Chapter 4
Sophie
Being alone gave me way too much time to think.
I wasn't used to this much inactivity. Listlessly, I glanced at the bag of schoolwork I'd asked Davis to pack for me.
I still had about thirty shamrocks to cut out.
Usually, I loved decorating my classroom each month, but I'd fallen behind, and the idea of spending an hour mindlessly cutting held no appeal.
I wondered what Davis was up to. The man was so secretive, coming and going at will.
Not that he needed to tell me what he was doing.
I was used to him popping up where we least expected him.
It'd been that way since we started campfire nights around the Pruitt Farm firepit.
Izzy had invited me to join her, Jo, and Gwen, when I'd first moved to town, and slowly our group had grown to include Eve as well.
Izzy would never know how much her friendly offer meant to me. I'd been new to town, lonely and struggling to find my way. She, Jo, and Gwen had given me a support group that I cherished.
Bored and lonelier than I wanted to admit, I limped my way through the house, searching for Davis.
I'd thought he kept an office in the house, but I realized almost immediately that I'd found Jo's space, not his.
Slowly, I made my way to the back door, then to the barn that housed Davis's kittens, coming face-to-face with Taylor Lachman.
"Taylor? What are you doing here?"
"Hi, Ms. Dunham," he said, looking at his feet. "I live next door. Mr. Davis lets me help him with the kittens," he mumbled.
I counted getting Taylor to say anything in class a major victory. I couldn't decide if he and Davis were a match made in heaven or hell. Davis wasn’t exactly the poster child for communication.
“You’re lucky. Mr. Pruitt barely lets me visit them. You must be very good with them for him to trust you so much.”
Taylor puffed up, that hint of pride making me lust just a little harder for my grumpy farmer. Davis might not like having people in his space, but he’d intuitively understood what Taylor needed and given it to him.
“Do you think we should get a pet for our classroom?” I asked. Maybe Taylor wasn’t the only one who’d benefit from a little cuddle time and responsibility.
He dug a toe in the dirt, scuffing gently. “Like what?” he asked, sounding intrigued.
Me and my big mouth. I hadn’t really thought it through. Anything I hosted in the classroom had to have a summer home, because my apartment didn’t allow pets.
“Something that could be fostered by a family in the summer. What do you think would be a good idea?”
“A snake?”
I hid my shudder. Not forking likely. I could just imagine the nasty emails I’d get if I tried to foist a snake on some unsuspecting family for the summer.
“Maybe,” I said, not wanting to discourage him. Getting so many words out of Taylor was a feat in itself, and I didn’t want to stifle him.
“Oh, I’ve always wanted a bunny,” he volunteered, eyes brightening.
My shoulders relaxed. That I could work with.
“Tell you what – let’s put it to a class vote next week. I’m open to ideas; it just has to be something our principal and parents won’t mind.”
He grinned, making me feel like I’d won the lottery, prying a real smile out of him. “That sounds great, Ms. Dunham.”
I gestured to the barn. "Is he in there?" I asked, feeling a little guilty about pumping my student for information.
Taylor nodded. "In his office."
Bingo. I'd found Davis's elusive hidey-hole and done it without stumbling across the entire property.
"Thanks, Taylor. I'll see you on Monday?"
He nodded, and I watched as he scampered down a well-worn path.
I slid the barn door open, careful not to let any of Davis's furry charges out.
I'd managed to sneak in to visit the kitties a few times before being chased out by Davis.
I'd always thought it was sour grapes, that he just didn't want me messing with his precious rescues.
Now I suspected he hadn't wanted me to find his secret lair. Snorting gently, I shook my head.
The outer area I'd visited before was empty, but a golden glow emanated from an open door at the back of the building. I limped my way slowly to the door.
Davis sat in front of his computer, reading glasses perched on his nose.
His hair looked like he'd been running his fingers through it.
Two kittens batted toys around on the floor behind him, and I spotted at least one furry body spread out next to him on the desk.
He reached absently into his lap, wincing in pain and swapping hands.
Guiltily, I cleared my throat. "Davis?"
He scowled. "I'll be done in a few minutes. Everything takes twice as long with one hand."
"Can I help?"
"No."
His tone didn't encourage arguing, and a more sensitive woman would have recognized his bad attitude as reason to leave him alone, but I couldn't resist exploring his space.
