Chapter 14 Rowe
Rowe
“How are things going, honey?” Mom asks.
“Oh, pretty good.” I suppose, considering I’ve been accused of having the hots for the cockiest jerk ever. “How was the concert last night?”
“It was great,” she gushes. “There’s one more tonight, and then we’re heading north.”
“How’s Bill?”
She flashes the phone’s camera to Bill, who’s lying in a hammock he’s hooked up between the camper and a tree. He’s got an open book propped up on his legs.
He waves. “Morning, Rowe!”
“Morning!” I eagle-eye the colorful cover. It’s clearly a thriller, so I tease him with, “Is that the latest Abby Jimenez romance you’ve got there?”
“What?”
“Never mind. Hey, don’t let my mom boss you around too much.”
He chuckles. “Oh, I let her do it just enough so that it’s cute.”
I can’t fight the grin that takes over my face. “Well played, Bill. Well played.”
“Honey,” Mom says, “Clarice Sinclair called me this morning and said something about a man living at the house.”
Wow. She waited all of two minutes before starting in on the gossip.
A deep divot creases the space between her brows. “What’s going on?”
My stomach ties up in knots. How do I make this sound awesome and not insane? Here goes nothing. “Okay. So this is crazy, but bear with me.”
I tell her everything—about us being cut off from the feedstore, about Pane. Everything but the kiss, that is.
Oh, that kiss.
It can’t be pushed out of my mind fast enough, no matter how hard I try. I thought for sure he would bring it up in the truck, but he didn’t say one word.
Not one.
I’m scared. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.
Bad, probably. He probably hated every second of it.
So why’d he break it off and then launch himself at me?
Instinct, obviously. When someone kisses you, of course you want to take it to the next level and tongue them.
Unless you’re smooching family members.
But Mom must not sense any emotional turmoil in me, because all she says is “Honey, that’s great! Is he nice? Do you think he can save us?”
“I don’t know. He’s talking to Coleman Barrier right now. But I’ll keep you posted.”
“Do we need to come home?”
In the background, Bill looks up from his thriller and frowns.
“No, Mom. I’ve got everything under control. Just enjoy yourself. I’ll keep you posted.”
She works her top teeth over her bottom lip. “If you’re sure. I want to make certain that you’re okay. If this Pane guy is bad news, I don’t want him anywhere near you.”
“It’s totally fine. No worries.”
“Okay.” She sounds and looks unsure, but since I’m tossing out my thousand-watt grin, she has no choice but to keep on keeping on. “Call if you need anything. It doesn’t matter what time it is. Just pick up the phone.”
“Will do. Love you.” I toss out, “Love you, Bill!”
“Love you, Rowe!”
After hanging up, my phone’s silent for about half a second before it screams to life. Cristina’s video-calling.
I accept the call and see her gorgeous face, blond hair spilling over her shoulders. She’s sitting in her car, in what appears to be the drive-thru lane of Creature Comforts Coffee.
Cristina leans into the camera, eyebrow lifted. “Rowe. What is going on?”
“What are you talking about?”
“First, I save you from the parade of cars in front of your house, which is my fault. So. Apologies. Next thing I know, Pane Maddox is about to work a chain saw at the hardware store.”
“What?” The phone slips from my hand. I scramble to grab it before the device plops onto the floorboard. “What?” I screech again when I’ve got Cristina’s face in view.
“Yes. It’s all over the group chat.”
“What group chat?”
She rolls her eyes. “The one that the old ladies have. You know, Clarice Sinclair started it so that she and her friends could dish about single men. They wrangled me in because I’m the only one who could set up the group.”
“Why haven’t you left?”
“Because.” She sighs. “They ask for my opinions on the eligible bachelors who are of a certain age, if you know what I mean.”
“And you’ve been keeping this from me?”
Her gaze drops. “It is my shame—and mine alone—to bear.”
As hysterical as it is that Cristina is part of an older-woman group chat, the idea of Pane Maddox working a chain saw makes acid surge up the back of my throat.
He’ll kill himself.
He’s not even wearing the right shoes.
“Gotta go,” I tell her.
“I’m coming, too. I want to see this.”
Before there’s a chance to tell Cristina not to head over, she hangs up and I’m throwing myself out of the truck.
That’s when I spot it. To the side of the hardware store sits a wooden fence. Standing in front of the fence is what appears to be half the town.
Oh no.
