Chapter 13
Ava
It looked like a year's worth of paperwork. In a box!
Did I anger the universe? Sure, owning a ranch meant accounts and books. But, books! Not a box. Why? How? But it didn’t matter. I owed them. If this is what they needed, then that’s what I’d do. “Will you need this table for eating?”
“What?” Eli asked.
“This might take days.” Days in which I had hoped to be in an apartment, a new job.
Eli drummed his fingertips on the wooden tabletop. To his credit, he appeared remorseful. “What if we worked on it together?”
“That would help.”
Bill cleared his throat and set his coffee cup in the sink. “I’ll watch Nina.”
After explaining my system, Eli and I stood side by side, working in silence for several minutes.
“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, pulling out another thick stack of documents. “I know you’d rather be at the stable.”
I shrugged. “What good is my help if it’s not what you need?”
“What I need,” he repeated, more to himself. He pulled out his phone. “How about some music?”
“If you’d like.”
“What do you like?”
My eyes climbed to his hopeful expression. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked me that. “I-I don’t know.”
He studied me, then dipped his head to his phone. After a minute, a solid beat paired with an instantly likeable twang of country guitar bounced around the spacious kitchen. “How’s this?”
I resisted the urge to tap my toes. “This is good.” Sorting turned into a line dance of rustling papers, and I didn’t hate it.
“Can you read this?” Eli held a page in my face.
“Not that close, I can’t.” I pushed his arm back, firm, warm muscle teasing my fingertips. Instead of reading the faded print with me, he watched the side of my face. “D-Dodd’s Feed?” I said. “Budd’s Feed? Put it with feed orders for now.”
“As you wish.” He leaned in, twisting to face me as he set his page down, almost as if he planned to scoop me up in a slow dance.
Why is he so close?
Then came an unwanted rebuttal: You didn’t mind when he was covered in motor oil. I read the work order in my hand three times, but all that registered was the brush of Eli’s shoulder every time he placed a page on a pile.
I elbowed his side, though I couldn’t erase all of my smile. “Do you mind? I’m trying to work here.”
“Yeah, me too.” His head bobbed to the song as he inched closer.
Just ignore it. “How did the interview go?”
“The interview?” He paused, receipt in hand. “Oh. Yeah. Well, he showed up on time.”
“That’s rare,” I observed, only half joking.
“Right?”
“But?” I asked.
He sighed, leaning his palms against the table’s edge. “He seemed like an a-hole.” With a huff, he added, “Dad’s expecting way too much for this position.”
“It might be easier to find someone trainable.”
“Won’t do us much good.”
I took a turn studying his profile. “Why not?”
He pulled a face. “We’re not cowboys. Dad’s a retired architect. I don’t even know why he has a ranch. Only thing I can figure, Mom loved horses, so he did it for her.”
My eyes fell on Eli’s industrial work boots. Functional, but steel toes were overkill for ranch wear. “Do you ride?”
“Used to.” He put his page on a pile. “You?”
“Same.”
“Why’d you stop?” he asked.
The bottom of the box materialized. I pulled out the last item, a piece of mail with red letters that spelled out final notice. “What’s this?”
“Dunno.” Eli took the offered correspondence, opened it, read it, then shoved it back into the envelope and tucked it in his pocket. “I’ll give that to Dad later. Now what?”
I selected a pile. “Now we order each stack by date.”
“Calendarize,” he muttered.
“Hmm?”
“Nothing.”
He picked up a neat-ish stack of invoices and curled up the bottom corners to read the printed dates. We plowed through the task much faster than expected, his interference in my personal space notwithstanding. When my stomach grumbled, I glanced at the clock. Nina would be due for her nap soon.
I smoothed the edges of the last ordered pile and resisted the urge to fix Eli’s stack. “We should put these in binders so they stay organized.”
“Good idea. I’ll ask Dad if he has some.”
“I’ll come. It’s near Nina’s naptime, anyway.”
I followed him down the set of stairs at the entryway, into a large den with wide exterior French doors that boasted the same majestic mountain view as upstairs. Surrounding the den were interior doors, presumably leading to more rooms.
“There’s a whole other house down here!”
Bill glanced up from his spot on the floor. “You guys done already?”
He and Nina were hunched over a square coffee table, drawing. Behind them sat a plush blue couch opposite a large mounted TV. Creamy wall-to-wall carpeting grounded it all in cozy appeal—such a contrast to the clean, modern upstairs.
My real estate training kicked in. “How many bedrooms does this place have?”
“I gave it five,” Bill said. “The master suite, three down here, and Eli’s got the studio over the garage.”
I took a turn, imagining how the rooms behind closed doors might look. “I love the layout.” Then his words sank in. “Wait, you designed this house?”
His eyes drifted to Eli, but his son was busy scowling at his phone.
