Love in Deed: A Silver Fox Small Town Romance (Green Valley Library Book 6)

by Smartypants Romance

  Chapter Sixteen

  [Beverly]

  To my surprise, the container I left for my patron’s dinner rests in the sink the following morning, along with three flowers in a colored-glass bottle set on the table. My eyes travel to the back door, unable to see through the room-darkening shade covering the glass. I should warn Hannah about our unknown neighbor, the homeless man. She works hard, and I shouldn’t be offering extra helpings of dinner to this stranger, but then again, I shouldn’t shun a man in need, especially after he helped me. He appears to be thanking me for my generosity with the mini bouquets and his small notes. The singular B on the Post-it has been turned into a bumblebee image, blending the bumps in the letter to the wings of the busy pollinator. The drawing is rustic but whimsical, and it makes me smile to see it next to the bottle holding flowers this morning.

  Along with the flowers is a collection of ingredients: lye, distilled water, and coconut, olive and palm oils.

  “What’s this?” I ask Hannah when she enters the kitchen midmorning.

  “Good morning, Momma,” she addresses me, a silent reprimand for not greeting her properly.

  “Good morning, sunshine. Now, what’s this?”

  Hannah peers at the table after pouring herself a mug of coffee. She shrugs. “It was on the table last night when I came in. I thought you knew as you mentioned Jedd was dropping something off.”

  To explain Jedd’s late-night presence, I did say something to that effect. This collection of bottles supports it, but it doesn’t explain what the collection intends to make.

  “I guess I should go ask Jedd to explain himself.” Hannah smiles into the coffee mug.

  “I guess you should.” There hasn’t been any mention of the night Jedd tossed me into the tub. I’m grateful as I don’t like confrontations and deep conversations, but I’d be open to whatever Hannah needs from me. I hurt her that evening, but I’ve also had to grapple with my own emotions about what she’s done to me over the years. She’s enabled me, allowed me to bury myself deeper into needing her instead of forcing me to accept myself and stand on my own two feet. Then again, it wasn’t up to her to make me see myself. If there’s anything I took from Alcoholics Anonymous years ago, it’s that the only way I could get help was to admit I had a problem and then accept that the only means of change was through me.

  A brisk, unexpected bath in an outdoor tub can be the same kind of wake-up call. A baptism of sorts. A phoenix rising up from a pool of water instead of the fiery ashes. Maybe I’m another kind of mythological creature.

  I lift myself from my seat. “I like your new sweater, Momma.”

  Is she accusing me of being frugal? Her grin assures me of her compliment. I bought something for myself when I was out with Naomi.

  “Thank you,” I mutter as I turn for the door. The pale plum sweater dips off my shoulder, exposing a new matching bra. I’d like to think I didn’t consciously dress this way today, but I did. Last night lingers in my mind as does the touch of Jedd’s hand on my skin. A residual hug is what I consider the haunting embrace I can still feel around me.

  As I head to the side of the old barn, I hear the clanging of metal on metal. Rounding the corner, I find Jedd banging on the faded green tractor with a hammer. As I come to a halt, he steps back without appearing to notice me and tosses the hammer into the field.

  “Whoa. What did that hammer do to you?” I stammer with a chuckle.

  Jedd rounds to face me, hands on his hips as his chest heaves with the exertion of beating the tractor and tossing the hammer.

  His head lowers as he laughs. “It’s been a rough morning.”

  “I’m sorry,” I offer as my brows pinch in question. Looking off in the distance, I notice the unfinished stable. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s nothing,” he mutters, glancing in the same direction as me. “The boys will be back in a few days to finish it up. Nathan works construction by day, so I don’t want to abuse his generosity in helping me.”

  I nod. I’m not concerned, but I am worried about him. Does he regret what he did last night? Should we discuss it? I don’t even know how to bring it up other than to beg him to do it all again.

  I’m staring at him when his head turns back to me, and our eyes lock for a second. He takes a quick step toward me, and just when I think, hope, pray he’s going to kiss me, he stops short.

