Unexpected Hero (Buttermilk Valley Book 1)

by Rhonda Lee Carver

  Daxton kicked the toe of his shoe across the floor. His shoestring had come completely undone now. The ends were shredded so apparently this happened often.

  “Your shoestring’s undone.” Gunnar pointed. The little boy shrugged. “You know, I was about your age when I learned how to tie my shoes. My dad taught me a trick at tying and after that, I was a professional. Want me to show you?”

  With a hesitant nod, Daxton slid his foot forward.

  Gunnar bent onto one knee and motioned for Daxton to sit. Once he did, Gunnar pulled loose the laces of his still tied shoe, getting a questioning eye from the kid. “You’re going to work on that shoe while I work on this one. We’re going to do this together. It’s as simple as a magic trick. You like magic tricks, Daxton?” He nodded, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he gathered the laces. “Then this should be fun. Cross the laces like normal.”

  “Like this?”

  “Yes, just like that. Now put your thumb and finger in front of the laces…yup, you got it.”

  Gunnar led Daxton step by step, and after his first attempt, his shoes were tied. He jumped up in excitement. “I did it.”

  “Yes, you did, kiddo. And it only took one shot to get the hang of it. Practice makes perfect.” Gunnar nuzzled Daxton’s hair.

  “Daxton, I told you not to be out here bothering Gunnar.”

  At Grace’s soft voice, Gunnar brought his chin up and connected gazes with the prettiest blue eyes he’d ever seen. She was smiling, wide and dazzling. Her beauty could have melted an iceberg, and unfortunately, as much as he tried, Gunnar wasn’t immune. A wave of guilt slammed through his stomach. He had no business admiring her. He was here to help her, and not the kind of help that happens behind closed doors. In his defense, it’d been a long time since he’d held a woman, and parts below his gut reminded him all too well that he needed a solution and fast. But not with the late pastor’s wife. That was a no-no in the first degree.

  “I wasn’t bothering him,” Daxton huffed.

  “He wasn’t, not one bit.” Gunnar shuffled his feet, feeling much like a kid himself.

  “Look, ma. He showed me a magic trick.” Daxton produced his tied shoes. “I tied it myself.”

  “Daxton, that is great. Did you say thank you to Gunnar?” Grace’s smile deepened, but he noticed an opposite emotion in her eyes—apprehension maybe?

  “Thank you. I’m going to go play.” And the little boy was off and running.

  “We’ve been working on tying shoes for two years now. It took you what…three minutes and he caught on?” She hooked her thumbs into her front pockets.

  “When I was his age I couldn’t sit still long enough to learn my own name let alone tying shoes until my dad called it a ‘magic trick’. What kid doesn’t like magic?”

  “Dax never stops. From the moment he wakes up in the morning until he drops into bed at night. He has more energy than this momma can muster at times.” Unhooking her thumbs, she strolled to the workbench and leaned against the corner.

  The dim light above her made her irises dance like fireflies. She had the most expressive eyes and he swore he could read her thoughts if he stared long enough. She was a little wary of him, he could see, but he didn’t blame her. A single woman needed to be watchful. Gunnar automatically brought his hand up and rubbed his scruffy beard. He wasn’t the most presentable.

  Being the black sheep of his family, he needed to get the swing of things on how a family functioned. If he planned to stick around for a while, he needed to fit in, at least as much as a handyman was supposed to.

  For the last years he’d become more disconnected with his own family. It started after his mom passed. She’d been the glue that held the family strong and it disintegrated without her guidance, although Gunnar’s father had been a great man and tried his best. He’d spent most of his time making ends meet. Gunnar’s brother and sister had gone on and married, had children, well-paying jobs, shiny vehicles and memberships at the country club. They’d forgotten their simple roots growing up on a farm.

