She studied him as she doctored her coffee. “So, charming women is some sort of community service? How altruistic of you.”
His teeth gleamed as he grinned and doffed an imaginary cap. “Cheeky as well as beautiful. A fascinating combination.”
“Now, you see, I don’t know if I should be flattered, or put out I’m only receiving a compliment because you think my day needs brightening.” She forked blueberry pie into her mouth. “Oh, my goodness! This is amazing.”
“The Old Diner is known for its heavenly pies.”
She scooped up another bite. “Mmm! How has this secret not been let loose on the world?”
“Like any proper lady, we like to maintain a little mystery.”
The cryptic comment pulled her attention away from a blueberry haze of deliciousness. “While we’re on the subject of mysteries. You strike me as a huge puzzle.”
“Me?” He lifted his cup, pinky raised just so, and regarded her with wide eyes. “I am but a humble English teacher doing my best to impart the glories of the written word to students, who, for the most part, do not care about stuffy tomes written centuries ago.”
“Exactly,” Emily said, aiming her fork at him. “So, why are you here hiding out in this little hamlet?”
“Why are you here?” he asked, turning the tables on her inquiry.
“No fair. I asked first—” She broke off as something caught her eye. Or someone.
Nate stood at the counter. Her laughter died. She needed oxygen to laugh, and, as usual, he’d sucked all the air out of the room.
Andrew noticed her attention had veered away and glanced over his shoulder. “Someone interesting over there?”
“Nate Cooper.”
“Ah, I believe he painted my neighbor’s house. You know him obviously.”
Emily pulled her gaze away and focused on demolishing her pie. “Long story.”
Andrew could ask a million questions with a mere arch of a brow. “The best tales always are. Shall we invite him to join us?”
“No!”
“You’re sure?”
Emily tried not to squirm. “Yes… except… I should speak to him. About the auction, you know. Maybe he could donate his services.”
Andrew studied her for another moment before nodding. “By all means, go ask him.”
****
Nate recognized Emily’s laughter even before he saw her. Like a homing beacon, he turned his head. She sat in a booth, and not alone. She was laughing. Flirting. With Andrew Laughton, a teacher at the high school. Nate didn’t really know him. Wasn’t sure he could be friends with a guy dressed in a tweed jacket. Who wore tweed anymore, other than self-important college professors and characters from those British specials on the public television channel?
Emily glanced up. Their eyes met, and his brain stopped functioning. Man, talk about unnerving. She said something to Dr. Tweed and then slid out of the booth. Nate didn’t miss Andrew’s subtle glance at Emily’s backside as she walked away.
Eyes front, Don Juan.
“Hi,” Emily said when she reached him.
“Hey.” Great. He’d been reduced to one-syllable words. Real profound.
“How’s your mother?” she asked, then bit her lip, no doubt remembering his mother’s words about how he liked having someone in his life who didn’t ask about her health right off.
“Bad day,” he said. “She had chemo this morning, and I came for some hot tea. It seems to settle her stomach a bit.”
“I hope it helps.”
“Not much else I can do.”
The helplessness made another assault on his already hair-trigger temper. Nate tried to shove the monster down, but then his gaze snagged on Dr. Tweed across the way. The guy had the nerve to grin and give a salute. Nate scowled in return.
“I’m on a committee to raise funds for a new roof for the library,” she said.
His swiveled around toward her again. “You’re joining committees now?”
“It’s something to do, and it is the library after all.”
“Yeah, makes sense.” All right, he had to know. “How did you meet Andrew Laughton?”
Emily glanced over her shoulder. The jerk wiggled his fingers again. She clucked her tongue and swished a hand at him.
“He’s on the committee with me,” she said. “He teaches British Lit at the high school.”
“Oh right.” No wonder he wore tweed and sniggered like an idiot. He probably understood all her wild ramblings, though. “I bet you have a lot in common.”
“I suppose. Look, I came over to ask you something.”
Right. Dragged herself away from Sir Andrew’s company so she could beg a favor. Maybe she had a clogged drain. Ten-to-one, her new friend wouldn’t know how to fix it. “Uh-huh.”
“We’re doing an auction for the library. People will be donating all kinds of things, including services like photography and meals, even house care. I thought maybe you’d like to donate your time. It doesn’t have to be a whole house. Maybe a room?”
Yep. Not quite plumbing, but close. To save the library of all places. Might as well torture him. Memories of staring at pages of books with no idea what anything meant brought on a cold sweat.
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“How can you say no?”
“Haven’t got the time right now.”
Nate realized he was being a jerk. She didn’t know what books represented for him. What the sight of her with Dr. Tweed did to his peace of mind, either. He shouldn’t care if she chose to go out with someone who was probably a much better match for her, but somehow he did. More than was good for him.
Her eyes about popped out of her head. “It’s for the library.”
“Remember, I’m the guy who hates books.”
“So much that you don’t care if the roof caves in, ruining everything inside? They don’t have only books in there. Did you know all the old Covington Falls newspapers are bound up in leather volumes? From decades ago? They might even go back to the town’s founding.”
