by Dora Hiers
“Can you hand me some more nails please?”
She scrambled to dig some nails from the container next to the house and handed them to him.
“Thanks.” He slid them between his lips again, the pounding of the hammer eerily similar to the sound of her heart banging against her chest.
The thudding finally stopped. Carson stepped back, slinging his hammer through the loop on the tool belt, and rested his hands against his hips. “What do you think? Good as new?”
The window, maybe. But her heart?
It was in the same sorry shape as the day he left.
10
“Jillian will be so surprised. What a sweet idea, Carson.” Maria’s words and the excitement gleaming from her brown eyes haunted him as he drove into the fire station parking lot.
Would Jillian appreciate his gesture? Or would she toss him out along with the picnic basket?
He pulled out his phone and tapped until Jillian’s face appeared.
I’m outside the fire station. Can you come out? He sent the text, then reached over to open the lid to the basket nestled on the front passenger seat, verifying the contents for…what? The third time now?
Pieces of crispy fried chicken legs, which used to be her favorite. He hoped they still were, but he’d added a couple pieces of white meat to be on the safe side. He nudged aside a container of potato salad to find the grapes, cheese and crackers. A handful of cookies for dessert. Some sweet tea. Cups, plastic cutlery and napkins.
Had he forgotten anything?
The blanket was under the basket. Everything was there. Just like it was the last time he checked. Why was he so nervous?
His phone vibrated. He picked it up and checked the text.
You’re here? At the fire station??
Yep. Smiling as he pictured her squealing the words, he stepped out of the car just as the door to the fire station blasted wide open and slammed against the exterior wall.
Jillian.
Decked out in a gray, short-sleeved uniform polo and corresponding deep blue cargo pants, she waited for him, framed by the doorway, rays from the late afternoon sun glimmering off her blonde hair. She’d tucked it into a ponytail, her long bangs hiding the questions he knew he’d find lurking in those gorgeous eyes. A soft breeze kissed her cheeks and gently lifted stray wisps of silky goodness.
He sucked in a breath, warned his heart to stand down. She was taken already. Although she hadn’t come right out and said it, she’d hinted the day he’d fixed her window. So why was he even here?
Because he’d been at Jillian’s house most of that day. The vet hadn’t stopped by to inspect her house for damage, hadn’t cared enough to check on her during the storm. He’d never even called while Carson had been with her.
Not that Carson wanted the man to call, but Jillian deserved better.
Jillian needed a man who’d value and appreciate who she was underneath the scars, a man committed to family and to this town.
His heart lurched, felt like it plunged all the way to his sneakers.
She deserved better than him, too.
The blow came at him with the force of a punch in the gut. He sucked in a breath, almost doubled over from the pain.
He glanced back into the car, at the wicker picnic basket he’d taken pains to prepare, agonizing over the bittersweet memories of every item he’d placed in it.
He sighed. Well, he’d made it and he might look the fool in her eyes, but they might as well eat it.
If nothing else, he’d savor the memory. Make it last another thirteen years.
He scooped the basket off the seat, snatched the blanket and turned around.
Her jaw dropped. Her hand fluttered to bury the gasp and cover her gaping mouth.
The door to the fire station swung shut, closing with a loud click. She jumped but never took her gaze off him. That was a good sign, right?
He willed his legs forward, feeling like a salmon slogging upstream. Finally, he managed to get his limbs to cooperate and stopped a couple feet away from her.
She smelled entirely too good. Clean, pure, relaxed, with just a hint of musk. Tempted a man to lean in and get a better whiff.
Cool your jets, Lambright. You have to earn her trust and her love. He held up the basket, dangling it in the air between them. “I come bearing dinner.”
Her eyes widened, doing that crazy transformation he loved to watch, shifting from a smoky gold to the deepest hues of green, as if he’d wandered into a lush tropical forest. And yeah, he wouldn’t mind getting lost there.
