“Come on, Jessa.” The dog jumped up obediently. “Let’s take a walk.”
****
Grace found Gunnar in the tool shed putting away the things he’d used on the fence. He didn’t hear her approach and she waited, watching him move around the small space. His tight black T-shirt stretched across his coiled muscles and broad back. His jeans fit nicely and they didn’t even begin to hide the fact that he was in shape. Her cheeks flushed and she knew she should be ashamed for staring, but more because of the explicit images flashing through her head. But she wasn’t, not even in the slightest.
She liked him. He had proven to be a good employee and a friend.
Cooper had paid Gunnar a visit before leaving, and she couldn’t have Cooper coming around scaring off her help. The yard looked better than it had since Trace was alive. The windows in the greenhouse sparkled. And even Jessa, their old dog, seemed happier and healthier. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that the old dog spent a lot of time with Gunnar. Daxton didn’t go a minute without mentioning Gunnar. She also liked how he moved around the shed with grace and capability. She remembered how they’d danced together with natural ease. Her body still tingled from his touch.
He bent over and a small gasp escaped Grace. Gunnar stopped what he was doing and turned, his gaze meeting hers. “I didn’t know you were standing there,” he said.
“Sorry. I wasn’t here long.” She smoothed her trembling fingers through her hair.
“I decided to pack up early. Looks like rain rolling in.”
“We can use it. It’ll ease the heat some.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “It was certainly a hot one.”
“Are you okay?”
She wavered between the truth and sweeping the issue under the rug. “No, I guess I’m not. I happened to notice that Cooper—Sheriff Branson—stopped out to speak with you before he left. It might be none of my business, but in a way it is considering you’re here with me…I mean, working here. I’m just curious what the discussion was about.”
Gunnar hung up the last tool and cleaned his hands off on a rag. “He’s just doing his duty. Watching out for those he cares about.”
She blinked. “You don’t think he and I—well—are involved, do you?”
“Now that’s probably none of my business.”
“We’re not, just so you know. Not that it matters, I’m sure, but I really want you to understand that Cooper and I are only friends, and I’m using that term loosely. I hope he didn’t say anything that’ll make you pack your bag and take off.” The sudden stab in her chest surprised her.
He grinned. “Don’t worry, Grace. I’ve faced bigger, badder men than Branson.” He brushed past her and she got a whiff of spice and the outdoors. Now that’s what a man is supposed to smell like. She ignored the throbbing in the apex of her thighs and followed behind him.
“He means well, at least I think he does. He has a story just like the rest of us,” she murmured. She didn’t need to defend Cooper, but it came naturally out of habit she supposed.
He stopped at the hose, dragged it in, rolling it back up in a tight coil. “I’m sure he does.”
“My husband—my late husband—said Cooper had a rough life growing up. His dad, sheriff at the time, ran a tight ship. When Trace was killed—” she realized how easy the evil word flowed from her lips, “Cooper had taken it pretty hard. I’d never seen him as distraught as he was during that time.”
“Trace was a good man. At least that’s what people have said.”
“He was a good man. I guess it was only natural that Cooper would think he should help around here, take up the reins.”
“You mean with you, right?”
She liked how Gunnar never minced words. “I didn’t know if in his grief he’d reached out to me for comfort or he really thought there were hidden emotions between us.” “Maybe a bit of both.”
“Possibly.” She chuckled, but it left her throat raw and aching. “I guess after today, he now realizes I have no desire for him.”
“Never good to leave a man hanging.”
She crossed her arms over her waist. “I think the loss is harder on everyone who’s left behind.”
“I agree.” He had long finished with the hose and he stood there, listening.
“Trace had gone into the market to buy me a birthday card.” She tugged her hair behind her ear. “It was still in his hand when he was shot.”
“You shouldn’t have had to see that, Grace.”
