Delivery to the Farmhouse (Havenwood Cowboys Romance #4)

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

S peaking of farmer tans, like the hobbit, Pippin, in the first Lord of the Rings movie, Fellowship of the Ring, when he realized ale was served in pints, I was getting one.

Half of the time while working on the crew, I was outside, cleaning up plastic, pieces of aluminum, debris, discarded two by fours, and sweeping up nails. In fact, Jesse had a contraption I’d never seen before—it was a thick magnet on two wheels. It had a single handle, and the magnet was elevated above the ground just high enough that it would attract any small tidbit of metal that had fallen to the ground.

That was one of my favorite tasks—guiding the metal lawnmower (as Jo called it) over the dirt and hearing the little clicky noises as I ran it over the ground to pick up nails and staples.

The other half of the time, I was in the almost-finished side of the townhouses, taping, mudding, painting, and cleaning. My tan was darker than it had ever been, and there was a definitive line showing just how far down my sleeves went.

My hair was even starting to show natural highlights.

During our lunch break the Monday following Bex Holden’s baby shower, I took a spot in the shade on the south side of the finished townhouses. Jo sat between Dan and Drake, taking turns feeding each man pieces of her sandwich and laughing when mayo dribbled down Dan’s chin.

“You have a sad life,” Jo said to the brothers as I approached.

“Come on, it’s not that good,” Dan said.

At first, I called them both Mr. D since I still didn’t know which of them was which. Now, I was able to distinguish them easily enough. Drake was the older of the two. He had a narrower face and brown eyes while Dan’s eyes were blue.

Ignoring Dan as he opened his mouth for another bite, she ate what was left of her sandwich instead and then stabbed a square of pink watermelon with her plastic fork and held it toward her mouth.

“Are you kidding? Watermelon is the fruit of the gods. You’re allergic to godlike fruit? Doesn’t bode well for you.” She bit the watermelon off and smiled at him.

“It’s not my fault,” Dan said, lifting his hands.

“That’s okay,” Jo said, stabbing another piece. “I’ll just dominate the watermelon eating contest tonight.”

“What’s tonight?” I asked, setting my lunch bag on my lap.

“Community thing,” Jo said. “Are you coming?”

I pulled out my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and took a bite. “I wasn’t planning on it. I didn’t even know about it.”

“Yeah, it’s like this summer bash at the square tonight,” Jo said.

“And Miss Jo is going to save me a dance,” Drake said.

“Says who?” Her flirtation came out in full force.

“Me.” Drake puffed his chest.

I chuckled and rolled my eyes, taking another bite. It made me wonder if she’d gone on dates with either of them and how her date with Jesse had gone.

“There’s going to be dancing?” I asked.

“Rumor has it, they’ve got a live band,” Jo said, taking another bite of watermelon. “I guess their lead singer got COVID, so they had to find a replacement.”

“Sounds awesome,” I said, taking another bite. “Not that he got Covid. I mean, I hope they find someone.”

The rest of our lunch break passed in goofy conversation about video games, Dan’s dream job, and the upcoming Olympics.

“Assuming anyone watches the summer games anymore,” Jo said. “My mom always tunes in and keeps me updated on it.”

One by one, the guys thinned out, returning to their tasks. Jo waved and took her lunch box back to her car before heading into the townhouse to keep painting, and I had a few minutes to myself. Eventually, I finished as well, and headed back into the community laundry room where today, I was mudding and texturing in preparation for paint.

Music played through my earbuds. I went with a soft playlist today as I dipped my trowel into the plaster and swiped it onto the wall.

Dip, swipe, scritch. Dip, swipe, scritch.

“You look like you’re right at home.”

I jumped, and Colton offered his hands. He wore a dark t-shirt with a Berry’s Machine Shop logo on the front, and he had a band-aid on his finger. It made me wonder what happened.

“You scared me,” I said as my heart got a grip.

He pointed to the wall behind me. “Texturing just might be your superpower.”

I lifted the trowel. “I am pretty good at flinging mud.”

Colton’s left brow twitched, and that mischievous glint twinkled in his eyes.

What was I doing? Flirting?

It sounded like I was flirting . Again.

That had to stop. Pronto.

“I know that first hand. At least this time, it’s where it’s supposed to go.” He gestured to the wall.

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t let him think we were friends.

Not that there was anything wrong with being friends. But before I knew it, we’d be exchanging phone numbers. And then meeting up. And then talking and kissing and making out and dreaming about the future. And getting my hopes up just so he could run them through a meat grinder.

Colton stalked closer to me. “You know, I was thinking…”

He leaned his hand against the wall?—

It was as though the moment went into sharp focus, predicting just what was going on before it actually happened.

I shouted, “Don’t!” but it was too late.

His hand sank right into the mud I’d just scraped onto the sheet rock, leaving a five-fingered star in my thoroughly scraped texturing job.

“Son of a gun,” Colton said with a groan.

Patches of red flared up the sides of his neck. He pried his hand free, which was now covered with a smattering of texturing mud.

“I just did that, didn’t I?”

I couldn’t help laughing. He was cute when he blushed.

“You sure know how to leave a mark,” I said. “I think I made something just like that when I was about five.”

It was true. My parents still had the clay offering. It’d been on a shelf in our dining room for as long as I could remember. I wondered if Mom and Dad would put it back up again in their new place.

That seemed like the kind of thing they’d do.

“I wasn’t trying to impress the wall,” he muttered, wiping plaster from his fingers onto his pants. “The girl, on the other hand…”

This statement cut off the rest of my laughter.

