by Law, Kim
“I was waiting for you,” she explained, her patience now gone. “Because the rest of your family went out the door the instant they came back downstairs, and I didn’t get a chance to speak to any of them.”
He glanced toward the windows again at the dissipating crowd.
“And because I want to know how the meeting went.”
Her words brought his gaze back, but his shoulders didn’t soften. “What meeting?”
Her jaw twitched. “Seriously?” Why was that even a question? She jabbed a finger toward the ceiling. “The meeting that you and your family had up there just a short while ago. I know you guys were discussing the farm, and you have to know that’s important to me. It impacts the store. My job.”
He picked up a cherry-filled chocolate bar from one of the impulse bins. “Are you worried about your job?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” She shook her head. “No, Nate. I’m not worried about my job. As we’ve already discussed, I’m more than qualified. I can find another job if I need one. Heck, I can be the hermit living in a basement writing apps all day. But I am worried about your family. About the farm. Are you guys going to sell or not?” Her voice had risen as she’d spoken, and though she doubted anyone could have heard her outside, it seemed as if those remaining within eyesight all suddenly looked her way.
She didn’t want to think about the Wildes selling the orchard. She loved the place. She loved the whole Wilde family.
And that meant she also absolutely hated what Max was going through.
She expected Nate to avoid her question again, just because he liked to be difficult, but instead, he shook his head. It wasn’t a large movement but enough to tell the answer was a definite ‘no.’
“You’re not selling?” Relief flooded her.
“We’re not . . . yet.”
“Oh.” Her chest deflated.
“And maybe not at all,” he quickly clarified. “We don’t know yet.”
Her prior relief idled at the side, hopeful for a chance at a return. “Well, that’s something, I suppose.” She did her best to sound hopeful. “And the trees?” she asked. “Are they—”
“Mostly a loss.”
“Oh,” she said again, and this time followed it with a tired sigh.
“Yeah. Oh.” He appeared to be as devastated as she felt. “But there are some still alive. We don’t know for certain how many yet, but at least fifteen percent.” Now it was he who seemed to put in the effort to be hopeful. “In the coming weeks, I’ll be working on cleaning up the place,” he explained. “Running dead trees through the wood chipper, figuring out what we do and don’t have.”
“Wait…” She held up a hand to stop his words, then she finally came out from behind the counter. “You mean, you aren’t leaving?”
He dropped the candy bar back into the bin. “Why would you think I’m leaving?” He looked down at her—she stood beside him now, and there was at least a foot of height difference between them.
“I just—”
“You tired of seeing my ugly mug around here, Manning? Ready for me to go?”
The question threw her, and something new simmering in the air now had her taking a step back. Also, he had the complete opposite of an ugly mug. The man was cover-model perfect.
As were all the Wilde boys.
“Why would what you do matter to me?” she asked, mostly because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“It wouldn’t. I was just joking.” He didn’t look away. “But why would you think I’m leaving?”
“Because Jaden told me you were.”
Nate closed his eyes at that, and the temporary “weirdness” that seemed to hover in the air evaporated. When his blue eyes once again looked her way, they did so along with a tight smile. “That boy sure likes to share what he knows, doesn’t he?”
“Who? Jaden?” She didn’t understand why Jaden telling her would upset him. “I’m sorry . . . was he not supposed to say anything about it?” Megan lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “To be honest, I don’t think he even knew that he’d told me. He was just nervous earlier as he waited to ask Arsula to marry him. He was rattling off at the mouth a bit.”
“Right. That’s my brother. Rattling off at the mouth.”
When he didn’t say anything else, just continued to look ticked, she ignored the direction his thoughts had taken and asked her question again. “So . . . you’re not leaving?”
“No, I’m not leaving. Not yet. But I definitely will be.” With his announcement, he turned and headed for the door. “I’ll be sure to have Jaden tell you when the time comes, though.”
He put his hand on the keys still hanging from the lock.
“Try not to scare any bears out there, Wilde.”
He stopped with the door halfway open and looked back with a startled expression. Shouts from outside filtered into the building, and she heard someone call out for Nate.
“You know?” She apparently had to explain herself. “Because of your grumpiness? Don’t scare the bears . . . because they’re supposed to be the ones who are scary?”
The man didn’t even crack a smile. “You’re cute, Manning.” His sarcasm couldn’t be missed. “Jaden really missed out when he lost you.”
“I know,” she deadpanned in return. “But he wasn’t man enough for my charms.”
She maintained her lack of emotion until Nate rolled his eyes and shook his head, and when he once again turned for the door, she tossed out another tidbit.
“What you do may not matter to me, but I’m still glad you’re staying.”
He glanced back at her again, and this time she flashed him a legit smile. Difficult or not, she liked the man. He made her laugh, and he pulled no punches. She also felt a kinship with the loner side of him. “I also know it’ll make your dad happy,” she told him. “He loves it when all of you are around.”
That seemed to pain, as well as to please, him. “You think so?”
