by Ali Olson
Her mouth thinned a little and her cheeks blushed a light shade of pink. He realized that she really hadn’t expected him yet, and she wasn’t sure where he should start. She seemed to be at a loss for a moment.
Not that it was surprising she hadn’t anticipated his early arrival. He’d woken at dawn, itching to get over there—to get started on all the work that needed to be done, he’d told himself. After all, two weeks wasn’t much time, and he didn’t want to leave his new neighbor in the lurch after he’d gone. So he’d headed over right after eating, without noticing exactly how early it was.
Brock decided that just because there was so much to do didn’t mean there wasn’t time for pancakes. “Actually, pancakes sound great. After all, there’s probably enough work around here to burn off four breakfasts, I’m sure. And while you’re at it, I’ll take a look around to see what all there is to do, if that’s all right?”
She nodded, looking relieved, and he immediately felt like he’d made the right choice. Plus, he would get to eat pancakes. That was a win-win.
“I’ll go get them started. Please make yourself at home, Mr. McNeal.”
“Call me Brock,” he answered before she disappeared into the kitchen.
The moment she was gone, he looked around the room and started creating an inventory of everything that would need to be done to get the house in shape. Besides two warped window frames and the very faded wallpaper, the living room at least appeared in decent condition.
“Would you like to come in our fort?” one of the boys asked suddenly, poking his head out between two boxes.
Brock had forgotten he wasn’t alone in the room. He gave the kid a small smile. “No, thanks,” he said, not sure if there was anything else he was supposed to say.
It had been a long while since he’d spoken to anyone under the legal drinking age.
The other boy, identical to his brother, crawled out of the fort and moved to stand right next to Brock. Brock waited, wondering what the little boy was thinking. Finally, he spoke. “I’m Carter.”
Brock nodded, wishing the child wasn’t quite so close. He wasn’t used to children and their lack of understanding about personal space. “Hi. I’m Brock,” he answered.
Carter kept staring, as if waiting for Brock to say more, but he couldn’t think of what else he should say.
“What are you doing?” the boy asked.
“I’m trying to figure out what we need to do to get this place fixed up,” Brock answered.
Carter looked around the room. “Like what?”
Brock felt slightly relieved that the large hazel eyes were no longer staring at him in that intense way. He pointed out the windows, explaining about the frames.
“Momma tried to open those when we got here and couldn’t,” Carter commented. “What else is wrong?”
Brock shrugged. “I don’t know. I just got here.”
With that, Carter was off, pointing out every problem he had noticed since they’d moved there. Some, like the faint scratches on the wood floor from furniture being moved around, didn’t concern Brock, but there were others that he added to the mental list he was making.
Soon, Brock and Carter had moved into the room the boys were sharing and Brock was examining the large wooden bunk bed the boys would use once, as Carter explained, it didn’t wobble anymore. “Momma says the Wilson boys must have been pretty rowdy to break such a big piece of furniture,” Carter said as Brock pulled on the top bunk and watched it sway precariously. Brock smiled, remembering exactly how “rowdy” the Wilson boys were. They had gotten Brock into quite a bit of trouble more than once when he was a kid.
Carter continued talking, as if he had no plans to stop anytime soon. “But it was free, so she said she would fix it and then we won’t have to sleep on the floor no more.”
“Anymore,” said a voice from the doorway. The other brother, Zach, had joined them.
Brock nodded to him, then turned back to Carter. “It’ll be easy to fix. A couple planks of wood and some nails will do it.”
“There’s some in the barn. Momma showed me.”
Brock stood, ready to go find them, but Zach interrupted his thoughts. “Mom says food’s ready, Mr. McNeal.”
Before Brock could say anything, Carter jumped up and grabbed his hand. “We have to wash up before we eat. I’ll show you.” And with that, Brock was being pulled into a small bathroom and shown how to clean his hands properly.
Brock washed at the sink and followed Carter and Zach into the kitchen, where the boys jumped into chairs, both sitting on their feet so they could see over the table. The moment he was back in the same room as Cassie, the air felt warm and heavy, neither of which had anything to do with the cooking.
Brock tried not to let his eyes wander along the length of her legs as she stood by the stove, flipping the last pancakes on the griddle. The jeans she was wearing hugged her in all the right places, and a long study of them would just make things worse.
He was here to do a job, help a lady and her kids out, and then he would get back to doing the things he did best. After all, his next big bull ride was coming up soon. It wouldn’t do to start getting sidetracked by a mess of russet-colored hair and a pair of shapely legs. Or any of her other attributes he had noticed.
With difficulty, Brock pulled his eyes to the plate in the middle of the table piled high with flapjacks. The smell wafting from them was light and sweet, and they made his mouth water despite the large breakfast he’d already had. The boys had quickly grabbed a couple and begun dousing them in syrup, so he speared a few of his own with his fork.
