“Good, you’re awake.” Finn’s voice rumbled from the doorway.
“Go away.” Her tongue felt coated with fuzz, and her voice came out as scratchy as an old vinyl record. A vague memory flashed of being cradled in Finn’s strong arms and the blur of his features as his handsome face lowered to hers. God, had she really come on to him?
At the point their lips touched, the scene in her mind exploded into brilliant lights, bursting like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Even now, she felt the ringing in her ears and the tingles up and down her spine as her body responded to his fantastic kiss.
And then, she’d puked. Vena’s eyes popped open and sought out Finn.
He stood just inside her bedroom door, arms crossed over his muscular chest, watching her with a wry grin.
“Oh, Finn. I’m so sorry for last night.”
He shook his head. “No apologies. How are you feeling?”
“Horrible.” She covered her face with both hands. “I must look like death warmed over. Just throw a blanket over me and leave me here to die.”
The bed creaked as he sat at her side and rested a hand on her shoulder. “So dramatic. Sure you weren’t in those high school plays?”
Here she had Finn, the man of her dreams, in her room, on her bed even, and she couldn’t drum up one single romantic feeling.
“Seriously, Vena, I wanted to make sure you’re all right.”
The concern in his quiet voice tightened her chest. As she struggled to sit up, she felt twisted fabric pull at her hips and glanced at what she wore. A faded University of Chicago T-shirt hung off one shoulder, exposing a bra strap. She wiggled her hips enough to know she still wore her bikini panties. “Who undressed me last night?” At the thought of Finn’s hands brushing her body, her skin tingled and her nipples tightened. Instead of meeting his gaze, she studied the flower pattern of the bed quilt, fingers picking at the frayed yarn ties.
The possibility of Tootie or Ruth staying late to clean up was non-existent. She distinctly remembered throwing herself at him when they were alone. His answer was so long in coming, she glanced up, and was surprised to see a flush covering his face.
“You were in no shape to clean yourself. I carried you upstairs and threw an old shirt of mine over your underthings. I didn’t want to go through your stuff in the dresser.” He straightened and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Your clothes are soaking in the laundry tub downstairs. Does this happen every time you drink?”
“How was I supposed to know the lemonade was spiked?”
He put his hands on her shoulders and eased her back against the headboard, his mouth set in a straight line. “That’s my fault. If I’d stopped to think about who convened the group, I would have tasted it first.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Tootie’s famous concoction.”
“Aunt Tootie? I don’t believe you.”
He chuckled. “The Gray Ladies prefer to label Tootie’s brew as just a ‘taste’ in their lemonade. But most people aren’t as affected as you were.”
“Well, I can’t help that. You knew I was upset and nervous, and I’d only eaten Tootie’s sugar cookies since lunch…”
A frown tightened his expression. “But I saw you with a plate in your hand. Didn’t you eat when we got back?”
“A bite or two, but everyone wanted to hear my story. After getting interrupted so many times, I just set it aside.” She turned and leaned closer, shaking a finger in his direction. “You left me at the mercy of those ladies.”
“What do you mean?” His blue eyes widened. “At the start of your story, I hung around and listened and you weren’t stut— uh, you didn’t sound nervous. I figured you were doing fine, so I went in search of a beer. You could have sent out a distress call.”
My hero—more concerned about his stomach than my peace of mind. Remembering last night’s scene, she realized she hadn’t panicked when the ladies scooted closer and wanted to hear everything. She’d looked around at the curious faces—some she’d known all her life—and she’d answered each woman’s question individually, not thinking about the others who were listening.
Knowing Finn was nearby had helped. Although, what had she been thinking when she’d wrapped herself around him? What was his impression of her performance as a drunken hussy?
“Finn, I apologize for my actions. I’m sorry for…” Okay, honesty here. How could she be sorry about the kisses? “Actually, I’m not sorry.”
“Elfie, what are you saying?” His tone was husky.
