Her brows scrunched. “How’d you know his name?”
“The colored picture hanging on the board inside of the office. He signed it. How old is he?”
“He’s seven, almost eight, going on twenty.” Her eyes filled with concern. “He’s dealt with a lot.” She brushed past Gunnar.
“You have anyone helping you out around here?” he asked. This seemed like a lot of work for one person.
“Yes. That’ll be you, Gunnar. I’m glad you came when you did.”
****
Mid-afternoon and Grace was exhausted. After she gave her new employee, Gunnar, the quick tour, she handed him a hammer and pointed him in the direction of the materials for the roof. A bit of relief was lifted off her shoulders. Maybe, in time, he could take over some of the responsibility in the greenhouse, but for now she had plenty of other work to keep him busy—work that didn’t require a green thumb.
She’d never hired a stranger on the spot, but she had a good feeling about him. He didn’t like to talk much, but when he did say something, it was with purpose. She could respect that.
Standing up from the dirt where she’d been weeding the Hosta plants, she stretched her aching back and removed her dirty gloves. Realizing the distant pounding of the hammer had stopped, she followed the path to the house and almost choked on her saliva. Gunnar had removed his shirt and was straddling the roof, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. She slowly skimmed his slick, broad chest, then to the low rise of his ripped jeans. His toned muscles and hard body told her he wasn’t afraid of hard work, exactly what she needed—for the farm, not what she needed. Although, parts of her were cheering on the thought of getting up close and personal with the Marine. It’d take her a good day to explore the dips and lines of all his muscles. She chuckled.
His head came up and before she could turn her cheek, he caught her staring. She choked back her giggle. He shot her a grin that tilted one corner of his mouth ever so slightly—and tilted her axis. Bubbles of heat scorched her insides as she gave him a half-hearted wave and continued to the back door of the house, fully aware of the tight, warm sensation growing at the apex of her thighs. Flushing and ignoring the fluttering in the pit of her stomach, she hurried inside, poured herself a tall glass of lemonade and drank it down. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, concentrating on even breaths and not passing out.
What had come over her? Rippling, tanned flesh…that’s what.
The knock on the door made her almost jump out of her boots.
Peeking around the refrigerator, through the screen door, she saw Gunnar standing on the back step, still shirtless—still covered in sweat. No denying he was in shape, tip-top to be exact. He belonged on a billboard, not in her backyard, although, no complaints from her. Before she knew it, she’d have every single woman within a hundred mile radius flocking to the farm to check him out.
She should be disgusted with the path of her naughty thoughts, but how could it be a sin admiring his body? He took care of himself. Yet guilt raced through her. She was a widow for heaven’s sake. Appreciating a man’s body wasn’t appropriate because…well…she wasn’t sure why. Truth was, she hadn’t looked at another man since Trace, at least not in a way that had her womanly parts in pandemonium.
“Hello?” he called out.
Grace set the empty glass into the sink. “Yes?” she yelled through the screen door. He probably caught the catch in her tone, which made her cheeks burn even more.
“Sorry to bother you.” His thick voice matched the thickness of his biceps. Not that she cared one bit. She just felt pretty darn lucky that a strong worker had found his way here to help her out. She’d already started her mental list of everything that needed tweaking—and nowhere on that list was a starving libido.
“What do you need?” she asked suspiciously, realizing how rude her question sounded. She blamed her current hot flash.
“A glass of water would be great.”
A fire searing heat shot up her spine. She was acting like a schoolgirl—a tawdry one at that. She hurried to the door and opened it. “Come in. I’m sorry. You’ve been outside in the heat all of this time and I didn’t offer you something to drink.” Her fingers were trembling and she hid them in the back pockets of her shorts. He stepped in and the normally large kitchen seemed to narrow by half, and the oxygen depleted.
Tilting his head to one side, he kept his gaze connected with hers. Could he see how nervous she was?
She forced air into her lungs.
“Do you mind if I help myself?”