Cassie came to the table, taking the only open seat, the one directly across from him. Now that she was close and in the bright light of the kitchen, he could see a dusting of freckles across her nose and the clear green-brown of her eyes. When she leaned forward to grab her own pile of pancakes, he quickly glanced away. There was too much to catch all of his male attention when she did that.
Thankfully, she soon sat back in her seat and he could actually savor the flavor of the pancakes he had shoved into his mouth in a desperate bid for a distraction.
She didn’t seem to notice any of this and her attention remained focused on her children. “Did you both wash up before coming in and getting covered in syrup?” she asked.
Carter nodded as he licked some of the sticky sweetness off his forearm. “I showed Brock how to wash up, too,” he said.
Cassie gave her son a warning look. “Don’t be impolite. You can call him Mr. McNeal.”
“It’s fine,” Brock cut in, not wanting Carter to get in trouble for his actions. “I told him he could call me that. I think the only person who has ever called me Mr. McNeal was my fourth-grade teacher, and that lady was plumb crazy.”
Carter smiled at him. Brock couldn’t help but smile back.
Cassie also seemed pleased, though she wasn’t as obvious in her emotions as Carter was. “Well, now that that’s settled,” she said, “I was thinking we would start working in the library first, and then some of the fencing around the place, or maybe the barn. I want to get the ranch ready to hold horses.”
He nodded, trying to keep his eyes on his plate instead of on her. Hopefully she would show him where to start and leave him to it, and he could lose himself in hard work and avoid this woman who set his blood on fire.
After she dumped the dishes in the sink, though, she looked at her two boys and said, “While we’re moving things around, I’d like you to put your clothes into the drawers in your room. After that, you can work on your fort or play with your cars. Can you do that?”
So, she clearly wasn’t planning on freeing him from her presence. If he hadn’t been pleased that she was willing to get her hands dirty and help fix up the place, he would’ve been annoyed about spending even more time near her.
The boys nodded and raced into th
eir room. Brock was impressed that such young children could follow directions, but before he could comment, Cassie smiled at him and shook her head. “They’ll probably throw everything in one drawer before getting sidetracked and playing with toys, but it’ll keep them busy for a few minutes, at least.”
Brock pictured himself doing just that as a kid and laughed. Her dry humor only made her prettier, which sobered him quickly. “So, you wanted to start in the Wilsons’ old library?” he prompted.
Cassie nodded and walked out of the kitchen, beckoning at Brock to follow her. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the well-formed bottom that swayed so enticingly before him.
Chapter Three
Cassie showed Brock into the small room off the living room that she hoped to turn into a doctor’s office. Before she could start seeing patients, however, there was a lot to do.
The room had obviously been used as a library. The empty shelves lining the wall were of dark oak, making the entire space feel shady and somber. She imagined leather chairs and dusty volumes of old books giving it an air of class, but it didn’t fit with the light, friendly tone she wanted to convey.
“Mr. Wilson was quite a reader,” Brock commented, looking around the room. “I never understood why they lived on this ranch when he would have been much happier being a professor or something. What do you want to do with it?”
“I want to take out these shelves and make it into a doctor’s office,” she started, ready to turn her dream into a reality.
“You’re a doctor?” he asked, clearly surprised.
She nodded, waiting to see how he would react. Her husband, Hank, had always been negative about her choice to continue school instead of staying home with their young children, and even though he’d been gone for over six months, she still heard his disapproving words in her ears.
Brock gave her a sideways grin that turned her insides to mush. “You’re full of surprises,” he commented, and she couldn’t stop the blush of pleasure that worked its way up to her ears. “Well, the town certainly needs a doctor. People are going to line up at your door. So I guess we should get this place ready.”
Then he turned back to the room as if nothing had changed. Cassie’s defenses lowered slightly as she accustomed herself to Brock’s presence.
“Okay, so the shelves need to go,” he said. “What do you need to make the room ready?”
With that, she was off, describing the room she had imagined. A small desk, some shelves to hold supplies, bright paint, a couple of chairs and an examination table. A happy place where she could help people.
Brock listened, nodding occasionally. When she finished, he stretched, his arms raised to the ceiling. Cassie tried not to stare at him, but it wasn’t easy. “Let’s get started, then,” he said, moving farther into the room.
Soon they were grappling with the bookcases—heavy bulky things that, thankfully, took all her attention. With some difficulty, they managed to get the three large shelving units on their sides and slide each one out the door until they were lying in a row on the living room floor.
With those out, the room seemed much larger and brighter, and Cassie’s heart lifted. She knew she could make it into everything she wanted. Then she realized there was one big problem that prevented her from doing more.
Brock seemed to sense her sudden change of mood. “You don’t have paint yet, do you?”
Cassie shook her head, trying not to feel too disappointed.
“Then we’ll need to get some. We can do that tomorrow morning, if you like. For now, on to the next thing,” Brock announced, sidling out of the room.
Cassie could tell he wasn’t going to let her sulk, and it made her smile. He was right, anyhow. There was too much to do to sit around just because she didn’t have paint.
Back in the living room, they both looked at the shelves taking up most of the floor space. “I guess we could put two of these in my room and the other in Zach and Carter’s,” she said at last.