  Looking at Grace, he felt a connection to her, maybe through the letters from Trace, or the reserve Gunnar saw in her eyes. From what Trace had written about her, she’d been special to him, and he loved her dearly, but Gunnar had gotten the idea something had unsettled Trace, threatening the life he’d built. Everyone should have that ‘special’ person in their life, the one they shared their worries with. Now her ‘special’ person was gone, the one she could rely on, especially through the rocky times.

  Alone, raising her kid as a single parent, Gunnar had a stronger desire to help her around the farm. He understood loss all too well. It seemed he’d had his fair share of tragedy. Although for him, he’d never had that someone, the person who would support him in a time of need. One of the greatest things in life he was missing out on. When the bomb had exploded in Iraq, the first thing he’d thought of was how empty his life had become.

  Looking back, he often wondered if he’d been killed overseas, would anyone have cared—would anyone have shed a tear. And yet, a man who had it all, family, love and a career, was gone in the blink of an eye. Death wasn’t fair. Trace should have lived much longer and offered encouragement to many more restless souls. He should have been granted more time with his family.

  “Thank you for helping him with his shoelaces.” She dragged him back on track. “I’ve really tried everything and he resisted. I think he responds better to a man’s guidance.” She threaded her fingers through her hair and with her free hand smoothed her palm along the edge of the workbench. Although he knew she didn’t intend to move with sensuality or seduction, her every move tweaked his desire, sending a shockwave through his body. “Dax was supposed to come out and tell you dinner would be at eight. He didn’t, did he?”

  “I’m sure he would have.” All of a sudden he found himself feeling protective over Daxton and Grace. It wasn’t that she didn’t seem capable of taking care of herself, or her kid for that matter, but whatever those feelings were had scratched the surface of his compassionate side. Hell, he didn’t even know he had one of those. He’d always had the back of his soldiers, but that was a different.

  “Eventually.”

  Her gaze dropped to his hand. “You’re bleeding?”

  “Oh, this is noth—”

  She was already beside him and doing something that wasn’t good for his head or his body. She took his hand into hers, examining the small cut on his thumb, brushing his arm as she reached for a rag from the bench. “It’s not too deep.”

  Gunnar swallowed, but the constriction remained as she blotted the wound. His body grew painfully tight and his zipper threatened to pop. Damn, he hoped she didn’t notice. Her hands looked so small, so pale, against his larger, rougher ones. Her fingers were gentle, moving across his skin and he had a strong desire to feel her touch on his chest, his stomach and parts that had been neglected, except for the touch of his own hand and that didn’t count. A feminine caress could make a man weak.

  “I think you’ve stopped bleeding.”

  He inhaled deeply, drawing in every bit of her scent. Flowers. He should have known. He couldn’t talk. His words were lodged in his aching vocal chords.

  She brought her chin up, their gazes met, faces within inches of each other. Her eyes filled with something…sweet and innocent…turning them a darker blue. He could kiss her. He wanted too. Needed to know her taste. Her tongue darted out and swept across her plump bottom lip, triggering a bittersweet pain through his balls.

  And then it happened. The cloth dropped to his boots and she was on her tiptoes, pressing her mouth against his, wrapping her arms around his neck and dragging him closer. He resisted, a second passing as he achingly decided what he should do. Kiss the widow or push her away.

  Hell, he wasn’t an idiot.

  He moved his arms around her waist, bringing her close, feeling her every slight curve against his hard, throbbing muscles. The kiss deepened as he pushed h
is tongue between her lips and sampled her sweetness. A man could stay right here, with heaven at his fingertips, forgetting about everything, including future hiccups. She slipped her hands to his chest and gave him a slight push, sending him backward. He struck the workbench, a can toppled and fell to the ground. His boot hit it as he shifted, turning her around so that her back was against the table. She greedily clutched at him, her fingers nicking at his nipples then gliding over his stomach and snaking around his waist. He skimmed his hands over her back, tangling his fingers into the ends of her silken hair, gently tugging and tangling the strands around his knuckles. Yes, he’d known the tendrils would feel like satin.