“What’s with the face?” I asked Eli. “You don’t like your studio?”
He glanced up, tucking his cell away. “Huh? Oh, no, it’s nice. Maybe not as sexy as the kitchen,” he teased.
My face flamed. Did he remember everything I said? I stepped in to study Bill’s and Nina’s drawings. “Wow, Bill. You’re quite the artist.” The house he had sketched rivaled listings for future build-sites. Nina’s picture looked like a torn pizza box with a smiley face.
“Years of designs,” he told me. “I started before all this computer rendering software.”
“Hey, Dad,” Eli interjected, “we got any binders?”
Bill carefully detailed a panel on the front door. “We do not. But if you're running out, I could use a ream of paper.”
Eli sighed, then looked at me. “Just a binder? What kind?”
I chewed on the inside of my lip as I thought it over. “Three-inches? Actually, make that two of them. And some dividers? Or colorful sticky tabs. Anything to flag sections?”
“Do you just wanna come?” he asked.
My eyes dropped to the happy pizza box. I’d already strayed off course enough for one day. “I should get Nina down for a nap.”
“Okay. Just call me if you think of anything else.”
“I can’t.”
He crossed his arms. “Why is that?”
“I don’t have your number.” I meant nothing by it. Logically, I couldn’t call him if I didn’t have it.
“Give me your phone.”
I regretted it the instant I handed it to him, fretted over the grin that stretched across his face as he tapped away at my screen.
“There. No excuses now.” He passed it back. The heading of my newly saved contact read, “Hunky Hero.”
Oh my God. Of course he remembered! Heat returned to my cheeks. I needed to stop saying things like that. Or just stop speaking in general. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
Once Eli left, Nina negotiated fifteen extra minutes to finish her drawing, which turned into two new drawings. I joined them, sketching a horse that shared a striking resemblance to a potato on stilts.
Bill looked at Nina’s latest scribble thoughtfully. “It needs some color.”
“But not right now,” I interjected, “because we’ve put off naptime long enough.” Then I realized something. “Shoot! Do you have a three-hole punch?”
He shook his head. “Left all that stuff at the office when I retired.” He stood with a groan. “When you call Eli, tell him to get me colored pencils. Prismacolor. Not that off-brand crap.” He started for the stairs. “I’ll be around if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Bill.” I stacked our drawings into a neat pile. “Okay, Crackerjack. Time for a nap.”
Nina popped to her feet and bolted out the glass doors. I followed, but instead of heading to our trailer, she zipped straight to the stable.
“Excuse me, missy! Where do you think you’re going?” But my heart wasn’t in it. I had to call Eli, anyway. When I caught up to her, she had two feet on the bottom rung of Chuck’s fence. “Please don’t climb those.”
“I not.” She climbed to the next rung.
I pulled out my phone. “You are. I see you are.”
I lifted her off and set her on the ground, staring a little too long at the contact screen. What would Eli save my number as? Summer Stray? Drama Mama? Sexy Truck Lady? I shook my head and tapped the call button. Who’s to say he’d save it at all? When he answered, my stupid heart hiccupped.
“Hello, Eli?”
“Who’s this?”
Did I sound that different on the phone? Did he get a lot of calls from women?
He laughed. “I’m kidding, Ava. Whatcha need?”
“Are you still at the store?” I lifted Nina off the rails again.
“Yeah, I’m on a shopping spree. I found a love letter in my truck stashed full of cash.”
“What? No! It’s not a love letter, it’s a thank you note for working on Roxy.” Did it sound like a love letter? I tried to remember what I’d scrawled in my haste. “If it’s not enough, let me know.”
“An ‘XOXO’ at the bottom might be nice.”
“I meant the money.”
He hummed a thoughtful note. “If I leave my window open, will I get more love letters?”
“It’s not a–Nina, no thank you!” This time, when I pried her off the fence, I stuck her at my hip, where she kicked and squirmed. “I have something to add to the list,” I told Eli. “We need a three-hole punch and some colored pencils.”
“Okay.”
“Prismacolor,” I clarified. “Not the off-brand crap.” A long pause stretched on the other end. “Bill’s words,” I defended.
“Anything else?” Something in his tone changed.
“No, that’s it.” I couldn’t stop myself. “Are you okay?”
“Huh? Yeah, it’s just weird. Dad hasn’t drawn in years.”
“Maybe he’s feeling inspired?”
“Maybe.” Why did Eli sound so disturbed by that? After a lull, he said, “Is that all?”
“Yeah.”
“Great. See you soon.” I hung up before I gave him anything else to quote me on.
While Nina napped, I scheduled an apartment tour. Not my first choice, but the pool outweighed the dated interior and exterior stairs to the second floor. After naptime, I offered Nina a snack, then returned to the main house with my computer tucked under my arm again.