4. Paul
Paul
The clatter of metal forks scraping across plates filled the cookhouse. A dozen lumberjacks sat packed around the long wooden tables, shoveling down eggs and bacon, their voices loud and rough in the early morning dawn.
I sat near the end of the bench, my coffee cooling in my mug.
I was staring at the scarred grain of the table, but all I could see was Georgia.
I took a slow drink of my coffee, trying to shake the fog out of my head. I needed to get my boots moving, but my mind was stuck on an old roadside stand and the woman who’d surely be there right now, puttering around as she prepared for a busy day of Fourth of July sales.
The memory of last night was still heating my blood. Pushing her up against that produce rack, the breathless sound she made against my neck, the sheer, sudden hunger of it all.
It had been a wild night. And I didn’t have too many of those these days.
I’d lost control. That woman had made me crazy, then sent me packing while my heart was still pounding in my chest.
Is that how people date these days? I must be old-fashioned because I didn’t see the appeal of meeting a woman like Georgia only to throw her back into the sea in order to fish another one out.
But the woman obviously didn’t want anything more than a bit of stress relief from me.
Unless…
My chest tightened into a knot as I remembered something my sister, Louisa, had once said. She’d told me a woman could act like she was only there for a slice, even though she wanted the whole damn cake. Something about protecting their feelings by rejecting a man first.
I caught Whitt walking by with a fresh plate of breakfast.
“Hey, man,” I rumbled, taking another sip of my coffee.
Whitt paused, chewing on a piece of bacon. “Yeah?”
“I’m supposed to run a load of scrap wood down for the Fourth of July Festival. But I’ve got an errand to run. You mind taking it instead?”
Whitt grimaced, going a little white in the face. “Where’s it at?”
“The festival grounds. The trucks already loaded.”
He sighed. “Yeah. I’ll do it.”
“You sure? I can ask someone else.”
“Naw. I’ll do it.”
“Thanks, man. I’ll owe you one.”
Holden sat down, a big smile on his face. “You didn’t even eat your bacon. What’s going on with you?”
I shot Holden a flat look. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Barely,” John chimed in from further down the table. He didn’t even look up from his eggs. “It’s a woman. A man only looks that stupid when he’s got a lady rattling around in his brain.”
Duke chuckled, dropping a heavy hand on the table. “Definitely a woman. Who is she, Paul? Spill it.”
I scrubbed a hand across the back of my neck. I wasn’t going to sit here and jawjack about Georgia with half the camp. But if I didn’t give them something, they’d hound me all week.
“There might be a lady,” I admitted, my voice low. “But keep your traps shut. Nothing’s going to come of it.”
“Why not?” Holden asked, curious now.
I set my mug down, the ceramic hitting the table with a dull thud. “Because she doesn’t live around here. She’s just visiting for a bit. She’ll be gone soon.”
The table went quiet for a second. Whitt clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder, squeezing once. “Well, good luck while she’s here, brother.”
I stood up from the bench. I didn’t need luck. I just needed to get back down that road so I could see her again, and maybe find out if last night had meant something to her or not.
Even though Georgia had said it was nothing but sex, I wasn’t sure I believed that. Not with the way her pulse had pounded when she looked at me afterward.
By the time I pulled my truck into the parking lot of the Briar Patch Pies stand, the morning sun was already baking the dew off the grass.
Georgia was at the old wooden flagpole, tugging fruitlessly at the frayed nylon rope.
I killed the engine and got out.
She looked over her shoulder, her dark hair pulled back into a messy knot. The tiredness around her eyes told me she hadn’t slept well either.
“I got it,” I said, walking over and stepping up beside her.
The rope was jammed in the rusted pulley overhead. I reached up, my arm brushing against hers, and gave the line a hard, sharp yank. The rust cracked, and the line gave way, sliding smoothly through the track.
Georgia let out a long breath. “I wasn’t sure you’d come back today.”
I clipped the heavy brass rings of the flag onto the rope. “Well, here I am. I guess I’m not so good at staying away. I figured I’d come out and see if you wanted some company today.”
“After last night…” She looked down at the grass, swallowing hard. “I was afraid I might have chased you off.”
Heh. Louisa had been right.
I hoisted the flag, tying the rope off securely on the metal cleat. Then I turned and met her eyes. “Georgia, if you think that’s how to chase off a man, you’ve got a lot to learn about life.”
A startled laugh broke right out of her. The sound settled in the center of my chest, warming me up.
