Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
rowan
“Hey, thanks for coming,” I call over in Claire’s direction when she steps out of her Bronco in a pair of chest waders, and I immediately know I’m in trouble.
“Were you able to shut off the water?” she inquires as she approaches, slipping a headlight onto her forehead. I’m impressed by her forethought, since it’s only five in the afternoon and already getting darker by the minute.
“Uh, yeah. Once I finally found the water main, I realized there wasn’t a key. So I struggled to turn that crusty old valve with a wrench from the emergency toolbox in my truck. But at least I got it done in time to avoid emasculating myself in front of you again.”
Her eyes run over me, catching on the muddy spots on my dress slacks and the old hunting jacket I’d found in Landry’s closet. “Hell, I’m honestly impressed you managed to get that far with those soft hands of yours, Doc,” she replies, her voice tinged with amusement.
“Last I checked, you didn’t mind that my hands were so soft,” I say before I can catch myself, maybe because I’m relieved that she doesn’t seem to be harboring a grudge after our last interaction. But it’s hard to regret anything that inspires one of Claire’s big laughs, anyway.
I stifle a grin and shove my fists into my pockets, trying not to think about the feeling of her smooth skin beneath my palms. “And I may not have any callouses now, but I did grow up mending fences and fixing pipes, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“I could have suggested a better way to demonstrate your pipe-laying skills, farm boy,” she muses as she saunters over and squats down to peer beneath the house. She flicks on the light over her head, and I lower myself to point out the source of the problem.
“I guess Landry hadn’t expected the temps to drop this low while they were gone.”
She snickers. “Wrapping these pipes wasn’t on the agenda before he left. Trust me.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well, I noticed that busted pipe as soon as I drove up this afternoon.”
“And you needed my help to fix that? It sounds like you know what you’re doing.”
“The thing is, Landry doesn’t seem to have any spare PVC or glue lying around, and Camellia’s only hardware store closed early today.”
She clicks her tongue. “It’s Mardi Gras weekend, so most of the businesses in town have already boarded up until next week. I’m actually surprised you’re here. Isn’t the clinic closed tomorrow?”
“I didn’t know the streets were getting roped off so early, so I had the staff schedule a few patients in the morning,” I say, barely hiding my annoyance.
She hums in understanding. “Well, lucky for you, I stopped by the ag shop on the way over and grabbed some supplies. My principal won’t mind so long as we replace everything, especially since it’s all for Mrs. Daisy,” she explains, fluttering her eyelashes over my sister’s name.
“Thank you,” I tell her with a sigh of relief. “And I’ll be happy to make a donation for anything else you might need in your shop.” She bounces her eyebrows, letting me know she was banking on that offer.
“There’s another reason I called, though,” I add, cringing.
She glares at me. “You’re too big to fit under the house, aren’t you?”
I shoot her an apologetic smile. “Afraid so.”
She groans as she rises to her feet. “I’m starting to wonder how you managed to survive the past thirty-something years without me.”
“Funny, I’ve been thinking the same thing,” I reply, my smile growing more genuine.
She rolls her eyes and shoves me before she walks to her Bronco, and I follow closely. After handing me a few pieces of pipe, she grabs a small handsaw and a tin of glue before returning to the job site.
“I guess I should have set out a tarp or something for you to lie on so you wouldn’t get muddy,” I remark as she prepares to slide beneath the house.
“Would have been nice,” she mumbles, pulling her braid over her shoulder before leaning back and reaching for the broken pipe.
I watch as she uses the saw to cut out the cracked section, then she directs me to cut the new piece down to size while she applies glue and fittings at the ends. Once she’s ready, I hand her the new section, and she glues it into place.
“That old PVC gets brittle over time. So I wouldn’t be surprised if you find another crack when you turn the water back on,” she tells me when she scoots out from the crawlspace and takes the hand I’m offering to pull her up.
“But I wouldn’t worry about wrapping the rest, since the temps won’t be quite as low tonight. ”
“I guess we just need to let it cure for a while?”
“Yep,” she confirms, gathering tools as if she’s preparing to leave.
“Uh, let me grab you a towel. Don’t go anywhere,” I blurt out in a panic and dart into the house.
She’s already packed up and drying herself off with a towel from her trunk by the time I make it back outside.
“Sorry, I should have been better prepared,” I murmur, but she’s still ignoring me.
“Well, good luck.”