She nodded without hesitation. “Absolutely. He mentioned you often while I was staying with them.” She hadn’t returned to Seattle after she and Jaden had visited for Christmas due to the previous store manager having to leave unexpectedly because of a family emergency. “I’m just sorry that I didn’t—” Her words faltered as she tried to continue, feeling tears pushing at the back of her eyes. A chill ran down both sides of her neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice that anything was wrong with him. I mean”—she lowered her chin and ended up staring at Nate’s chest—“I did notice a couple of things. Maybe.” She shook her head in uncertainty. “But I brushed them off. I assumed it was nothing.”
Nate didn’t say anything else for a moment, but he did let the door swing closed behind him. They stood there, facing each other, but not looking at one another, until Megan had her emotions back under control. When she did, she once again lifted her gaze.
And the fact that she could read what was in Nate’s eyes floored her.
He was riddled with pain.
“It’s not your fault he’s sick,” he informed her.
“I know that.” And she did know. But she had lived with the man for eight weeks.
And she had seen a few things that should have raised a red flag.
“Nor that he lost a leg,” Nate stressed.
“I know that, too.” She’d picked up on a shift in his voice. Tightness now squeezed around each of his words. “But it’s not your fault either,” she told him.
Is that what he thought?
But why would he? His father had been out before daylight on a tractor!
“Right.” Nate gave a short nod with the single, tautly spoken word, and the look in his eyes told her more than words ever could. He one hundred percent believed it was his fault.
He looked over her head then, taking in the mostly empty shelves behind her—and likely seeing only whatever ran rampant through his head. When their gazes reconnected, his expression had returned to blank. “But Dad losing a leg or not, you kn
ow we’ve likely also lost more trees than can support this place, right?”
That was the other thing she’d been afraid of. “So, we replant. Don’t you guys always have to replant a few trees each year anyway? And I’ll help. I’ll pitch in however I can. I’ve got plenty of free time. Plus, I like to stay busy. Just say the word and I’m there.”
She knew she was now the one rattling, but she meant the words. She’d do whatever it took to make sure the Wildes’ cherry orchard didn’t go under.
Nate opened the door again, that time by taking a step backward and pushing with his backside. “You want to stay busy, Manning?” He glanced to his right, as if scoping out what remaining work there was to do out on the street. “Then buy yourself a pair of work gloves.” He looked at her again. “And show up at the farm. I’ll be glad to teach you how to use a wood chipper.”
He slipped out the door without saying another word, and she stood there watching him walk away. But instead of heading toward his family, he went in the opposite direction. Without speaking to anyone.
Chapter Three
Two beads of sweat raced each other down Nate’s back as he hoisted the pile of recently cut deck boards and headed to where the ramp frame connected on the far side of the deck. It was just after noon on Monday and warmer than a normal mid-April afternoon, and with several hours of sunlight remaining, he should at least be able to finish the floor of the ramp. Possibly even get started on the railing.
He dropped the lumber to the ground, finding a sense of satisfaction with the clatter of wood pieces tumbling together, then refit one of his earbuds more securely into his ear. Grabbing the nail gun he’d purchased from the local hardware store, he pressed his phone’s volume up a couple of times and got to work.
As quickly as he began attaching the boards, however, he stopped when he caught a flash of a reflection in the black paint of his F250. Someone was coming up the driveway. He leaned to his right, nail gun hoisted at his side, as he waited to see who it was. With any luck, it would only be a delivery person. Once he’d decided to stay, he’d ordered supplies he doubted he could quickly get in town. No need to delay the work to be done.
Luck wasn’t on his side today, however, because it was neither a brown nor a white boxy vehicle that pulled up. Nope. It was a shiny red Toyota Prius with a set of sweet custom graphite rims.
He pulled the earbuds from his ears but didn’t turn off the compressor. Then he waited for Megan to get out of her car.
It took a minute, as she seemed to need to gather something from her passenger seat, the passenger floorboard, and from directly behind where she still sat. And the longer he waited, the more effort it took to care that he’d been interrupted. He’d noticed that trait about her before. She was brilliant. Seriously. Even smarter than his baby brother. But the inside of her car, the few times he’d caught glimpses of it, always looked like someone’s catch-all drawer had exploded.
Fighting the urge to go over and take a peek inside, he waited, wondering what she was doing out there. And when she finally stood from the car, his earlier humor shifted to bafflement.
He put the nail gun down and flipped off the compressor.
“What are you doing, Manning?”
Her head whipped around at his question, making it clear she hadn’t yet seen him standing behind the house. In her hands were a set of clear, plastic work goggles, an enormous jug of water, rawhide gloves, a baseball cap, and a bottle of sunscreen.
She juggled the items, switching most of them off in the crook of one arm, until only the gloves remained in the other hand, then she held them up. “I’ve come to help.”
He glanced down her body, taking in the faded jeans and worn T-shirt. “Help?”
“Correct.” She juggled her armload back into two hands and headed for the deck. “I’ve got to say, though”—her boot-clad feet carefully picked their way through the tools scattered across the driveway—“that I kind of had my heart set on running the wood chipper.”
