by Law, Kim
At the mention of his father, the muscles in his chest contracted. “Dad will definitely have a place to come home to. I promise you that.”
He’d witnessed Megan’s concern for his dad before. After the accident, when she’d shown up at the hospital. When she’d asked about him practically every time Nate had seen her since. And during each of those times, she’d asked about his dad before bringing up any other topic of conversation.
“He won’t be home for a few more weeks,” he reminded her, “so I have plenty of time to get this finished.”
She nodded and looked down at the work he’d already completed. He’d spent the weekend working through the list he’d started at the store Friday afternoon, and after talking to a couple of buddies he’d originally met in Alaska—guys who’d built handicapped ramps more recently than he—he’d double-checked ADA compliance. If he was going to do the work at the house, then he’d make sure to do it to code.
“But I want to help,” Megan said again, and this time it was more of a plea than a statement. “It’s the least I can do. Because I should have . . .”
When she shook her head instead of finishing her sentence, he reached out. “Don’t.”
He grazed the backs of his fingers over the upper part of her arm. He knew what she’d intended to say. Because he’d been thinking the same thing for the last two weeks. Only, he’d been thinking it about himself.
“You shouldn’t have, Megan.” He dropped his hand back to his side. “You shouldn’t have done anything. You didn’t know he was sick. He didn’t tell anyone.”
Her eyes looked hollow. “But I did see him acting ‘off’ a couple of times.”
He hated the hurt shining back at him.
“I did, too,” he admitted, and at his words, her gaze reached deeper into his soul than anyone else’s ever had. That made his guilt claw at him even more. Because he had seen his dad acting off. More than once. He’d been unsteady. Confused. Especially that last morning.
But Nate had been more worried about his own feelings than to think anything of his dad’s actions other than that the man was getting old. People did odd things when they aged. Or so he’d told himself.
He’d selfishly avoided the reality staring him in the face for nearly two months.
He’d ignored every blatant sign flashing in front of him.
And he’d done all of that even before that last morning.
“Here.” He handed the nail gun to Megan. His dad’s loss wasn’t on Megan. That was for sure. “I’ll cut. You attach.”
* * *
Megan took the nail gun, surprised at Nate’s sudden change in mood, then twisted her wrist so she could see the side of the bracket where the nails came out.
“Megan!”
She jerked her attention back to Nate. “What?”
“Don’t turn the nail gun toward your face.” The man looked ready to pull his own hair out. She scowled at him.
“I didn’t.” It had been angled across the front of her. Pointed away from both of them. She lowered the gun to her side, making sure her finger wasn’t anywhere near the trigger. “And anyway, the compressor isn’t even on.” She nodded toward the connected tank. “I made sure before I looked at the gun.”
Again, he sported a pull-his-own-hair-out look, with both hands clenched tight where they rested on the table saw and his jaw just as tense. “But I just had the compressor on. Right before you pulled up. It’s still pressurized, and the hose is still attached. With only a light touch, the gun could easily fire.”
Oh. She gulped. Well, he had her there. She hadn’t even thought about that. “Still,” she dragged the word out, not quite ready to lose without a fight, “I didn’t—”
“Just don’t do it again. Okay?” His tone portrayed the strain evident in his entire body, and she pressed her lips together, cutting off her argument. Because he was right. Her actions could easily have been unsafe.
She nodded. “I promise not to do it again.” And then the gratefulness that passed over his features pleased her a little too much.
“Thank you.” He nodded toward the ramp behind her, and the tension visibly drained from his shoulders. He then went into teacher mode. “After you turn the compressor on, just line the boards up with the outside of the frame, hold the bracket head of the gun tight against the wood, and shoot.”
“Easy enough.” Turning, she set about her task—and she ignored the silently whispering question as to why making him happy had made her happy.
They worked in silence for the next forty-five minutes, her attaching boards and him measuring and cutting, and before she realized it, they’d reached the platform area where the ramp changed directions. She grabbed the measuring tape before Nate could move for it himself, wiped at the line of sweat that had formed along her hairline, and checked the length needed for the platform boards.
“Five feet,” Nate said from behind her. “Exactly.”
And he wasn’t wrong.
When she straightened, expecting to find him lining up another board to be cut, she instead discovered him within arm’s reach, holding out a bottle of Gatorade. But rather than immediately take it, she eyed the bottle with skepticism. Did he have visions of it being filled with poison? If for no other reason than so he could have the afternoon all to his lonely self again?
She managed not to roll her eyes at the likely possibility and, instead, lifted her gaze.
“Thanks,” she offered, noting that the stony expression which had appeared when she’d first shown up was once again firmly in place. Then she had the thought that the Gatorade might, instead, be meant as a peace offering. Because the man had tried awfully hard to get rid of her earlier.
And she had been an excellent source of help.
And stubborn or not, even he had to acknowledge that fact. If only to himself.
Taking up the drink, she decided she’d accept the offering as a symbol of peace—no matter how it had been meant—and guzzled a third of the bottle. Once her initial thirst had been quenched, she looked back over at Nate. “I saw your dad this morning.”
