Chapter Eighteen #3
“Hmm?” He turns. “Oh, yeah. Just marveling at the way this wall came down and how neat it is. I mean, look. Apart from needing a little plastering here and there, there’s no damage. The question is, do you want me to build another wall or leave it open?”
I pretend to think about it before I answer. “Leave it. It was too small to use as a workshop before, but this will be perfect now. Besides, there are plenty of other rooms, so it’s not like it’s needed.”
“You don’t have to justify it to me. It’s your house.”
I shrug.
“Alright, this gives me something to work on.”
“Work on?”
“I grew up on a ranch not dissimilar to this, though far smaller. I moved to the city when my parents divorced, but I always spent summers at the ranch, at least until I enlisted. And while I learned about ranching from my father, I learned everything there was to know about carpentry from my grandfather. He built everything—from the dining room table to the bookcases and bedroom furniture. I can’t say I found the same passion for it that he did, but I’m good at it. ”
“Well, you’re just a man of many talents now, aren’t you?”
He grins, and fuck me, that thing nearly knocks me on my ass. “Opie, you have no idea.”
Ileave the man to draw up plans, needing to put some space between us before we do something reckless, like the horizontal tango.
When I get outside, I spot the delivery I’d been waiting for. I do a little happy dance as I take in the brand spanking new tractor. I know what I’ll be doing tomorrow, and can’t wait to get started. But for now, I have some cream to make.
Flipping the lights on as I walk into the barn, I smile when I see the seeds I had planted are in full bloom. “Look at how beautiful you are,” I coo. Much like with the house, I feel a soft pressure in response, like an echo in my mind.
I set to work gathering ingredients, singing softly as I work, losing track of time while memories crest and ebb in waves.
I’ve made this cream before, dozens of times.
But something stopped me from using it—my quiet rebellion.
I needed to show people what they turned a blind eye to.
I’m surprised how quickly I offered it to Dawn, but her story isn’t mine, and easing the bruises is something I can do.
I can only imagine what it must be like for Hannah to see them, to know it was her daddy who put them there.
For Dawn to see the look in her daughter’s eyes as she learns what to expect of men from the one man who was put on this earth to protect her.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t see myself in both Dawn and Hannah.
And if this cream is my foot in the door, so be it.
Maybe if I can gain their trust, I can help them.
Instead of assisting them to hide bruises, I can help them avoid getting them.
My brain works a million miles an hour, and by the time I’m done, I’m tired and in need of a shower.
I stare down at the worktop and the fancy glass jar, and scrawl Dawn’s name on the label.
Taking a chance, I put a sticker on the base of the jar and jot down my cell phone number.
Once that’s done, I rummage through the craft drawers before I find what I’m looking for—a set of stones.
Amethyst, black tourmaline, and obsidian for protection, as well as a pyrite crystal to ward off evil.
I thread them onto a pink band and weave the ends together before knotting them.
It’s not much, but it’s a start. I add the band with the stones to a small paper bag along with the cream and leave them on the worktop before heading inside.
The kitchen is empty when I walk in, so I wash my hands, plug in my cell, and leave it on the counter, then head upstairs to take a shower, lost in a world of my own.
Dead on my feet, I don’t take long. I braid my wet hair, so I don’t have to dry it, and pull on a robe so I can make sure the place is locked up. Once I’m done, I head back upstairs, pausing for a second.
Despite my aching bones, I can’t resist having a quick look at the office.
It’s silly, really. At most, all Riggs would have had time to do was sketch some plans.
Still, I walk down the hallway anyway and push the door open.
I gaze around the now-larger space, already feeling a sense of pride.
Jen is right. My father would have hated this, which makes everything feel that much sweeter.
I flit my eyes around the room and frown when I realize I’m not alone.
I walk through to what is still technically a bedroom.
Riggs is fast asleep on the bed, a pad of paper beside him.
I pick it up and look at it, and feel my lips twitch at the sketch.
It looks good already. I can only imagine how it will look when it comes to life.
I place the pad back down before tugging off Riggs’s boots and pulling up the throw from the base of the bed over him.
Flipping off the lamp, I head out, closing the door behind me before making my way to pass out in bed with a smile on my face.