Chapter 6
Chapter Six
“ I t wasn’t your fault.”
Shiloh blinked several times. She wasn’t a crier by nature, but that little performance from Granger had struck her deeply. She knew she was a big personality and that wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but Granger had acted like she had some kind of virus. He couldn’t get away from her fast enough, and it stung.
More than it should have for a man she barely knew.
“Shi.”
She looked over. “Hm? What?”
Tate sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Shiloh raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh? So he regularly runs away like a dog who’s been hit with pepper spray?”
One side of Tate’s mouth curled up, but he was able to keep from laughing, which was a difficult task for the goofy man. “Granger’s just…”
“Dumb?” Shiloh supplied, batting her lashes. “A scaredy cat? Overprotective? A woman hater? Insecure?”
Tate put a hand in the air. “I get it. He was rude. But I was going to say, he’s been hurt.”
“Oh, please.” Shiloh rolled her eyes and turned away from Tate. “He’s a single father. Of course, he’s been hurt. I’m not stupid, Tate. Just terrifying, apparently.”
It was fine. She didn’t need Granger. Her lawn mower might need a tune-up, but somehow she’d get it through the harvest outside.
She’d made do without gorgeous hazel eyes, thick biceps, and a jawline that could cut glass for many years. She could continue to make do without one now.
She would miss little Zane, though. He was a heartbreak waiting to happen.
“So…” Tate began. “Take this in a completely platonic, ‘I’m your brother’ way.”
Shiloh turned around and put her fists on her hips. “Go on…”
He gave her a too-wide grin. “You’re gorgeous and mostly fun.” He held up two fingers close together. “Sometimes a little annoying, but mostly fun.”
Shiloh gave him a very slow blink. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? It’s fine because I have a pretty face, and I don’t annoy you all the time?”
“Ow!” Tate jerked and reached for the back of his head.
“Ignore him,” Jett said, striding around the corner. “Point is, the problem was Granger, not you. Sorry about that. I didn’t realize he’d react like an idiot.”
Shiloh pointed to Jett but looked at Tate. “Your brother is the voice of reason here. Learn from him.”
Tate opened his arms wide. “Ah, come on, Shi. You know you love me.”
“As long as you understand it’s in that purely platonic, ‘you’re a ridiculously annoying brother’ way…then we’re good.”
Tate gave her a mock salute. “Got it.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’m gonna tackle the front room. Let me know when you find the cats.”
“I’m gonna make you scrub the poop!” Shiloh shouted.
“Not my house!” Tate shot back.
She shook her head at Jett. “Boys are dumb.”
Jett held his hands in the air. “No arguing here.” He dropped his hands. “But seriously. I’m sorry.”
Shiloh shook her head. “Not your fault. I don’t usually drive people off until after they’ve met me.”
Jett chuckled. “Right.” He jammed a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll find the attic. If I don’t come down in thirty minutes, send a rescue party.”
“Not it!” Tate called from the front room.
“I guess it’s every man for himself,” Shiloh teased. Then waved Jett off. “Go get heat exhaustion. I have cats to find.”
“Good luck. And don’t touch any of them.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Shiloh said sarcastically. Sighing, she spun back to the kitchen and narrowed her eyes. She’d never admit it to the twins, but their little conversation sort of helped.
Not as much as a triple scoop of mint chocolate chip ice cream would, but still…it was nice that even the boys realized that Granger had been unreasonable.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” Shiloh whispered, starting on one side of the cabinets. The hinges squeaked and protested as if she were asking for their firstborn child, rather than simply to open and close as they were meant to do.
“WD-40 is my saving grace,” Shiloh murmured, still working her way around the kitchen. “Ugh.” One cabinet revealed a previously occupied location for the cats. Shredded papers and old towels were wound up in a sort of nest pattern, but it was the smell that gave it away.
If the kitchen smelled bad…that cabinet was a nightmare.
