Chapter 9
Nine
The next day Finn tried to drum up as much excitement about feeding his cow as he’d had arguing with Cretia. The whole drive to the Charlottetown airport, he’d watched her taillights and smiled when he thought of their conversation.
For a moment, he had wondered if she thought he needed her money. He did not. He was probably in a better financial position than she was. Especially since he didn’t have to replace his computer, phone, and wardrobe.
He was quite capable of paying for whatever she wanted to purchase at the clothing store his mom had always liked best.
They parted ways at the front door. He found a chair and tried not to stare at her as she wove between racks, pulling out a shirt here and a pair of jeans there. She was efficient and decisive, and then she disappeared into a room in the back and came out with an armful that she thumped down next to the register.
He waited for the clerk to ring up the items, paying close attention to the cars driving in and out of the parking lot until the clothes were all bagged up. He swiped his card and felt a little like a knight slaying the dragon.
Cretia offered a soft “Thank you” as he helped her into his restored army-green Ford pickup. Originally his grandpa’s, it was more than sixty years old but drove like a dream after a few thousand dollars and a few months of work. Any sign of rust and wear had been repaired, and the outside shone in the sun. His gut clenched when Cretia’s eyes lit with surprise as she settled into the smooth fabric of the seat, taking in the shining chrome and old-school buttons on the dash.
“Nice. Did you do this?” she asked.
He had to bite back a satisfied grin and only nodded in response.
She hadn’t argued with him again the whole drive back. They’d chatted about her favorite places to travel and why she loved her unconventional career. “According to you,” she’d said.
“She’s a better conversationalist than you, Roberta,” he said to the cow as he brushed a black spot on her side. The old girl lowed softly. “Prettier too.” Roberta stepped away and swung a clearly offended look his way. “Sorry, the truth hurts.”
“What truth would that be?”
He whipped around to find the woman he’d been thinking about standing in the doorway, the sun turning her into mostly a silhouette.
“Um, that she’s ... that ... she’s put on a few pounds since she got here.”
“Roberta?” Turning toward the cow but keeping plenty of distance, Cretia said, “Don’t let him say that about you. You’re gorgeous.”
Roberta did not appear inclined to buy the compliment from her nemesis. She wandered off through the open gate and disappeared into the pasture beyond the barn.
“To what do I owe this visit?” Finn finally asked, his gaze only then able to focus on Cretia. His jaw dropped. Her new jeans ended several inches above her ankles, but unlike the loose pair she’d been wearing since their first meeting, these hugged her waist and hips and legs in all the right places. Her new shirt—a shade darker than the island’s red-dirt roads—made her skin glow and her long hair shine. Even the black slip-on sneakers accentuated her complexion.
“I had to take my new clothes for a test run.”
“Mission accomplished,” he said. His words were a little too breathy beneath his pounding heart. Quickly clearing his throat, he motioned around the barn. “But if you hang out here, I’m liable to put you to work.”
“Good. That’s why I’m here. I heard there’s a whelping bed you could use a hand with. And I owe you mine.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Only ... what’s a whelping bed?”
With a snort, his focus returned, and he motioned for her to follow him to the small birthing room opposite the tack room he’d filled with the appliances to prepare the goat bottles. “My dad built these rooms to give our dogs a bit of privacy to labor. And to protect the pups.”
Cretia stopped a few steps behind him. “Is giving birth dangerous? For the dogs, I mean?”
“Not usually. But sometimes they give birth to more than ten puppies, and it’s easy for a little one to end up between the mom and the side of the box. They can suffocate. We put in a railing to make sure they’re protected.”
“Okay. Well, then put me to work.”
He gave her another once-over. “You sure you want to get your new clothes dirty?”
“I think they’re more your clothes than mine at the moment. But since they’re probably not going to fit you and I’ve got to wear something...”
Fair point. He grabbed the broom from its spot tucked beside the kennel fence and held it out to her. “Will you sweep out the room? Check for any spiderwebs in the corners and ceilings too.”
He half expected her to balk at the mention of clashing with barn pests, but she didn’t. She simply took the broom—her fingers brushing his for a split second, like an infusion of caffeine—and set to work gathering up old hay and plenty of dirt. The cap sleeves of her shirt showed off the length of her arms, gentle muscles rolling with each push and pull of the broom.
Suddenly she stopped and looked up at him as though asking if he needed something. He froze for a split second, then whipped around and marched toward where he’d stored the stack of boards after the Fab Four arrived. She didn’t say anything, but he thought he heard a low giggle mingling with the scrape of the bristles against the ground.
He carried the walls of the box—almost two meters long and half as wide—two at a time and stacked them just inside the door. Each time he came within a few feet of her, he could smell the soap she’d used. Or maybe the shampoo in all that rich hair. She’d pulled it back into a ponytail, and with each swing of her head, it danced.
He needed to focus on Bella and her pups, not the pretty stranger who had waltzed into his life.