  He continued to explore with one hand, following the smooth length of her neck, the dip of her collarbone and the soft skin of her chest to the plump mound of her breasts, flicking his thumb over the pebbled nipple pressing against the thin cotton. She moaned and he took it as an invitation to continue exploring, but when she took a step to the side, the cold reality shot down his heated libido.

  Her eyes were blue jewels, sparkling, heated. Her lips swollen and red from his kisses. She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth as if to wipe away the memory of what they’d just shared. His gut jerked and he cursed himself for letting things get out of control. He’d never want to take advantage of any situation, especially when it came to Grace.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  “No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I-I don’t know what happened. I overstepped a line. I’m not supposed to overstep lines.” She took another step back, closer to the exit.

  “It happens, Grace.” What more could he say. He didn’t like seeing the guilt flooding her features.

  “I’m a widow. A mother. I can’t act on impulse.” She’d made it to the doorway now, clinging to the frame with white knuckles. “Don’t forget dinner.”

  “I’ll take a shower first.” He forced a shaky hand through his hair. He needed one.

  She nodded, but didn’t move from the threshold. Her hair swept up in a gentle breeze. His fingers ached to touch the silken strands again and the curve of her cheek, but instead he pushed them into his back pockets. “Thank you for working hard on my roof. I guess you could say I’ve been taken advantage of a few times by the people I’ve hired. It’s good to see that my ‘people instincts’ are working again. I had a gut feeling you’d do the job.”

  “The one thing I have is my pride. If a man can’t call himself a gentleman, then what does he have?”

  She smiled, weak but a smile, and flashes of light burst inside of his blood. Damn, he was losing his head.

  “You’re a man of good stock, Gunnar. A woman can still appreciate those things about a man—you know, being a gentleman and all. See you inside. Come on, Jessa. You’d think we never got company here at the farm.” She called for the dog who obediently stood, shook out her fur and followed Grace.

  He watched her make her way on the path toward the house, the soft sway of her hips, her long legs that dipped inside those ever present rubber boots. He wondered what her feet looked like. Silky-smooth, like the rest of her? He’d probably never have the privilege of touching her again, no matter how much a man could hope.

  After she’d stepped into the house, he stood there for the longest time, her words reeling through his head like a movie. Would she think he was taking advantage of her by not coming clean on why he showed up in the first place? He should tell her the truth, that he knew her late husband.

  He would tonight.

  ****

  It had been a long time since Grace had made dinner for someone besides Daxton. And she felt a strong sense of flattery when Gunnar had asked for seconds of the roast and potatoes. She looked down the dining room table at him, still getting used to the fact that he’d shaven. He had a prominent, smooth jawline, and he wore a nice, button-down shirt. She could see he’d made an effort to look presentable for dinner and again, she was pleased. His eyes seemed to stand out—bottle green with flecks of brown, mesmerizing and full of…what? She wanted to find out. He looked younger without the facial hair, and she wondered how old he was and wanted to ask, but the time hadn’t made itself available. “That’s the best roast beef I’ve ever had.” Gunnar patted his stomach. “I’m as stuffed as a turkey on Thanksgiving.”

  Her mouth still tingled from their earlier kiss, the raspy ends of his beard had brushed her sensitive skin. She’d barely been able to finish dinner because her hands had been shaking as she rethought how good kissing him had felt.

  “I’m sure it’s not like your momma made, but I hope it was a close second,” she said. And why did it matter to her?

  “Can I go play my game?” Daxton could barely contain himself in his chair. He wore a red mustache from his fruit punch and his hair stuck out all over his head.

  “Yes, but only for thirty minutes and then it’s bath time.” Before the words were completely out of Grace’s mouth, the boy jumped from his chair and like a flash he was gone from the room. She stood up and stacked Daxton’s dirty plate onto hers. A fork slipped off the plate and fell to the table. She realized how much she trembled.

  Gunnar popped up from his chair and gathered his own dishes.