  “Who are those flowers coming from, Bee?”

  My mouth drops open and then snaps shut. I’m not certain how to explain the man. Should I mention I’m feeding a homeless guy living somewhere out here? Somehow, I think this act of kindness might upset him more than the misleading crush of Tripper Hanes.

  “None of your business,” I retort, resorting to the familiarity to push him away. He looks off in the distance once again and chews at his lip. When he turns back to me, his eyes intense, his words nearly take me to my knees.

  “You got another beau? One that’s real instead of a television sensation?” The bitter mockery to his tone sends up the fine hairs on my neck, but my feathers ruffle as well.

  “Not that it’s your concern, but no, I do not have a beau. And I don’t do random hookups either.” Another concept I’ve learned from daytime television. My eyes roam his body, drinking him in. Could I do that with him? Hook up with him. I’d already been a one-time girl, and it resulted in a permanent residence with the man.

  “You implying I’d be a hookup?” His eyes narrow at me. “I’ve already been there, done that. I’m not interested in hooking up anymore.”

  “Right. Was that during the military or as a rodeo star?” My irritation grows. He’s probably been with at least a hundred women, and he’s accusing me of being with random men.

  “Rodeo star?” he teases. He hasn’t mentioned the buckles I saw in his trunk, so I’m caught knowing more than I should about him. “You were a curious cat, weren’t you?” He grins, but it isn’t softening the edge to his sharp cheeks.

  “PAFRA is important to me. I love horses, and I have a competitive spirit. It filled a hole for me. It was a place I needed when I didn’t feel like I had any place to go.” He shrugs his left shoulder, emphasizing the injury to his arm.

  “So why are you here?” I ask when he takes a breath.

  “Because now I want a home.”

  “And taking over mine will be that for you?” I ask, suddenly not liking the direction of this discussion. He’s somehow weaseled his way into my barn, building another structure on my land, and letting himself into my house. And none of that compares to what he’s doing to my heart.

  “I’m not taking over your home, Bee, and you know it. I’m living in your barn.” His tone turns condescending as if he’s ashamed of his position. “And I’m improving land that’s been neglected and needs a purpose, as do you.”

  His chest rises and falls in his agitation, and I’m shaken. He lowers his head, shaking it side to side again and then he steps back, reaching for another tool in a bin and returning his attention to the tractor. I move forward, leaning against the side of the oversized tire.

  “Speaking of purpose, what’s the point of the stuff on my kitchen table?”

  Jedd pauses in his clanging of the wrench against the metal but keeps his eyes on his work.

  “They’re ingredients for soapmaking. You said you were interested in making soap, so I bought you the stuff. Some scented oils are on the way.”

  Soapmaking. Scented oils. I don’t know how to make soap. I said soapmaking as a knee-jerk reaction to his question. He asked me my interest while soap cascaded down his body, and all I wanted was to be those suds.

  “I don’t really know how to make soap,” I admit, not unappreciative of the gesture but concerned because I don’t have the skills to be grateful for the gift.

  “I figured you could just look it up online.”

  I don’t often use computers, so I haven’t mastered that skill either. My child definitely surpassed me in this ability, and while I’ve always
been curious about the secondhand desktop we own, I’ve never taken the steps to learn more about its benefits.

  “You watch a lot of television, right?”

  How does he know that?

  “I see the blue light on in your room.”

  Does he watch me through the sheers? Instead of freaking me out, it thrills me to consider.

  “You could look it up online almost the same as using your television. Watch a video on Youtube.”

  It sounds easy enough. I could ask Hannah for help, but I pause with the thought. I could ask her to teach me how to search for things on the computer, but I don’t want to ask Hannah. Considering his gesture—to find me something I might have an interest in—he provided me with the tools, and I want this for me. I want to make soap. If I need assistance, I can ask my librarian sister for help with the internet.

  “I can do it,” I whisper, but his left side faces me, and he doesn’t hear my affirmation. Instead, his hand slips, and the wrench knocks against his knee. He stands but immediately bends at the waist, a litany of swear words stringing together like wash on a laundry line.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, trying not to chuckle as I know it isn’t funny, but it kind of is in the way he’s hobbling around, bent over and cursing.

