Chapter Eight
“Wow.”
I’d said it four times before, but it needed to be said again. Kirby Johnson just nodded. I lifted the abused pole saw to examine what remained of the plastic gas tank yet again.
“Porcupine?” I hazarded and got a curt nod from a redhead.
“Yep, bastards,” Kirby huffed in aggravation.
“Damn thing chewed right through the side of my barn and then proceeded to destroy the gas tank on my pole saw. ’Course, when I needed the damn saw to trim a few broken limbs on a soft pine in the front, I opened the door to my barn and there sits the porky.
Biggest one I’ve ever seen. I shouted to Lana to keep the dogs in, but before I could even move to find a broom or something, it took off through the two-foot hole it had chewed in my damn barn.
Then, to add insult to injury, it left a huge pile of porcupine shit for me to clean up.
Miserable things. They’re in season now, according to what Lana looked up on the Game Commission website, but I hate to shoot the fucker.
Then again, I also hate having to replace the damaged wall of my barn and the gas tank on my pole saw. ”
“You could call the Game Commission and have them live-trap it, take it far away, and release it into the wilds. I know they cause damage but to chew on a gas tank? Damn, that’s dedication.”
“I guess. Couldn’t have tasted good.”
I could only shake my head. Porcupines are rodents, and like all rodents, they need to chew to wear down their continuously growing teeth.
Plus, they love salt, which can be found in glues used in plywood, paint, and even human sweat found on tool handles.
I had one chew through my lawnmower tires a few years back.
That was better than them chewing through my brake lines, which was also known to happen.
“I’ll get online and order something for you.
Might be a week or two.” I glanced up from the ruined gas tank to Kirby.
I’d never seen a person with as many freckles as Kirby had on his face, or with hair so naturally red.
All three of his daughters were gingers as well.
His wife, an upbeat blonde named Lana, joked that red genes were much stronger than her pale blonde ones.
“No rush. I’ll just use the chainsaw to clean up any broke limbs.
Personally, the jaggy points don’t bother me none up on the tree, but you know how my wife is.
” I nodded. Lana Johnson liked her yard to look like something from Home & Gardens magazine.
Despite the fact that Kirby raised feeder hogs so no amount of landscaping on their farm was going to erase the fact that the place smelled like pigs.
But bless her heart, as they say down south, she did her best. “Let me know when you get it done, and I’ll run out and pick it up.
While I’m here, best let me grab some bar oil and a new chain for my Jonsered.
Nicked a rock the last time I run it, so I’d better get a new one on it. Oh, and some files.”
I rang Kirby out about twenty minutes later—he had to tell me about the new boar he bought that had taken a shine to Lana but didn’t like Kirby—and was carrying his pole saw back into the shop when the bells over the door called out.
Glancing over my shoulder, I spied Anders slipping in, a small smile that grew into a lovely grin when he saw me halfway through the curtain.
His curls were flattened from his bike helmet, but he still looked incredible.
Cheeks bright red from his bike ride, which had to be a frigid trip given it had cleared off last night and the temperature had dropped into the single digits.
He’d dressed for the ride though, my greedy eyes noted.
Today, he was in a tight-fitting cycling jacket with a matching neck warmer and thermal gloves, sinfully tight cycling pants with silver zippers, and sunglasses.
On his feet, he wore cycling shoes that fit over his ankles.
It seemed he had opted for full cyclist gear, which was no hardship on me at all.
The slim fit of his clothes showed off his lithe form to perfection.
My dick was quite interested. There was no Della to be seen, which was wise as the poor dog would have frozen, but he did carry a shoebox.
“Morning,” I called. “Let me put this on the shelf, and I’ll be right with you. Help yourself to some coffee there in the corner. It’s fresh.”
“Thanks, don’t mind if I do.” He carried his helmet to the coffee pot as I hurried into the shop to place Kirby’s saw on a shelf of jobs waiting for parts to arrive.
Some things I could get from the auto parts, but some things had to be shipped from the manufacturer or an online parts depot in New York State.
I’d shop around for the best price for Kirby, as I always did, and order the cheapest I could find.
Farmers weren’t swimming in cash. Hell, no one in Grouse Falls was rolling in dough.