At her words, he frowned. She deposited her “supplies” on the third step and surveyed the mess he’d made, hands going to her slim hips, before finally tracking her gaze over to where he remained.
And then she grinned at him. “I’m good with doing this, though. Put me to work, Wilde.”
He didn’t so much as move. “I am not putting you to work.”
“Sure you are.” She downed a long guzzle of water, smacking her lips afterward as if she’d just applied lipstick, then she smeared sunscreen over her nose and cheeks. “That’s what you do after suggesting someone come over to help.”
“But I didn’t suggest you come over to help.” He hadn’t even spoken to her since Friday.
“Of course you did.” She tugged on her gloves and grabbed her goggles, then paused, goggles positioned just above her eyebrows, while she eyed him from under the protective lenses. “You said that if I wanted to stay busy, I should get myself a pair of work gloves and come help.”
She rolled her eyes up as if to point out said work gloves, and he pursed his lips.
He had said that.
But he certainly hadn’t expected her to take him up on it.
Having no time for delay, he made sure his frown remained intact, narrowed his eyes for good measure, and stomped over to where she stood. “I have a lot to get done today, Megan, and none of it involves teaching someone how to run power tools. So please . . . go home.”
He reached out, intending to take her by the shoulders and steer her back to her car, but the brown eyes now glowering at him through the protective wear—daring him to put his hands anywhere near her body—had him immediately dropping his arms.
He let out a sigh.
She did the same.
Then as they’d briefly done at the store Friday afternoon, they had a stare off. In the short time he’d gotten to know her, he’d learned that her stubbornness could give his a run for its money. And something told him that today his money would be the one lost.
“Seriously, Meg.” He continued to scowl.
“Seriously, Nate.”
He gave it another ten seconds, but in the end, she won.
“Fine.” He threw his hands up. “Stay and help. See if I care.” He nodded toward the pile of deck boards he’d dropped earlier. “You can hand me the boards.”
He headed back to where he’d left off on the ramp, leaving her to follow, but when he picked up the nail gun and turned to hold out a hand for a board, she hadn’t moved from her spot. And she looked quite ticked. She now stood with her own arms crossed and one set of toes rapidly tapping out in front of her.
“What now?” He truly didn’t want any help. Mostly because as a rule, he preferred to work alone. But also because he didn’t want her help. He didn’t need the distraction.
And hello . . . distraction!
He glowered at her. She wasn’t a distraction in the way his brother had meant when the asswipe had asked if there was anything going on between him and Megan, though. Because of course there wasn’t anything going on. Nor would there ever be. She was Jaden’s ex!
But still . . . she did bother him. And mostly because he had noticed her.
And he didn’t care for that one bit.
It hadn’t been while she and Jaden had been together, of course. At that point, she’d been nothing more than an assumed future sister-in-law. But given he’d since spent more time around her . . . like it or not . . . he’d noticed.
Like the fact that she always smelled like the pears he’d once harvested in Oregon.
That her smile, when so spontaneous that it even caught her off guard, could wipe all other thoughts from a man’s mind.
And he’d also noticed that she didn’t put up with crap. From anyone.
That particular trait just might have played into his current suggestion that she do nothing more than stand off to the side and hand him boards like a good little girl while he did the heavy lifting.
He bit back a grin as she conti
nued to glare at him. Her cheeks had heated to a splotchy pink, and when she finally did move, stomping over to him as he’d previously done to her, he merely doubled down. “What?” he growled out.
“What?” Her eyes snapped, and he darn near whipped his head back to keep from being singed. “I’ll tell you what.” She jabbed him in the chest. “I didn’t come out here, Nate Wilde, to play assistant to anybody. And I won’t stand around and be insulted as if that’s all I’m capable of.”
“Fine.” He didn’t look away. “Then go to the store. I’m sure they could use your help.”
She jabbed again. “The store is closed on Mondays, you jackass.”
He knew that. It had always been that way. “Then go home, Megan. Or hell, go shopping. Enjoy your day off. I don’t care where you go, but just—”
When she jabbed him in the chest a third time, he caught her finger—because darn it, it hurt—and they once again had a stare off. Only, this time, he refused to back down. He also found himself having a hard time keeping his smile under wraps. He’d never seen her so riled up, and he knew it was sexist to think it cute . . . but sweet Jesus . . . it was cute.
Or maybe it’s just that she was cute.
The thought had him letting go of her finger as quickly as he’d snagged it. He had to quit thinking such thoughts. And he had to send her packing.
“Megan.” His calmer tone had her switching gears, and her anger seemed to sweep away as quickly as it had appeared. “When I suggested you come out here before, I promise you, I said it as a joke. So, while I do appreciate your offer”—he dipped his head as he looked down at her and tried to come off as contrite—“there’s honestly no need for you to stay. I can handle this myself.” He’d done construction for years. Building a ramp was no biggie.
“But I want to help.” Her proclamation was as soft as it was determined, and he could see in her eyes that she truly did. They’d lightened with her tone, took on a more amber hue. “I want to do whatever I can,” she explained, “because I don’t want you all to lose this place. I don’t want Max not to have a place to come home to.”