She was used to getting “sorry for your loss” “he was a good man” and even, “he’s in a better place.” But no one, out of the hundreds of people, truly understood the pain of losing someone unless it happened to them. Grace had never been one to feel sorry for herself, and she certainly didn’t want to make anyone feel her pain, but she’d lost her husband, her son had lost his father, and each day they had to crawl out of the miserable blanket that had covered them. She shrugged and sighed. “I didn’t come out here to empty my thoughts. I just, well, Cooper hasn’t been the same since Trace’s death. ”
“Can I speak freely?”
Grace raised a brow. “Of course.”
“I think he believes there’s more between the two of you than merely responsibility. Sometimes it takes brutal honesty to set someone straight, and maybe you did that today.”
Jessa brushed by Grace’s leg and went to stand close to Gunnar. “You’ve had an impact on all of us, Gunnar.”
“Even you, Grace?” His gaze turned a mysterious green.
“Probably me the most.” She felt the need to admit how much she liked having him here. “I guess it’s a close call between me and the dog. She certainly is smitten.”
He shrugged. “I sneak her a piece of jerky on occasion.”
She laughed again, but realizing he was staring, it fizzled. “I wanted to let you know how grateful I am for all that you’ve done around here. It feels good to see a shiny new layer on everything.”
“That’s my job.”
“Are you up for dinner? I have stew in the crockpot.”
“I’d love some.”
Chapter Nine
Gunnar sat on the enclosed back patio, watching Grace’s profile. After eating their stew, she’d poured them both a cup of coffee and they sat there in silence. He was preoccupied with finding the fresh footprints earlier when he’d taken a walk with Jessa along the path in the woods, and then seeing the mud on the sheriff’s shoes.
“You’re awfully quiet.” She propped her feet on the wicker table. The hem of her dress fell to the side, showing off a good amount of thigh. She didn’t make a move to cover herself. It took all of his strength to wrap his brain around her words.
“I took a walk earlier and found fresh boot tracks in the woods, close to the house and greenhouse.” He relaxed into the chair, concentrating on her eyes. “I didn’t think much about it at first. Land this size, people always trespass.”
She blinked. “Someone had been in my woods? And you’re thinking what?”
He didn’t know how blunt he could be, not wanting to spark trouble, but Grace needed to be aware. A woman’s best defense in her safety was to know what was going on around her. “I saw dried mud on the sheriff’s shoes, so I decided to investigate. I’d say the prints were about the size of his boots.”
She dropped her feet to the floor. “Why would Cooper be in the woods?”
He shrugged and rubbed his chin, still getting used to the fact that he no longer had the beard. “If I went out on a limb, I’d say he was taking a look from afar before approaching you about me.”
“That makes me angry.” She jumped up and paced the floor. “I have the mind to call him and tell him exactly what I think.”
“Would he admit to it?”
She stopped. “Probably not.”
“Maybe he was just watching the property. Making sure you and Daxton are safe.” Even as the words left his mouth he doubted the truth in them.
“That’s going out
on a limb.”
“Sometimes we have to.” He stood.
“You’re right. There are moments we need to step out of our comfort zone and make things happen.” She sashayed toward him, toes meeting his boots. “Now is one of those moments.” She stood on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him. “Any objection?”
“Not even one.” He reached up and bracketed her face with his hands and lowered his mouth to hers. She parted her lips and he swept his tongue in, tasting her sweetness mingled with coffee. A moan slipped from her, vibrating her chest. Her firm breasts pressed against him and he swore he could feel the pebbling of her nipples through the thin material. He grew rock hard, painfully aware of the need driving through him. He wanted nothing more than to rip her clothes off, but Grace wasn’t a fuck. She was so much more…yet how much more he wasn’t sure.
He glided his fingers over the silken length of her neck, pausing at the indentation leading to her slender shoulders. Sliding his thumbs under the thin straps, he dropped them. He pulled back, his breathing heavy, matching her pants, and he glanced at her, admiring how the neckline of the dress had slipped lower revealing her pale, swollen breasts. He dipped his finger along each swell and she leaned her head back onto one shoulder, closing her eyes.
