Since it was drizzling rain again, Chesney grabbed her rain coat and drove into town. Like a soldier filled with a lot of false courage, she marched into the hardware store.
“Good morning, Luke. I need some waders.”
Luke seemed puzzled by Chesney’s request, but he stepped over to aisle three and returned with a giant, shiny gray pair of wading boots.
“Hey, gorgeous girl! How are things going?” Deke hollered from the top of a ladder. “Haven’t seen you around lately. Everything okay, Chesney?”
“Yep,” She nodded. “Everything is fine. I’m just busy, trying to get ready for winter.”
“We’ll go for another bike ride before the weather breaks,” Deke said.
“Sounds good,” she smiled over her shoulder and hurried out the door before Deke could question why she purchased waders. In Chicago, she could walk in and purchase fifty pairs of waders and the clerk would never ask a single question because the clerk did not give one single little damn about customer intentions. But here in Bean Blossom, news that Chesney Blake bought a pair of wading boots would likely drift from table to table at Cathy’s Café. Everyone would discuss why she might need them.
As she stepped outside and climbed into the rusty old truck, heavier rain started to fall. And the stupid windshield wipers went on strike. Chesney had no choice but to roll down the driver’s window and stretch her left arm like a Gumbie doll. Manually moving the closest wiper blade so she could see to drive meant, of course, that rain pelted inside the truck. Her clothes and hair were soaked. By the time she got back to Chesney Ridge, she was screaming cuss words that she didn’t even know she knew. Once the truck was parked, Chesney kicked off her sandals and shoved her bare feet into the wading boots. “Don’t give yourself time to think about it,” she yelled loudly in the rain. “It’s got to be done, so just go do it.”
In the too-big boots, she sloshed though the slick grass toward the pond. The deer was still floating on its side, still just as dead as it was when she discovered it. She shivered again, noting that its big black eyes seemed to be staring at her. “I hate dead stuff,” Chesney mumbled nervously as she stepped into the pond. Her stomach felt queasy as the murky water enveloped her legs, her waist, her shoulders. She didn’t remember the pond being this deep. “Okay, here’s a million-dollar question, God. What am I supposed to do with the body once I pull it out of the water?” She stared upward at the stormy clouds, hoping for a sign directly communicated from heaven.
All she got, however, was the stinging sensation of the downpour. Rain fell so hard that it stung her face and arms. She forced herself to look more closely at the deer, suddenly wondering what the answer would be to such a stupid question. Why hadn't she thought about this problem before she was nearly chin-deep in dirty pond water? How in the world should she dispose of the deer carcass? “I'll bet there are snakes in here,” Chesney said as her lips began to tremble, partially from the cold rain and partially from good old-fashioned fear. “If I see a damn snake, I will be found floating out here in the pond right beside the deer. If I see a snake, I will keel over from a massive coronary. Are you listening to me, God?” Suddenly so overcome by the fear of possibly seeing a snake slither through the water, her body began to shake uncontrollably. It was already difficult to keep her footing while walking in the gigantic boots. The bottom of the pond was gummy and difficult to step through because of gnarled branches and weeds. Add the possibility of an ugly meltdown and she was close to paralysis. She didn’t look forward to touching the dead deer at all, much less dragging the poor thing across the water to the bank.
Oh, my God! Where on the deer’s body am I supposed to grab it? I can’t possibly put its dead head in a head lock. Oh yuck, I can’t stand to see that deer’s dead face up close. Oh, my gosh, I have no idea what to do. I think I might just vomit all over the place but then would that yuck on the water’s surface draw fish and snakes over here?
“You can do this,” As the rain fell harder, she wiped her eyes and slicked back her dripping hair. “You can do this. You must do this. You've got to stop being a baby about everything. Take control of your life.”