Brock moved into place to pick up one of the units and waited for her. Cassie couldn’t believe how willing he was to haul them all over her house, without a word of protest. She silently thanked Brock’s mother for having such a helpful son.
Soon all her thoughts and energy were once again absorbed by the task of lifting the heavy pieces of furniture, which they lugged down the hall.
Maneuvering the first one into her bedroom was a bit of a challenge, but finally the shelf stood against the wall opposite her bed. If the room wasn’t large, it might have looked hefty, but Cassie felt it fit nicely. She turned to Brock to see if he was ready to move the second one, and found him standing awkwardly near the doorway.
Then she realized that they were in her bedroom and she felt a flush creep up her neck at the memory of what lay at the bottom of her box of pajamas, only a couple of feet from where she was standing.
Brock cleared his throat and looked at her, but didn’t quite meet her eyes, for which she was thankful. Now was not the time to get lost in those ocean-colored depths. “Let’s go grab the next one,” he said, leaving for the hallway.
Cassie followed, hoping the heat in her cheeks would go away before they looked at each other again.
* * *
BROCK WAS GLAD to return to the open air of the living room. Even though the master bedroom in the Wilson house was large, the presence of Cassie and her bed made him feel short of breath and a little claustrophobic.
But that wasn’t the way his thoughts should be turning, he knew.
They made quick work of the second shelf, and without pausing in Cassie’s room, for which Brock was grateful, moved onto the third. As Brock picked up his end, he could feel the strain in his back, a holdover from an old rodeo injury. If he was tired, he imagined Cassie must be exhausted. He almost set down the shelf again to propose they take a break, but before he could, Cassie had lifted her end and begun moving toward the hallway with dogged determination on her face.
Brock couldn’t help but be impressed. She didn’t shirk the work it was going to take to get this place running, that was for sure. They carried the thing into the boys’ room, where they set it up against the wall as the two boys watched from where they’d been playing on the floor. When it was in place, Cassie leaned against it to catch her breath. Brock took the chance to stretch his back.
“Did you boys finish putting all your clothes away before playing?” Cassie asked after a few moments.
The children nodded, but Brock noticed they seemed a little hesitant. He glanced over at the chest of drawers. From the look of the bursting bottom drawer, Cassie’s earlier prediction seemed to have come true. She noticed, too, and she opened it wider. “I don’t think you’ll be able to find anything in here,” she told them, with an impressive amount of patience. “How about we work on this together?”
Brock could see this might take a while, so he left Cassie with her kids and went back to the library. This woman just kept getting more and more attractive. A beautiful, hardworking doctor with the patience of a saint. He shook his head in amazement.
He wanted to ask her out. What harm could a date do? He imagined she could use an evening being pampered.
There was one big flaw with that idea, though: What if she said no? He didn’t want the next couple of weeks to be awkward as they worked on her house and ranch together. Or worse, she felt so uncomfortable that she insisted on doing it all by herself, even though it was clearly too big a job for just one person.
So he wouldn’t ask her out yet, then. Not until he was sure she’d say yes, or until enough work was finished that he wouldn’t feel guilty if he got turned down and was asked to never see her again.
He hoped to God that wouldn’t happen.
What about her kids? A small voice inside him piped up.
Well, it would just be a date. Nothing serious. He wasn’t going to tur
n everything in his life upside down because of a passing attraction. They’d go on a few dates, have a nice time and then he’d leave. If they both agreed to nothing permanent, neither of them could get hurt, right?
Brock felt a twinge of uncertainty but dismissed it. If he had to choose between a temporary relationship with Cassie or no relationship at all, he knew which side he fell on. The thought lifted his spirits, and he looked around eagerly for something to accomplish.
Near the library, leaning against a wall, were some boxes with pictures of small white shelves on them. They were clearly pieces of furniture for her future doctor’s office, and would need to be assembled before she could start seeing patients.
He immediately set to work on the first one.
The task went quickly, and by the time Cassie appeared, he was halfway through the second, with instructions and pieces surrounding where he sat on the floor. Seeing her made his heart beat harder, and he found it difficult to remember what it was he’d been doing. She caressed the top of the completed piece in such a way that it took every bit of his self-control to not ask her out right then and there.
“Thank you for your help,” she said, so sincerely that it squeezed at his heart. It was clear from her tone that she’d desperately needed an extra pair of hands.
“I imagine it’s hard to get much done with two young boys around,” he commented.
She let out a sigh of agreement and nodded. “They’re putting things on their new shelf now, so that should give them something to do for a little while, at least,” she said, sitting down beside him and leaning close to look at the instructions.
For a moment, she was too close, and he wanted more than ever to do something about the feelings crowding in him. As he opened his mouth to say something stupid, she moved away again, and his mind cleared enough to keep quiet. She didn’t seem to notice, and before he could get out of his daze enough to get back to the task at hand, she was grabbing pieces and fitting them together with nimble, quick movements.