Chapter 22
Ethan
I lean against my truck as my gas tank fills.
I’ve been working to clear a downed tree off one of the service roads all morning, and I’m streaked with dirt and sweat.
I should stop home for a shower and a change of clothes, but I need to get a load of gravel spread across a trailhead before the day is over, so there’s no point in cleaning up yet.
My shoulders ache, and I roll out my neck.
I’m getting too old for this shit.
Pushing the bill of my baseball hat up, I use the back of my other hand to wipe sweat off my forehead.
The pump clicks, and I remove the nozzle from my gas tank and secure the cap.
When I turn toward my driver’s door, my attention is drawn across the street to the hardware store parking lot.
My brows lower as I narrow my eyes.
Is that Jack’s pickup?
It’s empty.
I move my gaze to the store’s front door.
I wonder…
As if summoned with magic, my lilac-haired Mountain Fairy emerges through the sliding glass doors.
There’s a bag hooked over her elbow, flapping in the wind. And in her arms, she’s carrying… something.
I can’t tell what it is, but the way she’s slightly leaned back tells me it’s heavy.
I feel my fingers flex.
If she hurts herself…
I take in the rest of her. And I swallow.
Her body is wrapped in red fabric.
The top of her dress is hidden behind the large bag of whatever she’s carrying, but her pale arms are bare.
The skirt dances around her feet, and I instantly worry she’ll trip over it, since, unlike the other dresses I’ve seen her in, this one goes to the ground.
But Tilda doesn’t trip.
She disappears around the passenger side of her truck, out of my view.
I can see the far door open. Then close. And I expect her to circle around to her driver’s door, but instead she walks back the way she came. Back into the store.
Curious what she’s up to, but knowing it’s none of my business, I get into my truck.
I turn on the engine, and I put the shifter into drive, but I don’t take my foot off the brake.
I wait.
And I watch.
It only takes half a minute before the doors open again.
And I shake my head.
Because Tilda has reemerged, only instead of a heavy bag, this time she’s carrying a bright blue kiddie pool.
It’s practically as tall as she is. And it’s going to act like a fucking sail in this wind.
On cue, the hard plastic pool catches a gust, and the bottom flies up and away from Tilda.
I take my foot off the brake.
Tilda staggers.
This will be my third time meeting Miss Tilda Wright, and I don’t want it to be my third time watching her fall.
Especially on pavement.
I drive to the exit.
Keeping an eye across the road as I wait for the sparse traffic to pass, I watch Tilda turn, putting her back to me, as she tries to blade her way through the wind.
The pool flies free of her grip.
I step on the gas.
Tilda rushes after the pool, her long hair whipping around her head.
I have to take my eyes off her as I make the turn into the parking lot.
When I look back, she’s got a hold of the pool again and has almost reached her truck.
I leave an empty parking spot between our trucks, but she doesn’t seem to notice me pulling up beside her.
Shoving my shifter into park, I push open my door at the same time she presses the pool to the side of her truck, trapping it between the vehicle and her body.
I slam my door shut, and the noise finally catches her attention.
Tilda turns her head to look over her shoulder, but the wind today is relentless, and it blows her hair over her face, obstructing her view.
She tries to reach up to brush it away, but the pool starts to shift, so she puts her hand back down.
I cross the few feet between us and stop beside her. “Need help?”
Tilda tries to toss her hair out of the way, but it doesn’t work. “Ethan?”
There’s a tone to her voice that I can’t quite nail down.
Relieved? Hopeful?
“Yeah, Starlight.” Moving slowly, I reach up and slide my thumb along her jaw, catching a handful of her wild hair. Her eyes snap to mine as I tug her hair, just a little, while I hold it back.
Her light brown eyes stare up at me.
She’s so fucking pretty.
My fingers tighten in her hair, and her lips part.
Christ.
Focus, fucker.
I tip my head toward the pool in her hands. “Fancy a swim?”
She rolls those pretty eyes. “Yeah. I love rolling around in eight inches of water.”
I press my lips together, stopping myself from saying something I shouldn’t, and clear my throat. “What’s it for, then?”
She huffs. “None of your business.”
I was expecting her to say she was going to turn it into a garden. Or some sort of fairy pond. But her evasiveness…
I arch my neck to look through the back window, trying to see what else she bought.
“What are you doing?” She shifts, trying to block my view. Which is cute, since she’s a solid foot shorter than my six foot three.
“What was in the bag?”
“What bag?”
I lower my gaze back to hers. “The bag you carried out before you went back in for this damn pool.”
Not many people can stare me down. My heterochromia usually throws them off, and they end up looking back and forth between my eyes, trying to confirm that my irises are, in fact, different colors.
It’s never bothered me. But Tilda… I like that she doesn’t do that.
I like that she looks at me like she’s seen me a hundred times before.
Like she’s used to me.
She narrows her eyes. “Are you following me?”
It’s so hard not to smile around this girl.
And that’s not something I’m used to.
I’m not a smiley type of guy.
“Well?” She lifts her brows.
This time, I don’t fight the urge, and I let the edges of my mouth pull up.
She’s acting put out over my presence, but she’s also not telling me to let go of her hair.
“I was getting gas. I’m not stalking you.” I flex my fingers, and I appreciate how soft the strands of her hair feel against my rough palm. “Tell me what the pool is for, and I’ll help you strap it down.”