I watched as he reached for the extra scraper, dipped it into some mud, and swiped against his mold that would have made kindergarteners jealous. In seconds, any sign of his handprint was gone.

But the words he’d said lingered.

Me? He was trying to impress me.

I’d never thought of the word “impress” like I was thinking of it now. While it did mean to earn someone’s respect, it also literally meant to make a mark.

And he’d certainly made one.

Since when did it get so hot in here? Where did all the air go? My lungs worked double time only to come up short.

I needed to leave. Put some distance between us. But I wasn’t a quitter, not when a job was only half done. I still had to get the rest of this wall mudded. Then I’d find Jesse and see if there was something else I could do.

Anywhere Colton wasn’t.

Except this was his job site. I couldn’t avoid him forever.

Do you really need to, though? a thought nudged.

He was sweet. Funny. Charismatic. He made me laugh, made me smile. Just being around him made me feel lighter inside.

What if I gave him a chance?

The devil on my shoulder slammed the door on those thoughts.

We can’t go there, remember? I told myself, reminding myself of Gollum talking to his multiple personalities as if he were two people. I couldn’t go there. I couldn’t let my guard down.

That led to getting hurt.

I waited for him to leave. Maybe then I could get a grip on my thoughts and my pulse all at once. But to my utter dismay, he didn’t go.

With the trowel in hand, Colton bent for more mud and smeared it on a part of the wall I hadn’t yet gotten to.

What did he think he was doing?

“You don’t have to do that,” I said.

“I know, but I just wanted to make things up to you. I can’t believe I did that.” He shook his head while a little chagrined smile peeked at the corners of his mouth.

I wanted to protest, but what could I say? This was his job site.

We worked in silence for several moments. Several agonizing moments .

I needed some conversation before my thoughts ran away with me. Thoughts like tossing the trowels and answering the call of the chemistry between us—aka throwing myself at him and making some real impressions on the wall.

I was picturing kissing this man? Where did that come from?

“You know, I did something like that once,” I said, grasping for something else to focus on.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, my parents were pouring new cement in the backyard behind the post office. They had a new sidewalk poured, and I was about seven when I accidentally stepped right onto the drying cement. My bare footprint is still there to this day.”

“Really?”

“Really,” I said, swimming in the memories.

I missed the post office. I missed my home there. I missed my parents, too, but they kept in touch with me. Mom called me nearly every night, letting me know how their move was going. They got rid of a lot of things before moving, but she talked about continuing to whittle down their belongings.

“We can’t take it with us when we’re gone, and I don’t want to leave you and your siblings too much of a mess to deal with when that time comes.”

“You can’t talk about that,” I’d said, not wanting to picture the day when they would both be gone.

“I’d like to see this footprint of yours sometime,” Colton said.

I was surprised to see how much ground—or, I mean wall—he’d covered in the short time he’d been here. He definitely worked faster than I did.

It took several seconds before I registered what he’d said. He wanted to see my footprint?

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “The new postmaster and his family live there now—it might be weird to dash over into their yard just to see something like that.”

“Weird, why? ”

“Because…it’s not my house anymore.”

I’d accepted as much. Why was nostalgia giving me fits now?

“We could sneak out,” he said, setting his trowel on the side of the mud pan. “I’ll pick you up tonight. The whole town is getting ready for that summer potluck thing. We can dash over there, see it, and get back out again just as quickly. They’ll never know we were there.”

“It’s just a footprint,” I said, smiling, invigorated by his energy.

“Then have dinner with me.”

Colton stared me down. He didn’t relent. He didn’t retract the question.

Looks like the girls had it right. Colton Holden was asking me out.

I waited for the tap dancer performing in my stomach to call it quits and take a bow already.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

The disappointment in his gaze shouldn’t affect me as much as it did. But it struck a little twinge in my chest.

“I respectfully disagree,” he said. “I think it’s a great idea.”

The tap dancer turned into a little green demon and retrieved its own trowel. A bit at a time, second by second, the goblin spattered mud and relaid the bricks that had fallen back up around my heart.

Yes, Colton had been sweet. He made me laugh. He made my heart flutter on a constant basis like one of those pinwheels I’d gotten during parades as a kid. But I couldn’t lose my head over a few measly emotions.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But no.”

His disappointment was evident as his shoulders fell, as some of the light dimmed from his eyes. Seconds later, he recovered, pressing his lips together in a feeble smile. “All right, then.”

He gestured to the walls. Only one bare segment of sheet rock was left .

“Looks like you’re just about done here. Want me to finish this up?”

“I got it,” I said, startled by this response.

He was still offering to help me?

I braced myself for him to continue pestering me. Jensen would have. He never took no for an answer. It was the whole reason I’d gone out with him in the first place.

I’d just had my heart broken by Bryce Holden and had turned Jensen down as well—but he kept coming back with flirty little jabs. He’d hinted how I might like him, how I should give him a chance—how could I know if I didn’t like him or not if I didn’t give him a try?—so I finally gave in and said yes.

And I hadn’t regretted it for a second because he’d been right. We’d hit it off after that one shot.

Colton, however, not only accepted my rejection, but he offered to finish this for me? I wasn’t used to that and quite frankly, I didn’t know how to respond.

Was he serious? Was it a show?

Was anyone that considerate?

“I’ll leave you to it, then. See you tomorrow, Miss Natalie.”

I couldn’t form any words. This time, his expression wasn’t defeated. It was accepting. He tipped his hat in my direction, and as he left, I couldn’t help wishing I’d said yes.