You haven’t been very kindly, Beverly Townsen, my conscience scolds.
I hobble over to the makeshift bed and allow myself a seat.
Goldilocks is gonna get caught.
I just need to rest for a second, but my curiosity holds me in place. I reach for the books on Jedd’s crate-stand. Taming of the Shrew. Hamlet. Shakespeare? My brows lift at the unexpectedness of his reading selection. One is a comedy of errors and assumptions. The other, a prodigal son returned to right the sins of his father’s brother. Interesting selection for light, nightly reading.
I return the books to their place, hoping I have the angle of their original position correct. My vision travels the room, not yet ready to leave Jedd’s abode. Having removed the arm cuffs when I sat, I scoot to the end of his bed and open the trunk. Inside is a pile of what looks like extra-large belt buckles and some placards. Pulling one forward, I read the engraving: World Champion Rodeo. Professional Armed Forces Rodeo Association. Bucking Bronc Champion. Jedd—
A rustling in the hayloft above draws my attention. It’s more than the sound of a trapped bird’s wings flapping or a small creature scampering for cover in hay because there’s no longer any hay up there.
“Hello,” I call out. My palms anxiously sweat. I lunge to the side and drop the buckle on top of the other trophies inside the trunk. Hastily, I knock the lid to close the storage unit, which gives off a loud clack, and I reach for my arm crutches. Slipping my forearms into the cuffs, I position the metal legs to hoist myself upright. I haven’t had this much motivation to move in years, and an unfamiliar thrill rustles through me as I hustle to remove myself before I’m caught where I shouldn’t be. Once righted, the shifting of boards above me creaks once again.
“Hello?” I say, not quite as loudly as before. If something large and possibly human is within the confines of this barn, I won’t be able to outrun him. I lurch forward, hoping to make my way across the dirt-packed flooring of Jedd’s room. My crutches make circular divots in the fine grain, and I use my foot to swish at the evidence. I’m almost to the entrance of his space when a panel of sorts fills the opening, and I pause.
“Well,” Jedd says as I squeak at the sudden barrier, and he glances around it. “Seems I’ve finally trapped my mouse.”
I haven’t been face to face with Jedd since our initial meeting. The whisper of his touch tickles over my cheek again. The hard lines on his face give him a stern expression, and I’d worry he is seriously angry if his dark eyes weren’t twinkling.
“What mouse?” I choke, struggling to find my voice as his eyes roam down my body. I swallow and attempt to stand taller, but there’s no hiding my condition from him. He can’t ignore the crutches around my forearms or the way I lean into them for support. I don’t go out in public with them, but still, there’s something about the way Jedd is looking at me. My eyes travel to his arm.
Does he understand what I’ve been through?
“Someone’s been stealing my food,” he states, interrupting my thoughts. “Finally got around to getting a door and a lock for my little corner of heaven.”
I snort at the thought of this dirty barn being celestial, and then I realize what he said.
“Someone’s stealing your supper?”
“Yep. Although I don’t know why you’d want it?” His eyes land on my hands, which are clearly empty as is his accusation.
“Of course, I don’t need your food. Don’t be ridiculous. My sister takes me to the Piggly Wiggly once a week. My kitchen is stocked.” I speak rather sharply, and guilt riddles me as I realize, once again, I haven’t been a generous hostess. This man is living out of a crate with powdered potatoes and canned beans, and I have a kitchen filled with fresh food that I hardly use.
“Maybe you’re trying to run me off? But a giant mouse making off with some macaroni and cheese every morning isn’t enough to frighten me. All the same, I’m tightening up security.” He winks as if the barn is some exclusive resort rather than an out-in-the-open space with easy access. “You want to tell me what you’re doing in my room if you aren’t the thieving rodent?”
“I…” No reason to lie. I’ve been caught crutches-handed, which Jedd scans once again. The funny thing is, the skim of his eyes down my arms feels like a soft caress. Like his bare knuckles might travel over the underside of my forearm. “I was curious.”
“That killed the cat.” One brow tweaks up as he stares back at me with deep, midnight eyes that question my intentions. “Maybe I should get one to scare away the mouse and unwarranted guests.”