Davis kept everything important about himself hidden.
Was it any wonder I was drawn to him? I loved puzzles.
The more complicated, the better. Detective shows, escape rooms, they were all extremely my jam.
Davis had done the one thing guaranteed to make him irresistible to me: presented a mystery.
The Case of the Gruff Farmer. Why was he so unfriendly?
Jo grew up with him but hadn't adopted any of his antisocial habits.
I catalogued the pieces of himself that Davis revealed in his office.
A copy of his diploma from a university agricultural program.
The medals and awards Pinkney Brewery had won in the Washington Beer Awards for American-style lagers and other brewing styles.
A picture of what looked like a teenage Davis with a much older man and grade-school Jo.
His dad? I pondered the resemblance between them.
Davis and Jo's father had been a big man, barrel-chested with dark hair and a dark beard.
Glancing from the photo to Davis, it was easy to see his Dad's bone structure in the planes of Davis's face. Maybe he wasn’t traditionally handsome, but something about his features spoke to stability and strength.
I meandered to the bookcase that covered one wall, tracing the spines.
Davis had an impressive collection. A handful of aged fantasy paperbacks, a slew of hardback thrillers.
I even spotted a few paranormal romances wedged among the mysteries.
Spotting an Ilona Andrews title I hadn't read yet, I tugged it from the shelf.
Davis ignored my nosy behavior, and I took that as an invitation to borrow from his library.
Proving my theory that Davis didn't like visitors, there was nowhere for me to sit in his office, so I slipped out, looking for a cozy spot to read, and found one beneath the barn's window.
Spring sunlight cast a golden glow on the ancient sofa covered in cat hair.
I snuggled in, flipping open my book, losing myself to a fictional world where I hadn't hurt myself or Davis.
Slowly, I became aware of the furry warm bodies that had snuggled around me.
The orange cat stretched out along one of my thighs, grooming her fur.
Two tiny fluff balls covered each of my shoulders, creating an almost shawl-like effect.
The Siamese who'd had his chin propped on Davis's keyboard earlier had adopted a similar pose on my right knee.
The final member of Davis's current kitten herd had taken pride of place in my lap.
I scratched the ginger cat beneath her chin, smiling when her eyes slitted in pleasure, a rough purr rumbling in her chest. Something shifted in the air, and I glanced up.
Davis stood framed in his office doorway, arms crossed, watching me.
That silent perusal sent a flare of awareness coursing through me.
His gaze seemed to trail everywhere, lingering on the way my fingers tangled in kitten fur.
His expression remained aloof, but his jaw softened and his eyes seemed warmer.
Yet I still couldn't tell if his expression was pleased or disgusted by my takeover of his feline companions, and that bothered me. Davis was touchy when it came to his kittens. And he barely seemed to tolerate me on his best days, let alone when he was injured.
"How are you feeling?" I asked lightly, nodding toward his arm in its sling.
"I'll live. Hungry?"
"Sure. Okay if I bring this?" I held up my book.
He dipped his head in a nod, and I gently dislodged my cuddle buddies, limping for the door.
"I'm impressed by your book collection," I said as we made our way to the back door of the house.
Davis grunted. "Jo's is bigger."
I held back my smile with effort. How many men willingly admitted someone else had something bigger?
I glanced at Davis. Then again, he didn't need to advertise.
His body was a walking commercial for farmers everywhere.
Tall, built broad in the shoulders, with a trim waist and tight butt showcased to perfection in jeans.
He moved with an ease born of hard labor, the elegant prowl instantly sending tingles to places I had no business noticing.
Davis ushered me inside and toward a chair at the kitchen table and stuck his head in the fridge. He leaned down to a lower shelf, and I bit my lip, trying to tear my gaze from the way his glutes flexed.
"Leftover chili," he pronounced as he pulled a baking dish out, using his hand and one hip to set it carefully on the counter.
"Can I help?" I asked.
Davis shook his head, sliding the crock into his microwave and using his good hand to tap on the controls. "Beer?"
“A cider if you have one?” I asked instead, trying to take my cue from Davis. He pulled a bottle from the fridge, popping the top on the edge of the counter before handing it to me, then repeating the sequence again for himself.