Chapter 15 Pane #2
The nonchalance in her stance doesn’t hide the pain in her voice. A moment later, she shyly glances at a tall blue-enameled tool cabinet with longing and sadness.
“You don’t come out here much, do you?”
“Not really. My mom does, though.”
I walk my fingers over a table and approach her. Rowe’s gaze darts up to meet mine before it flutters back down to the chain saw in front of her. She takes a cloth and dusts the top.
“Why don’t you spend time here?”
She keeps her eyes on the saw. “I don’t know.
It’s too hard, I guess.” She looks up into the rafters and around at the signs.
“Some people want to visit where their loved ones spent all their time. Me? I just like to wear my dad’s old boots.
Being in here reminds me that he’s really gone, that I’m actually on my own. ”
I work my jaw at the realization that her dad’s deceased, and her parents aren’t simply divorced like mine. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“It’s okay.”
The sadness in her voice rocks me to my knees. My heart cracks in two, and in this moment, I feel closer to her than I expected after what happened this morning. I also sense that she doesn’t want to keep talking about her dad.
So that’s why I whisper, “Why’d you kiss me? Really? It wasn’t about biscuits.”
Her eyes are glassy, about to spill with tears. She blinks and sighs. “Why’d you kiss me?”
Well played. “You first.”
Sunbeam grimaces. “Promise you won’t kill me?”
“Kill you? No. But I might spank you.”
Her eyes bulge.
I round the counter and come to stand directly in front of her. The energy between us buzzes. Outside, the wind picks up and branches smack against the roof.
She tips her face up to study me, obviously hoping I’ll keep my promise to lightly punish her.
Just kidding.
Maybe not.
“It got out about who you are,” Sunbeam explains. “It wasn’t my fault. Cristina posted it on social media before you told me not to reveal your identity.”
“Ah.” Now it all makes sense. “That’s why I had an audience at the hardware store.”
“That’s why.”
I frown. “But that still doesn’t explain the kiss.”
She grimaces. “This morning there was a line of cars going up and down the road. People were holding signs out of their windows welcoming you.”
A laugh rips from my throat. “Really? So that’s why you kissed me? So that I wouldn’t see?”
She swallows loudly. “That’s why. You told me the whole thing about losing.”
“Yeah, as long as the press doesn’t show up, we’ll be fine.”
From my angle, this small firecracker of a woman looks so fragile, so in need of protection. Though I should be angry that my identity got out, I can’t be.
It’s impossible to be frustrated when my chest is squeezing my heart like I’m about to suffer from cardiac arrest.
The wind blows in through the open door, and it pushes me toward her. She edges forward at the same time, as if she’s also being manipulated by the elements.
Rowe licks her lips, and my gaze drops to her mouth. “So why’d you kiss me again?”
I tap the chain saw with my fingers. “I think it’s time I learned how to use this properly, don’t you?”
“Are you avoiding the question?”
“Pretty sure I’ve already answered it.”
“No, you haven’t. So why’d you do it?”
Because in that moment, all I wanted was to lay my mouth on yours and taste you again? Because I felt the need to own you? Because you wind me up and knock me down in a way that I haven’t experienced?
“I don’t know,” is all I say.
She cocks her head and studies me as if learning my face. “Okay,” she says huskily, moving on. “Let me show you chain saw basics. Grab that Husqvarna.”
The tension between us breaks, and my brain snaps back into working mode. For the next few moments, Rowe teaches me correct chain saw posture. Then we move outside, where there’s a small tree. “You’re going to cut that down, and I’m going to talk you through it.”
Sunbeam instructs me on how to fell a tree like an expert, cool and calm, correcting me every step of the way.
It’s sexy as hell.
On top of that, she’s wearing a white jean skirt and cowboy boots. My God, who thought a woman in a visor and earmuffs, wearing a skirt and walking me through the correct way to use a chain saw, would be hot?
And when she puts a hand on my arm, silently asking me to pause, my cock just about bursts through my jeans.
Once the tree’s down, she shows me how to cut it so that the bar doesn’t get pinched, and as she closes in, her scent fills my nose. It’s light, feminine, and uniquely hers.
She instructs me to make circular cuts around the log instead of pushing straight down.
Otherwise, the bar that the saw is wound around will get caught.
If the tree’s flat on the ground, then I can slice through it.
In that position, the wood won’t collapse around the bar when I’m cutting, thus pinching the saw.
Simple. Easy.
And Rowe . . . she’s so patient. There’s no judging, and she’s lost her snark. She’s a calm presence as she guides me, never once getting frustrated or treating me as if my money makes me useless.
And for the first time today, I’m not feeling like a useless rich guy whose only talents lie in managing people and money, seeing someone’s weakness and figuring out how to turn that into their strength.
I’m being useful in a real and existing way. If a tree fell in front of Rowe’s house, now I could cut it up and move it myself. I wouldn’t have to wait for anyone.
This moment brings back memories of my childhood.
It reminds of the summer I spent with my uncle, when he taught me how to use a chain saw.
My brother and I stayed in his cabin, and it was the first time in years that I’d felt loved by someone, that someone told me they were grateful that I existed.
I’d felt love and it had warmed my heart.
Now my heart’s doing strange things again, thumping and pulsing every time Rowe smiles at me or whips her hair over her shoulder.
Maybe it’s early signs of that heart attack I mentioned earlier.
I clench and unclench my left hand. Everything feels good and seems to be in working order.
After an hour, Rowe pulls off her safety goggles and grins—really grins—at me. My stomach coils as she tips her shining, girl-next-door face up at me and says, “You did great! I think you’re ready.”
I turn off the chain saw and rest it on the ground. My arms and back ache from the labor, but it’s a good pain—the kind filled with a sense of accomplishment.
She slips a pair of work gloves off her hands. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some lunch. What do you say?”
I hoist the saw off the ground. “I’m starving. After lunch, let’s see if I can win us some supplies.”
Her gaze darts to my feet. “But before that, you need a pair of boots . . . And I know just where to find them.”