“I’m not afraid of a little cat,” I huff.
“Not afraid of a little pussy myself,” Jedd says, and my mouth gapes at the crudeness of his comment. His face holds firm, but mine heats, and a rush of prickling pinkness creeps up my neck. I’m ready to reproach him for his boldness, but he steps aside to set the new door against the outside frame of his room. When he crosses back into view, he’s blocking my exit, and his eyes traverse his room, landing on the trunk.
“Find anything of interest?” he questions.
“Nope. Nothing here I’d ever want,” I state, meeting his gaze. My fingers curl over the handle of the crutches, turning white as I lie.
“Yeah, I doubt it.” He smirks, crossing his arms as if he’s reading me. We glare at each other in silence for a moment. “I’m surprised Tripper hasn’t done more work around here for you.”
I blink. “Tripper?” I blink again.
“Yeah, you said the other day you needed to get back to Tripper, and I just thought your man should be a little handier around your place.”
“My man?” I mutter, still staring at him.
“Tripper is the name of your fella, right?”
“Riiiiiight. Tripper.” My man, Tripper Hanes, elite handyman of a reality television show. He’s my man. I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent my laughter.
“On that note, I wanted to apologize again for the other day. Hashtag me too. I shouldn’t have touched you without your permission. You were right. And I apologize too because you have a guy.” Jedd nods, his apology finished, but I list forward, shocked that he’s apologizing and surprised he thinks I have a boyfriend.
“Let me help you.” Jedd easily reaches out for me, but I withdraw from his touch, my eyes drawn to the claw on his wrist.
“I have it,” I snap although I don’t. My heart hammers in my chest, a mix of emotions.
I don’t want him to be sorry he touched me.
He won’t touch me again.
I don’t want him to touch me again.
But I do.
My arms are quaking, and my legs tremble. My upper body strength is lacking, and it’s another reason I hardly use the crutches. I need to exercise more. And I’m still fighting the chuckle that he thinks I have a man. Wonder what he’d think if I told him Rehab Dad Duncan was more my age.
“I’m headed back to the house,” I say as if going to the house by way of his room inside the barn is a route.
Jedd steps aside, releasing a huff as I start my journey past him.
“If you want to know something about me, all you need to do is ask.” His tone holds more invitation than warning, and the rushing within me settles a bit. I shouldn’t have been snooping through his things. As I continue forward, I hear the dirt scuffle behind me.
“I said, I got it,” I mutter over my shoulder, noticing Jedd following me.
“I’d like to walk you back all the same.” My heated veins warm a little more. When was the last time a man walked with me? When was the last time anyone walked with me? I expect Jedd to grow agitated with my slow, dragging pace, to exhale in irritation and decide to turn back for another day of solitary work, but he saunters beside me as if the day has more than twenty-four hours. As our elbows almost brush, it’s strange to have another person this close to me.
We travel in silence for a few minutes, but it seems as though it’s taking a millennium to cross the gravel. My eyes eventually focus
on the meager collection of tomato plants on the back steps. Another of Hannah’s Momma-needs-a-hobby idea. At one point, I had a beautiful garden full of daisies, black-eyed Susans, coneflowers, bee balm, and butterfly weed. They attracted so many butterflies native to the area: Monarch, Tiger Swallowtail, and even the Eastern Tailed-Blue Cupido, less seen but one of my favorites. The garden was a luxury Ewell had allowed me. I’d save seeds from one year to the next, doubling and then tripling the size of my plot. I’d even experimented with cross pollination, which was difficult. I’d once had bees. Nature’s pollinators. I sigh with the memory. The garden’s gone to weeds, and the bees were set free. I can’t work the dirt as I once did.
The tomatoes are in pots, but lately, the hungry night critters steal my efforts. When I see the withering stalks with the slowly disappearing vegetables, I consider how much I hate tomatoes after ten years. I miss my flowers, and for some reason, this makes me blurt, “I suppose you could come to supper in the house.”
I don’t look at Jedd as I extend the invitation, too afraid to see the rejection in his eyes. Why would he want to eat in the house other than to have a hot, home-cooked meal? Why am I considering it more than a peace offering?