  “No. No, I’m not okay.” He stands a little straighter, shaking out his knee with a few more expletives and then adds something I’m not expecting. “And tell me what your issue with Vernon is? What happened with him?”

  Whoosh goes the air in my lungs. Jedd stands still again, facing me, and suddenly, I understand his frustration might not be just with the stubborn tractor.

  “I…” I don’t know how to explain Vernon and our past relationship. “We were friends.” My eyes pinch in the brightness of a cloudy fall day.

  “Friends?” he scoffs. “Yeah, I’m not believing that one.”

  “Why? What did Vernon say?”

  “Nothing. That’s just it. He’s very tight-lipped about you, but he’s obviously familiar. His boys know Hannah. They mentioned spending time here as kids.”

  I don’t think it’s my place to mention how Vernon’s wife is a raging alcoholic. Raging in that she tries to smack around her husband who’s oversized compared to her, and who beat her boys, who were always taught never to retaliate at a woman. Vernon struggled between smacking her back and holding her off from both him and the boys.

  “He’s married,” I state as if that in and of itself should explain things. Vernon Grady is married, but we once confided in one another. Howard had left me. Abigail was an abusive addict. My husband slept with his wife.

  “Vernon and I were friends. And then we weren’t.” It’s all I’m going to admit to Jedd. The rest goes to the grave with me.

  Jedd shakes his head, not believing me, and then returns to slamming the wrench at the tractor.

  “Finally, you bastard,” he mutters as some gasket comes free. Working on the tractor reminds me Jedd mentioned making an exchange with Vernon to fix it. My brows pinch. Did he respect my wishes? Did he not make a deal after all? Is that why he’s sweating, swearing, and struggling with this old machine on his own?

  “If you need Vernon’s help, you can ask him,” I say, making certain I’m louder than his mutters and the hammering of metal against metal.

  “I don’t need Vernon,” he says, standing abruptly once again and then climbing onto the tractor seat. His back is to me. I’m taking his position as a dismissal, especially when he turns the key and the engine grinds to life. His hand slams on the steering wheel, and then he lifts his fist in victory. He twists in the seat.

  “Come for a ride with me.” He extends his right hand down to me, wiggling his fingers as his demeanor has shifted in the success of starting the machinery.

  “I…I don’t think it’s safe,” I yell over the rumble of the engine.

  “Just down the path and back. I’ll even let you steer. I’ll be the legs. You be the hands. Trust me.”

  I chuckle at the comment looking down at the cuffs around my arms. I remove my hands from the supports and reach for the tire to help me move forward. I’ve been working my left leg, pressing it on the floor to rock my rocker, hoping any renewed movement helps restore some muscle tone. I do find it’s getting easier to maneuver around than it’s been in the past. Tossing the crutches off to the side, out of the path of the tractor, I reach up for Jedd’s hand. With a strength that surprises me, he tugs me upward. I awkwardly struggle to shift my left side over his lap as I grip the steering wheel. With his hand on my hip, he guides my lame leg over his thick thighs. A tractor seat doesn’t really allow for two people, and he tugs me down to his lap.

  His head wiggles over one shoulder and then the other.

  “Hold the wheel, honey,” he yells, as his hand falls to the shift stick and his foot releases the clutch. I squeal from the jerking motion as the tractor lurches forward, but Jedd’s quick footwork steadies us, and we chug forward with me on his lap and my hands gripping the steering wheel for dear life.

  Chapter Seventeen

  [Jedd]

  Setting Beverly on my lap might have been one of the most idiotic moves of my life. A tractor is a one-person vehicle so she isn’t wrong in that driving with someone else is not the safest, but it’s for more than one reason this position isn’t secure. Bouncing up and down on me with every rut and groove of the ancient path, I have the hard-on of all hard-ons. The ache in my balls digs deep as she starts out with screams and squeals. When she mellows into laughter, it’s worth the struggle. Her laugh is a lyric calling to me like a siren to a sailor.