He kissed the top of one breast, then the other, licking her wildflower-scented skin. She smelled good—tasted even better. Had he ever doubted that she was an aphrodisiac?
Her fingers came up, digging into his scalp, an invitation for him to continue his attention on her body.
Lifting one breast from the cocoon of the satin bra, he tested the nipple with his lips, then his teeth, nibbling the hardened nub. He suckled the pert pearl into his mouth until she groaned, nicking his scalp with her short nails. Most women liked their breasts played with, but Grace was nearly squirming out of his hold—edgy with the need for release.
He wouldn’t make her wait…
Holding her in the crook of his arm, he felt her tremble, holding her tight as he slipped his hand to the hem of her dress and lifted it, following the satin trail of inner thigh to the moist heat of her core. His knuckles warmed as he slipped one finger along the elastic of her panties, pushing the material away from the treasure of sweet, sweet Grace. He could practically smell the desire as it dripped onto his fingers. Finding the head covering her most sensitive spot, he pushed the wet skin aside and rolled the pad of his finger along the fleshy nub. She jerked, quaked, and whimpered which made his body harder.
“Gunnar.” His name fell off her swollen lips.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he whispered.
He pushed a finger into her nest, into the juicy opening and tested her tight body. Her muscles quivered around his digit and he rewarded her by pumping his finger while continuing to touch her clit. Her hands dropped to his shoulders, scratching him, tearing at his T-shirt. He heard the seam rip. She could rip it off his body for all he cared.
Her pants grew heavier. Her body creamier.
She was close…so close…
“Grace? Are you in here?” The voice called from inside the house.
Grace pushed Gunnar’s hand away so fast that he feared he’d hurt her. She fixed her straps just as Martha stepped onto the patio. He had managed to cross the space, pretending to admire the flowers, but really not wanting to expose the size of the bulge in his jeans.
“Am I interrupting?” The tone of Martha’s voice was cold enough to freeze the balls off of a pool table. Gunnar looked up, the woman’s eyes were on him in accusation.
“Gunnar and I were…just…well…” Grace glanced his direction as if she hadn’t quite recovered yet from his touch. His head was pulsing, but he responded.
“Going over the details of the greenhouse.” He sensed the shaking in his own voice, but he knew his dick had gone flaccid and his balls were the size of walnuts, thanks to Martha’s fiery gaze. Even his drill sergeant hadn’t had that instant, undeniable effect on him. He did believe she’d missed her calling.
“I’d like to speak to Grace alone, if I may?” Martha looked at him down the slide of her nose.
Gunnar looked at Grace and she nodded. “We’ll talk later. Thank—Thank you for the…meeting.” Her tongue came out, moistening her still swollen lips.
“Okay.” He brushed past Martha and made for the door.
****
Grace watched Gunnar leave. She wanted to ask him to stay, but by the expression on Martha’s thin face, this wouldn’t be a conversation Grace wanted him to be privy to.
“Martha, I didn’t expect you.” Grace was slowly gaining control of her internal chaos. Her body still tingled from Gunnar’s touch and his masculine scent lingered.
“I’d say you weren’t.” She sniffed. “Cooper called me. Told me you practically told him to never come back.”
“I didn’t tell him not to come back. I just made it clear to him that I can handle things around here.”
Martha’s chin came up and her eyes turned beady. “I wish that were true. Since that handyman came along, my grandson has been brainwashed with talk of war and being a hero.”
“What’s wrong with those things? I think the times of sheltering Daxton have come to an end, after all, he’s lost his father. He’s no longer an innocent to danger.”
“I’m not surprised, that boy has brainwashed you too,” she huffed. “Just look at yourself.”
“His name is Gunnar. I’m not brainwashed by him, or anyone.” Grace put some distance between them.
“Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on here.” Martha drew an invisible circle with her hands. “I can practically smell the sin in my son’s home.”
