Tiller stood up to gather the last of the dirty dishes from the table. “I’m sure you’re fine. Besides, it’s not like you’re actually going to deflower the guy on the first date.”
Mikey shot me a knowing grin. “I believe Sam’s preferred euphemism is ‘helping him fix his gate.’”
As Tiller laughed, I launched out of my chair to fake-tackle him, but before I got close, he shrieked and went running for the safety of Tiller’s arms over by the kitchen sink. I called him all kinds of names before finally booting the two of them out of the kitchen so I could clean up in peaceful silence.
While daydreaming about helping a certain sweet virgin…
Fix his gate.
8
Truman
How many kinds of cumin were too many for a cumin chicken date? And was Sam Rigby a briefs or boxers guy?
I glanced over at the pile of discarded underwear on my bed before taking another look in the mirror. If black made people look skinny, maybe black briefs weren’t the right choice for a man to try and make his… assets appear more… assetty.
I shimmied out of the black briefs and tried not to lecture them about being a little too slimming.
Next came the pair I’d picked up at Macy’s in Denver a month ago when I’d gone into the city for a supply run. These were little Calvin Klein boy shorts with a bright blue-and-green camouflage design. He wouldn’t mistake me for some kind of hunter if I wore camo. Would he?
Don’t be ridiculous. You hardly look like a hunter. Besides, he probably doesn’t even want to see your underwear.
I thought back to the way he’d looked at me yesterday.
Sam wanted to see my underwear. Or, rather, he wanted to see me without my underwear. I was fairly certain of it. And the thought made the Calvin Kleins prematurely tight, enough to make me seriously consider touching myself in an effort to keep from humiliating myself when the man arrived.
The sound of tires on gravel suddenly sent me running in a frantic, confused circle. He was here. He was here, and I was in my underwear.
“Clothes,” I muttered. “Any clothes. Put on clothes.”
Thankfully, I’d already set out my top choice. I grabbed the blue jeans and hopped into them before sliding my brown belt through the loops. The jeans sat low on my hips which was my only nod to trying to be cooler than I was. For once, I’d eschewed my more formal trousers to try and appear a little less dorky.
But then I put on my favorite short-sleeved button-up shirt with tiny pink sailboats on it, so it was probably a wash on the dorky front.
I didn’t have time to second-guess myself. I slipped my feet into my brown leather sneakers and raced out of my room, careening around the corner of the hallway before skidding to a stop by the front door.
He wasn’t there.
I peered out of the glass panes in the top half of the farmhouse door and spotted Tiller and Mikey’s SUV partway down the drive. The rear hatch was open, and Sam was busy rifling through various tools and supplies.
The gate repair.
I clapped my hand to my chest to calm my racing heart. I’d been so focused on the dinner date, I’d completely forgotten about the gate.
While I stood there catching my breath, I watched Sam’s large, capable body move through his tasks. His ass looked amazing in his jeans, and the broad muscles of his back and shoulders stretched his T-shirt as he moved. The worn work boots he wore added to the masculine look of him, and I wondered—not for the first time—what it was about big strong men that made them so damned attractive.
Especially when they had the power to hurt you. Or control you. Or scare the bejesus out of you.
I hadn’t heard from the Stanner brothers since filing the eyewitness report yesterday, and the silence sat heavily on my nerves. Retaliation was most likely coming, and part of me would rather it come in swiftly than have it hanging out there like the pall of doom.
I moved back to the kitchen to double-check everything was ready for his arrival. Had he left his groceries in the vehicle? Maybe I needed to grab them and at least put the chicken in the fridge.
Before heading outside, I grabbed one of my reusable water bottles and filled it with ice and water. It wasn’t particularly hot today, but he’d probably get thirsty doing physical work. Also, I didn’t know what to do with my hands.
On my way back to the front door, I caught sight of myself in the front hall mirror. My hair was a giant, flaming mess.
“Oh dear god,” I said to the horrific reflection. I put the water bottle down and tried to finger-fix my wild curls into some kind of orderly coif.
One of the joys of living in Colorado was being able to avoid humidity-hair which was super-important when your hair was as curly as mine. But I’d let it get too long, and it had crossed the border from adorably wavy to lion’s mane crazy about two weeks ago.
“There’s nothing for it,” I finally admitted to myself, pushing my glasses back up my nose. “This is going to be a disaster.”
On that pleasant note, I fortified myself, grabbed the water bottle, and headed outside to greet Sam.
He didn’t hear my approach until I was only a few feet away, but when he noticed me, his entire face lit up.
And my stomach exploded in a vat of drunken hummingbirds.
“Did you know that water is the only substance on earth found in three forms? Liquid, solid, and gas,” I informed him, shoving the bottle at his solar plexus. “Also, a hundred gallons of water are used in the growing and production of a single watermelon. I find that fascinating. And since one in six gallons of water is lost in leakage before reaching a water customer, just think of how many more watermelons we could grow if we fixed the leaks.” I glanced at him and tried not to assume he thought I was weird. “Not that we need that lost water for watermelons. I don’t think there’s a watermelon shortage or anything. But there’s definitely a water shortage. In Africa especially.”
Before adding the sad facts of time spent collecting water in Africa, I forced myself to stop talking.
Sam’s smile grew until it lit up the entire farm. With the heat from that smile, I could grow an entire year’s crop of anything. The hummingbirds swooped again.
“Hi,” he said softly before leaning in to press a kiss on my cheek. “You look good enough to eat.”
His lips lingered against my freshly shaved skin. I turned my face toward him the tiniest bit in hopes of “accidentally” brushing my lips against his, but he pulled back before I got there.
“Do you… do you need help?” I asked before realizing how ridiculous I sounded. “I mean, I could hold your… hammer?”
Why did that sound wrong? My face ignited while Sam’s widened into a smile, and he held up his tool.
“It’s a drill, but I’d love your company. How was your day?”
He moved over to the broken half of the gate and began to dismantle it. As he worked, I told him about finally starting the process of cleaning out the farmhouse attic.
“Even though she’s been gone several years now, I haven’t been able to bring myself to get rid of her things. But Barney’s been encouraging me to tackle it, and it’s the right thing to do.”
Sam glanced up at me. “I’m sure it’s not easy, though.”