“You brought dinner?” Her voice sounded raspy.
“Yeah. Figured we could have a picnic. Since you’re on duty.” He tightened his grip around the blanket. Would she laugh him into tomorrow?
“That was so sweet of you. Thank you.” This time the words came out mellow, as if she didn’t believe he could be sweet. Her lips softened and her cheeks scrunched, pure joy lighting her face. That’s the only way he could describe it. His grip on the fabric relaxed.
“How about over there?” She flicked her head toward a mound of plush grass, shaded by some massive maple trees, the leaves dancing to the tune of the light breeze.
“That looks good.” He tucked the blanket under the arm holding the basket and placed a hand against the small of her back.
“What prompted this?” Her gaze focused on the grassy knoll.
How should he answer that? How could he explain the crazy idea that had taken root in his brain?
That he was ready to settle down in one place permanently. That he’d decided to pursue what they once shared, to resurrect her love.
No. She probably wasn’t ready to hear that, yet.
But he was ready to act on it. “Feeling a bit nostalgic, I guess. Remember when we took that picnic out to Harrison Lake?”
She laughed, the sound going right to his rib cage. Her face radiated with excitement, and her fingers landed on his forearm, awareness tingling to life with her touch. “Haha. By picnic, you mean the time you packed baloney sandwiches and dill pickles in a paper bag?”
“Hey, that was my favorite sandwich. How was I supposed to know you despised baloney?”
“Ask.” Sandy eyebrows arched and sarcasm dripped from that one word.
“I think you might be happier with what’s in this basket.” He’d remembered the fried chicken and cookies. Remi had supplied him with ideas for the rest of the menu.
They reached the spot. He set the basket down, and then flicked the blanket across the grass. She settled against the edge of the fabric. Did she think she could keep to herself over there?
Not if he could help it. He gave her the space she wanted, for now, positioned himself in front of the basket and started unloading.
“Appetizer.” He plunked the container of grapes on the blanket and tugged out the cheese and crackers.
“Yum.”
“Fried chicken.” He dangled the box in the air.
She arched her neck, her nose twitching as she sniffed the pleasant aroma. “Mmm…”
“Potato salad.”
Her eyebrows hiked again, and a smile curved her lips.
“And what would a picnic be without dessert?” He held up the cookies.
She snatched them out of his hand. “Now we’re talking.”
“Wait a minute. You can’t eat them first.”
“Who says?”
He held up his palms. “The picnic organizer.”
“Okay. If you insist.” With a tiny huff, she tossed them onto the blanket.
“A little touchy about dessert, huh?”
“Never know when the tones will go off.” She shrugged and scooped some crackers and chunks of cheese onto two plates.
His mouth formed a silent “oh,” and he stifled a groan. He should have guessed.
He picked up the bag of cookies, stilling her movement with a light touch to her hand, and handed her the treat. “Here. Let’s do it your way.”
Her smile was
worth eating backwards. No, her smile was worth a whole lot more than that.
Her smile made him want to give up his wandering days for good.
****
“So, how many job applications did you say you filled out?” Jillian reclined on the blanket, cupping her chin in a palm. They’d made it all the way back to the appetizers without any calls. She popped a grape in her mouth.
He heaved a sigh. “At last count, twenty-five.”
That many? He must be serious about staying in Harrison. “And you haven’t had any nibbles?”
“Not one speck of interest.”
“What types of jobs are you applying for?”
“Construction, either with a construction firm or working with a handyman doing home improvements. Recreation. Anything in the hospitality industry. You name it. I’ve done it.” He shook his head. “If I can’t get a job, I won’t be able to stay here.”
“Is that what you want? To stay here?” She held her breath, waiting for his response.
“Yes.”
“Why? Why now?”
“Maybe I realize the value of what I left behind.” His slender fingers grazed her cheek and traced her lips. She couldn’t move, held powerless in the emotional grip he still had over her, mesmerized by the flints of nutmeg glinting from his eyes, reflections of the evening’s dazzling sunset and the memories of times past.