  “Have a seat. You’re a guest.” She motioned for him to sit.

  “After that meal, I think it’s only right that I wash the dishes,” he said warmly.

  “I wouldn’t hear of it. I’ll put them in the dishwasher and it won’t take any time at all. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “I’ll take a cup. By chance, do you have any extra bulbs? I see that you have a few lights out here and in the hallway.”

  “That’s nice of you, but you don’t have to change bulbs. You’re probably tired after working on the roof.” She didn’t want to work him like a mule, but there was no denying she wanted to touch him again. She’d never forget the feel of his warm skin and his masculine scent.

  “As handyman, changing bulbs is definitely one of my duties. It’ll only take me five minutes and you’ll have bright light again.” His thick baritone voice settled her nerves. She looked at him, realizing how completely at ease he made her feel. He had kind eyes, a nice smile, although he didn’t use it often, and so far she could see he didn’t want to take advantage of her. After the last men she’d hired to build the greenhouse who’d spent more time on their behind instead of working, she was glad to see a man who knew the definition of an honest day’s work.

  She had a feeling Trace would have liked Gunnar. But what would her late husband think of the kiss she and Gunnar had shared? She had a need to touch her trembling lips, but thankfully she had her arms laden with dishes.

  “There are extra bulbs in the hutch. If you need to, use one of the chairs to reach the chandelier.” She turned and carried the stack of dishes into the kitchen and inhaled deeply. Something was stirring within her, like a pot of melted dark chocolate, ooey-gooey, sweet and blissfully sinful.

  Before she started getting carried away, she needed to put things into perspective. She wasn’t thinking clearly, or at all. In her defense, she doubted many women could put two thoughts together with Gunnar around.

  There were times, here lately especially, when she wondered what her life would be like if she fell in love again. The thought made fear slide into her chest. Most people believed a person could only fall in love once. If they were right, that meant Grace had danced her only dance and she’d forever be alone because she could never imagine marrying someone she didn’t love. The thought was completely foreign to her.

  Trace had been a good husband, although preoccupied sometimes—well, most of the time. He’d never raised his voice in anger and had been a good father to Daxton. People in the community had respected and loved him. Would it be too much to expect love to shadow her door again?

  After all these months, she was getting used to being alone, if it were ever really possible to get used to something like loneliness. Although, having someone to share her eveni
ngs with, watch a movie and hold hands, maybe even get a spontaneous kiss now and again wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen.

  Point was, she had to get used to this new life.

  She didn’t need a man to define her. Being single wasn’t so bad, and there were certainly advantages. Coming in from working outside, she could pull on jammies, slather on a mud mask and snuggle with Daxton watching cartoons with no one else to complain to her. She could even go without shaving her legs if she wanted. It was easy, and Lord knew, being married was never easy. As good as things had been in her marriage, she’d worked hard to make them that way, a lot of time overlooking the obvious to keep things calm. She’d given up every dream, even of having a second child, so Trace could follow his call of being there when the church needed him.

  If relationships could be considered hard, marriage was the pinnacle of difficult. She’d seen enough marriages in their church family disintegrate while many tried to hide their struggles. Couples would come to Trace and Grace for marital answers and advice. Grace would simply tell them, “Marriage is hard and always a work in progress. Slack for a minute and you lose your hold”. Relationships were like days at the circus, and it all depended on what mood the monkeys were in if things would run smoothly.

  Anyway, she’d had her true love and she reckoned that was all she’d get.

  Loading the dishwasher and starting the coffee maker, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass of the cabinet. Sophie was right. She needed to pay a visit to the salon. Grace needed a real cut, not the kind where she would dunk her hair over and snip the ends herself. Maybe something edgy, something flirty, like Reese Witherspoon’s newest style. She laughed at the humor in that thought. She was neither edgy nor flirtatious and certainly not a movie star. In the end, even if she would go, she’d only get a trim anyway. Her hair had been this same style for as long as she could remember. Trace liked it…