He said her name sweetly. It was funny, but kind, too, as if maybe he realized that binding wounds wasn’t exactly her cup of tea. Of course, the expression of fear on her face might have given him a clue.
She pressed a clean towel to the area surrounding the wound, then applied the salve. Generously.
“Well, not much can hope to live through that,” he told her. He grinned encouragement and approval. “Now the Steri-Strips. And then the pads.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
He cringed. “Sorry.”
She applied the butterfly bandages, then followed with the pads and strips of tape. “These are going to hurt when you pull them off,” she warned. “Duct tape is not meant to be used on arm hair.”
He flexed his arm, then nodded. “It’ll only hurt for a minute. And look.” He moved his arm back and forth. “Full mobility. You did great.”
“Only because I didn’t faint,” she muttered as she cleaned up the area. “Are you at least going to rest a little? Give it a chance to bind?”
“And not work?” He stared at her in disbelief. “Then what would be the point of this? I want to be able to jump on Gilda’s job when the roofing’s complete, so there’s no time to waste. And I can’t bring the girls here until I’ve got this place done.” He glanced around the house before he brought his attention back to her. “They need to come home, don’t they?”
Sweet words from the man facing her. The kind of man who did what was needed, when needed.
She thought men like this only existed in stories. “You’re right.”
“If I need a hand putting things in place, are you available? I’ve got those last two-by-sixes ready to install.”
“Yes, if only to keep you from killing yourself.”
He sent her a lazy grin. “There’s a comforting thought. But nice to know you can come through in the clutch, ma’am.”
“Just don’t sue me when you’re fighting a major-league infection next week.”
“On my honor. Grab hold of this here.” They set the last two parts of the half wall together. She marveled at the precise moves of his hands, even with an injured forearm. He triggered the gun with his right hand as if it was nothing to do it one-handed.
She’d used air hammers before. They had a solid kick and buck.
Not in his hands. He nailed the supports like a skilled craftsman, and when they finished with the framing lumber, she helped him with the wallboard. “Do you need me for the wainscoting?” she asked when the plasterboard was in place.
“No, I’m using the little gun. But thank you. This keeps me on schedule.” Turning, he gave her an easy shoulder nudge. When she slanted her attention up, he nodded to the nearly renovated space. “I couldn’t have gotten this far without you. Thank you, Melonie.” Holding her gaze, he smiled.
She could get lost in those eyes, all velvety brown. Warm. Happy. Inviting.
This was an invitation she needed to turn down. “Simple teamwork, Jace. To get to project number two we must complete project number one.”
His eyes lost the humor. He took a breath as if contemplating her words, then nodded. “That’s the plan.”
She went outside.
She’d squelched that light in his eyes on purpose, when it was about the last thing she wanted to do.
Are you that in love with the idea of your own show? Your chance to shine in the sun?
She wasn’t, no. It wasn’t about the show or the magazine or making a big deal of herself.
She stuck the small shovel into the ground pretty fiercely because it wasn’t about her. She knew who she was. But in the back of her mind, lingering still, was the memory of the look of disappointment she saw in her father’s face while she was lying in that hospital bed.
She’d failed him. She’d failed the horse, she’d failed the famed Fitzgerald name, she’d failed, pure and simple. Now she wanted to feel successful on her own terms. To show Tim Fitzgerald that even though she couldn’t sit saddle like her sisters, she wasn’t a failure.
Would he even know? her conscience argued. Or care?
Probably not. She knew that. But she’d carry the satisfaction with her. That would be enough.
She made a quick trip to the garden nursery in Council, and when she had two hanging baskets, three Knock Out rosebushes, wave petunias, wax begonias and eight different baby mum plants tucked into the car, she drove back to Jace’s home.
He was gone.
She’d pre-dug the holes for the roses, and the begonias were an easy task. A stack of bagged black mulch stood at the driveway’s edge.
It was quiet. Too quiet. It had been fun doing this with Jace a few days before. She took out her phone, hit a music app and when it started playing new country, she chose an oldies mix and started again.
Better, she decided when the strains of Glenn Miller’s orchestra filled the yard.
She’d danced to “Moonlight Serenade” as a teen. And she’d boogied her way across the stage to “Pennsylvania 6-5000” a year later.
Corrie and her sisters had cheered her on. Corrie never made her feel like dancing wasn’t as cool as show-riding. Neither had the girls. But her father, the man who sent roses to Charlotte and Lizzie when they brought home silver cups of victory, never once came to a recital. Never once brought or sent a bouquet. Corrie tried to cover for him after one performance. The roses had come, and she’d pretended she didn’t know that Corrie had phoned the order in.
But when she thanked her father the next morning, his look of surprise gave it away.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.”
The uplifting verse from Jeremiah helped. That and a few other favorite scriptures, words of encouragement that helped show a true father’s love. God’s love.
By the time the new roses were set and watered, the trees offered sweet shade from the warm sun. She planted the smaller flowers quickly, and when she was done, she smiled.