She gave me a bittersweet smile. “Sometimes when you give a man what he wants, he gets his fill and moves on.”
I took a step closer and tugged her into my arms, my voice going deep. “That might be how those big-city men work. But it’s different here in the country. I’m hungry as fuck, Georgia. And I don’t know if I could ever get my fill of you.”
Her eyes hooded over as she stared up at me, her gorgeous lips parting.
“I forgot men like you exist, Paul. Why’d you have to remind me? All the guys in Austin are going to feel like boys when I go back there.”
“So stay here with me instead,” I growled.
A fire was blazing between us, and last night had just stoked it higher.
I didn’t even think about it. I just reached out, hooked a hand behind her neck, and pulled her in. Her lips were soft and warm, and she kissed me back immediately, her fingers curling lightly into the front of my shirt.
So much for playing it cool. I’d intended to keep it casual today, since she’d already made it clear there was no future for us. But here we were, twenty minutes into the day, locked in a kiss while we should be working.
I kept it brief, pulling back before I dragged her into the stand and forgot about the Fourth of July altogether.
“Come on,” I rasped as I adjusted my pants. “Hand me that bunting. People will be stopping by soon.”
Georgia was a big girl. She’d let me know if I was coming on too strong.
But until then, I was going to keep doing it.
Because a woman like her didn’t come along very often. And there was something about her, or maybe it was about us, we just clicked.
Her cheeks were flushed as she grabbed a bundle of folded red-white-and-blue fabric from the counter.
We spent the next twenty minutes moving along the old split-rail fence beside the stand, stapling the bunting to the wood while we talked.
We worked in a comfortable, steady rhythm.
I held the fabric taut while she drove the staple gun.
“If you’re selling the place, why are you doing all this?” I asked, testing the staple she’d just fired. “It’s a lot of work for a stand you aren’t going to keep.”
She lowered the staple gun, staring out at the empty road. This wasn’t exactly a high-traffic spot. Nothing in Red Oak Mountain was. “It just felt like the right thing to do. Etta and Henry loved the Fourth of July. I couldn’t just list the property without opening the stand for one last hurrah.”
“Your grandparents made a lot of memories for people in this town,” I rumbled. “It would be a shame to see it all end quietly. I’m glad you’re doing this.”
She sighed. “Thanks for doing this, Paul. For coming out. For helping me.”
“No problem.” I took the staple gun and drove another staple into the wood for her. “How long do you think you’ll be in town?”
“I don’t know exactly,” she said, her voice dropping. “Maybe a week or two. Maybe a little longer, depending on how fast a buyer comes through.”
“Do you mind if I keep coming by while you’re here?” That was the heart of the matter. I was about to find out what she wanted from me.
She turned her head, a small, tired grin touching her mouth. “I expect you to keep coming by. In fact, I’d like to get a proper date from you.”
I stepped closer, boxing her in against the fence line. “You mean our date last night on the produce rack wasn’t enough?”
Georgia laughed, some of the tension fading away. “Not even. That was just a sample. I need a lot more than that. Especially now that I know what you’re hiding in your pants.”
Then we both laughed, caught in the moment.
I leaned down and kissed her again, slower this time, tasting the faint, sweet tang of blackberry jam on her lips.
It took everything in me to keep from dragging her back up onto the produce table and giving her a repeat of the night before.
But this was the big day, and customers would be coming soon.
If it was anything like the past, this place would be packed from the moment she opened until right before the fireworks went up.
“I’m glad you came back,” she whispered as I pulled away, our lips still tingling from our kiss.
“Nothing would have kept me away,” I told her. I was an honest man, and I didn’t believe in playing games. Georgia deserved to know exactly how I felt about her.
But there wasn’t time for this.
“What else needs done before you open?”
She quirked up her lips. “You feel like doing some berry-picking with me? There are still a ton of blackberries on those brambles at the top of the hill. And I’ll sell through everything I pick today.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I took her hand in mine. “Let’s go pick some berries.”
By ten a.m. the dirt parking lot was packed with cars and trucks.
I stayed behind the counter with Georgia, slipping into an easy rhythm alongside her. When she bagged a pie, I handed the customer their change. When the lemonade pitcher ran low, I grabbed a fresh one from the back cooler. We made a good team.
An old country tune drifted out from the battery-powered radio I’d set on a shelf, barely audible over the chatter of the locals lining up.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” a gravelly voice called out.