I peek into the bed of the truck, confirming there are no ratchet straps visible. They could be in the back seat, but I doubt it.
“If you call me ridiculous again—”
I shake my head. “I won’t.” Remembering the look on her face when I did, I stroke my thumb across the smooth skin behind her ear. “I never should’ve called you that. I’m sorry.”
She stares up at me. Looking… stunned.
Like no one has ever apologized to her before.
And I hate that look on her face almost as much as I hated her tears.
My shifted grip sends strands of hair flying again.
I release my hold of her hair, then use both hands to pull all her hair back. It takes a couple tries, but once I have a hold of it, I grip it with one hand at the back of her head like a ponytail.
I pull my baseball hat off and pass her hair through the hole in the back, then tug the bill down to secure it onto her head.
Too late, I realize it’s probably damp from sweat, but Tilda doesn’t recoil.
She doesn’t pull away.
But she’s not looking me in the eye anymore.
No, she’s looking at my mouth.
I slide my tongue over my bottom lip, wetting it. And I swear she sucks in a breath.
Fuck.
My body reacts without my permission. My stomach muscles tighten, like they always do around her. My balls throb. My cock…
I drop my hands from the hat. “Keep your back to the wind, and it’ll stay on.”
She nods.
“Do you have any straps inside the truck?”
She shakes her head.
“Can you hold this for another minute while I get mine?”
She nods.
The edge of my mouth pulls up. Again.
I step back, then cross the empty parking spot. Unlike Tilda’s two-door, bench-seat, thirty-year-old pickup, I have a four-door model that’s just a few years old.
I open the rear door and grab the set of ratchet straps I keep on the floor.
Turning back, I catch Tilda’s eyes on me before she turns her head forward.
Look all you want, Fairy Girl.
Moving to the back of Tilda’s truck, I lower the tailgate and climb into the bed.
With the baseball hat on her head, she can’t see me as I stand above her. But when I grip the top edge of the pool, she lets go.
When it clears the side of the truck, I lower it into the bed, then stand in the center of the pool, holding it in place.
Jack didn’t believe in replacing things that weren’t broken, hence this old-ass truck, but the engine is in great condition, and he bolted half a dozen tie-down anchors in the bed. Making it easy to secure things with straps exactly like the ones I’m using.
I crisscross the straps over the kiddie pool and tighten them as much as I dare, without cracking the plastic.
Still crouched down, I turn my head and meet Tilda’s eyes.
She’s been waiting silently. Watching.
“You know how to loosen these?” I indicate the yellow strap.
She shakes her head.
I show her how.
Then I tighten it and show her again.
“If it sticks, just give it a little jiggle. Okay?”
She nods.
From my place in the bed, I look through the back window, and this time I can see the item lying on the passenger side of the front seat.
I slowly turn my head back toward Tilda. “Duck food?”
She crosses her arms, pushing up her tits.
But I keep my eyes locked on hers as I lift a brow.
She lifts one right back.
And I find myself fighting another fucking smile.
Standing, I step over the straps, then brace my hand on the edge of the truck bed and jump down.
I close the tailgate and round the side of the truck, but when I stop before Tilda, the look of defiance has withered away into something else.
I frown. “What is it?”
She rolls her lips together. “I wasn’t planning on getting the pool. I figured I’d get a bird bath or something for the duck to play in.”
“Okay…”
She looks down, my hat’s bill blocking my view of her face as she slides her hands into hidden pockets at her hips. “I’m not stupid.”
Something unpleasant strikes me in the center of the chest. “I know you’re not.”
She doesn’t look up at me. “It’s just that I saw the pool and thought it would be perfect. But I didn’t think about the wind. And if you hadn’t shown up…”
I step forward, putting myself so close she has to tip her head back to avoid the front of the hat hitting my chest. But she only lifts her head enough to avoid collision, not enough to see me.
She pulls her hands out of her pockets, like she might reach for me, but then she lowers them to her sides.
“If I hadn’t shown up, you would’ve gone back in to return the pool, and they would’ve sold you some straps.” I reach behind her, gripping the makeshift ponytail and tug, tipping her head back until our eyes meet. “And I promise that someone in there would’ve been more than happy to help you.”
I almost growl at the thought of another man crawling all over her truck. Holding her hair back. Getting this close.
But then Tilda stops my spiraling thoughts because she reaches her hands up… and this time, she touches me.
Palms against my sides, bracing herself as the wind pushes against us, Tilda finally touches me.
And goddamn it, I want her hands everywhere.
But I focus on the conversation. “I know you’re not stupid, Starlight,” I tell her gently, meaning it. “Just like I know you’ve never lived alone in the mountains before.”
Her fingertips flex, just the smallest bit, but I feel it in my bones. “That obvious?”
I tip my head to the side, letting her see the hint of a smirk. “Little bit.”
Her shoulders drop, but not in defeat. More like she’s letting go of tension. “I’ve lived alone, but never in a house. I’ve never even owned a car.”
“You do have a driver’s license though, right?”
Her expression turns back to the annoyed one she gave me yesterday. “I have a license. I know how to drive.”
I give her a slow nod, like I maybe don’t believe her. Even though I do. In the hopes of breaking her even further out of her self-doubt.
“You’re a pest.” She moves like she’s going to press her fingertip into my chest. But I’m still holding her hair. So when she shifts, I do too, and instead of a fingertip, she flattens her palm against my pec.
Her gaze drops to where her hand is.
And then a car horn honks.