Vena lifted her chin and gazed directly at him, held spellbound by his ice-blue eyes. Her heart beat faster, and she yearned to be swept away in the sensations of last night’s kiss. She wished for the comfort and closeness she’d felt tucked in his embrace.
But she couldn’t tell him that. From what he’d said earlier, she figured he still had feelings for Elthia. That’s why he got confused over the costumes and acting in the school plays together.
“I’m apologizing for kissing you last night. I must not be doing a good job. The lemonade—”
A grin pulled at the corner of his lips. “The kiss was nice.”
“What?” Her throat went dry.
“I enjoyed the kiss, or kisses. Can’t say I’ve experienced a woman puking afterward.” He winked. “That part I could have done without.”
The bed creaked, and her weight shifted back to the middle as he rose and walked to the doorway. He squatted and reached for something in the hallway, and then turned, carrying a loaded breakfast tray. He set it across her legs. “No hair-of-the-dog drink, but I hope you can eat this.” The tray held a sunflower print tea cozy and a covered plate. A single daisy lay on a beige linen napkin.
With her fingertip, Vena stroked a snowy white petal and swallowed against the scratchiness at the back of her throat. He was being so sweet, and she’d acted perfectly awful last night.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She blinked hard and forced a smile.
His dark brows furrowed. “Did I forget something?”
“No, this looks great.”
With one hand, he removed the plate cover. “Here’s toast, no butter. Your stomach doesn’t need any grease.” Reaching for the teacup, he hesitated. “Do you take sugar in your tea? I could run down and get some.”
“No, I don’t need it. Thanks for all this.”
“Well, eat. Sorry, the toast is a little dark. I like it that way.”
“So do I,” she lied and nibbled at the edge of the burned toast, waiting to see how her stomach reacted to charcoal. The bite settled and, confident with that success, she sipped at the tea. Strong and slightly bitter. How many bags had he used? Pulling her grimace into a smile, she set down the cup and turned. “Everything’s great, Finn. Thanks again. I don’t want to keep you from your work.”
“You sure everything’s okay?” His intent gaze searched her face. “Your stomach feeling fine?”
“Oh, yes. This food hit the spot.”
“What about your head? Ms. Maguire insisted I offer you aspirin.”
“Now that you mention it, taking a couple would help.”
“Be right back.” He strode from the room and down the hall, whistling as he walked.
She heard him rummaging in the cupboard at the end of the hall. Quickly, she broke the second piece of toast in half and left it on the plate. She tucked the other piece under the quilt on the far side of the bed. Plugging her nose, she swallowed the tea in three gulps and grabbed the napkin to wipe the dribbles off her chin.
When Finn entered the room, he held one hand behind his back and the other outstretched with two white tablets. “Here’s the aspirin. I’ll pour you more tea.”
Vena suppressed a groan. I should have anticipated that.
His glance took in the empty plate. “Nothing wrong with your appetite. Maybe you can handle this.”
His words struck an uneasy chord, and she stopped in the act of sipping. “Hando what?” An aspirin stuck to her tong
ue, the dissolving grains coating her teeth.
“I’ll wait until you’ve taken the medicine.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His right hand remained behind his back.
She swallowed the pills, almost gagging on the bitter combination of too-strong tea and dissolving aspirin. “I can handle what?”
“Sure you’re doing okay?”
Why was he stalling? “Finnian, tell me.”
“Well, it’s more of a thing to show, than to tell.” He brought his hand from behind his back and extended a thin newspaper, folded in thirds.
“What’s this?” What can the local newspaper have to do with me?
“Just look.” He shifted again, like a novice dancer counting out the beats.
“Stand still, you’re making me seasick.” She flipped over the paper and gasped. Centered on the front page was a photo of her. On a table with her fist in the air and her mouth wide open. Her hair was a mess, and her eyelids half covered her eyes—she seemed intoxicated. Peering closer, she recognized several of the ladies from the previous night.
“I don’t understand. When? How?” Her limp hands fell to the bed. “Who?”