Now the rain pelted so hard that she could barely open her eyes. She looked upward again at the clouds. If lightening happened to lick at the gray sky, she would have a perfectly legitimate reason to quickly remove her ass from the pond. Just as Chesney decided to pray for a streak of lightning, Dalton Moore appeared on the opposite bank. His shirt was soaked, which meant it stuck to his skin. A beautiful, flat stomach and a rippled chest was revealed under the thin, wet fabric. And even though Chesney was in the midst of a dead deer crisis, desire wound its way through her body. Yes, she wanted the handyman. She ached to touch him. But he belonged to Rose. In her rather foggy, soggy state, she looked again, allowing her thought to register past the lust. What was Dalton doing here? And why in the hell was he smiling? Maybe even laughing, which really pissed her off. What in the hell was so damn funny about this situation?
“Need a man?” Dalton yelled.
“No,” Chesney yelled back furiously. “I've got everything under control.”
She turned her head, partly because she was so pissed off. And partly because she knew that her hair was unattractively plastered to her face.
“I'll pull the deer out of there with a tractor and chain,” Dalton yelled.“Come on out. We'll go to my house and get the tractor.”
“I am perfectly capable of removing the deer,” she shouted stubbornly, trying to sound like she was not one bit creeped out by this situation. “I don't need your help.”
“You can’t move the deer, Chesney. It's too heavy,” Dalton said. “Come on. We'll get my tractor.”
While she tried to decide whether to believe Dalton or not and how to climb out of the pond with her dignity intact, a skinny little snake skimmed across the water near her right hand. At that moment, all pride went out the window. Chesney squealed and dove for the bank. Trying to hurry out of the water, she lost her footing in the too-big waders and fell face down in squishy mud. Dalton rushed through the reeds and extended his hand to help her stand. But the gesture infuriated his employer. “Let me help you,” he said.
“No,” Chesney snapped.
“For a minute there, I thought you might actually walk on water,” Dalton said with a grin. Here,” He extended his hand again. “Come on, let me help you.”
“No thanks,” Chesney struggled to stand. But the too-big waders weighed her down. Because Chesney hadn’t anticipated the pond being so deep, each boot was flooded with water. So she sat up and yanked the boots off her bare feet. A tiny frog jumped from the left boot to her arm and she screamed. Dalton laughed out loud, which only made her hate him. In a rage, Chesney threw the waders into the weeds and stomped barefoot up the hill. Mud squished between her toes. It dripped off her hair and chin in a slimy mess. “I really hate you,” she mumbled under her breath. “I wish I never met you, Dalton Moore. “
“You are so hotheaded,” Dalton yelled as he ran to catch up. “No one can single-handedly drag a doe from a pond, Chesney.”
Determined not to play into his charm, she did not turn around. “Leave me alone, Mr. Moore,” Chesney yelled. “Just leave me alone.”
“I've never seen a woman in my life who was so bull headed,” Dalton said. “What is it that you're trying to prove?”
Thankful to reach the back porch, Chesney rushed into the kitchen and swiped at her dripping hair with a dish towel. She was freezing from the cold rain and she was shaking from anger and humiliation.
“Chesney, wait,” Dalton stepped in the door behind her. “Will you just calm down?”
Without answering, she bolted up the stairs to the shower, locked the door and turned the water on, full blast. Only then did she let the tears come. “What am I trying to prove?” she whispered to herself as the hot shower warmed her chilled skin. She sat down on the shower floor, allowing the hot water to soothe her. Dalton's question blasted in her
head. “What am I trying to prove? I'm trying to prove that I don't need you, Dalton Moore. I'm trying to prove that I'm not falling for you. So just go home to Rose. And leave me alone.”
After the very long shower, Chesney dried off and stood in front of the foggy mirror, combing her hair and thinking.
I might hate the handyman. But I still want to know how Dalton knew my grandmother. Right now, I hate his guts too much to ask about how he knew Grace. So I can’t fire him yet. I still need answers about how he knew Grace.
Wearing a fuzzy blue towel, she left the bathroom and went directly to her bedroom. Calmed by the rain beating against the windows, Chesney stretched out for a long moment on her bed. She was exhausted. Why did Dalton Moore affect her this way? One moment, she was sneakily admiring his physique and marveling at his beautiful face. The next minute, she was so mad at him that she could chew nails. And what about that terrible jealousy she felt when he mentioned his girlfriend, Rose? “I don't have a right to feel jealous of Rose,” she said aloud. “I don't even know this man. And I don't want a man.” She didn’t want it to happen, but suddenly her mind flip-flopped. “I would love to kiss him,” She whispered dreamily into the pillow. “And so, I know I have finally lost my mind.”
