want your help. All I want is to be left in peace.”
She lifted her slender shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t care what you want. I’m much more interested in what you need. And from the looks of things, you need my help.”
“Who the hell are you to tell me what I need?” he practically yelled.
She gave him a sad smile. “Your friend.�
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He didn’t need friends. All he needed was to be left the hell alone.
Mark shoved up from the table and started looking around for her things so he could stuff them back in her van. The first thing he saw was the microwave, which he unplugged and hauled out the door.
Daisy was right on his heels, tugging at his arm as if she could actually slow him down.
“You’re overreacting.”
“No, I’m packing your shit so you can go.”
“Is it really such a big deal to let me stay for a day or two and help you haul off the construction debris? Is your ego so fragile that it can’t handle even a little help?”
“This has nothing to do with ego. I know what you’re doing.”
“You say it like I have some sinister plan.”
“You do. You’re going to help me, pretending you want nothing, then at the end, after I owe you, you’ll call in your favor by guilting me into going to Ellen’s wedding.”
She scurried around until she was blocking his path, backing up in an effort to stay in front of him. If he didn’t stop, she was going to trip on a rock and fall. And his hands were too full to stop it from happening.
A cold sweat formed between his shoulder blades. The food in his gut churned and threatened to come back up. His only choice was to stop in his tracks and banish the image of Daisy’s crushed skull from his mind.
She looked up at him. He couldn’t read her expression—there wasn’t enough space in his brain left for such complicated puzzles—but whatever it was, it was sincere. “I swear I won’t ask you to go to the wedding ever again. The last thing I want is for you to suffer more than you already have by going back to that church. All I want to do is help a friend with a big job. After that, I’m outta here.”
“Why? Why do you want to help me so much?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do. If the tables were turned, you’d do the same thing for me. And most important, it’s what Janey would have wanted me to do. I don’t need any more reason than that.”
The mention of her name made a bleak sense of loss wash over him as it always did. Only this time, he wasn’t alone. He had a much-needed distraction standing right in front of him—a happy force of nature who wasn’t going to stop until she got what she wanted.
Maybe she was right. Maybe he could use a little help shoveling the place out. It wouldn’t take them long. She’d be gone in a day or two, and he’d be back to his old life.
“No wedding talk,” he demanded. “Promise me.”
She lifted her hand, and the beginnings of a smile of victory tilted her mouth. “I swear it.”
“Okay. You can stay,” he said. Even as the words left his mouth, he was certain that he’d regret them. It was merely a question of how and when.
Chapter Four
Daisy spent the entire day working, being careful not to interact with Mark more than absolutely necessary. The urge to nag him into going to the wedding was riding at the base of her skull, the words poised right behind her teeth. She knew if she screwed this up, he wouldn’t give her a second chance.
So she stayed silent, listened to music on her headphones, and shoveled pulverized plaster and lath until her back was aching and her arms burned with fatigue.
She’d just dumped the last wheelbarrow full of junk into the trash bin when she heard Mark’s deep voice rise up behind her. “It’s time to stop. Light’s nearly gone, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”
She wiped a gritty layer of sweat from her forehead and gave him a weary nod. “Works for me. I’m starving.”
“It’s my turn to cook. What do you want?”
“Don’t care. I only brought food I like, so it’s all good. What sounds good to.…” Her words died off as she finally looked at him. He’d shaven off his beard, and all that remained of his shaggy hair was a quarter inch of thick, dark stubble on his head.
He’d always been handsome, but he was more than that now. He still had the same classic good looks, but they’d become more masculine over the past couple of years. His jaw seemed wider in comparison to his leaner face. Grief had left its mark in deep, sleepless grooves under his eyes, but their color seemed brighter than they’d been yesterday. The skin that had been shaved was lighter than the rest of him, and seemed to glow in the waning light.
She wanted to run her fingers over his cheeks and feel the smooth glide of his skin under her fingertips. The urge was so strong, she had to shove her hands into her jeans to keep them to herself.
“Shocking, huh?” he asked. “Guess I didn’t realize how furry I’d gotten.”
“Yeah,” was all she could manage to squeeze out. Right now, she was torn between being glad he’d shaved off that awful beard and wishing he was still wearing it. At least before, she’d been able to keep her hands to herself. Mostly. Now, she wasn’t sure if she was that strong.
He rubbed his jaw. “Feels good. Thanks for bringing the clippers and razor.”