“My guess is when I went to the kitchen for a beer.” Finn started pacing. “Ernestine Jacobs is a stringer for the Mountain Gazette. Her grandson Bruce runs the newspaper, and Ma said he lets her submit photos and articles. I figured it was just to keep her out of the office.”
“Finn, the point…”
“Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up. “Usually, she snaps pictures of the 4-H’s largest watermelon or Ruth’s prize roses. You know, harmless stuff. I honestly didn’t know she had her camera last night.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Sorry, Vena.”
Vena’s mind reeled. Her photo was on the front page. She’d brought even more attention to the fact she and Finn were staying at The Shamrocks, together. How would this look for his campaign? “This is horrible, Finn.” Her fingers tightened on the paper. “Ever since that first morning, I’ve given you nothing but trouble.”
One side of his mouth quirked. “I wouldn’t exactly say that. Life has just been…busier than I’d expected.”
A bit of her anxiety melted. “How kind you are.”
“Well, are you going?”
And people thought she was hard to understand. “Going where?”
His pacing started again. “Read the caption.”
Dread grabbed her stomach, threatening to turn it inside out. The paper crackled as she lifted it close enough to focus.
Former hometown girl Vena Fenton (above) vows to “fight police brutality” following her release on bail. Arrested for disturbing the peace, resisting arrest, and assaulting a peace officer, Fenton called supporters to join her today at two o’clock at the police station.
Her shoulders shook, and the letters swam in and out of focus. How ludicrous. Nobody back in California would believe this.
Finn put his hand on her head and patted it. “Don’t cry again, Elfie.”
His pats jarred her headache, and she pulled to the side. “I’m not crying.” She threw back her head and let out a huge laugh. “This is a joke, right?”
“I don’t think so.” His mouth pressed into a straight line.
“Don’t you see how ridiculous this is?” She stared at his sober face, but his expression didn’t change. “Who could hold me accountable for what I did or said last night?”
“Be serious, Vena.” He moved his hand and stood facing her, hands on hips. “This is a small town where not much happens. Right now, people are reading that article and rearranging their schedules to be there at two o’clock. They’ll want to see what you’re going to do and say. After all, you are the weirdo from California who walks through town carrying cardboard dates, has conversations with herself, wears strange clothes, and tells little boys about trash cans that guard back gates.”
Her jaw dropped and she winced. “You heard about that?”
“Remember…small town. Everyone’s heard.” He threw his arms wide in a sweeping gesture. “This afternoon, you’re the headlining entertainment. What’s your plan?”
Her ears echoed with a buzzing and her brain went numb. “Ohmigod, Finn, you have to hide me. Tell everyone I’m sick. Tell them I’ve left town.” She covered her face with her hands and scrunched down in the bed. “I can’t do this.”
His hand rested on her shoulder. “Where’s the Fenton spunk?”
“Gone…I used it all last night.”
“Somehow, I doubt that. Avoiding this situation won’t make it go away. I’ve learned that the hard way.”
He sounded tired, and her heart stretched out to him. She worried about the problems her presence had caused and hoped he hadn’t lost sleep over her antics. “Finn…your political backers—what will they say?” Although she hated the idea of him taking political office, she had no right to interfere. Once he proclaimed himself a candidate, he’d be on the other side of a wide chasm. And she would be left behind—mute about her yearnings for him, irrevocably separated by her fear of the spotlight. “Have you decided to join the senate race?”
His whole mood changed. A remote expression glazed his eyes, and his face hardened.
With that single question, Vena knew their easygoing camaraderie was broken.
“No, but right now, I don’t even care what they say.” His boots scraped on the floor and he stood, brushing his hands down the tight legs of his jeans. “Bring down the tray when you’re finished.” He walked a few steps toward the hall.
Her chest tightened at the sight of his broad back moving away. She couldn’t let their time end like this. “Finn?”
He glanced over a shoulder, his expression still sober. “Yeah?”