His brows shot up. “You went by the rehab center?”
“I did.” She took another swallow, keeping an eye on Nate. Today was the first time Max had been up for visitors outside of family. “I only spent a few minutes with him,” she shared. “Didn’t want to wear him out. But he looked”—she shrugged, not knowing how else to describe Max without sounding maudlin—“good . . . considering.”
“Yeah . . .” Nate’s gaze drifted from her to some spot over her shoulder, not offering any other thoughts on the matter, and Megan turned away to balance her drink on the framed edge of the platform. With both hands now free, she headed for the back of his truck.
“He did mention that you hadn’t visited over the weekend.” She spoke as she hoisted a twelve-foot length of lumber onto her shoulder. “He asked if you’d left town.”
As she dropped the plank beside the saw, she glanced over and caught the same guilty expression on Nate’s face that she’d seen earlier—which also matched the one he’d worn Friday afternoon.
“I’ve been busy.” He motioned to the ramp before following her back to the truck.
“That’s what I told him.”
“Is that right?” He looked down his nose at her when they reached his lowered tailgate, a humored smirk now flirting with his eyes. “Except that you haven’t seen me all weekend, Manning. So, in reality, you had no clue what I’d been doing.”
“Wrong.” She swatted his hands away as he tried to stop her from pulling out a board. “I knew exactly what you were doing. I saw Jaden in town this morning, and he told me.”
The muscles in Nate’s body tensed for a split second, almost as if in the beginnings of some sort of seizure, before he pushed her hands away yet again and slid out a stack of boards. He moved to the table saw, dropped the boards from chest height to clatter loudly at his feet, and when he turned back, the humor that had previously crept
into his features was gone.
“Of course Jaden told you.” His lips barely moved as he spoke, and the words—combined with the obvious sentiment—had her hackles going up.
“What do you mean by that?”
He once again looked down his nose at her. “What I mean is that of course Jaden told you. Because that’s what you two do, isn’t it? Keep up with each other. Stay in each other’s lives.”
“We don’t . . . “
Nate’s eyes narrowed, and she jutted out her chin.
She and Jaden were still friends, yes. But that was all. And that was important to her.
They’d known each other for years before they’d dated, and granted, their friendship had gone through a definite rough patch after the breakup, but they’d gotten beyond that in the last few weeks. Which was essential, being that she wanted to remain in Birch Bay indefinitely. And even more so, due to her now working for his family.
At least, she hoped to continue working for his family. If they ended up selling the farm . . .
She didn’t want to think about that. She liked living in Birch Bay. She liked being invested in the Wilde family’s businesses.
She liked the life she’d laid out for herself here.
No. Nate had this wrong. Nothing but friendship remained between her and Jaden.
“I’m not staying in his life, Nate.” She allowed her own irritation to show. “Not like that. And you’ve been around me enough the past couple of months that you good-and-well know it, too.”
“What I know is that he’s now engaged. But maybe you’ve forgotten that.”
“Of course I haven’t forgotten that.” Her anger spiked. Seriously, what was his issue? “I even helped him plan out his proposal.”
“Which is exactly my point.”
She took a step back at his eruption and bumped hard into the tailgate.
“Snarl at me all you want”—reaching behind her, she rubbed at the spot where the tailgate had jabbed—“but your point makes no sense. I fully support the two of them as a couple. I was the one who first suggested they go out. And I’m not—”
A white Honda appeared in the driveway behind them, and Megan bit off any further argument. It was Arsula and Jaden.
Nate eyed the vehicle until the car came to a complete stop, and then he slowly turned back to her. Both of them glared at each other, both breathing harder than a simple conversation should entail, and Megan wondered how they’d veered so far off path that what had started as pleasant had turned to attacking.
“Hey, guys,” Arsula called out as she hurried around the front of her car.
“Hey,” Megan and Nate said at the same time. Neither of them sounded very welcoming, and Megan caught Arsula sliding a sideways look their way. Before Arsula could say anything else, though, Jaden spoke from the passenger seat, and his fiancée made a beeline for him. Given the slash of pain across his face, he’d likely just come from a rough physical therapy session.
After Jaden and Arsula made their way into the house, Megan decided to get back to work. She’d come out there to help, after all, not to be accused of something that wasn’t true. So, she saw no reason in continuing the conversation.
Nate, however, had other ideas.
“I’m just saying,” he started, and from the quieter tone and the fact that the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, she knew he’d moved in closer, “that it’s weird. That’s all.”
“What’s weird?” She grabbed the nail gun and shot a pointed look at the table saw.
“Your being involved with Jaden’s engagement.”
“But why?” She didn’t see the problem. She’d helped out a friend.
In fact, given how much she and Arsula had gotten to know each other over the past months, and the fact that she’d also created and deployed Arsula’s new intuitive coaching website for her, she’d actually helped out two friends.
