Chapter 2 #2
She wiped her forearm across her face, smearing dust and grit. The temp hovered above freezing, but they’d worked up a sweat. “That didn’t take nearly as long as I thought.”
“Unloading never does.”
Her face clouded over as she took in the pile of her belongings. “I can’t believe my whole life fits into a corner of the shop.” Before he could reply, she spun and marched out. “I wish I had time to cuddle some lambs, but I guess I’ll be doing that every morning now.”
He trotted out behind her and closed up the shop. Tomorrow, he and Justin would arrange the furniture on pallets and cover them with sheets. They’d already put out extra mousetraps. Wherever Brigit was going next, she didn’t need critters popping out of her couch.
“Justin won’t put you to work.” He went around to the passenger side where Brigit’s fine behind was sticking out of the door. He bit back his groan. She was wiggling as she wrestled her duffel bag out.
“I got the rest,” he offered.
She hesitated. Please don’t turn me down . He couldn’t walk away and leave her to drag her luggage to the house, but she’d know he was eying her body if he suddenly turned and stared at the fields behind the shop.
She stepped back, the bag slung over her shoulder and her arms full of pillows. He reached in to grab her suitcase and her blankets. A backpack was sitting on the seat and he slung that over his shoulder. A hard thump hit his ribs and he grunted.
His long strides caught up with her. “This backpack would make a good weapon.”
“Oh, those are my old textbooks. Too bad keeping them doesn’t guarantee my ability to get a job.”
Justin had joked that Brigit was a professional student. “Look, Bridge. You have time. Justin isn’t forcing you to go anywhere. He won’t care if you pitch in around here or work in town.”
“I’m not staying in Moore,” she muttered as she wrestled her gear through the side door of the house.
Tell me how you really feel . He’d never understood why she was adamant about leaving town to create a life. But then she’d never experienced a transient lifestyle like he had.
Caleb followed her inside. The house was newer than his grandma’s had been, though it had the same two-story farmhouse look and was easily twice as large.
The kitchen was spacious and separate from the dining room.
A den and the master bedroom were on the first floor.
The stairs creaked as they went up to the second floor, where there were three bedrooms and a full-sized bath.
His boots pounded ominously on the hardwood.
If Caleb could design his own place, he’d build a knock-off of a farmhouse like this. He might not be able to afford the same square footage, but he hoped he could get more than a manufactured home on pillars.
He wanted a home of his own. People wondered why he’d moved into Grandma’s dilapidated home after she died, but they didn’t understand.
That place had been the only home he’d known, the only one where he’d been welcome.
Her house had been a castle to him. And unlike his mom, Grandma had always been around.
Some people questioned why he ranched when he was only a one-man operation and had a full-time job, but that ranch had been in his family for generations. Perhaps people assumed that since his mom had been adopted, the place didn’t mean as much to him.
Brigit charged into her room. He cautiously followed her, plagued by the apprehension he’d experienced as a kid.
From when they were little and she’d screamed at him and Justin to stay out, or later, when they’d discovered a mutual attraction and hadn’t wanted to get caught.
That fear had propelled them to hook up in the great outdoors.
She dumped her load on the bed. The space was as plain as a hotel room.
Her personality had been stripped from it, perhaps from when her other brother Travis had owned the place.
The bedding was beige with a brick design and the walls were bare.
The off-white carpet was the same, but nearly pristine.
She must not have been allowed to even have water up here.
Caleb made sure to eat in the kitchen, and except for today, he always took his boots off when he came through the door. It might be Justin’s house, but after years of getting the stink eye from Joan, he didn’t want to risk her wrath.
“I guess we’d better get back.” She wasn’t looking at him, and her arms were hugged around herself.
The years bled away until it was just him and his old friend Brigit. Forget the abandonment, the lack of faith, and the hurt between them. They’d been friends once.
“Hey,” he said softly and crept around to get a look at her face. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she pressed her lips together. He didn’t care what their history was or why she’d wanted nothing to do with him since their night together, he wanted to comfort her.
She dropped her face into her hands. He wrapped his arms around her and held her while her shoulders shook.
Oliver needed his ass kicked. Brigit—the real Brigit—went to the ends of the earth for the ones she loved. There was nothing she wouldn’t do. This Brigit, the put-together ice princess other people saw, was melting in his arms. When this moment ended, which Brigit would she be?