“I promised I wouldn’t impose.”
“I wouldn’t ask if it was an imposition.” How is it imposing? He needs to eat. I need to eat. It’s not a date. A date would imply conversation and preparation, and I’m not tion-ing anything, so imposition this is not. It’s dinner. Just dinner.
“I don’t cook much, but I won’t kill you.” I can’t remember the last time I truly cooked any meal, much less one for a man. Hannah usually makes us something, and we eat early to accommodate her schedule, or she preps foods that can be eaten cold: sandwiches, salads, leftover fried chicken. We also have a generous gifting from the outreach community, giving us a freezer full of tuna casserole and meatloaf.
“Death by dinner.” Jedd chuckles. “Didn’t die from an electrical shock, so I don’t think a little meatloaf can hurt me.” When he holds up his left arm, the sunshine reflects off the metal end. Puzzled, my expression prompts him to continue. “Was in the military for years, and no enemy could take me down. But I worked construction to help rebuild a town in the Middle East, and like a dumbass, I reached for an electrical wire. They tell me I was dead for five minutes. When I came back to life, I was missing an arm.” He chuckles, but there isn’t much humor in what he’s just told me. “I don’t like to claim wounded warrior status, as I wasn’t hurt it in combat, but people like to make assumptions.”
“And you let them think what they will?”
“Ain’t nobody’s damn business what happened to me. I’m not afraid to share the story if people ask, but it seems like such a foolish mistake to admit. And most people don’t ask. They just assume. Veteran. Wounded soldier.”
My brows pinch as I stare at his arm, really taking in the mechanics of it and the shoulder holster keeping it attached to his body.
“Is it heavy?”
“You get used to the weight.”
“Does it hurt?”
Jedd wiggles his arm and snaps the metal tongs together. “It gets itchy in the heat, but so do lots of body parts. You get used to it, too.”
“Do you miss it?” My lips clamp together after I ask such a question. Of course, he misses his arm. It’s rude that I asked, and the furrow to his forehead tells me so, but I turn my shame back on him by glaring. He said I could ask about anything I wanted to know, but I’ve crossed a line here. Jedd’s head turns to the left, his hands coming to his hips.
“You’re something, Bee.” He shakes his head, and my brow pinches at the nickname.
“Do you have to wear it?” The question equally surprises him, and I realize my lack of social interaction has reduced my interrogation filter. I’m about to tell him he doesn’t have to answer me when he speaks.
“No, but sometimes it freaks people out when I don’t have it on. If I showed up here with only one arm, you might not take me seriously. Seeing two arms makes it easier to believe I can do all I say I can.”
“What makes you think I take you seriously, arms or no arms?”
Jedd looks at me for another second, and then his lip curls up in the corner. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you, honey?” The other corner curves, and suddenly, Jedd Flemming is smiling at me, and it changes everything. The stern edges of his face soften, pinching his cheeks and squinting his eyes as if the sunshine blinds him. Only he’s the one blinding me. His teeth are white and straight and his lips a deep red, and I’m curious once again what that mouth would feel like against mine.
Curiosity killed the cat.
The man said he isn’t afraid of a little…
I can’t repeat the term. It’s embarrassing to admit how much the innuendo affected me. How my…nether region…pulsed, and an errant sensation filled me. His mouth. My…
“You’re turning fire engine red there, Bee. Whatcha thinking about?”
“It’s Beverly. Bev. Er. Lee,” I emphasize, ignoring his question. There’s no way on this green planet I can tell him my thoughts. Then another thought occurs. No one’s ever given me a nickname. It’s very…Tripper Hanes. Jedd’s hand comes forward, hesitating, and I hold still. Even my breath gets caught in my throat before his fingers cautiously cup my chin. His thumb extends upward, and he rubs my lower lip. My, he takes liberties. I should admonish him, I should scold him, but I can’t find the words as his eyes follow the line of the thick pad tracing over my pouting mouth.