Embarrassment consumed her. Get yourself together! “You must think I’m an empty-headed goose. I’ll get it for you.” She gave her head a shake. Hoping she didn’t drop the glass, she carefully took one from the cabinet, put ice in it from the dispenser on the refrigerator, and filled it with water. “Here you go. Ice cold.”
“Thank you.” He took the offering and their fingers touched. She jerked her hand back, looking at her fingers and moving them to see if her skin had singed from the electrical current.
Playing off her reaction, she smiled. Why was she responding this way? Of course, this was the first time since Trace’s passing that she had another man inside of her house—a partially nude one at that. How should she react? She had no clue, except that she was being ridiculous.
She leaned against the edge of the counter, keeping her hands tucked away for fear he’d see the trembling. What happened to the woman with a steady head on her shoulders? On its own accord, her gaze fell to the tattoo on his arm. An eagle with dog tags wrapped around its talons. And the letters U.S.M.C. on the left side of his chest. Without thinking, she lifted her hand and touched the ink. He sucked in a breath and she snatched her hand back. “I’m sorry. I-I’m just admiring your chest…I mean…the tattoo.” Oh. My. God. What did I just do?
He smiled. He could have just reached in through her body and played her veins like a harp. “I had it done while I was stationed in Florida.”
“Very nice.” She internally kicked herself. She was an idiot.
“Thank you.”
Change the subject fast. “How long do you think it’ll take you to fix the roof?”
“Just patching it, two days at the most.” He finished off the water and held out the glass.
Staring at it for three heartbeats before finally taking it, she carefully managed to not touch him again. “If you find it too hot up on the roof this afternoon, you can take a break and wait until later when it’s cooler. I won’t mind the noise.”
He shrugged and a drop of sweat rolled down his neck, over his chest, along one flat nipple and disappeared in the small patch of crisp hair. Hair that matched the color on his head— and the patch around his navel—not that she’d looked close enough to know. She folded her arms over her waist as if her heart would jump out of her chest at any moment.
“I can handle these scorching temperatures. This is cool compared to the desert.” One corner of his mouth popped up and she wondered if he ever fully smiled. He had the greenest eyes and a small scar above one—and a larger scar on his side. He must have realized she was staring. He smoothed his palm over his ribs. “An accident.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.” But then again, she enjoyed staring. His body was like a map with treasures and stories.
He shrugged. “It’s pretty noticeable.”
She took a step back, striking the counter. “Can I fix you a sandwich?”
“No, thank you.”
“I know it’s not much. I usually nibble here and there while Daxton’s at school. I have carrots and hummus, if you prefer.”
His pale eyes crinkled and another semi-smile curved his lips. She’d eventually get a full smile out of him, at least she hoped. She saw the kindness in his expression and an unspeakable warmth that softened his features, although the scraggly beard seemed like a wall of protection. She wondered what he’d look like clean shaven? Would he have a prominent ja
w line? Her mind continued to wander down a road where it had no business. Did he leave a heartbroken woman behind when he went off to war? Maybe two or three. A high school sweetheart that didn’t wait for him.
“No, definitely not.”
“Huh?”
“No hummus for me.”
“A brawny man like you probably likes meat and potatoes.” What? Could she get any goofier? “I mean, you probably haven’t had many home cooked meals since you’ve gotten back.”
“Can’t say I have.”
She swallowed against the constriction in her throat, remembering what she wanted to ask in the first place. “I, ah…I’ll make you dinner tonight. After all, that’s part of the pay. Any requests? Any comfort food I can whip up for you? I make a mean fried chicken, but most people cringe at the calories.” It had been a long time since she had someone to cook for. Most nights she and Daxton ate mac and cheese, fries and ice cream. Thankfully, she kept busy, otherwise she’d be packing on the pounds.
He cleared his throat. “That’s awfully nice of you. I don’t have any requests. I’ll leave that area up to you.”
“You don’t have a favorite meal?”
“My momma used to make the best beef roast.”