“Not much of a fan of newspapers, either. I don’t know too many big words, what with me being a dumb painter who still lives with his mother.”
The barb hit home and she stammered. “I apologized for misjudging you.”
She’d still thought he was a loser. Based on his job. Which emphasized the fact they had no chance. Being from two different worlds wasn’t only a phrase, but a reality of life.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Maybe you should go back to your professor. I have to hurry home. Mom’s by herself today.”
She swallowed and stepped back. “All right.”
He watched her walk back to Dr. Tweed. Tried to tell himself turning her away was the right thing. She belonged with someone like the professor. Someone who could quote poetry to her. Someone who understood and even laughed at her literary quips. Who could perhaps even help jump start her imagination.
Nate could never be that someone.
Right?
Chapter Sixteen
“I am not pleased,” Aurora Johnston announced.
Emily glanced up from the stack of mail she’d been sorting. The huge stack of mail. Aurora Johnston received more catalogues than a shopaholic on a bender.
“You’re not interested in owning authentic recreated weapons from the Civil War era?” Emily asked, holding up one of the thick tomes.
Aurora looked down her nose. “I’m not speaking of the mail.”
“All right, what’s got you in a dither today? Come to think of it, how is today different from any other day?”
Aurora’s nostrils flared, and Emily imagined smoke would come pouring out any minute. “Your insolence is not charming.”
“Neither is your temper.”
Aurora pursed her lips.
Emily’s twitched, too. “I’m a verbal master, Aurora. You’re not going to win a war of insults with me. Besides, I don’t care if you like me.”
“I could fire you right now.”
“Yes, but I’d find something else.” She glanced at the next catalogue. A pristine, two-acre lot on the shores of some unidentified lake in Wichita. Emily couldn’t see the old bitty living in Kansas.
Aurora snorted — or as close as someone of her standard of dignity came to snorting. “Outrageous.”
It was a pretty lake, though. Maybe she could go there when she left Covington Falls. “I think we’ve established I’m both insolent and outrageous,” Emily said. “Now, what is your complaint, my lady?”
“That tree branch is blocking my light, and I can’t read.”
Pulling her attention away from the Wichita land deal, Emily studied the blank wall behind Aurora’s chair. “What tree branch?”
“There,” she said, pointing toward the huge bay window across the room.
Emily twisted around and saw there was one limb in front of the window. “How can that block the light when you’re sitting way over here?”
“Shadows. The afternoon sun creates shadows.”
“From across the parlor?” Emily asked in disbelief.
“I want the branch cut.”
Emily shrugged and returned to sorting. “Call a tree service.”
“I’m not paying a small fortune for one branch. I want you to do it.”
Her head jerked up. “Me? Cut a tree? Are you out of your mind?”
“One limb. You’re young and capable. I feel quite sure you can accomplish the task.”
Mentally digging in her heels, Emily shot a scowl at the old bag. “No way.”
“I demand it.”
“Demand all you want. I’m not getting killed because of an imaginary shadow.”
“Do you think you can’t handle the job?”
“Don’t even go there,” Emily said, shaking a catalogue in the air. “I know what you’re doing.”
Aurora smiled. “So, you do think you will fail.”
“I would not fail—” Emily slapped a hand to her forehead. “I must be out of my mind, too. I can’t believe I’m considering playing lumberjack.”
“There’s a handsaw in the shed out back.”
Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. “A handsaw?”
“I have an electric one if you prefer, but I wouldn’t recommend it if you don’t have experience.”
Emily pictured whirling metal slicing into her flesh and shuddered. “A hand saw, it is.”
Locating the saw took awhile as Aurora’s tool shed hadn’t been cleared out in a couple decades. Finally, Emily uncovered one hanging on a hook behind an old rake and a wicked looking hedger. Next, she located a stepladder and dragged both around to the front yard. Dropping the saw and ladder on the grass, she glared up at the offending branch. Not too high at least, and not as thick as she’d feared. She could cut through the limb… eventually.
Muttering epitaphs about the sanity of bad-tempered senior citizens, Emily set up the ladder, tucked the saw under one arm and climbed until she could reach the branch. Five minutes of furious cutting accomplished absolutely nothing. Not even a decent notch. She was too low and couldn’t put much force behind the saw. To top it off, her shoulder muscle ached, and her hand had started to cramp.
“Save me from batty octogenarians,” she muttered, attacking the branch again.
The saw lodged in the wood. Frustrated, she tugged until the blasted thing came free.
Free and hurtling right toward her head.
“Owwww!” She howled as the handle smashed into her temple.
The blow caused her to lose her balance. She made a desperate grab for the ladder and managed to right herself, but not before cutting her finger on the saw.
“Sugar cookies!”
“Emily, what are you doing?”
She twisted around in time to see Nate rushing across the lawn. He reached her in three seconds flat and steadied her against the ladder with a firm grip.
When she was no longer in danger of falling to the ground, he stepped back. He swiped a hand across his face and muttered a few curse words of his own. Then he held out a hand. “Give me the saw.”