Pane’s going to kill me.
I slam the door and rush over, squeezing between Ron from the feedstore and Clarice Sinclair.
“’Bout time you showed up,” she huffs. “The show’s about to start.”
I slip my sunglasses to the top of my head and zero in on Pane.
He’s positioned in the middle of the lumberyard wearing head-to-toe neon-orange safety gear, which includes leg chaps, a vest, a visor and helmet, and protective earmuffs that are pushed up above his ears, so they are literally offering no noise protection at the moment.
He’s got all this on, plus his tight popover shirt and polished dress shoes.
Oh no. This looks so bad, like a-pretty-boy-city-slicker-attempting-to-mount-a-bull-at-a-rodeo bad.
In this moment, I sort of, almost forgive Pane for being such a jerk about the kiss—a kiss that he was into, by the way.
“What’s this all about?” I ask, trying to bite back the fear that has a stranglehold on my throat and is threatening to squeeze all the air from my lungs.
Ron nods. “Apparently, Coleman told that man— What’s his name?”
“Pane Maddox,” Clarice and I say at the same time.
I shoot her a dark look. “No one’s supposed to know he’s here, Clarice.”
She splays her arms and scans the audience. “Half the town’s here. There’s no keeping this secret any longer. He’s good-looking. Rich, too.” All four foot ten inches of Clarice Sinclair squints up at me. “You jumped him yet?”
About a dozen heads turn in our direction. I grit my teeth and grind out, “No, Clarice. For your information, there will be no jumping.”
“You’re missing out on a fine piece of ass.”
“He does have a good ass,” Ron concurs. “Not that I would jump it. I’m just saying—as one man admiring another’s physique, it’s nice.”
“Good grief, Ron. I know you’re married. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
On my other side, Clarice elbows me. “Scoot over, Rowe. I cain’t see.” I do as she says, and then she scans the street behind us. “And where is Cristina with my mocha?”
“Your mocha?”
“Yeah, I gotta have snacks for the show.”
I roll my eyes. “The show,” as she calls it, is gearing up. Pane makes his way over to a row of cedar logs. The branches have been sawed off, leaving only the long, straight trunks with their bull’s-eye-red centers.
My throat shrivels to the size of a pea. Does Pane know how to use a chain saw? What if he cuts his leg off?
“Be right back.”
I squeeze through the fence and speed walk toward him. Pane spots me and lowers the saw.
“Hey,” I say brightly.
A quick glance at the crowd confirms they are watching this exchange with rapt attention. All they need is popcorn and 3D glasses to complete the experience.
Pane shoots me a bored look. “Yes?”
I grin, trying to look like this is no big deal, that I’m not freaked out about this entire, potentially lethal situation.
“What are you doing?” I say, still grinning so that the crowd doesn’t suspect the peril.
He points to the logs. “About to use a chain saw.”
Still grinning. “Do you know how to use one?”
He pats the air and replies with the arrogance I’d expect, “I’ll be fine, Sunbeam. I’ve worked one of these before.”
My smile dims. “Do you maybe want some pointers?”
“From whom?”
“From me. Would you like pointers from me?”
He chuckles. “No thanks. I’ll be just fine.”
I drag my bottom teeth over my top lip to tamp down how insulting it feels that he so easily dismissed me. “I can help you.”
“I don’t need your help.” He moves away, showing me his back. Then he pauses, glances over his shoulder, and shoots me a pointed look. “Or your thanks.”
Heat immediately flares on my skin. The nerve of him, bringing up that kiss right now.
“Fine,” I snap. “Good luck. Don’t cut off your leg.”
I storm back across the yard, fists clenched to my sides, wolf whistles from the crowd filling the air.
I squeeze back between Clarice and Ron. Clarice eyes me carefully. “What’d you tell him, Rowe? You’re as red as a beet.”
“Nothing. I didn’t tell him one single thing.”
That man can cut his leg off for all I care.
“Have I missed anything?” Cristina asks, appearing with four coffees hugged by a cardboard holder.
“Nothing yet,” Ron says.
“Here’s your coffee, Clarice.”
“Come to Mama,” the older woman says, greedily taking the cup from my best friend.
“And one for you, Ron.”
“Thank you.”
I pause to stare accusingly at the woman who’s been my bestie since fourth grade, when her family moved to town. “You stopped to grab coffee for everyone?”
“Well, no. I was already there, and when Clarice told me about it, I said I’d get her one.”
