Chapter 9
Rainey
Ijust happen to be outside near the garden where a certain tall, quiet, dangerously competent mountain man might show up. I am not waiting for him. I am absolutely not waiting for him. If he does, it will be a giant coincidence.
Why am I secretly wishing for this? He did say he'd be back in the morning.
I drag the rake through the tilled section, smoothing out the soil like I know what I’m doing. I do not know what I’m doing. But it looks convincing from a distance, and right now that’s enough.
My arms still ache. My shoulders feel like they’ve been stretched to their limits. And my hands, even with gloves, are reminding me that I am not built for manual labor with a shovel. I knew there was something evil about that shovel when I placed it in my shopping cart.
Regardless, I’m out here anyway. Obviously, I’ve lived a little bit of a pampered life up to now.
But I want to know what’s involved in homesteading and living off the land.
I want to prove that I can survive. Sure, I might need a little lesson here or there.
Advice and a helping hand are part of any community.
At least, I believe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.
One thing I’m learning. You can do things you thought you couldn’t if you have the right tool. So far, Troy has the right tools. That thought alone makes me wonder what other hidden tools he possesses that I haven’t seen.
Stop it, Rainey. You’re obsessed!
I rake a little more until the sound of a truck engine cuts through my thoughts. I freeze, then immediately pretend I did not freeze. Then casually — very casually — turn toward the driveway.
Troy’s truck rolls to a stop like it belongs here. Which is irritating because this is my property — even if it currently looks like I’m losing a fight with it.
I plant the rake into the ground and try to look like I’ve been doing this for hours. He steps out of the truck with that same calm energy and effortless presence. How does he do that?
“Morning,” he says.
“Morning,” I reply, like my heart didn’t just do something weird and unnecessary.
His gaze moves over the yard and the tilled section. He looks at the rake and then back at me.
“You started.”
I lift my chin slightly, a bit of a proud stance.
“I did.”
He nods once and I take that as approval. Why do I care about that? I do not need his approval. Annoyingly, there’s a part of me that says, “Yes, you do.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying for casual and landing somewhere in the general vicinity.
He walks to the passenger side of his truck and opens the door.
“I told you I’d show you where to start.”
Troy reaches in and pulls out a tray of plants. They’re small green ones — very alive and healthy looking. He sets the tray down near the edge of the tilled section.
“Starters.”
I walk closer, crouching slightly to look at them.
"They’re… cute." Which feels like the wrong word, but here we are. “What are they?”
“Lettuce. Kale. A few herbs.”
I look up at him.
“You just … had these?”
“I grow things.”
“You grow things,” I echo.
“Sell them too, most locally. Millie takes a good portion, couple places in town. I build out beds and fix land setups when people need it. Some landscaping projects for the town square and the Grand View Lodge.”
“Wow, that’s your actual job?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“So you charge people for what you’ve been out here doing with me?”
He doesn’t answer right away, which is immediately suspicious. My stomach tightens just a little.
“How much do I owe you?” I ask.
This is a question I didn’t want to ask, but also absolutely need to. He shakes his head once.
“Nothing.”
I frown.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does.”
“It really doesn’t,” I say, crossing my arms. “You just described an entire business model.”
He steps a little closer, but his voice stays calm.
“This isn’t that.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Then what is it?”
He holds my gaze for a second, long enough that I feel it.
“Helping you not ruin good land.”
I look away, out over the yard, trying to pretend that didn’t hit somewhere deeper than it should have.
“You don’t even know if I’m staying,” I say, quieter now.
“That’s your decision.”
“And if I don’t?”
He shrugs slightly.
“Then you’ll leave it better than you found it.”
“Troy, I’m out here on my own for the first time in a cabin that supposedly only needed a little tender loving care. I had no idea you did this for a living. I thought you were just being … well .. being kind and neighborly. But now, I feel like I owe you something.”
His mouth shifts slightly.
“You don’t.”
I tilt my head.
“Oh, we’ll see about that.”
I pick up one of the small containers, turning it in my hand.
“These don’t look like they hate me.”
“They don’t know you yet.”
I gasp.
“That’s rude.”
He doesn’t react, which somehow makes it worse. I set the plant back down carefully.
“So what’s the plan?”
He steps into the tilled area, boots sinking slightly into the loosened soil.
“Spacing first.”
I follow him and immediately trip over nothing. After recovering quickly, I try to pretend it didn’t happen. He notices.
“Careful.”
“I am being careful.”
“You almost fell.”
“I didn’t fall.”
“You almost did.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
His mouth twitches. He crouches and presses his fingers into the soil, checking depth again. I crouch beside him. We’re too close. I notice immediately and so does every nerve ending I possess.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Checking moisture.”
He shifts slightly, reaching for one of the small plants.
“Watch.”
I do … very closely. Probably too closely. He digs a small hole with his hand, precise and controlled. Not like my earlier attempts at excavation warfare. He places the plant in, then presses the soil gently around it.
“That’s it?” I ask.
“That’s it.”
“That feels suspiciously easy.”
“It’s supposed to be.”
Troy stands and hands me another starter.
“Your turn.”
I take it and immediately feel nervous. But I’m determined to make it look like I am a fast learner with gardening.
I try not to be completely distracted by how close he’s standing.
I kneel and attempt to recreate what he just did.
The hole is less precise. The plant goes in slightly crooked. I adjust it. Then adjust it again.
“Stop.”
I freeze.
“What?”
“You’re overthinking it.”
I look up at him. Troy crouches beside me again and he’s close … very close. His hand covers mine briefly, steadying it.
“Like this.”
My breath catches … again. This is becoming a pattern. He adjusts the plant slightly, then presses the soil in place.
“There,” he says.
I pull my hand back.
“Okay. I can do that.”
“Do it again.”
I do. This time it’s better. Still not perfect, but better. We fall into a rhythm now of planting, pressing, moving to the next location and doing it again. It’s relaxing in a way and I’m quiet for a change. The only sound is birdsong from the trees in the distance.
In the middle of it, I realize I’m not thinking about the roof or money. I’m not worried about the mess I need to organize inside the house. I’m just here doing and building something … with him. I sit back on my heels and look over the small row we’ve started.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “This might actually work.”
“It will.”
I glance up at him.
“You sound very confident about that.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
He looks out over the yard, then back at me.
“Because you’re still here.”
I look down at the small plants and the row we just made.
“Well,” I say softly, “so are you.”
Something softens in his expression. It’s subtle, but I see it. Then, it’s quickly gone. He stands, brushing his hands off on his jeans.
“That’s enough for today.”
“We just got started.”
“You’ll kill them if you rush.”
I frown.
“That feels personal.”
“It’s not.”
“It feels like it is.”
He looks at me for a second, then says:
“I’ll come back tomorrow. Around the same time.”
I stare at him.
“Are you assigning me homework?”
“Yes.”
I smile. I can’t help it.
“Yes, sir.”
He turns toward his truck and I watch him go. Somewhere between the first plant and the last, I stop wondering if I made a mistake buying this place. Looking over this garden that’s taking shape, I wonder what else might grow here in Cady Springs, Colorado.