“Nah, you’re a bee, like the pollinator.” Jedd snorts before making a buzzing nose and moving his hand away from my mouth and through the air like the hyper insect. “You’re full of sting, Bev-er-lee, but you don’t fool me. Your tongue is sharp, but it’s only words. Nothing long-lasting. Sticks and stones and stuff.” Instantly, I think of Howard. Only words. Thousands of insulting words. I step back from Jedd, giving us some much-needed space.
“Bee stings can be deadly,” I snap. “I’m allergic.” The pollinators’ potential can be just like words that cut deep, very deep. A metaphor isn’t unwarranted. I’ve been stung by many a bee, and the itching, throbbing aftereffects lasted for days. A strong reminder that while the initial pain lasts a second, a sting lingers long after the offender is gone. Just like words. Hurtful words. And mean men.
“Really?” Those midnight eyes widen in concern.
I hate that I can’t lie. “No, not really.”
Jedd chuckles. “Teasing me again.” He pauses another second and then tilts his head. “Having a sense of humor is good. I like that. I’ll figure you out yet, Bee.”
He wants to figure me out? What’s to figure out? A lump forms in my throat.
“I admire you, you know?” He admires me? “You’ve been able to keep this place. With all that you’ve been through, all your daughter has done, you still have your land, and that’s something. It’s admirable.”
Admiration. No, no, no. Determination maybe. Dedication possibly. But admiration is not what we have here.
“So dinner?” he interjects on my -tion list. “Will Tripper be joining us?”
“Tripper.” I bite the inside of my cheek. People think what they want, he just said, because they don’t ask. “Not tonight. We eat at six.”
We’ve been standing outside by my back steps. Jedd’s eyes haven’t lingered on my crutches, and over the course of time, I’ve become less and less conscious of them. What are we even talking about? I’m lost again in Jedd’s smile, and he’s looking at me as though I’m a drooling idiot, which is how I feel.
Will he touch me again? I might not complain.
“So…”
“Oh…” We speak at the same time, and I stand a little taller, ready to dismiss him. I’ve had an overdose of Jedd’s junk—I mean, The Jedd Juncture—and I need a commercial break from that smile that makes me feel warm and fuzzy when I don’t warm and fuzzilate.
“You go…” we say in unison, and now I blu
sh. This is silly.
“I was going to say see you at six.” I nod, dismissing Jedd, but he holds firm a second.
“I was going to ask what interests you. You said there was nothing of interest in my room, but what does interest you?”
My eyes leap to the outline of where a garden once stood. Where weeds are more predominant than flowers. Taking a long minute, I realize I don’t know where my interests lay. Where did they go? What do I like to do?
Momma, you need a hobby. Something to keep your mind active if your body can’t be.
“I fucking hate tomatoes,” I blurt, and Jedd’s eyes widen, his lids blinking once before his lips curve again.
“Okayyy…” He waits. I waffle. I have no idea why I said that other than it’s the truth. I’m sick of tomatoes.
My eyes meet Jedd’s. Oh Lordy, that is not a good idea. The gleam to them is like a beacon, calling me to say all the naughty thoughts in my head, curse the things in my heart, and strip bare the truths I’ve been holding deep inside for a long time.
It’s not like he asked you to rip off your clothes. I might if he asks.
“I don’t have any interests,” I snap, suddenly irritated with his asking.
Jedd nods, pursing his lips. “Okay, Bee. You have until six to think on it.”
What? “What?”
“See you at six, and I want one thing of interest. Dinner conversation.” He tips his head as if he’s wearing a cowboy hat and turns for the barn.
Conversation? No tion-ing, my brain screams. Discussion or otherwise.
And definitely no admiration.
Chapter Seven
[Jedd]
Grady’s Seed and Soil was just outside Green Valley proper and one of the only places around for farm and feed supplies. As a frequent visitor when I was a teenager, Vernon Grady and I had struck up your typical farmer-kid friendship. Backroad driving. Empty field partying. Late-night shenanigans. And neither of our daddies spared the rod at our unruly behavior. But where Vernon’s father had visions of his oldest son taking over the family business, my stepfather had other plans.
Love in Deed: A Silver Fox Small Town Romance (Green Valley Library Book 6) Page 7