Other than the suave man in the Prada coat.
Although today, he had foregone his classic knee-length coat for that blue-and-black thermal outfit that had made me choke on my tongue.
I had no idea how expensive his cycling outfit was, but I had to assume it was not the knockoff cheap stuff.
Would someone with a Mercedes custom-made solar-powered van wear subpar biking gear?
Doubtful. His bike probably costs as much as my car did eight years ago.
So many mysteries still clung to the man…
When I calmly exited the work area, Anders was stirring some sugar into his coffee, his sight flicking to me. “I hope you don’t mind me coming to visit every day?”
“No, of course not.” I wasn’t about to tell him I now got a half boner whenever the bells rang at work because I’d hoped it was him coming in. I never knew a dick could have a Pavlovian response, but there it was. “I enjoy your company.”
“And I yours. It’s rather lonely at the campgrounds, although Della and I did see several whitetails today on our walk.
They seem to come to the pond to drink where the water flows in and the ice is open.
They’re so lovely. We don’t have any deer in ?stermon since it’s an island, but I have seen red and roe deer in Norway.
Oh! And a moose when I visited Canada as a teenager.
I do love your whitetails, though. Della, being a mighty hunter, thought she would like to chase them down, but we turned around and left them be.
She seems to forget that her breed was created to be ratters and not deerhounds. ”
I laughed softly. Dogs were so funny and, yes, foolishly brave at times. “She’s quite the fierce one.”
“Oh yes, eight pounds of fury.” He passed me a mug of coffee, which I added some creamer to.
Sliding behind the little table, my arm brushed his, and it sent another jolt of desire to my already plump cock.
“So, I thought I might ask a favor? I know we’ve just met, and it’s rather forward of me to appeal to you as you and your daughter have already been so kind to me and my dog… ”
I looked up from my coffee and fell into dark brown eyes.
God he was just the prettiest thing I had seen in many years.
Yes, he had secrets. And if I were a good sleuth, I would not allow myself to be distracted by rosy cheeks, plush lips, and soulful chocolate eyes.
You never saw Banacek acting a fool over a man.
No way. George Peppard was all business.
George didn’t get giddy or pop woodies at the sight of blue Prada or brown curls.
“I’m happy to do any kind of favor that you might need,” I allowed to fall out of my mouth as I found little specks of light brown amid his mocha irises.
He wet his lips. I stirred so hard that hot coffee splashed over the handle of my mug, jarring me from my dreamy state. “Ouch, damn. Hot coffee is hot.” I released the mug to shake my hand.
“Be careful,” he warned, reaching out to pluck my hand from the air. “Did you burn yourself? I once saw a cook get a very bad burn from scalding water.”
He held my hand gently, turning it this way and that, as my cock went from semi-rigid to hard enough to drive a fence post in zero point one tenth of a second.
He smelled of wind, sweat, and that expensive cologne he wore.
His fingers were still in his cycling gloves, but I could feel the warmth seeping through to my skin.
“I’m…good, it’s good,” I coughed out, unwilling to pull my hand free or to even move an inch. He nodded, his gaze leaving my hand to touch my face. “I’m not…is this…what favor did you want?”
His grip on my hand tightened slightly, and then he hit me with that regal bow and kiss to the knuckles thing that he had done with Gilda.
A nervous giggle bubbled out of me before I could stop it.
Those lips…holy hell, they were soft. Warm.
And far too tempting to be touching my flesh in any manner.
My prick was now throbbing painfully. I inched closer to the little square table holding the pot, sugar, and creamer to hide my erection.
“It looks fine. I would hate to see such skilled hands harmed in any way,” he whispered, his gaze locked with mine now.
A dirty reply was right there, sitting on the tip of my tongue.
I knew I should bite it back, but holy shit, this man was gorgeous.
He had just kissed my scarred knuckle, and I was pretty sure that constituted flirting.
Before my killjoy, somber side could throttle the temptation to reply in kind, I let my reply fly free. Like a bird, it soared out of me.
“You’d be amazed what I can do with my hands.”
A slim eyebrow rose on his brow. “I look forward to finding out sometime.”