The screeching screen door made Grace jump. Her nerves couldn’t take much more. Looking past Gunnar’s broad shoulder, dread filled her instantly feeling like the kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar—the man jar. Martha was standing in the doorway, a narrowed, haughty expression deepening the wrinkles around her grey eyes.
“Martha. I wasn’t expecting you.” Grace’s voice cracked.
“I’m sure you weren’t. I drove by earlier and heard all of the pounding. I’m assuming you’re the noise maker.” Martha looked at Gunnar, her face as hard as his muscles.
“Yes, I believe so.” He looked down at his palm and shook his head. “I’d shake your hand, but I have callouses and dirt.”
“Martha, this is Gunnar. He’s the new handyman,” Grace added as she stepped forward.
“I see.” The words oozed from Martha’s lips. Her gaze lingered on his nude upper body a little too long. “I wanted to make sure everything is okay.”
“Everything’s fine. Thanks for stopping by, Martha.” Grace knew her mother-in-law could be unreasonable and the last thing Grace needed, or wanted, was for the bitter woman to chase away an employee. The pay was poor, the room wasn’t that great, and the only thing Grace had to keep a good worker was her cooking, and she hadn’t gotten that far yet. She certainly hoped she could remember how to use the stove after all of the microwave meals they’d lived on recently.
“All right then. Will you be picking up your son from school or shall I?”
Grace caught the underlying meaning like a stake in the heart. “I have an appointment in an hour. I thought I told you already.” Grace couldn’t be sure if it was her mistake or she only thought she’d told Martha. As of lately, if Grace didn’t write it down in her planner, she wouldn’t remember.
“It’s not a problem. I can keep him tonight if you’re busy.” She jetted an insinuating glance toward Gunnar. The heat charred Grace from three feet away.
“I should get back to work. Thank you for the water.” Gunnar nodded at both women and left, probably as quickly as his feet would carry him without running.
Grace rolled her teeth over her bottom lip, counting to ten then tilting her chin. “No, Martha. I’d like for Daxton to come home this evening.”
Martha glanced through the screen door. “Do you think it’s wise to have strange men around you and, most importantly, your son?” Martha snorted loudly.
“I need a handyman, Martha. You knew I placed an ad weeks ago. He’s the first one who’s responded.” Grace didn’t feel like an explanation was needed, especially considering she’d already told Martha why, but it was easier because she wouldn’t let it go. “Did you expect me to climb on the roof and fix it myself?”
“And do you think it’s decent for him to walk around, half-dressed, in your late husband’s house?”
Grace’s patience thinned. “This is my house, Martha—mine and Daxton’s. I would never do anything, or allow anyone near him that could possibly harm him. I realize you question my ideas often, but you should know that I have his best interest at heart.”
Martha’s lips thinned. “Just keep a close eye. Make sure nothing turns up missing.” She shrugged a thin shoulder and started out the door. “I’ll have Daxton here after school.”
“I appreciate you getting him.”
“I walked through the garden earlier, looking at the changes you’ve made.”
“And?” Grace’s adrenaline spiked.
“The fountain looks nice, but you actually believe somebody would want one?” Martha pursed her peach-stained lips. “Seems like a waste of money.”
Grace could understand Martha liked to save money. Growing up one of ten kids, her family had scrimped and saved, but sixty odd years later, Martha still didn’t come off a dime if she didn’t have to.
“The fountain is for my garden, Martha. I want customers to stop and enjoy the flowers, not just stop and buy.”
Martha’s mouth opened in a perfect O. “This is why you’ll never make it in business, Grace.” With a shrug of her shoulder, Martha turned and walked down the broken concrete walkway. Grace stood there for the longest time, long after the white car disappeared down the lane. There were advantages to living next door to her mother-in-law, next door as in twenty acres between them, but sometimes that was too close.
Movement at the corner of the house caught Grace’s attention. Gunnar was climbing up the ladder, and with each upward step his muscles coiled and his jeans stretched across his legs. She watched until he was at the top of the rungs then she stepped back into the house and slammed the door. The collectable plates in the hutch clanked. When would she learn not to allow her mother-in-law to push her buttons? Or maybe her upheaval had nothing to do with Martha, but more about the man who’d walked into her life that morning and had already turned her world upside down.