“If I decide to go to this thing…” She swallowed against a dry throat. “Would you drive me? Once we’re there, you wouldn’t have to do anything else, even stay in the truck.” She watched his face, hoping for a sign of softening. In a small voice, she added, “I don’t think I could make myself go alone.”
The tan skin around his eyes crinkled as he grinned and flashed a thumbs-up.
After a shower and two cups of coffee, Vena felt ready to rejoin the human race. Too distracted by the morning’s emotions to write, she wandered downstairs and followed the crashing sounds coming from the center of the house.
Finn tore lath and plaster off the support studs in the dining room. He’d stripped off his shirt, and white specks covered his bare back.
She stood in the doorway, admiring the flex of toned muscles under his golden skin. For a moment, she wondered how he’d gotten such a tan in northern Montana. Her next thought was how far past his beltline the bronzed skin extended.
Before her thoughts shot her blood pressure too high, Vena stepped into the room. “Can I help? Let me repay your kindness from last night.”
When he turned to answer, she steadied her pounding heartbeat by practicing her yoga breathing. The expanse of his muscled chest and sculpted shoulders caused her breath to catch in her throat. Her gaze roved his chest, narrowing on the swirls of hair circling his brown nipples. Her fingers itched to tease them gently, tracing a path through his chest hair and…
Was the attraction so strong because he represented forbidden fruit? She shifted her stance, crossing her arms over a fluttering stomach. Memories of how her feelings of puppy love subtly changed into teenage passion during high school when he’d dated Elthia. Having a perennially late sister provided Vena with lots of opportunities for talking with him as he hung around, waiting. With each chat, Vena had learned of a new trait or some achievement to admire.
Maybe her feelings had been a normal part of sibling rivalry. She couldn’t believe she’d been so shallow as to want him only because he was Thia’s boyfriend. Or was Finn the buddy who was destined to never become a lover?
Whatever the reason, she wanted him now. More than ever. The ache low in her belly proved that. But too many issues blocked that p
ath. This was one time she couldn’t go after what she wanted.
“Vena?”
She blinked and shook her head. “Say again?”
“I said this isn’t hard work, just dirty.”
Unable to stop the flush from flooding her cheeks, she simply nodded.
“Just pry a little on the edge with this claw and the plaster will crumble, then I’ll follow and pull off the lath.” He moved behind her and placed a hammer in her hands, his arms wrapping around her from the back. “Here, I’ll show you.”
Vena’s senses went on overload. Along the length of her back, she felt the imprint of his muscles. Heat from his body radiated as his hands guided hers in breaking apart the plaster. She breathed deeply, and the earthy scent of a working man tickled her nostrils.
In the past, he’d held her in this same position—when he taught her to swing a bat, to dive off the tree stump at the swimming hole, and lining up her first archery shot. Those times had been so different because she’d viewed him as a teacher.
Now she needed to satisfy her passion. And, more importantly, she had to know if he shared it, too. The memory of their kiss the previous night was muddled, but she thought he’d enjoyed it.
But the moment wasn’t right. “Thanks. I’ve got it now.” She moved enough to dislodge his hands and hack at the plaster in her own way.
“Careful.” His hand covered hers. “You’re not killing snakes. Pry gently.”
Warmth spread over her fingers, and she wished she could soak up more. “Sorry.”
“Plaster comes away easily. Don’t want to damage the support beams underneath.” His hand smoothed over the old wood he’d already uncovered, then rested at a junction. “This mortis method was sure sound. Look how sturdy it is after a hundred and thirty years.” Both hands grabbed the mortis joint and shoved. A small squeak of protest sounded from the wood, but nothing moved. “That’s quality. Pre-cut lumber and nail guns make me appreciate the old ways.”
A note struck in Vena’s memory. They’d had this conversation before, or a similar one. As a teen, he’d been forced to work for his father’s building salvage company and hated it. Besides the normal teenage rebellion, he’d objected to the destruction of the old frontier homes. He hadn’t seen the value in stripping houses of their unique features and selling them off individually.
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