His face was suddenly right in front of her. How had that happened? She’d left plenty of space on the blanket.
She gulped, blinked. Was he going to kiss her?
“Carson, I don’t think this is a good…” Her words faded, along with her resistance.
“No? What about this?” He cradled her cheek, his thumb caressing her lips, his whiskered jaw dangerously close, his clean, fresh scent sliding over her with the breeze. His head dipped, leaving only a breath between their mouths.
Longing tingled in her boot-covered toes and made its way up to tremble through her limbs. Her palm connected with his jaw, and she closed her eyes, waiting for the precise moment his lips would connect with hers—
A shrill tone pierced the silence.
Her eyelids shot open, and adrenaline of a different kind spiked her heart rate. How could she have forgotten that she was on duty?
And worse. How could she have so easily forgotten that Carson wasn’t a man who would stick around?
Her hand dropped to his firm wall of a chest, and she managed to give him a tiny shove. Not far, not with that muscled rock for a body, but just enough to get him out of her face, to allow time for her pulse to slow down, for her breathing to return to normal.
He groaned as his eyelids popped open. A flirtatious knowing smile lit his face. “Saved by the alarm this time, sweetheart. Next time, I’ll make sure I plan accordingly.”
“There won’t be a next time.” She’d make sure of it. Her heart couldn’t handle losing him again. She vaulted off the blanket and jogged toward the building, not daring to look back.
But she could still hear his deep chuckle, his amusement at her pathetic attempt to tamp down the emotions, to subdue the love that had simmered all these years, all the way to the bay floor. Panting, she reached the wall where her bunker gear was stashed.
“Was that lover boy, Sutthill?”
“Stuff it, Crenshaw.” Jillian tugged on her pants then slid into the bunker coat. She donned the protective gloves and reached for the helmet, feeling her muscles relax, her lips curve in a soft smile. Abnormal for the usual adrenaline spike that rushed through her body when the tones sounded.
Carson had made her feel special with his spontaneous picnic. For a few blessed minutes, he’d made her forget her scars, made her forget that she wasn’t just one of the guys.
What would happen if he didn’t get a job here, though? Would he disappear again? Take off somewhere far away without a backward glance or even a text? Would he care enough to call her this time?
Probably not.
The smile slipped from her lips, and her legs threatened to give out on her as she hiked up to her seat in the engine. Even as she pulled on the headset they used for communication in the truck, she couldn’t squelch the sound of his laughter in her ears, sweet music after not hearing it for so long.
Oh, dear God, help me! I don’t know where You’re going with this, but please don’t let him break my heart again.
11
They’d be home tonight.
Carson slid the dry cloth over the smooth surface of the granite, angling his head sideways just above the slab, inspecting for any spots he might have missed.
That meant he’d be couch surfing at his brother’s tonight.
Homeless.
That wasn’t anything new. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t slept under the stars or in a sleeping bag rather than a bed over the years, and he’d always considered those times an adventure. Now that he was back in Harrison, though, the continual drifting from state to state, from job to job, from place to place, only left him weary, discouraged.
Carson sighed and tossed the rag on the counter, suddenly disgusted with his nomadic lifestyle. He gave the wood floor a speedy once over with the dust mop, and then stood back, hands on his hips, to survey the kitchen.
Remi wouldn’t recognize it. Would she be happy with Mason’s surprise? With his handiwork?
His gaze soaked in the deep tones of the wood and the clean lines of the cabinets. The muted greens and browns of the tile backsplash reminded him of Jillian’s eyes.
He nodded. Yeah. Remi would love it. The whole design fit her personality while retaining the character of the converted stable.
He stuffed the cleaning equipment back in the closet and closed the door. Just in time to hear a car door slam shut.
The newlyweds were home already? He glanced at the clock on the stove. Still a bit early. In two strides, he was at the front door and yanked it open.