She was just lifting her first bulky bag of mulch when Jace pulled in. He climbed out of the truck, tipped back his cowboy hat, lifted the heavy bag of mulch from her hands and whistled lightly. “You’ve done it.”
“Do you like it?”
“Love it,” he admitted. “My mom would have loved it, too. I don’t know if she ever thought of black fabric to block weeds. And it works?”
“Like a charm. Between that and the mulch, keeping these gardens up should be a breeze.”
He shouldered the mulch and strode across the sidewalk looking way too good for her not to notice. “Here?” He turned when he neared the porch and caught her look of appreciation.
He grinned.
She ignored him, and nodded. “Yes, thanks.” Play it cool. Maintain your distance. “If you set it down, I’ll open it and spread it.”
“I’ll dump them carefully, then you can maneuver it,” he argued. “There is no reason for you to be lifting big, heavy bags like this.”
She looked everywhere but at him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Got some sun today, eh?”
Setting one dusty hand to her cheek was a giveaway. She’d thought it was the rising warmth heating her cheeks. Nope. “I forgot to put on sunscreen. Duh.”
He winced. “I don’t have any here. I’m not exactly the burn-and-freckle type.”
Oh, he wasn’t. He was absolutely the to-die-for tawny-skin type. “I know. You’ve got gorgeous skin.”
Did she really just say that? Out loud?
She’d bent over to pat down the fabric around the second rosebush and if she could stay there forever, eyes down, she would.
Since that was impossible, she stood and dusted her hands against the sides of her old capris.
“Gorgeous, huh?”
No
w it wasn’t just the sun’s rays heating her cheeks.
He stepped closer. And then he tucked one finger under her chin and lifted it gently. His voice went husky as he studied her face. Studied her. “I think you’ve got this confused, Melonie.”
She raised her eyes to his. He gazed back at her with such a look of wonder that she was pretty sure her heart melted on the spot.
“You’re the gorgeous one here.” His hand touched her neck as if it was meant to be there. His voice, already deep, went deeper, and if her heart hadn’t already gone soft, it did right then.
His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips, then he touched his mouth to hers.
He smelled of sawdust and timber and fresh air, and when he deepened the kiss, she stretched up on tiptoe to ease the height difference between them.
“Melonie.” He said her name like a summer night’s whisper.
“I know.” He’d pulled her in for a hug, a hug that felt like she was where she belonged. Of course, she wasn’t. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Whereas I was thinking we should be doing it on a regular basis,” he teased. The scruff of his beard brushed her sunburned cheek, and when she winced, he drew back. “Ouch, sorry. I’ll be sure to shave.” He put his hand against her cheek—the scarred cheek—then met her gaze again. “I don’t want to ever do anything that hurts you, Melonie.”
She reached up her hand to cover his. “Then we need to wake up because this can’t end well. We both know it.”
He stepped back as if in full agreement. “You are absolutely right. We need to stop this. Right now.”
That was about the last thing she wanted him to say, but it was the sensible thing, so she nodded. Even though she didn’t really want to.
“We’ll take it up again when we finish the gardens.”
That wasn’t what she meant, but he knew that. She went back to spreading the mulch while old-time music played in the background. Jace went through ten bags of mulch, then threw the empties into the construction dump. “I’m going to start on the bathroom.”
“Wonderful.” She didn’t look up. “When we...” She stopped herself purposely. “When you get the girls to bed tonight, if all goes well, can I have you look at a few possible ideas for Gilda’s place?”
“Absolutely. Meet you on the porch?”
He was teasing her.
She threw him a semi-scathing look. “In the well-lit living room with chaperones, mister. I get that we’re attracted to each other.”
He tipped back the brim of his black hat and didn’t grin. He just lifted an eyebrow slightly. And quirked his jaw.
“But we’re like two trains, heading in opposite directions.”
“Up here, in the Wild West, we know that a train might go in one direction...but it always comes back,” he reminded her as he headed for the door. “Because it’s a train, darlin’. And the track runs both ways. I don’t see one sign saying beautiful women can’t fix houses in Idaho. Not one anti-house statute that I know of.”
He had to be kidding.
One look at his face said he wasn’t. But when he read her doubtful expression, the smile left his face. “Not as big and grand, I expect.”
What could she say? Gilda’s job was the exception, not the norm. The area wasn’t thriving. It was barely existing. A few rich ranches and a slate of empty houses and run-down farms. “Jace—”
“Gotta get back to it.”
She’d hurt his feelings. She longed to go after him and apologize, but she’d pointed out a significant chasm. She wasn’t ashamed of wanting to do well. It didn’t define her. She wasn’t foolish enough or pretentious enough to let that happen.
But doing a good job and having a career mattered to her and she refused to have to justify her choices anymore. Ever. She’d been given the magazine job because of who her father was. It wasn’t like she was a well-known designer who’d earned her way up the ladder at twenty-eight years old. Nepotism had secured her job, then she’d had the guts and grit to prove she could do it.
Her father hadn’t made her do that, and she knew why. He doubted her strength. Her capabilities. Her ambition.
Why do you need to prove anything to him? He’s a cheat and a scoundrel. Why does this matter?
