Half Moon Hill (11 page)

It had been one thing to see her freaked out by the way he’d looked
before
—but the way he looked
now
. . . well, that was real life, how he could expect women to react to him from here forward. And it had been one thing to know it would be that way, but another to experience it. To see the repulsion in someone’s eyes. And especially someone as beautiful as Anna Romo. She’d looked as afraid of him as she had that first time in the woods.

Hammering the next board in place, Duke realized he was pounding at the nail too hard, leaving round dents in the wood.
Calm down. This doesn’t matter. This doesn’t change anything.

It’s not like he’d suggested working for her because he wanted to get in her pants, after all. He’d suggested it because the idea of some physical labor, of doing something solid and real that you could measure at the end of the day, appealed.

Before he’d left home and gone to California back in his early twenties, he’d spent most of his teens working with his dad and uncles constructing barns, docks, room additions—whatever anyone would pay them to build. And, of course, he’d done the same kind of work when he’d first come to this area, saving up the downpayment for Gravediggers.

He’d not realized he missed that kind of labor until he’d gotten a close look at her house and seen all that needed to be done. He’d simply felt the urge to do it, make it better than it was right now. And even though he’d asked her to pay him, it had nothing to do with money—he had plenty of money in a bank in Crestview. It just had to do with . . . needing to feel a little more alive than he did just hanging out in the woods all day. And that seemed . . . kind of healthy for a change—probably the healthiest feeling he’d had in a long time. And this was the perfect way to do that without having to dive right back into normal life, without having to deal with people. Well, except for Daisy Duke and her sexy little shorts.

Once he’d gotten used to the idea of her, those hot denim shorts had actually started seeming like a perk. But now it was a . . . perk gone wrong.

Doesn’t matter, though.
He’d just forget the perk part, the attraction part. He’d do what he’d told her—help her fix her house and consider it a decent way to spend his time. That was all.

And after that? After the house repairs are all done?

Well, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. This was a big house and it would take some time. Most of the summer at least. And a lot could happen over the course of a summer.

When the project was over, maybe he’d be ready to somehow ease back into real life again. Or . . . maybe he’d just go back into the woods and do a better job of letting them swallow him up this time.

D
uke had been working with Anna on the house for a few days now and she thought it was going well. Even if she hadn’t liked accepting that there were some things she just didn’t have the know-how or muscles to do, it was a relief to have someone who
could
do them. And despite the awkward moment she’d created after his haircut, things had been relatively normal since then. Especially since she’d spent part of the time gone—and since she knew she’d be spending even more of it gone now that she’d impulsively accepted Amy’s job offer.

And when she was here, well, sometimes she discovered herself finding even more reasons to leave. While he’d removed the gutters yesterday, she’d driven to Crestview and ordered new ones—with information and measurements he’d given her. And today as he’d taken off the shutters, she’d worked on sanding the old, half-chipped-away green paint off them in the driveway, one by one. Which was still being here, but . . . also being away from him.

“I’m starting a part-time job at the bookstore in town,” she’d told him earlier as he’d carried another shutter to the driveway for her. “So I’ll be gone some afternoons. But I’m sure you can carry on without me.” From the very first second he’d begun working on the house, after all, he’d pretty much started running the show.

He’d met her gaze briefly, but then shifted it away. “I’m sure I can, too.”

Whereas he’d started joking with her a little before—now, ever since the near-kiss, he’d gone all straight-faced and gruff again. One more reason to regret that almost move. She’d kind of
liked
a jokey, teasing Duke—much better than this huffy and puffy one.

But as she’d watched him walk away, disappearing on the other side of the house, she’d decided maybe this was for the best. Maybe if
she
put distance between them physically, and
he
put distance between them emotionally, it would . . . just ensure they kept things all business. As they should have in the first place.

Now he stood out in the hot sun between two sawhorses in the backyard, measuring and sawing boards into various lengths and sizes to repair the wraparound porch and front steps. Anna, conversely, sat in the shade of the screened-in porch looking at paint colors. She was trying to decide if she wanted to go for a cheerful palette, or if an inn should focus more on being warm. She liked the happy, sunny feeling of a buttery shade of yellow, but she was also drawn to a paint chip just a bit darker than Wedgwood blue. Something about it felt solid. If, in fact, a color could
feel
solid.

She didn’t need to make a firm decision yet, though, and she didn’t want to rush it and regret her choice later, so for now she set the color chips aside on the wicker sofa where she sat—and indulged in the urge to pick up Cathy’s diary again. She’d read more as time had permitted these last days, and though much of it had been dry recitations of schoolwork and a report on how much of what Cathy and her mother had canned one hot weekend in May, she still enjoyed getting a unique glimpse into this house she could have gotten in no other way—and she liked the idea that reading the diary was like bringing Cathy back alive in a sense, making her life matter all over again. More of Cathy’s records played in the other room as she read.

Checking her watch, she saw that it was almost five.
So I’ll read for a few minutes, then start dinner.
Not that she knew what dinner would be—while she’d dabbled with things like beef stew in the Crock-Pot, and meatloaf, back when it had been cold out, these days she tended to keep things light and simple, opting for hot or cold sandwiches. And she found herself glad her inn was going to be a bed-and-breakfast, because it meant she only had to perfect some dishes for one meal of the day—sadly, her meatloaf and stew hadn’t been much to brag about.

She glanced out at Duke again in the yard, still sawing away. He looked down at his work and didn’t see her watching, making her observation easier. God, he looked good. And not just his face now, either, but somehow cleaning him up had given his lean yet muscular body a whole new charm, too. She couldn’t deny enjoying the way the muscles of his arms and shoulders moved beneath his T-shirt as he sawed.

But stop. Thinking. Of him. Like that.

She pulled in her breath, glanced away.