“And then I overheard,” Ron admits sheepishly. “And you know I just can’t pass up a great cup along with good entertainment.”
Screw me.
“Don’t be jealous. Besides”—Cristina hands me a sleeve-wrapped cup—“I got one for you, too. I figured you’d need an extra-salted caramel mocha to deal with this.”
She’s not wrong. I take the mocha and sip it. It’s basically flavored sugar swirling in what is probably coffee, but it tastes like chocolate and caramel.
I thank Cristina as Ron nods toward the lumberyard. “Looks like he’s about to start.”
All heads swivel to Pane. I hold my breath as he tugs the pull start. The machine glugs for a second before dying.
“He’s gonna have to yank harder than that,” Ron murmurs before sipping his coffee.
“Work those arms,” Clarice yells.
Pane glances over, and even behind the visor, I see him frown.
“Put your earmuffs on!”
He awkwardly tugs down each side with one hand. Well, at least he took one suggestion from me. He then prepares to yank the pull start again.
Even though I’m pissed at him, I still cross my fingers. Please let him get this—for the sake of the farm, obviously.
After three attempts to start it, the chain saw finally sputters to life on the fourth pull.
Everyone cheers.
“I was afraid I was gonna have to go in there and help him,” Ron mutters.
My face flares so hot that it feels like my skin’s about to burn off. Right now Pane Maddox is an extension of me. If he fails, I’ll never live this down.
“Maybe your bad luck’s turning, Rowe,” Clarice says brightly. “Let me know when he gets in your pants.”
I. Just. Want. To. Die.
One good thing: Pane’s positioned himself correctly. Thank God for that. I hold my breath, praying he doesn’t sever an artery.
He approaches the first log and immediately lowers the saw. It cuts the wood, but once it’s through, the saw kicks back.
I gasp as the bar, whirling teeth attached, jumps up, aiming straight for Pane’s face. Just before the saw pierces his helmet, the chain brake activates and the engine dies.
I exhale. Oh, that was so close. Thank goodness for the chain brake. Otherwise, Pane would’ve sawed into that arrogant head of his.
After two tries, he gets the engine started again.
“This is more interesting than being at work,” Ron yells over the sound of the motor. “You may have to get in there and help him, Rowe.”
“Nope,” I say tensely. “He’s doing just fine.”
Cristina’s face scrunches in disbelief. “‘Just fine’? He almost decapitated himself.”
“Nah, it’s got a safety,” Clarice informs her. “He’s doing good for a Yankee.”
Cristina and I exchange a look. Technically, her parents are Yankees, and she didn’t move to the South until she was ten. She still doesn’t have much of an accent, but my friend has lived in town long enough that no one calls her a Yankee anymore.
At least not to her face.
“He’s going in for the second cut,” Ron announces.
Pane lowers the bar to the log, but he makes a mistake with his technique and I cringe, anticipating what happens next. The saw glides through the wood, but it stops halfway when the log pinches around the bar. Pane keeps the chain going, but it doesn’t move.
He stops the chain saw and yanks the machine until it finally breaks free from the cedar.
“He’s gonna keep having that problem,” Clarice murmurs.
Pane gets the saw going again, but I can see the frustration on his face. My heart pings. I know how hard this is, and I also know how much is riding on his success.
Worse, a quick glance at Coleman Barrier, who’s standing on the other side of the yard, tells me that he’s enjoying this. He doesn’t bother hiding the smirk plastered across his smug face.
The only thing that would make this situation nastier was if Sally Ray and Luke were here. One glance around the crowd tells me they’re not.
Oops. I spoke too soon.
Luke enters the crowd. His eyes flick toward me, and my gaze darts away before he can see me looking at him.
The anticipation in the air is thick. Folks won’t leave until Pane either succeeds or fails miserably, and no one will help him.
They’re too curious about the rich man doing everyday work.
They want to see where this goes. Worse, from the looks on some of the people’s faces, it appears they want him to fail.
That’s just wrong.
I cross my fingers again, hoping Pane will succeed this time.
Once the saw starts, he begins cutting, but the log, which is sitting on top of another one, shifts and closes in on the bar.
The saw is pinched, and Pane kills the motor.
But instead of pulling up, he wiggles the saw from side to side, bending the bar too far to the righ—
Snap.
There’s a collective exhale among the crowd.
Oh, crap.
Pane just broke the chain saw.