“Wait, you’re leaving … already?” I ask when she opens the driver’s side door.
“With all your pipe experience, I didn’t think you needed me to sit and watch the glue dry,” she replies, her smirk confirming my suspicions that there’s some kind of euphemism at work here.
“Well, no, but … what if I find another problem when I turn on the water main, like you said?”
“Then I’ll come back. I’m only about a mile down the road,” she replies matter-of-factly.
“You don’t want to come inside and wait?
Maybe we can find something for dinner,” I offer, and she narrows her eyes at me.
Her hesitation is definitely justified, but I can’t help that I want to keep her here a while longer.
And I doubt she’d stay if I came right out and asked, especially if I told her how much I’ve been thinking about her and craving her company.
“We both know the Reeds can’t cook, so that pantry is bound to be bare. Not to mention, the lack of running water would make food prep pretty inconvenient,” she says, calling me out. “You’re not looking for another invitation to my place, are you?”
“No, no,” I say too quickly. “But I feel like I at least owe you dinner by now. Maybe we can find some takeout?”
She sighs as she stares me down. “Even if we had a fast-food option, it’d be closed by now.”
I open my mouth with an offer to take her out of town for dinner, but I’m cut off by a loud hiss and a small geyser erupting from the water main behind me. Claire and I both curse and scramble over to the new water fountain I’ve inadvertently created in Daisy and Landry’s front yard.
“I thought you said you shut off the valve!” she yells as we squat to inspect the source of the six-foot-tall waterspout that’s currently raining down over us.
“I did, but the handle was rusty, so I wouldn’t be surprised if it sprung a leak after I had to force it!”
“Oh, shit, the glue hasn’t cured,” she mumbles. “Grab the pliers from my toolbox in the back. I’m going to hold that pipe together.”
I nod and run over to her Bronco as directed, casting a glance her way as she crawls under the house.
“Can you hurry the hell up?” she shouts, and I growl as I fight against the water pressure to clamp and adjust the pliers. It takes another minute and a few more embarrassingly loud grunts for me to shut the valve again.
“Got it closed. You okay?” I call out to Claire.
“Freaking peachy,” she retorts. But when I turn and wipe the icy cold water out of my eyes, I realize my efforts were in vain.
My frustrated growl resounds as I approach the small swamp that formed beneath the house within the last minute.
Claire sputters and turns her head to spit on the ground. “Not only did our new pipe disconnect, but a few more followed suit,” she explains, her voice tinged with annoyance. “This just became a much bigger job.”
“In other words, we’re not fixing it tonight.”
“Not unless you plan to lift the house for me. And since it took you long enough to shut off a little old valve, I don’t think that’s possible.
” She rolls onto her belly and shimmies out from beneath the crawlspace, and cringe when her backside comes into view.
She’s soaked, which isn’t surprising now that there’s at least an inch of water on the ground.
“Claire, I’m so sorry,” I begin, reaching out to offer her a hand.
“I thought you knew what you were doing,” she grumbles, glowering at me as she takes my hand.
But I slip when I shift my weight to one foot, and I perform one of those silly cartoon falls instead of pulling her up, my arms flailing as I teeter back and forth and eventually fall flat on my butt beside her.
She bites her lip and reaches up to swipe at some of the mud that splatters onto her face with my impact, and I cringe as I await her wrath.
“Okay, now I’m really, really sorry,” I add with a whine, thinking she’s going to throttle me any second now.
But this is Claire, so she simply flicks a handful of mud in my face before throwing her head back and cackling so loudly that it echoes throughout the yard.
I can’t help but join her, and we take turns smearing mud and playfully pulling one another back down a few times before I finally manage to get us both onto our feet.
Claire sighs as our laughter dies down, and we use the cleaner water puddles to rinse off as much of the mud as possible.
“Maybe I was wrong about not wrapping the rest of the pipes, because it’s getting c-colder by the m-minute,” she declares when we finally make our way to the porch. “At least D-Daisy covered her plants.”
“Yeah,” I agree. The wind whips through, the cold permeating my wet clothes. “Sh-shoot,” I barely get out with my teeth chattering.
“What?” she breathes, wrapping her arms around herself.
“We can’t track all of this m-mud inside, because I won’t be able to t-turn on the water to clean it up.”
“Sh-shhit, you’re right,” she confirms. “We’ll just have to … leave our wet clothes out here.”