Unexpected Hero (Buttermilk Valley Book 1)

by Rhonda Lee Carver

  She sobered up. She had to quit doing this…Trace wasn’t here.

  Once the coffee was done, she filled two cups and found Gunnar sitting on the porch. “Beautiful night, huh?” She offered him a cup.

  He accepted the coffee and took a sip. “Thank you. The air has finally cooled.”

  Taking the rocker next to him, she set her cup on the table. “You look real nice without the beard.”

  He rubbed his jaw. “Feels different.”

  Grace nodded. “Different can be a good thing.” She stared off toward the woods as the sun dipped below the trees, shadowing the land. Heat lightning struck the sky in the distance. “Do you miss being in the military?”

  “Some days.”

  “That’s another thing that must be different. Taking up life again.”

  “True.”

  “You don’t talk much, do you Gunnar?”

  He shrugged. “I’m a better listener.”

  She laughed. “Your first day is almost finished here at the farm. Any thoughts? Ready to split yet?”

  “No. I think I’ll stick around awhile.”

  “Unless Martha breathes down your neck. I’m real sorry how she behaved today. She can be a pill when she wants to be.” She played with the frayed hem of her shorts.

  “You don’t need to apologize for anyone’s behavior. I didn’t pay much attention.”

  She wondered if she needed to apologize for the kiss? She’d practically thrown herself at him, but his reaction had been purely erotic. The way he’d held her, kissed her, touched her body that had brought it magically alive…needful. Grace kept a vibrator in her locked bedside table for when her needs grew like this, but she had a feeling her desires wouldn’t be satiated by her bullet.

  Shaking her head, she needed to get these misbehaving thoughts out of her head before they burned her alive.

  Jessa came bouncing up on the porch, kneeling at Gunnar’s feet who rewarded the dog with a scratch behind her ears. “She got into the briar patch again.” Grace watched his fingers move over Jessa’s fur. Lucky dog. Turning her head, Grace focused on breathing evenly.

  “I see you need new fencing along the lane and the barn painted,” he said. “And the air conditioning unit in the office is in need of attention. I’ll take a look tomorrow.”

  “You can fix the AC unit?”

  “I can try. I think it’s something easily fixed.”

  “I’d forever be in your debt. I’m a little stingy when it comes to paying for a repairman to come out here. In the morning, I can give you the money and you can take the truck to town and buy whatever supplies you need—paint, brushes, fencing.” Seeing his narrowed gaze, she smiled. “You do drive, right?”

  “I drive. It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone just hand over their keys.”

  “It ain’t like you’ll get far if you decide to steal it. I’m afraid it’s on its last leg, or should I say, wheel. Last time I took her in to the shop, I was told she needed a new transmission.”

  He shifted in the rocker. “Maybe you could point me in the direction of a barber too.” He touched the ends of his hair.

  “The only person we have in town who cuts hair is Mary Ashton at her salon on Mill Street. You need to make an appointment a few days in advance.” One corner of his mouth lowered. “If you want something basic, I can do it for you.”

  One brow shot up. “You cut hair?”

  “If you can call it that. I did Trace’s all of the time and only once did I snip his ear.” She saw the fear in Gunnar’s eyes. “Only kidding.”

  “I couldn’t ask you to do it.”

  “You didn’t ask. I volunteered. But if you’re afraid I might mess up—”

  “You have shears?”

  She nodded. “Sure do.”

  “You can’t mess up a buzz cut.”

  Standing, she started for the door. “I’ll gather what I need. Just give me a moment.”

  Chapter Four

  Bad idea having Grace cut his hair.

  Gunnar wiped the sweat from his brow. Just thinking of her being close enough to cut his hair made parts of his body stretch—and that was a dangerous thing. If he wasn’t careful, things below the waist might give away his inner turmoil. After the kiss they’d shared, he was a weak man. He wanted more, craved it, but she was off limits.

  Maybe he should come up with some excuse as to why he couldn’t stay. He jumped up from the chair and achingly strolled across the wooden planks of the porch when he heard the screen door squeak.