“This is definitely going to eat more funds than I expected…me and my big ideas.” A strange sort of sadness crept along Shiloh’s core. Her over-eager, can-do attitude might have gotten her in real trouble this time, and for a moment, she heard a voice in the back of her brain say, “No wonder Granger ran off.”
“No.” Shiloh clenched her jaw and shook her head hard. “No. Absolutely not. I won’t let a man dictate my worth.” Throwing herself into her task, Shiloh began throwing open doors as if her life depended on it. Her bank account more than likely did.
She was going to find those cats, and they were going to be evicted. And Shiloh wasn’t taking excuses.
“Ah!” She squealed when something flew over her head after pulling open the pantry door.
“What?” Tate’s footsteps came pounding from the front of the house. “What happened?” he panted.
Keeping her hands protectively over her head, Shiloh dared to glance up at the ceiling. “I think we have a bat,” she whispered.
“Crap. Really?”
She nodded, then waved him off. “I’ll get it.” Turning on the light in the pantry, Shiloh found an old broom in the corner and clutched it tightly. “I’ll get it out of here. Just leave the front door open, okay?”
“Shi,” Tate began. “Bats?—”
“Nope.” She shook her head at him. “I’m an adult. I can get one itty, bitty bat out of a house.”
She was an adult, but she wasn’t certain the bat was itty bitty. And she also wasn’t about to tell Tate that she was using this experience as a chance to prove to herself that she didn’t need a man’s help.
Tate hesitated again, and Shiloh glared.
“Go,” she ordered. “I can take care of this.”
Huffing, Tate shook his head and left. “Good luck. Don’t get rabies.”
Her hold on the broom tightened. “Good idea,” she muttered under her breath. Staying cautiously low, Shiloh scanned all the corners, then lifted the broom and began her hunt.
She was gaining a series of titles she wasn’t sure she wanted. Cat wrangler. Bat catcher… At this point, Shiloh was just praying that there were no skunks inside. Poor Jett in the attic might be in for an unwelcome surprise if that particular species had settled in.
A dark chuckle made its way up her throat. “Too bad Granger’s not the one up there. That might’ve been fun.”
The next week was a study in patience for Granger, and it had less to do with working with Zane at his side, than his own conscience.
Jett had accused Granger of running.
Truer words had never been spoken.
No matter how hard he tried, Granger couldn’t get Shiloh out of his head. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw dark, coffee-colored hair, thick and heavy, followed by a flash of those eyes that were light enough to be called gold, surrounded by dark, substantial lashes.
He saw her chatting and smiling at Zane.
He saw her putting her hands on her hips and facing him down with a playful, flirty smirk.
He saw her in the dress from the wedding which had hugged each perfect curve as she took Zane out on the dance floor.
I only dance with men in bow ties.
Cursing under his breath, Granger slapped his own cheek and shook his head. “Focus,” he ordered himself.
The doorbell rang just as Granger forced his eyes back onto his computer.
“Dad?” Zane called.
“I got it,” Granger called back. He had to give it to his son. Zane had been a trooper through the whole ordeal. He’d slept extra the first couple of days after breaking his arm, but other than the fight about leaving Shiloh behind, Zane had gone back to being easy to get along with and mostly kept himself entertained.
There were still several weeks of recovery to go, however, and Granger was already trying to think of things to keep Zane occupied. Boredom would eventually set in, and Granger was trying to stay ahead of the game.
Opening the door, he relaxed when he realized it was just a package. His preoccupied mind wasn’t exactly eager to talk to anyone else at the moment, especially after the way he’d left things with Tate and Jett.
Waving at the departing mailman, Granger bent over and took the pile of envelopes off the top of the box, stuffing them under his arm before grabbing the large box and hefting it inside.
It was heavy enough that he immediately knew it had to be work related. Poor Zane was always lamenting that none of the fun deliveries were for him.
Granger grunted and re-shifted the weight. “As if fertilizer or gardens plans are fun for a kid.”