She spread mulch and realized it might take a team of therapists to reason that one out. She didn’t owe her father anything. But just once in her life, just once, she’d like to think she’d done something to make him proud. He was the only biological parent she had...
And it shouldn’t be too much to ask him to care.
She understood the reality, but the kid inside—the little girl she once was—was still waiting for that bunch of roses. A bouquet that he actually ordered and paid for. A bouquet that would never, ever come.
Chapter Ten
Not good enough.
Not rich enough.
Not opportunistic enough.
His hard-hit town, the town his family helped build, wasn’t wealthy enough for Melonie.
You knew this. You knew it from the moment you set eyes on her, when she dismissed you with a single shrug of those pretty shoulders. You knew it and still you kissed her.
He knew better for a number of reasons, which meant applying the brakes one hundred percent.
He didn’t want to. That kiss—that amazingly beautiful, wonderful kiss—had set his head to thinking and his pulse to jumping, but it wasn’t just the kiss. It was seeing her with Ava, cuddled in that rocker. Seeing her pretend to nibble Ava’s baby toes, and play peek-a-boo and laugh at the little blue-eyed blonde that seemed to think Melonie was pretty special.
What if the toddler got too attached? Would that mess her up when Melonie left next year?
He leveled the concrete and set the new tub about the same time the electrician showed up to lay in additional wiring. He turned the bathroom over to him, and walked out back.
Bubba plodded his way. The old horse almost smiled, happy to see him. He wasn’t used to Jace being gone so much, and in his advanced years, the gelding liked routine. He bobbed his head and when Jace laid out apple slices, Bubba accepted them greedily. And when Jace reached out to stroke his neck, the trusty mount leaned in like a faithful dog.
“I’m done out front.”
He and the horse both turned toward Melonie’s voice as Bonnie came their way from the opposite direction.
“I’m going to head back to Pine Ridge.”
He nodded.
She indicated the horses with a look. “What will you do with them if you decide to move next spring?”
“Leave them.”
She didn’t look at him. Just them. His two old, loyal friends.
“I don’t have the money to buy acreage in Sun Valley. It’s much more upscale than this.” He swept the broad, beautiful valley a long look. “But there’s work there, so it’s a trade-off.”
She brushed her hands against her thighs. “Life’s full of those, I suppose.”
“How many trade-offs have you had to make, Melonie?”
He didn’t mean to sound harsh, but he did and she jerked slightly. Then she leveled a cool look his way, and shrugged one shoulder. “Practically none.” She walked away as Bonnie sidled up to the fence, looking for a handout.
He sliced another apple. They were from last year’s crop and wilted now.
The horses didn’t care.
They thought the less-than-perfect treats were wonderful.
Melonie’s engine started as Bonnie lapped at his hand, happy with such a small thing. How he wished the woman walking away felt the same way.
By the time he got to the ranch, Corrie had walked the girls back up to the big house. As he climbed the porch steps, shrieks of joy and giggles came through the wooden screen door. Ava and Annie were in the living room. Baby toys were scattered across the floo
r.
Melonie wasn’t inside. She wasn’t on the porch, and although he didn’t want to listen for her voice, he did.
Nothing.
“Hey, Papa Jace!” Lizzie had snagged a handful of cookies from the cookie jar. She handed him two. “Cookie said supper’s an hour off because he had a slight kitchen emergency...”
“Emergency?” Jace had been working here for over a dozen years. Cookie had never so much as had a misstep, much less an emergency. “Is he all right?”
“Fine. But the first pot of stew might have cooked dry while he was up the drive, visiting the girls.”
Cookie didn’t go up the drive. He didn’t lose focus. Ever. “He went up to Rosie’s?”
“Thought he’d turned the pot down to simmer. Must have forgotten. He took cookies over to Corrie and Rosie.”
To Corrie and Rosie...
Ah.
Jace raised his eyebrows. “So maybe it wasn’t the babies snagging his attention,” he mused softly.
“Miss Corrie Satterly may have found herself a beau!” Lizzie whispered, making sure no one was around to hear it. “You make sure to keep this to yourself, all right?”
“No one will hear it from me,” he promised. He pretended not to notice that Melonie was heading their way from the direction of the horse stables. She had her computer bag with her. He averted his eyes intentionally, then got down on the floor to play with the girls. But when she didn’t come in, he had to wonder where she’d gotten off to.
Then he heard Gilda’s voice.
“So Gilda hung out here today?” he asked Lizzie from his spot on the floor.
“First she went to old Mr. Palmenteer’s to take him some of Sally Ann’s jam. They had a conversation worth having, according to Gilda. Then on to the Carrington Ranch to tell Sally how much folks loved her jams and jellies.”
“The recluse is making the rounds,” he mused.
Lizzie rolled a ball to Ava. Ava eyed the ball, then Lizzie, before deciding she didn’t want to throw it back while sitting down. She crawled to the couch, grabbed hold and stood up. But then the ball was halfway across the room. She studied the ball, then the adults, trying to solve the problem.
A Cowboy in Shepherd's Crossing Page 11