  She stepped out and every logical thought faded. He couldn’t leave now. She held up the black bag. “We have hair cutting tools. Now for a chair.”

  Tugging himself back to reality, he pointed at the one sitting across the porch. “Will that do?”

  “Perfect.”

  He dragged the chair over and sat down as she plugged in the shears. He kept his gaze focused on the landscape as she approached him. He caught a whiff of her scent—and what a great scent—before she tangled her fingers in his hair. His heart kicked up in speed and his pulse pounded through his veins. Behave yourself, Gunnar.

  “You sure you want to get rid of all this hair?” she asked. “It’s soft and thick. Most people would give an eyetooth just to have this much.”

  “Very sure.” He was glad his voice worked. Her hands moved through his hair and every muscle in his body relaxed while she snipped at the length. Counting the clouds helped in easing the tension.

  “What was it like, Gunnar? Overseas.”

  “Like we’d stepped into a time machine and jetted to another world.” He didn’t talk much about his time in Iraq, mostly because he’d never been asked questions about his time there. He guessed most people didn’t feel comfortable bringing up his deployment.

  “I’ve heard horror stories, but I’m sure nothing compares to the real life horror.”

  “I suppose.”

  “You read the article on the bulletin board, how my husband died?”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry.” He couldn’t see her face because she was standing behind him, but he sensed the sadness in her voice.

  “I found it hard to imagine how someone could be so cruel as to walk into a store and shoot someone. I tell myself that Trace dying should come with a lesson on how precious life is. Difficult to see the positive when the guilt is so heavy.”

  “Guilt?”

  The scissors stilled. “We were in Atlanta celebrating my birthday. Something we hadn’t done in years.”

  Lifting his chin, he looked around at her, sorrow flickered across her face. The light faded in her eyes and all he wanted to do was lighten them again. “There’s nothing you should feel guilty for, Grace. The only one who holds any guilt is the person who killed your husband.”

  She nodded but he had a feeling she didn’t quite agree with him. “You won’t be sticking around long, will you?” She went back to cutting his hair.

  He evaluated her question. “Why do you ask?”

  “I just take you for the type who likes his freedom.”

  “I guess I like it well enough, considering I didn’t have any for eight years.” He stared off the porch into the shadows seeping toward the steps. He couldn’t see anything beyond the railing now.

  “I envy the freedom of packing a bag and just walking without any responsibility. Does that make me sound horrible?”

  “Makes you sound human.”

  “I’m not saying I’d ever do it though. I love Daxton, love my life. I’m not the first who had been dealt hardship and sadness. Whenever I get the blues I remind myself that things could be far worse. When Trace first died, I slept in a chair in Daxton’s room, most nights waking up often to check and see if he was still breathing. I realized I was smothering him with my protection and worry, but it was a switch I couldn’t just turn off.”

  He envied how easily she spoke of her feelings. He had gotten used to bottling up his emotions and couldn’t remember the last time he’d had som
ething like this with someone. Comfortable, easy conversation. The talks he had with his buddies consisted of getting laid, women and sports. Not much diversity. “You’ve been dealt some pretty rotten cards.”

  “How about you? Who do you call family?” She was back to snipping away at his hair.

  “My mom died when I was a teen. Dad a few years ago. I guess you could say I have a brother and sister, but I haven’t seen them in a few years.”

  Again, there was a noticeable pause in the snipping. “That’s sad. What happened?”

  “I’m the black sheep. They live in nice houses and I don’t even have a place to call home. Makes for poor conversation on holidays.” He laughed. He couldn’t believe he’d told her as much as he did.

  “Really? They’re that pompous?” She must have realized what she’d said because a second later, she added, “I’m sorry. I’m out of line by saying that.”

  “Ain’t nothing but the truth.” He didn’t want to open up about too much. The lock on his emotions jangled, threatening to break and he wasn’t sure how much would flow. He’d hidden so much.

  “Okay, before I set this to work, are you sure you want it all off?” She held up the shears as if they were a weapon.

  “Have your way with me.” Shit! What’s wrong with you, man? Easily she could think he meant something else. Maybe somewhere deep inside, he had.