Stopping at Bella’s kennel after dropping off the base of the bed, he squatted beside her and ran a hand over her stomach. “Hey, girl. How you doing?”
From her spot lying on fresh hay, she gave a few labored pants and drooled on his boot.
“Pretty exhausted, eh?”
She let him give her another gentle rub, and he could feel the little ones moving around inside. “It won’t be long now, girl. We’ll get you all set up in a nice spot.”
Bella let out a tired woof, and he pushed her water bowl and food dish closer. When he stepped out of the den and locked the door behind him, he caught Cretia staring. Unlike him, she didn’t look away. She only leaned on the wooden handle of the broom and cocked her head to the side.
“How soon will it be?”
“Few days. Maybe a week. She won’t let me touch her stomach right before they come. But I want to get her bed all set up so she has some time to get settled in.”
“You’re—” Cretia bit her lip, her eyes narrowing, zeroing in on him until he could feel every bit of her inspection. And he wanted to pass it. “I’ve never met—” Her eyes flew open, and her tan cheeks took on that rosy tint he’d seen a few times. “I mean, I’ve never been around dogs like this before. You must love it.”
That was not what she’d been about to say. He was one hundred percent sure of that. Maybe she was working on the inside processing. Probably. And maybe he should take a few cues from her in that department.
Biting back all the worries and fears that came with running a family business and carrying on his name’s legacy, he merely nodded. “Let me just get my tools, and we can put the bed together.”
When he returned from the tack room a moment later, red metal toolbox in hand, she was giving him another intense survey.
“Why do you look like Handy Manny right now?”
“Handy who?”
“Handy Manny. Didn’t you watch that cartoon as a kid?”
Setting down his toolbox, he shook his head. “I played outside with the dogs, like little boys should.”
“Oh.” She blinked a few times, the smile slowly leaking from her eyes. “Right. Of course, that’s how kids should grow up.”
The sad tug at the corners of her mouth hit him like a bale of hay to the chest. “No, Cretia.” He grabbed for her hand but had no idea what to do with it once he had it clasped in his own. “I was kidding. I’m sorry. It was a bad joke. Honestly, my parents were cheap, and we never had cable. And my mom and I were my dad’s only help around here. I was outside most of the time, which means I probably missed out on all the good shows.”
She fought for a smile. “It was a cartoon about a handyman with talking tools. It wasn’t exactly Citizen Kane .”
With a shrug, he confessed, “I’ve never seen that either.”
Now she gave him a real smile. Not dazzling, but truthful. “Neither have I.”
They stood in silence for a long moment, his hands still cradling hers, suspended between them. She didn’t pull away, but neither did she acknowledge it.
All the while, he wanted to know the answer to only one question so he never made the same mistake again.
What did I say to make you so sad?
But he couldn’t seem to form that particular question. Instead, he said, “Ready to build a bed?”
Cretia tugged her hand out of his grip with a nod and followed him into the room.
“I’m not so good with building things,” she said as he handed her one of the side boards. Finn quickly assured her they’d do it together.
A few minutes in, he knew she had underestimated her own skills. She had a knack for holding the boards just right and seemed to innately know which ends connected and where to hold the metal brackets so he could screw them into place.
Their roles required rather close quarters. Not that he was complaining as her shoulder brushed his again. It was such an innocent touch. So simple. Yet he couldn’t help the sudden catch in his breath or the way his stomach pitched. Her presence surrounded him. Filled him. Leveled him.
And he’d only known her for four days.
Granted, they’d started off fairly eventful. More than a little stressful. But the last three days had been almost mundane—just normal life. Running errands and feeding the animals and building a bed for Bella.
Yet they’d been the best three days he could remember.
Which meant either he needed more excitement in his life or Cretia was something special.
His mom would love that. Not that he’d ever tell her. Or that Cretia would ever meet her. Cretia’s time on the island had a countdown. As soon as her order from the Apple store arrived, she’d be back in the air, off to parts unknown. Unlikely to return soon.
Or ever.
Finn pressed his shoulder against her arm as he finished attaching the third corner brace. If asked, he would have claimed it was so he could get the right angle for the screw. The silk of her skin against his arm was a happy accident. Mostly. And maybe a tiny reminder that at least for the moment they were in the same room.
Looking up, he caught a genuine smile floating across her face. “You’re better at this than you think.”
“Or maybe you’re just good at telling me what to do.”
“Probably that.” He added a wink, which drew another grin from her. “You want to hand me that last board?”
Pushing herself off her knees, she stood and strolled over to the last side panel. Though she appeared sturdy and capable, the slat dwarfed her, and she lumbered under its weight.
“Sorry, I should have—” He rose, fully intending to take the wood from her, but walked right into the end of it instead.
Fire seared across his left cheek and up toward his eye as the board clattered to the ground, adding to the sudden pounding at his temple. Blood rushed through his ears, and he clamped a hand over his face, stumbling into the wall.