Yet as she opened Cathy’s diary to the page where she’d last tucked the ribbon, she wondered if she should invite Duke to stay for dinner. Because she still didn’t know what he ate out there in the shack. And she had plenty. And there was really no reason for both of them to eat alone when they could eat together.

Well, except for her decision to keep things all business.

Which she really, really had to do. It had been one thing to try to be neighborly before she’d almost kissed him, but if she kept being that way, now it just seemed like an accident waiting to happen.

So no dinner offer.

And maybe this attraction would blow over as time passed. Maybe as they worked together, and got more accustomed to spending time together, the urge would go away. It could happen.

But for now, play it safe. Keep your distance. Don’t do anything stupid.
Because getting any more involved with Duke Dawson would definitely be a mistake. And the longer she sat there watching him work . . . well, the more the urges inside her grew.

She’d just had no idea he was so handsome. Or that his jaw had that strong, chiseled look about it. Or that under that beard he’d possessed a tiny, sexy little dimple in his chin.

And as she’d recognized before, the mere act of being handsome seemed to amplify other appealing things about him. His broad shoulders. His muscular arms. His potent gaze, something she might now even sometimes describe as downright smoldering. Still watching, she continued to enjoy the way his muscles moved when he worked—hell, she liked the way he moved in general.

Okay, but stop watching him now. Read your diary.
That seemed a much safer way to occupy her mind for the next few minutes.

Our beans are up in the backyard garden and Mother says this weekend would be a good one for canning them. I’m already so tired of early canning this year, though, that I could just die. And must we always do it when the weather’s so hot?

Robert is picking the beans now and tonight Mother and I will wash and break them. I offered to help with the picking, but Daddy said no—he still thinks Robert is some sort of danger to me.

Though Robert smiled at me once last week. While talking with Mother about the day’s chores, when she looked away he glanced toward me and gave me a friendly grin. And I don’t think he’s dangerous at all. Or if he is . . . well, it’s somehow more . . . enticing than scary, if that makes any sense. And I’m not sure it does, since how could danger be enticing and appealing? All I know is that when he smiled my way, it made something inside me sizzle like when Mother is frying up chicken in a skillet, and I wanted to know him better.

Ever since then, I’ve been hoping he might smile at me again, but he hasn’t. I keep watching him, though, since, if I get the chance, I might say hello to him, or if it’s across a distance, maybe I’ll wave.

Anna smiled to herself, remembering that
enticing
had been on a list of vocabulary words Cathy had written into the diary a couple of weeks earlier. Then she lifted her gaze back through the large screened window to where Duke worked. Was this the same as Cathy’s view of Robert when he’d been picking beans? She suddenly wondered if, when the home repairs were finished, she should perhaps ask Duke to plant a garden for her. And then she laughed at herself, all caught up in Cathy’s first crush.

Looking back to the diary, she turned the page and found entries about the end of the school year and attending the graduation ceremony for the class above Cathy’s. She’d gotten another new dress for the occasion—white with tiny pink rosebuds—and she liked it particularly because the cut was more grown up than most of her dresses. And while Cathy was glad school was over, the weather sounded unseasonably hot even for the start of June, and the summer seemed to be stretching endlessly before her without any friends or fun nearby.

Then came an entire two page entry about a blue and black butterfly that kept coming to the flower beds lining the porch, and how Cathy came to think of it like a friend. Which made Anna sad.
This is what happens to people who spend too much time alone in a big house. They start hanging out with butterflies. And talking to cats.

She turned the page, pleased in a totally voyeuristic way to see that
this
entry was about Robert. Because Anna liked butterflies just fine, but Robert was a lot more exciting.

This afternoon I was sitting on the summer porch watching Robert hoe weeds from the cucumber patch in the garden. The sun was beating down hot—it was hot even in the shade—and I began to think he looked thirsty. Daddy was still at the bank and Mother was in her sewing room upstairs, so I decided to take Robert a glass of lemonade.

I thought maybe I’d be nervous doing it, but instead, I walked right up to him, bold as you please. Because the moment seemed to call for that, you know—I think if you’re going to do a thing, you’ve got to just be brave and do it. Otherwise, what’s the point? And so I held out the glass I’d poured and I said, “Thought you might enjoy this on such a hot day.”

He looked up at me, looked right into my eyes. His were so green, like a pine tree. I’d never noticed that before, having only been close to him a few brief times, but now I couldn’t stop noticing. When he took the glass, his hand touched mine and it sent a wonderful tingle all through me. He smiled and said, “Thank you,” just that, but something in the way he said it made me feel . . . special somehow. Like . . . if Mother had given him the lemonade, he’d have appreciated it and all, but not in the same way.

I stood and watched him drink it. I wasn’t sure if that was the thing to do, but I reasoned he wouldn’t want to be bothered with the glass afterward, so I decided to wait. And I found myself feeling oddly jealous of that cool, sweet lemonade sliding down his tan throat. And seeing mysteries in him that I wanted to solve.

When he gave the glass back to me, he said, “Appreciate it, Cathy.” He knew my name!

“You’re welcome, Robert,” I told him. Because I wanted him to know that I knew his, too.

Anna clapped the diary shut, sighing with satisfaction. She didn’t want to turn the page because nothing in the next entry could match this—and she wanted to savor Cathy’s moment a little while, as if doing so somehow brought it back and made it real again, not just a long ago occurrence that no longer mattered in anyone’s world.

Then her eyes fell back on Duke in the yard. He looked hot. Figuratively and literally. He appeared absorbed in his work, so she felt comfortable narrowing her gaze on him. Had his T-shirts always fit him that way? And his jeans? Something about the way those jeans hugged his butt—not tight but not loose—was somehow just right. And—oh Lord—there was a bulge. In front. She wanted to get closer to it on sight.