Jillian?
A pair of boots popped out of the truck first, followed by long legs draped in tight-fitting denim. Her golden strands hung loose, wind-tossed and cascading in a sun-kissed blanket over her shoulders.
His breath sputtered from his throat. She usually wore it clipped up in the back. What was she trying to do to him?
“Hey.” How did he manage to spit that out?
“Hey, back.” Her sweet smile threatened to melt him into a sloppy puddle right there on the porch.
“I came to add my gift to the welcome back collection.” She held up a colorfully wrapped package and speared him with that smile. “And to check out your handiwork. What a sweet thing to do for your sister. She’s going to be so surprised.”
“It’s Mason’s gift to her. I was glad to be here to help with it. Come on in.” He ushered her inside and closed the door, shutting out the contented sounds of the llamas but not the peacefulness of the ranch. That seemed to permeate inside, too.
When he’d moved around from place to place, he’d always gravitated toward the center of the city. Sought out the anonymousness of being one amongst thousands in a bustling metropolis.
Maybe it was an attempt to drown out his sister’s screams, his mother’s horrified gasp.
Or to erase the image of his dad’s lifeless body dangling from that rope.
To hide from the gasps, the pointed fingers and the accusations.
To obliterate the shame of being Connor Lambright’s son.
Yeah. His motto had always been the busier the city and the more noise, the better.
But after the last couple of weeks of seclusion on this farm, the only sounds coming from the animals and the pounding of his hammer, he’d miss the calm. The peace and tranquility. And his quiet communion with the Creator of the universe.
“Wow!” Jillian’s exclamation made him blink, then focus on her. One hand covered her mouth while the other traced the design in the granite as she stepped behind the counter. “I can’t believe this is the same kitchen!”
“Think Remi will like it?”
“No.” The one word came out soft, as gentle as the shake of her head. Was she trying to let him down easy?
“No?” Disappointment lodged in his gut, dashed his hopes that he might be able to snag some side jobs doing remodel jobs like this, something he thoroughly enjoyed, while he waited for a steady paycheck. He closed his eyes and scraped a palm across his whiskers, tamping down his frustration.
“She’s going to love it.” This time her tone was a bit breathless.
What? His eyelids zapped open.
Awe glazed Jillian’s expression as she rotated behind the counter. She gave a cursory glance at the chef-quality stainless steel gas range that Mason must have spent a fortune on but zeroed in on the ledge above the sink, where Carson had staged assorted sized ceramic pots containing herbs for Remi to use for cooking and some small indoor plants.
Her fingertips cradled the tiny green leaves. She peered into each pot, her lips forming a silent “oh.” She moved on, gliding her fingers along the open wood shelves lining one wall. The shelves he’d labored over, hand crafted, wondering if anyone would ever notice that little detail.
“You made these.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, pleased. He had to admit that Jillian’s reaction satisfied him. She didn’t seem interested in the material aspects of the redesigned kitchen. Rather, she focused more on his handiwork and his staging efforts.
He tried to keep his chest from puffing up with pride. Failed.
“It’s so beautiful.” The words came out almost reverent. She pivoted again, this time more slowly, soaking in the entire kitchen before unleashing those gorgeous, green as a tropical forest, orbs loose on him. The admiration shimmering from her face was enough to make him forget all about Remi and Mason coming home.
Not now, Lambright. You don’t want a repeat of what happened at the fire station. Lord, will our timing ever be right?
“Thank you.” He scraped his fingers across the stubble covering his jaw, a feeble attempt at keeping his hands occupied. When all they really wanted to do was curl around the back of her neck, to thread his fingers through those golden tresses.
“You know, you should take pictures of this project and plaster them all over the Internet. You could start your own business—” Her smile as she studied the space wilted. She gasped and locked gazes with him, hurt flashing from those wide eyes. Her hand covered her gaping mouth.