“Finn. Finn. I’m so sorry. Are you all right?” She was close enough that her breath fanned across the front of his neck where he’d left a few buttons undone. And then her cool hands were on him, firm and urgent, pulling at his wrist and cupping his other cheek. “Talk to me. Can you see? Are you bleeding?”
He couldn’t see a thing. But it was because he was pretty sure opening his eyes would be a one-way ticket straight into the arms of an impending headache.
Instead of responding, he sank against the wall, letting his knees bend until he reached the floor. Cretia went with him, her grip unwavering despite her mildly panicked gasps.
“Do I need to call someone? What’s your emergency number here? I can get an ambulance. Or call Marie. Or—”
Wrapping his free hand around her wrist silenced her for a moment, and he tugged her fingers from his cheek to his chest. Hand splayed against his pounding heart, she scooted closer, her legs tangling with his.
“Finn?” she finally whispered. “Are you...”
“Just stunned,” he finally managed through gritted teeth, forcing his labored breathing to a more even pace.
“I didn’t see you. I’m s-sorry.”
It was the little catch in her voice, an almost sob, that made his eyes fly open. Immediately they flooded with tears from the shock and the pain, and he wiped them away just as the headache he’d known was coming pummeled his brain.
Ignoring the pain, he reached for Cretia’s face, cupping her cheeks and urging her to look at him. “Hey. Hey.” Her long black lashes fluttered, and she finally met his gaze. “It was my own fault. I walked into it. You didn’t hit me.”
She made no indication that she heard or agreed with him as her expression broke. “Your face!”
“That’s what all the girls say.”
Clearly, she didn’t think him funny. A scowl set into place as she gingerly pressed the pads of her fingers against his cheekbone. They felt more like a sledgehammer, and he jerked back from her touch. Every part of his skull threatened to mutiny. Sighing heavily, he rested his head against the wall behind him, closed his eyes, and held as still as possible.
It might have been two minutes or ten before he realized Cretia hadn’t moved. She was still pressed against his side, one hand on his chest and the other smoothing the skin along his jaw with a slow stroke of her thumb.
Cracking one eye open, he watched her watching him, her gaze intent on the left side of his face. He figured he wasn’t bleeding or she’d be trying to mop it up. But the skin felt too tight over his cheek, and he’d probably have a black eye in the morning.
Dealing with all of that seemed unimportant compared to sitting in the quiet with Cretia. Her touch was soft, her fingers cool, but they warmed a spot right in the center of his ribs. That heat spread through him, reaching the tips of his fingers and toes. It was all Cretia.
“Finn?”
“Yeah?” He managed to open his other eye far enough to see out of it.
“Are you all right?” Her words were low, hesitant. But she didn’t look away from his gaze. Amber flames flickered in her eyes and set off a matching movement low in his belly.
“It’s just a bump.”
“My abuelita used to kiss my boo-boos.” Her voice dropped even more. “Is that what you need?”
He prayed that she couldn’t feel his abs clench at the innocent suggestion. She meant nothing by it. Just teasing him.
But his guts didn’t get the memo, and his stomach dropped in a not altogether unpleasant way.
She leaned in. His lungs collapsed.
Like the touch of butterfly wings, she pressed her lips to his cheek. She was warm and soft and so gentle that he wanted to curl up in her embrace.
It wasn’t possible, but her touch made his face hurt a little less.
“There. Did that help?”
“Never better.” Somehow that was the truth.
He dragged his hand from his side to his chest and squeezed her satiny fingers. Her eyes dropped to where their hands met. When she looked up again, her gaze didn’t reach his eyes, stopping somewhere in the vicinity of his lips. It was nearly tangible, almost as good as a real kiss.
But not quite.
“Cretia.”
“Yeah?”
He didn’t have anything else to say. He just liked the way her name tasted on his lips. And he liked the feel of her this close. And he liked the way her hair smelled like flowers. And he liked ... her. Her humor and her joy and the way she argued with him. And even when she let him win, the look in her eyes that made him think she wasn’t finished yet.
And he liked that he knew all of that in four days.
He hated that he might only get another four with her before she left.
This wasn’t forever—or even for the long term. But he would hate himself even more if he let her go without knowing more than the taste of just her name.
The pounding across the side of his head seemed to vanish as he slid his thumb around the curve of her ear. As he outlined the smooth line of her jaw with his knuckle, her body trembled against him. Good. He wasn’t the only one who felt this thing between them.
In case he hadn’t made his intentions clear, he dragged his thumb around the shape of her lips, first the rounded bottom, then the bow of the top. They were impossibly smooth and full, rosy and ripe. Her lashes fluttered closed, resting against the pink of her cheeks. This was his moment.
Leaning forward, he pulled in a quick breath and licked his lips. Only a breath between them. And then less. And somehow even less.
“Finnegan! Guess who came for a visit!”