“I was cutting a tree branch,” she said, wondering if he would explode with frustration.
Nate’s lips pressed together into a tight, white line. “I don’t care. Give it to me before you kill yourself.”
Like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, she handed over the weapon. “I hit my head, and my finger is bleeding.”
She held up the digit in question, saw the red ooze, and let out a whoosh of air as dizziness swashed over her in a sickening gush.
“I know.” Nate slipped an arm around her middle and lifted her off the ladder. “I saw you do it. Come on. I’ve got a first aid kit in my truck.”
Like he’d done on the side of the road the other day, he lowered the tailgate and set her on the truck bed. Leaving her to reflect on her own stupidity, he went in search of the kit under the seat. Another moment, and he was back.
He pulled out a dry ice pack, broke the seal, and then kneaded the bag until it was cold. “Put this on your head.”
Emily held the pack to her temple, watching as he extracted a medicated wipe to clean her finger.
She sucked in a breath at the sting.
“Sorry,” Nate muttered. He held her finger up, inspecting the cut. “Not too bad. You’re lucky. You could have cut off a finger.”
“I would’ve needed a bit more strength to do that.”
He grabbed a tube of antibiotic cream and coated her finger. “What were thinking, trying to cut that branch anyway?”
His touch was gentle, even though she could feel the tension flowing through his body. Heat worked its way from her wrist up the length of her arm until every inch of skin tingled. Must be something in the antiseptic, she concluded. Emily refused to consider any other explanation for her body’s reaction and instead concentrated on watching Nate as he doctored her various cuts and bruises.
“Wasn’t my idea, believe me,” she said. “Aurora insisted the branch was blocking her sunlight and she couldn’t read.”
“So she had you do it? Is she crazy?”
“Could be.”
“You should quit. No job is worth injuring yourself over.”
Emily shrugged, which made her head throb. She held back a wince, knowing any visible show of pain would set Nate off again. “She’s harmless for the most part. More bark than bite.”
He jabbed at finger at her temple. “Harmless? Another couple inches and it would have been your eye.”
“She dared me.”
He snorted as he fished out a bandage and ripped off the paper. “Sounds like a good reason to put an eye out to me.”
“She said I was afraid I couldn’t do it.”
“I can’t believe you fell for that,” he said as he wrapped the bandage around her finger.
“Me either, and I knew what she was doing,” Emily said with a soft chuckle.
Nate relented enough to allow a small smile. “Let me see your head.”
She lowered the ice pack. He tilted her chin back and ran a gentle finger across her temple. No way could she ignore so much sensory overload. A shudder rippled down her spine. Had he noticed?
His shoulders seized up. Their eyes met, and the blaze in his gray pools seemed hot enough to singe.
“Why were you so angry at me the other day in The Old Diner?” she asked.
Wariness replaced heat, and he stepped back. “I wasn’t angry. Just tired. I had a bad day and Mom’s treatment—”
He’d acted like a horse’s rear, and he wanted to blame his mother? No way. Her own temper sparked, and she chucked the ice pack at him.
Nate caught it. Barely. “What’s wrong with you?”
“You were angry with me. Why? Was it because of Andrew Laughton?”
Clearing his throat, Nate contemplated a leaf on a low-hanging branch. “You looked like you were having a good time.”
“He’s funny. It’s no cr
ime to laugh at a witty man’s jokes.”
“You probably have a lot in common. I’m sure he’s read all those classic books you’re always talking about.”
Emily froze. Well, duh!
Jealous! He’d been jealous. Shoot her for not catching on, but how could she have known? He’d have to care to have such an emotion.
“Is Andrew the reason you refused to help with the library auction?” she asked.
He massaged the back of his neck. “Not really.”
“Then why? What have you got against a building?”
“It’s not the building. It’s what’s in it.”
“Books? Come on. I can understand thinking classic novels are boring, but what could you possibly have against books?”
“I’m dyslexic, okay!”
Her mouth dropped open. “Seriously? Dyslexic?”
Nate cursed, his cheeks tinged with pink. “Yeah.”
She swallowed her shock. “You can read though. I thought people with dyslexia could be taught how to rewire their brains or something.”
“I can read, but I have to concentrate.”
“Okay, but I still don’t understand how that translates to hating books altogether.”
“Can we drop it?” He sighed and perched on the truck bed beside her. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No way. I want to know.”
“It took a long time for anyone to figure out what was wrong. I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Because I figured everyone saw words the same way I did. Only they were smart enough to figure it out. I thought I was stupid. So, I acted up. Made a nuisance of myself so I’d get thrown out of class. I wouldn’t turn in homework. I did so well at being a bad kid they put me in special classes with the rest of the castoffs.”
“Someone must have realized at some point,” Emily said, horrified at the picture he was painting of a scared little boy thinking he was the only one who couldn’t understand.
“A math teacher finally noticed I kept getting numbers backward. I never knew the numbers were wrong. I only knew letters didn’t work.”
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