“Um, sure.”
He frowned at her. “You look beat. I heated up some bath water for you. It’s not piping hot, but you won’t have to worry about getting hit with the ice cubes that come flying out of the showerhead.”
“Thanks.”
“Let me add the last pot of water and you’ll be good to go.” He went inside, leaving her floundering.
Maybe this was a mistake. She’d thought she could shove her old feelings for him aside and just focus on helping him get his life back on track, but now she wasn’t so sure. Seeing him like that—like a ghost of the man she’d crushed on for more years than she cared to admit—it made her feel things. Selfish things.
Staying here with him, alone. Overnight. It was too intimate for her peace of mind. Sure, she’d bought her own air mattress and would put it in a separate room, but she knew better than to think she’d forget he was here. Within reach.
“You coming?” he called from one of the upstairs windows.
She forced her weary legs to move and tried not to think about later tonight. It didn’t matter that she wanted Mark. At least not more than it had ever mattered. He didn’t want her, and she wasn’t about to throw herself at him and give him a reason to send her packing.
She was good at pretending that they were just friends. She’d had years of practice. All she had to do was keep up the lie for a little while longer. Once she was out of here, at home and away from temptation, she’d find some quality time with her vibrator and as many fantasies of him as she could stand.
***
Mark woke up shivering in the middle of the night. It was nothing new, but having a houseguest was. No way was he going to let Daisy suffer after the long hours she’d put in shoveling up debris. The cold would make her achy and stiff.
There weren’t many walls still standing upstairs, and she’d chosen the only room that had any privacy left. Even so, like him, she only had three walls remaining, including the one between them. As he padded downstairs to add wood to the stove, he glanced toward her room and saw that it was empty. The bathroom door was open and the space inside dark.
Immediately, an overwhelming sense of panic gripped him. Had she gone down for a drink and tripped over something? Was she laying down there, unconscious or too weak to call for help? Or worse yet, it was already too late and he’d slept while she’d died.
As irrational as his fears were, they still tore through him, stripping away all logic until only ragged, breathtaking terror remained.
He galloped down the steps to find Daisy curled up on top of her air mattress, right in front of the stove. A cocoon of blankets hid all but her face, which was painted in a faint glow from the battery-powered lantern she’d left on nearby.
Mark came to a dead stop within arm’s reach of her and simply stared, letting panic drain from his chest. She was fine. The covers rose and fell with her deep, even breaths. There was no blood. No damage. All of those horrible things were just his imagination getting the best of him.
His hea
rt hammered his ribs. His breath locked in his chest. Dizziness assaulted him. When his legs went weak, he squatted, giving himself time to recover. This wasn’t the first panic attack he’d had since Janey’s death, and he doubted it would be the last. At least now he could reason with himself and remember what was real and what wasn’t. Now it was merely a matter of letting the rest of his nervous system catch up with what his brain knew was true.
The pounding of his heart began to slow, and with that came the trembling he hated so much. It started in his hands and worked its way down his body until he felt like he might fly apart. Weakness consumed him, and he ended up on his ass, right next to Daisy’s bed.
His landing must have been louder than he’d thought, because she opened her eyes and blinked at him.
“What’s wrong?” she asked in a sleepy voice.
“Nothing,” he said, but the tightness in his throat made it come out as a faint squeak of sound.
She wriggled an arm out from her warm cocoon and cupped his cheek. “Nightmare?”
Her guess wasn’t any less pansy-assed than the truth, but it took fewer words, which worked for him. “I’m okay.”
“You’re shivering. Crawl in and warm up.” She lifted the edge of the blankets in welcome, revealing the warm sweat suit she wore instead of pajamas.
Mark stared at her. There was nothing sultry about her invitation, as if she didn’t even see the intimacy she was offering him.
Maybe to her there was no intimacy in this. They’d been friends a long time. They were both dressed. She was groggy. Her offer was one of warmth and comfort—like she would have given a child who’d woken from a bad dream—nothing more. And like a child, the temptation to quiet his fear was irresistible.
Human contact. Proof that she was alive and well. Those things were gifts he couldn’t turn his back on. Not now, in the middle of the night when there was no one around but her who could see his weakness.
Mark eased onto the squishy air mattress. Her body rose with his added weight. She let the blankets fall over him. Heat from her skin sunk into him, surrounding him like a hug. He soaked it in, savoring something that felt good. Almost sweet.