Nate narrowed the gap even more when he put his face directly in front of hers. “Because it’s odd, Manning. Because you were with the guy for four years. And to hear him tell it, you intended to marry him.”
True. She wet her lips. The two of them had planned to get married. They’d had their plans firmly blocked out for quite a while. He’d finish his master’s in Seattle, then they’d both move here where she’d work long-distance in her originally chosen field while Jaden would get certified and eventually open his own office as a family and children’s counselor. It had been a solid plan, and that’s one hundred percent what she’d wanted. As well as the house and kids they’d not only planned for but had already started saving for.
Only, things had changed after she’d stayed in Birch Bay to help out his family. Time and distance had been eye-opening. And what she’d discovered was that somewhere along the four years, not only had her and Jaden’s passion waned . . . but her desire to spend years coding computer applications had, as well.
Both of those realizations had terrified her. Heck, they still terrified her to some extent. Because she’d had a plan, and she was a woman who liked plans. Plans were the perfect counterpart to lists. However, when it came to her decision regarding Jaden . . . she had zero doubts. And the reason for that was simple. She refused to settle.
She refused to marry a man whose chemistry was better as friend than lover. She didn’t want someone just because they “fit” or because it was comfortable. She wanted her person. And she wanted her person to be as madly, passionately unable to live without her as she wanted to feel toward them. Also, given she’d basically turned her back on her multiple years of education and was actively trying to make her new life in Birch Bay, she really hoped she could find her person here.
She put the nail gun back down, pushing away any lingering worries about past decisions. Onward and upward, she thought. Because she had a new plan.
“I’m not with Jaden anymore, Nate.” She let him see the confidence she felt with that decision. “And I haven’t been for a while now.”
“For two months,” he lobbied back.
“Exactly. And I’m the one who broke up with him. Don’t forget that.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
He hadn’t moved away either, and they stood there, neither of them angry any longer nor looking ready to spew venom. But he still clearly had a point to make. “So then,” she said, “what is your issue?”
But this time he didn’t have an answer. He just stood there. Staring.
Breathing.
Smelling like testosterone-laden male and the pine-scented Montana outdoors.
The thought whipped through her, causing her to rear back, and the idea of putting distance between them suddenly became priority number one. Her feet began to move. What had they even been arguing about? And why was she now thinking about how the man smelled?
“I need to go.” She racked her brain for a reason, already heading for her car. “I . . . have a date tonight.” Because yes, she did. “I need time to primp.”
She groaned inwardly, but she kept walking. She never needed five hours to get ready.
“A date?”
The dubious tone of Nate’s question brought her feet to a halt, and she slowly looked back. Her irritation once again rose. “Yes,” she drew the word out. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“No. Of course not. I just . . .” His brow creased. “You mean with a man, right?”
Shock had her staring. What? Did he think that being with Jaden had ruined her for all other men or something? That she’d switched to women?
“I mean,” Nate stammered. He shifted on his feet. “A date where he’s paying? Where he’s picking you up? That kind of thing?”
The hole he dug only got bigger. “Well, my-my, Mr. Wilde. Aren’t you just the traditionalist? Should he also hold every door for me? See me safely back into my apartment? Oh”—she touched a finger to her lips—“I know. Maybe he should also check all my closets and under my bed when he takes me home, too.”
She shuddered in mock
damsel-in-distress, and Nate flushed in response. And dang if she didn’t find that cute.
She turned back for her car. She didn’t need to be finding anything about Nate cute.
And anyway, he was too masculine to be “cute.” He was more—
“I didn’t mean to imply that a woman can’t pay for her own meal.” He spoke from behind her, and when she once again peeked back, for the first time that afternoon, she got a glimpse of an actual smile.
It was miniscule, but still . . .
Sensual.
The word whispered through her, and she almost nodded before catching herself. That was it, though. The man was sensual.
His smell.
The way his hair was just a little too long. Perfect for a woman to run her fingers through.
The brooding way he watched a person—which, alone, could evoke a full-body shiver.
She opened her car door and stood behind it while also mentally erasing every thought she’d just had. “Then how about the idea of a woman paying for a man’s meal?” she asked. She eyed his jeans-clad legs as they started her way. “If the woman were the one who’d done the inviting,” she went on. “Could you get behind something that forward thinking?”
“I could.” He kept moving, and she kept an eye on the shrinking distance. “I could even support a woman paying for whatever form of . . . entertainment the date might involve.”
His feet stilled with the last word, and neither of them said anything else for a long beat. But from the shocked expression on his face—as well as her own thoughts—she knew that both their minds had sunk into the gutter as far as what “entertainment” could be part of a date.
Finally, Nate hung his head, and his shoulders shook with laughter. “I did not mean that the way it sounded.”
“No?” She couldn’t help it; she chuckled along with him. And the tension that had so quickly wound through her drifted into the wind. “Then tell me, Nate, what other forms of entertainment were you thinking of? How do you entertain your dates?”
His laughter abruptly ceased, and his blue eyes were once again on hers.