  Beverly is tall-ish, so sitting on my thighs sets her higher than me, and I need to rest my chin on her shoulder in order to look around her and guide us.

  “Tell me more about yourself, Jedd Flemming,” she hollers over the roar of the engine. My right ear rests near her left, and I hear the vibration of her words.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Tell me more about those rodeo buckles.”

  Unable to help myself, my nose rubs along the length of her neck, and I chuckle in her ear. “So curious.”

  Beverly laughs again, and I love the sound. I’ll answer anything she wants as long as she keeps offering me that sweet trill.

  “I had a falling out with my stepfather and went into the military.” It really wasn’t quite so simple, but it’s a start. “I didn’t think I’d be in for as long as I was. Once I was hurt and recovered, I didn’t have a purpose. No place to call home.” I look off in the distance to a house we can’t see from here. “Then I learned about PAFRA. Although it had been a few years, my love of horses was still strong, and I was a show-off. I might have won a few awards.” I chuckle as my chin rests on her shoulder.

  Beverly screeches. “A few? That trunk is full of buckles and medals and ribbons.”

  “Yeah, well.” I dismiss the accolades, almost embarrassed by them, although I’ve never been embarrassed before to claim my fame.

  “What exactly is PARFA?”

  “PAFRA,” I correct. “Professional Armed Forces Rodeo Association.” I pause momentarily, recalling how I found the association. “A few good men designed the organization for veterans with a love of horses and a need for stability. A purpose of sorts to those lost when they returned home, and a place to channel competitive energy.” Not to mention the anger of missing body parts or a clouded mind or a wounded heart.

  “Were you lost, Jedd?” she asks, her voice softer but still loud enough over the drone of the engine. We hit a bump, and she shifts on my lap, coming down on a part that wants to get lost in her. Instead, I run my fingers up and into her hair like I did last night. I love her hair. We’re older, but I don’t crave a brunette or a blond, especially as the white tones on her locks look sexy as all get-out. Her hair is also thick, which I wouldn’t have guessed from the tight knot she kept at her nape when I first met her. The waves float through my fingers like whitecaps over tan knuckles. She lets me play whi
le I process my thoughts.

  “I guess I was. But not all who wander are lost. I had wanderlust. I’d been all over the Western states and Texas, not to mention halfway across the world. I love PAFRA for what it offered me, but I’m ready to settle down. Plant my roots in one spot.”

  Beverly keeps her gaze forward, but her voice tightens. “What if the wanderlust returns? I’d think a man used to being a nomad wouldn’t care to be strapped to one place.”

  “Depends on who’s doing the strapping, honey,” I tease. She isn’t wrong. I’ll always want to visit places and have adventures, but there’s nothing wrong with making a sedentary spot an adventure as well. “This right here is what I want.” I tug gently at her hair, and her brows pinch, not taking my meaning.

  “So serious.” I chuckle, running my nose over the shell of her ear. She hitches her shoulder to her chin, knocking me out of my pleasure.

  “That tickles.” She giggles. That spot is more than ticklish, it’s her trigger point, and I recall how she responded to me kissing and nipping her there last night. That shoulder of hers, exposed from the sweater continually falling to the side hints at a pale plum bra, and that’s my trigger point. I want to kiss her, right now, and I search the distance for a place to give us some privacy. Not that anyone’s around, but I don’t think Beverly would take kindly to me ravishing her out in the middle of some field. Then again…no one is around. I nip her neck, and she jumps on my lap with another bump. Dammit.

  “We’re gonna have an accident if you do that while I’m driving,” she teases, but her tone turns serious. A driving accident is no joke to her.

  We’re headed toward the property edge where the climb to the mountain begins. In the vast distance to our left, another home can be seen. It stands lonely and sad, too far away to note if anyone lives inside. I already know the answer. I’d love to stop and stare a moment, the thought reminding me of a Robert Frost poem, but I’m worried this old tractor will stall if we pause, so my kissing her is going to have to wait.