Her gaze naturally connected with the picture of Trace stuck to the fridge with a fish magnet. “If only things were different,” she whispered.
Chapter Three
Gunnar hung the last tool on the rack in the shed and went for his bottle of water that Grace had left him earlier when he noticed the scraggly, yellow dog lying sprawled out at his feet. The dog wasn’t his, but since he’d gotten to the farm, the dog seemed to think she was. Having her near made him miss his old Boxer, Peanut.
He drank thirstily, draining most of the bottle when Scraggly Dog looked up, her tongue wagging and nailing him with a look of neediness. Gunnar was a sucker. He cupped his palm and poured the rest of the water in. The dog lapped it up and his milk chocolate eyes brightened some.
“I’m sure you have a bowl full of water up at the house, girl.”
Scraggly dog whimpered.
Gunnar scratched her head and patted her back. Her ears twitched, then popped up in interest just as the sound of footsteps were heard outside of the shed. Gunnar looked around as the little boy with big blue eyes popped into view. Out of a hundred kids, Gunnar would know this one was Grace’s boy. He had her eyes. His hair was a bit too long and his pants were a little too short, reminding Gunnar of himself as a kid. He grew faster than his parents could keep him clothed.
“Hey there.” Gunnar nodded a greeting. The boy hung at the doorway, looking at Gunnar with a wide-eyed, curious expression. He didn’t say a word, just stared. He certainly wasn’t talkative like his mom. “You must be Daxton.” Gunnar grabbed a nearby rag and wiped his grimy hands. The sun was starting to set and the heat had lifted some, but he had worked his tail off on the roof. He had the layers of sweat and dirt to prove it. He needed a long, hot shower, and then a good splash of cold water to rejuvenate his tired body. He tossed the rag back onto the workbench.
The boy took two smalls steps into the shed as if he wasn�
�t sure if he should approach. And then he did something that completely knocked Gunnar for a loop. The kid kicked his ankles together and brought his fingers to his forehead for a salute. Gunnar’s chest narrowed. “That’s a pretty good salute, kid.” Gunnar responded with the same action, his heart bursting with pride.
Dropping his hand to his side, Daxton gave a small smile. “My dad taught me. He was a Marine.” His voice was so low Gunnar could barely hear him.
Trace had mentioned in a letter that he was in the military, gave it up after four years, came home and married the girl of his dreams. And now he was gone…
Gunnar scratched his jaw. A lot of good men died too early on enemy soil, but it shouldn’t happen here in the land of the free.
“You staying here?” Daxton appeared thoughtful, contemplative.
“For a while. Your mom needs help with some odd jobs.” Gunnar leaned against the workbench. “I’m a man who likes to get his hands dirty.”
“I’ve been helping.” He shuffled his tennis shoes, loosening one frayed shoe string.
“I bet you have. You look like you’re a strong young man.” Gunnar had never been a sap, but he had a soft spot for this kid. Growing up with a brother and sister in a loving family, Gunnar remembered how hard it had been losing his mom. He knew by experience that it never got better. The only solace was finding ways to keep busy and not think about the loss. “You have any callouses?” Daxton lifted his hands proudly to show Gunnar. “I see a few. Those from baseball?”
“Yeah.” He nodded fast, sending a lock of hair in his eyes. “I’m not real good though, not like the others. Mom won’t let me play football. She says it’s too dangerous.”
“I played Little League. Maybe you and I can toss the ball some time.”
Some sparkle came to his eye, but quickly fizzled. “My dad died. He used to play with me, at least that’s what mom said.”
Gunnar’s chest tightened. This made him rethink what he was doing here. He wanted to help, but he didn’t want to make things worse either. “I saw his picture hanging up in your mom’s greenhouse office.” Not ever being around kids, he had no clue what he should say, or not say.
Unexpected Hero (Buttermilk Valley Book 1) Page 4