  “Here goes nothing.”

  Yeah, here goes nothing.

  A few swipes over his head and she announced, “All done.”

  He stood, clumps of thick hair fell off his clothes and into a puddle at his feet. “Wow. That is a lot of hair.”

  “I could make a rug with all of that.” He looked at her, narrowing his gaze. A half smile turned her lips. “Just kidding. But yeah, it is a lot.”

  He smoothed his hand down his spiky hair. He couldn’t believe he’d let his hair go that long, the man who’d always kept it regulation short. It was very possible he had been rebelling against all of the rules he’d lived by for so long. “I’ll clean this up.”

  “No.”

  “But it’s my mess.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that. After all, it’s the least I could do after you spent most of the day on fixing that hot roof. You’re a little red.” She reached out and swept the tips of her fingers down his arm.

  He jerked and took a step toward the stairs. “I guess I should be calling it a night. Sounds like a storm is brewing.”

  “Well, good night, Gunnar.”

  Another stride toward his exit. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “Until tomorrow” she waved.

  Once he got back to the apartment, he gathered what he needed and went downstairs to the bathroom. There wasn’t much space—a toilet and a small stand up shower—but what more did a man like him need? He stepped into the hot spray and he explored the idea that Grace might have taken a shower here after a long day of working in the garden. He wrapped his fingers around his hard length, taking on a rhythm that promised release, but not satisfaction. It came swift.

  Switching the temperature to cold, his second for the day, he hoped it eased the remaining tension in his gut and muscles. He didn’t bother shampooing his hair, but used the musk-scented soap to scrub his body, wishing he could do the same with the throbbing need buried in his bones.

  Shutting off the water, he got out and dried on a thick towel, securing it low on his hips. Going back upstairs, he closed the door to his room and stretched. The towel dropped to the floor. He didn’t bother picking it up and he didn’t dress right away, but instead pulled the curtain back on the window just enough to peer outside across the yard to the farmhouse. All of the lights were off except for the porch light.

  He checked the time. Ten o’clock. If he crawled into bed now, he would toss and turn for at least another hour or so. Sleep never came easy for him. He’d gotten used to sleeping with one eye open and a knife under his pillow, always expecting the enemy to sneak up on him at night. A habit he couldn’t seem to shake. His weapon had become a third hand.

  Pacing the floor, he couldn’t deny the temptation of looking out the window again. He finally decided that he needed to get out of the small space and into the open. Fresh air would do him some good. Hell, he thought he might as well head into town. He could use a walk and a strong coffee.

  By the time he reached the outskirts of town, dark clouds loomed and thunder rolled, but he was thankful another downpour hadn’t come. The flashing OPEN sign still flashed in the window of the diner and when he stepped through the glass door, the bell dinged. The place was empty, probably not unusual at this time of a weekday evening. Back home people were off the streets early, at home and relaxing, bone-sore from working on the land all day.

  He chose a booth in the corner just as the waitress, dressed in a white T-shirt and shorts that showed off long, toned legs, sashayed her way over. She gave him a friendly smile, a toss of her pony tail and looked at him through long, mascaraed eyelashes. “You’re the new one in town.” It was more of a comment and not a question. In a town this size, he wasn’t surprised she’d gotten wind of his arrival.

  “Yes, I guess I am.”

  “You took the handyman job out at the Atwell Farm, right?”

  “That’s me.” He reached for the paper menu from the card holder. Peering through ketchup and coffee stains, he spotted what he was looking for. “I’ll take a coffee—wait, make that a chocolate shake and cheese fries.”

  “One chocolate shake.” She didn’t bother scribbling it down. “I’m Darcy, by the way.”

  “Gunnar.”

  “Want anything besides the shake and fries?” She wagged her brows.

  “Any suggestions?”

  Her smile blossomed. “I can think of a few things, but why don’t we start with our homemade brownie pie. Best this side of Georgia.”

  “Sounds like a winner.”