A few moments later, she dug through the top drawer, finally settling on a pale pink crop top and a pair of jeans. She patiently French braided her hair. “Do you look like you were traumatized just awhile ago by water snakes?” She asked the reflection in the mirror. “No, you do not. You recovered well. You are fine.”
When she went back down the stairs, expecting to enjoy an empty house, she found Dalton quietly waiting in the kitchen. He was still wearing wet clothing.
“Hot tea,” he said as he placed the cup on the counter. “Would you like lemon?”
Muttering a barely audible thanks, she walked past him from the kitchen, and sank into the cozy comfort of the new couch in the parlor. As soon as Chesney sat down with the tea cup in hand, the puppy happily jumped on the couch to rest her cute little head on Chesney’s knee.
At least the dog loves me.
“I didn't mean to upset you,” Dalton said as he slowly walked into the parlor. “And you should be very proud of yourself. You made a heroic effort to get to the doe.” He smiled faintly as he crouched down, eye level to where Chesney sat on the sofa. “It's alright to ask for help, you know. The doe probably hit the fence and got disoriented then fell into the water. No one would ever think you were weak or whatever you feared they might think, if you asked for help.”
“Thanks,” She avoided his eyes but managed a smile. “Now I can look forward to finding other dead deer in the pond?”
“Hopefully not,” Dalton grinned. He touched her knee ever so timidly. “Are you feeling better?” When she nodded, he walked over to the window. Chesney watched him turn. She was mesmerized by that beautiful face and those wonderful broad shoulders. Dalton’s kind, tender manner made her feel like jelly inside. She leaned forward, pretending to rearrange fresh cut flowers in a vase.
“Tell me why you've got that huge chip on your shoulder,” Dalton said.
She felt like crying but mustered the courage to glance in his direction. “It's not really a chip on my shoulder,” she said slowly.
“True,” Dalton nodded. “It's more like a boulder.” He smiled. She didn't. And the room fell silent. “Your fiancé is a lot like a human bulldozer,” Dalton said.
“He's not my fiancé anymore,” She corrected. “And you‘re right, Jack tried constantly to bully me into doing whatever he wanted.”
“He seemed like a jerk,” Dalton said.
“You're an observant guy, Dalton. As a matter of fact, Jack is definitely an ass.” To avoid those very intense eyes, Chesney continued to pretend that she was deeply engrossed in rearranging the flowers.
I hate myself for it. But I want you to walk over here and ravage me, Dalton Moore.
“You adopted that chip on your shoulder to protect yourself,” Dalton said. “And you're still trying to keep those protective walls in place. But you really aren't the woman you pretend to be.”
Oh, holy shit. Who in the hell does he think he is?
“Should I stretch out on the couch for a therapy session?” Chesney asked sarcastically. Hurt floated through Dalton’s eyes and her cheeks stung with a mix of humiliation and a giant dose of guilt. “Sorry,” She said softly. This time it was Chesney who reached out. She placed her hand on Dalton’s arm for only a few seconds, just enough to send him some tenderness. Just long enough to soak the sun-kissed tan on his skin into her palm, then she put her hand back on her lap. “I am very sorry for the way I just behaved. I can assure you, Dalton, that I wasn't always a witch. I haven't always been so guarded. And for your information, I happen to be very inexperienced with this, um, new personality and attitude.”
“I can see that,” Dalton nodded. “I see it in your eyes.” Another long silence stretched into an uncomfortable limbo. Thoughtfully, he looked at her and said, “I was proud of the way you put that guy in his place. He seemed genuinely surprised that you stood up to him. He didn’t seem to expect you to do anything except what he requested.”
“Well he had good reason to expect me to give in. I'm not very good at standing up to people,” Chesney confessed. “That’s always been a huge problem in my life.”