Grace gritted her teeth, counted to ten and hoped she could remain calm. “How many times have we talked about this? This is my home, Martha. I’m sorry that Trace is gone, I really am, but we can’t keep dredging up his death and living in the grief.”
“Oh, so what does that mean? That you’re moving on?”
“At least one of us must take the step.”
“And you call whoring around a step in the right direction?”
Grace’s wall crumbled. “I’m not a whore and you can’t talk to me like that here in my house—or anywhere. I am the mother of your grandson, not trash off the street. I’d advise you to remember that.”
Martha twisted her hands together. “You’re his mom, act like it! Sinning with that man is shameful.”
“No, Martha. For the first time in a long time, I’m feeling alive. You should try it sometime.”
Martha’s mouth snapped open. “Well, I’ve never…”
“No you haven’t and that’s the problem!” Grace held her chin high.
The other woman turned on her heel and hurried away. Ten seconds later, Grace plopped down into the chair and dragged in a needed breath. Her harsh words for Martha had been a long time coming.
Chapter Ten
Gunnar walked along the water’s edge. The sun glinted off the top making it appear as slick as ice. There was a calm here that he could appreciate, yet since he’d arrived, he’d been on edge. He wasn’t sure why…hell, he knew exactly why. Grace.
From the moment he’d found out that Trace was gone, Gunnar told himself over and over again that he was there to help and had to remain aloof. It should have been easy for him, but for the first time in his life, he was having a hard time not getting closer.
She was different than any woman he’d ever known, and he wasn’t sure how to act to these new feelings.
He took a seat under the oak tree and stretched his legs. He’d left Grace alone with an unhappy Martha three days ago and they hadn’t talked since. They were back to the silence and Gunnar eating his dinner alone. Maybe he’d overstepped his boundaries, but she’d seemed more than willing to kiss him and taking things to the next level again.
A whimpering sound made him stand and listen.
The whimpers grew louder.
Following the whining, Gunnar then
saw movement in the brush.
A wild animal? A creeper? Cooper Branson?
He snorted. It was his personality to always think the worst. This wasn’t the desert in the Middle East.
As he walked toward the movement, sticks and leaves cracked under his boots. His anticipation grew.
Once he reached the tree, a long fluffy tail waved into sight. A dog.
Lying in a pile of leaves was a large, but skinny, dog. Part of his fur was missing and a chunk had been taken out of his ear. He appeared hurt.
The dog looked at Gunnar in apprehension. “It’s okay, fellow. I won’t hurt you.” Cautiously, Gunnar bent and scratched the dog behind the ear. He received a slight perk of an ear. Examining him, Gunnar found that he was definitely a male. And looked as though he hadn’t eaten in days by his thin ribs.
“You poor boy.” Gunnar’s stomach knotted.
Dark eyes looked back . Someone had abused the dog and abandoned him in the woods. It appeared one paw was bleeding.
Gunnar took out a bottled water from his bag and uncapped it. The dog’s ears popped up in interest. “Yeah, you’re a thirsty fellow, aren’t you?” He placed the lid close to the dog’s mouth and poured the water at a slow and steady stream. He lapped every bit until it ran dry.
The dog still didn’t move though.
“We’re gonna have to get you out of the woods, boy.”
Not sure how the dog would take being carried, or if he was sore and seriously injured internally, Gunnar first smoothed his hand down his ribs. No growling or signs that he would bite. Carefully, he picked the dog up, too skinny for a dog his size. Gunnar could have sworn he saw gratitude. He’d always loved animals. Couldn’t stand to see them hurt or mistreated.
He didn’t have a long walk, but it was a bit of a challenge climbing the slick hill and attempting to balance the dog in his arms. He finally made it to the top and started down the path to the greenhouse.
“You’ve been through something, haven’t you, boy?”
Unexpected Hero (Buttermilk Valley Book 1) Page 11