  “Made it myself.” She winked. “I’ll have that for you in no time at all.” She turned and sashayed her way back to the counter. Being the red blooded man that he was, Gunnar took a long look at her nicely rounded bottom. She was pretty enough, with dark hair and big blue eyes, but he didn’t admire her in a way that made parts of him rise. He wasn’t the least bit shocked that a petite blonde with expressive eyes and a fondness for talking came to mind. As sad as it was, he couldn’t help but compare the waitress, Darcy, to Grace, the widowed mother. He could hear his buddies now… “Go for Darcy. She’s ready and willing. Keep your hands off the widowed mom.” He glanced up at Darcy when she brought him his shake, fries and pie.

  “Here you are, honey. Anything else I can do you for?” Her eyes twinkled and her smile could have warmed an Eskimo.

  “I think I’m good for now. Thank you.”

  She walked away, her painted on jean shorts tight on her cheeks, and tossed him a look over her shoulder that screamed “sex”. With a seduction that came flawlessly, she leaned over a table, and slowly wiped it down, not missing a spot. Her bottom swayed high in the air, her thighs spread ever so slightly. She stood, loosened her pony tail and a wave of hair fell to her shoulders. Nothing happened behind his zipper. Not one twitch. This was serious.

  His thoughts wandered to Grace again and her lovely curves, the ones she hid underneath loose clothing. He’d even gotten a look at her feet tonight. Slender toes with pink painted nails. He snickered. Having never been a foot man, he wasn’t sure where the sudden interest came into play. And there was a twitch, then a significant rise.

  Yeah, there was something very wrong with him.

  Why was he attracted to her?

  Bigger question, why wasn’t he attracted to Darcy? She wasn’t wearing a ring and neither was Grace but she wore hers inside of her heart. Darcy had made her interest in him apparent with an extra view of cleavage and a side of warm welcome. That little stunt at the booth, with ass bent, was meant for a reason besides cleaning the already spotless table. He wasn’t the same man he was before, bu
t he was smart enough to realize that taking care of his needs with the help of a beautiful woman would keep him safer around Grace. Probably wouldn’t even have the odd attraction for her any longer.

  Why did he doubt it?

  He scraped the last bit of brownie pie off the plate and finished off his milk shake.

  “Okay, what’s the verdict?” Darcy asked.

  “Verdict?” Had she read his mind?

  “The pie?” She chuckled. “Is it delicious?”

  “It certainly is.” He sighed. “What time does this place close?”

  “Midnight.”

  “Can I ask a favor?”

  “Anything, sugar.” She slid into the seat across from him.

  ****

  Grace lay in bed listening to the rain pelt the roof in musical harmony. She didn’t mind storms and, at least now, she knew they wouldn’t float away thanks to Gunnar’s handy work. Her plants could use the rain and the distant thunder soothed her—but it didn’t quite reach the part of her that ached for more than she could have.

  Rolling over, she closed her eyes, but sleep eluded her. Her skin tingled and her mind shifted back to her handyman. She couldn’t stop thinking of him and how he’d mentioned that he wasn’t close to his family. Maybe she was a bit too sentimental these days, but the sadness had reached in and touched her heart. She’d seen something in his gaze, an unexplainable sorrow that only people who’ve suffered tragedy could understand. She couldn’t imagine life without her family—her mother, sister, and son. Even Martha. They didn’t always see eye to eye, but she was helpful with Daxton and loved him without a doubt.

  Her life would be different without those she cared greatly for.

  Moving to her back, she pushed her head deep into the pillow, wondering why it suddenly seemed lumpy and hard. She pounded it an inch from its life and sighed. The apex of her thighs ached as if she had a craving for more than a good night’s sleep.

  After the kiss she’d shared with Gunnar she hadn’t been the same. The feelings inside of her were on a rampage and if she didn’t get relief soon she might implode.

  Trace hadn’t been the only man Grace had been intimate with. She’d had a few boyfriends before him, in college, and they’d taken things to the next level. And she knew she wasn’t Trace’s first. She’d fallen for his charm and the way he could make her feel like she was the only woman in the world for him. That’s what she’d wanted to believe, but in reality, he’d loved another before her and Grace had often wondered if his heart had belonged to her.