“Really?” Dalton grinned now. His azure eyes sparkled with mischief. “You certainly don't seem to have a problem putting me in my place.”
Oh Dalton, if you only knew how much I would love to completely surrender to you…
She sighed and looked at Dalton with bashful eyes. “If you really must know, you've, um, well, you’ve been my experiment.”
“Hmm,” Dalton smiled faintly. “I will have to think about that confession for a while.” He looked out the kitchen window again and grinned. The sun was shining. “Since it has stopped raining for a while, let's drive out to my place and get the tractor.”
“Well...” Chesney tried to think fast. She didn't want to go.
“You can meet Rose,” Dalton said.
So far this morning, I have chased after a dead deer and been scared to death by a nest of water snakes. And now, you want to top off the hell with a trip to your house so I can meet the woman you love. Please. Just shoot me. Or better yet, go get the tractor and run over me with it.
“No, thanks,” Chesney said softly. “I'll just stay here and paint.”
“I don’t live very far away,” Dalton persisted. “And it's a pretty drive, I promise. Come on. Go with me, okay? We can take your puppy, too.”
“I don't think so,” Chesney said. “I should get busy around here.”
“Please come,” Dalton said as he gently tugged at her arm. “I'd really like for you to meet Rose.”
Oh, damn it. I don’t want to meet your woman. I would rather go swimming again with the water snakes.
As a longtime human noodle, Chesney couldn’t think of a way to escape so she allowed Dalton to pull her to her feet.
During the ride, I somehow need to get in the mood to get my heart stomped. Watching you interact with Rose should do the trick. Truthfully, I would rather undergo a couple of root canals and a pelvic exam every damn hour. But I have no backbone. So, okay, let’s go. Finish off my already half-dead self-esteem by introducing me to the woman who was lucky enough to snag your beautiful heart.
Side by side, they walked out to Dalton’s immaculate truck.
With her dog on her lap, Chesney daydreamed about a different type of ride in the country with this man. Under other circumstances, this could be a very romantic event. She imagined what it might be like if she scooted across the seat like a teenager, her thigh touching Dalton’s and their hearts and hormones pounding. Dalton smiled as he turned the key in the ignition. He had no clue that in her daydream, his face was already buried by now in her cleavage.
By the way, Dalton, in my daydreams I actually have an ample bosom not my usual ironing bo
ard with nipples.
“Got a name yet for your little friend?” he asked as he drove down the lane.
“Her name is Blossom,” Chesney smiled.
“I like that,” Dalton grinned.
“Sorry you had to witness yesterday's drama with Jack,” she said.
“Pushy guy, isn't he?” Dalton said. “He's not accustomed to losing.”
“That's right,” She nodded. “Jack is a sore loser.”
“That guy seemed to make you question your judgment,” Dalton said “It was probably difficult to stand your ground under such expert manipulation.”
Why are you re-hashing this? I don’t want to talk about Jack the moron.
Suddenly feeling like she might cry, Chesney’s only hope to avoid a big sob fest was to change the subject. “By the way, I didn't thank you for setting up my computer. Last night I finished my draft and sent it to Gloria early this morning.”
“Hey, good for you,” Dalton smiled broadly and her heart melted right into her soggy sneakers. “Tell me about your career,” he coaxed. “What is it like to be a writer?”
Chesney leaned back against the smooth leather seat to ponder the question. She struggled for words to express how she felt about writing. She didn't recall a man ever asking about her career. In fact, most men didn’t take her work seriously.
“Tell me why you love to write,” Dalton prompted as if she might have forgotten the question.
“When I sit down to write,” she started and stopped, thoughtful. “When I write, I can go anywhere and be anyone.” Chesney’s heart pounded hard in her ears as emotion gathered in her throat. “I give life to the characters in my head. I give my readers entertainment and dreams and happy moments.” She rolled the passenger truck window down enough for the breeze to cool her face. “Some people think writing romance novels is a hokey, corny kind of thing. But you know what, Dalton Moore? There are lots of lonely, disappointed women in the world. I like to hope my books make their hearts beat happier. I like to hope they can forget about a difficult day just by opening one of my books.”
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