“Who was it?” Zane asked, padding into the front entry with play dough stuck to his fingers on his non-casted hand.
“Just the mail,” Granger supplied. “Careful not to get that stuff in the carpet.”
Zane looked at his hands and shrugged. “I’m not touching the carpet.”
“Yeah, but—” Granger bit off his argument. “How about you just go wash up if you’re done, huh?”
Zane eyed the box. “Can I open it?”
“Hurry and wash, and you can do the honors.”
Zane ran off, his tiny feet pounding the floor.
Granger winced when the bathroom door slammed into the wall. How did any parent make a house survive having children? And Granger only had one!
Shaking his head, Granger headed to the kitchen table, depositing his haul on top and pulling the envelopes out from under his arm. The pile of mail was thick today…which probably meant bills.
Fun.
Sitting down, he began to thumb through the pile, waiting for Zane to get back. Garbage went to the left, and stuff he actually needed to open went to the right.
He noticed with gritted teeth that about four of them were from their insurance. Granger knew from experience that they would involve estimates of bills that would eventually be coming from the doctor’s office.
Before he could open them, Zane came running back in. “Where’s the knife?” he asked, climbing on a chair.
“I’ll take care of that,” Granger said quickly. Standing, he pulled his pocket knife out of his jeans and opened the blade. Shaking his head at Zane’s complaints, Granger sliced through the tape, leaving the flaps closed. “There.” He put the knife away. “You open it.”
Zane’s bottom lip was poking out, but he eventually pulled open the box, ripping out the packing paper, letting it fly over his head. “Yuck. It’s just more dirt.” Disappointed, he climbed down from the chair and stomped off.
Granger watched him go with a half smile on his face. Kids could be stinkers, but sometimes it was funny. He glanced at the box, noting that Zane was right. Two new fertilizers lay in the bottom. No wonder it had had a little weight to it.
Settling back into his seat, he eyed the pile of innocuous white envelopes. Part of him wanted to throw them away without ever opening them, but he knew he couldn’t do that.
“Man up,” Granger whispered, grabbing the first letter. He tore it open, noted the amount with pinched lips and proceeded to go through the pile.
By the time he’d opened every one, Granger felt almost sick to his stomach. In that moment, he was so grateful he had insurance that he almost called up the company to say thank you, but even with their help, Granger’s bank account was going to take a hard hit.
Combined with his upcoming alimony payment, and the fewer-than-normal jobs on his schedule, things were going to be leaner than Granger liked.
Much leaner.
“Dad? Can we see Tate or Jett today?” Zane had wandered back into the dining room, clutching a video game in his hand.
“I think they’re working,” Granger said. “But maybe soon we’ll have them over for a barbecue, huh?”
“Can we invite Shiloh?”
There were those eyes again. Dang it. Granger really had to get a hold of himself. He was a grown man for heaven’s sake and perfectly capable of keeping his wits about him when he was around beautiful, intriguing women.
“I don’t think so,” Granger said carefully.
“Why not?”
It was such a simple question, but Granger didn’t have a simple answer. At least not one simple enough that his son would understand.
“I need to make a phone call,” Granger announced. “Did you want to play on your tablet for a bit?” Thank heaven for electronics and their ability to distract even the most persistent of little boys.
Once Zane was settled, Granger came back to the bill estimates. His eyes stared for a long time, but he was still struggling to get it to compute in his head. How was he going to do this?
Maybe he could do something to drum up some more business? A social media page? Paid advertising?
He shook his head. The thought of trying to build an online presence was overwhelming, and he’d only need more money to do advertising.
Flexing his hand several times, Granger finally reached for his phone and pressed the first number in his speed dial.
Jett picked up after the second ring. “Hey, man. What’s up?”
It took two long heartbeats before Granger could speak, and when he did, he knew his voice sounded strained. “Is that job at Ms. Baxter’s house still available?”