Summertime Dream (12 page)

A throat-tightening thought surged: what if the future buyer knocked down the house?

Enough. You’re just borrowing trouble. What will be, will be. Focus on now, on enjoying this walk with Christopher.

****

If only a place existed like this in Los Angeles. Well, there was plenty of scenic, peaceful nature Christopher could drive to there. He had the Pacific Coast Highway and the nearby San Gabriel and San Bernardino mountains.

But he couldn’t ignore how this place just called to him. He laughed to himself. Maybe it was something like salmon returning to the river where they were spawned, some inherited connection that had come down to him. Mind-bending how long his family had lived here by this river. One hundred fifty plus years since Magnus Torvald Falk had laid claim to the land.

How many times had his ancestors walked the timeworn dirt track he now walked?

Birds swooped and sang and feasted on the wild blackberries. Bees zoomed about, filling the country quiet with their bustling hums. The orchard was a weedy jungle of dead and broken branches, but unripe apples and plums weighed down the living branches, as if the trees were boldly rebutting their decrepit state.

He also couldn’t ignore his attraction to the woman walking quietly beside him. As for trying to keep his distance this morning? That hadn’t worked either. No matter how sternly he reminded himself he was just passing through, he was too old, she was too young, his libido just wasn’t taking the hint.

And it wasn’t just as simple as she was pretty and he was lonely. He liked her mind, her laughter, her work ethic, and her gumption. He plain liked all of her.

The track broke out of the trees, opening up to a private and park-like riverbank, not a neighboring house anywhere in sight, with grassy sunny patches and cool shady places just beckoning for a person to come and sit a spell with a line in the water. Driftwood littered the high water line of the rocky bank. The collapsed ruins of a shed pinned one end of the rickety dock jutting into the river. More planks were missing than still clung to the dock. Across the scenic river, between breaks in the trees edging the bank, he caught glimpses of waving green.

“What do you think?” Margie hesitantly broke the silence.

“Real beautiful here. Be a nice place to have a picnic and fish. Want to sit a bit or do you want to go back?”

Her sweet smile bloomed, and she relaxed, as if she’d been worried about his answer. “Sitting would be nice.”

A chunk of sun-bleached log provided a comfortable seat at the edge of the shade. Peaceful quiet descended between them again. He sat leaning elbows on knees, hands clasped, soaking in the river’s restful liquid rush and burble. A dragonfly zoomed past and landed for a moment on a nearby rock, glittering in the sunlight before streaking off over the water. All the lifting and lugging today had left him tired and mildly achy. He could use a hot tub soak, if only the Wander Inn had one.

You’re not in LA anymore.

And didn’t he know it. “Do you know the people who own that field across there?”

“The Engbergs. They eat at our place every now and then. Nice folks. They have a farm stand. Mom always gets her peaches from them. She says they’re the sweetest around. I just love biting into a fresh-picked peach, all warm from the sun. Messy heaven.” She loosed a yearning sigh.

His mouth watered, but not exactly for peaches, and why his brain leapt from peaches to kisses with Margie, he didn’t know. Just working too hard. He wasn’t falling for her. He couldn’t afford to be falling for a girl when he was leaving in four days.

But those were great kisses. What would it hurt you to just chill out for a change and enjoy a few kisses?

He kept his fingers knotted, not trusting them to reach out and do something nuts like tug her closer and see if another kiss would be just as memorable. He cocked his head, stealing a look.

She smiled.

Caught.

“Feels good just to sit, doesn’t it? You worked hard today.”

“So did you. I can’t believe the difference in the kitchen. I really appreciate all your help.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I was thinking…would you like to order take out and eat here tonight?”

“Sounds fun. We could sort out some drawers.”

That didn’t sound so fun, but with Margie? Maybe it would be. Anyhow, he wasn’t ready for the day to end or her to leave. “Who do you recommend we order from? Anyone deliver?”

“The Chicken King’s your best bet for delivery.”

“The Chicken King?”

“The real name of the restaurant is Ring’s Place. But we all call it the Chicken King because of his sign—I should have shown it to you on our tour. ‘Dean Ring, The Chicken King—More cluck for your buck.’” She giggled. “Decent fried chicken, almost as good as Dad’s. And if you had any fried chicken on the Fourth, it was probably some of his.”

“Anything else?” He stood and stretched, unkinking tired muscles.

“There is a pizza place that will deliver from Collingswood, but the Chicken King is the better choice. Any other options, you need to pick up.”

“Chicken it is, then.” He held out his hand.

He honestly meant to start the walk back, but somehow instead managed to bring his mouth down on hers, losing himself in the long, lazy kiss, splaying his hands at the small of her back, brushing his fingertips over the sweet curves below. She was so soft, heaven to his touch. The need to breathe finally parted them, and he stepped away, struggling to gather his wits.

“We should head on back.”

She nodded, wide-eyed. “Right.”

The evening proved great fun and sheer torture. The chicken was as good as Margie promised, and they enjoyed their dinner as a picnic on the living room floor while sorting through a random selection of drawers. Margie kept him laughing with stories and anecdotes of Falk’s Bend that she’d grown up hearing. They didn’t turn up any photographs, but the drawers held an interesting collection of the flotsam and jetsam of the house’s existence. They tossed a good amount of pure crap, but more went back in the drawers than he expected to keep.

And he didn’t do any better at not kissing her good night than he had down by the river. He was making a bad habit of giving in to desire.

It sure feels good though, doesn’t it? Might as well admit the obvious.

Wednesday passed in a sheer state of denial, survived only by busting his ass working, and by Joe guilting Margie into leaving to have supper with her folks.

Thursday kicked off with the kitchen faucet knob breaking off in his hand and the shut off valve frozen in the open position. A call to Wes Green for a recommendation for a plumber ended with Wes stopping by to give him a hand to fix the sink and drop off the estimate on the boiler. Only Wes flirted, joked, and laughed with Margie the whole time he was there and even stayed for lunch again. Yes, the two had known each other since they were kids, but facts didn’t make the simmering jealousy plaguing Christopher any easier to deal with.

This was going to be a long three more days.

****

When Margie drove up on Friday morning, a Martin’s Landscaping truck and trailer stood at the curb. Dueling industrial-strength lawnmower roars and clatters reverberated from the backyard. The heady scent of cut grass saturated the warm morning air.

Christopher emerged from the house, in jeans and shirtless, and emptied a large box into the Dumpster with bangs and clanks. “Hi there.” He waved and strode up to meet her. His fit torso was craggy and strong like his face and that intriguing arrow of hair over his belly led up to a sturdy chest dusted with just the right amount of brown hair.

Attacked by a spell of crazy butterfly nerves, she managed a breathy “Hi” in return.

He brushed a quick passing kiss to her mouth and the scent of hot, sweaty Christopher shot her cravings into off the scale wild and crazy.

Oh, how very much she wanted...so much more than a passing brush of lips. “How was your morning?”

He grimaced. “Noisy. Hot. And I’m convinced the Falks didn’t throw out anything since the town was founded. But so far, so good. As you can hear, the brush cutting and mowing is going full steam ahead.”

She followed him into the kitchen, aiming for casual conversation, an impossible goal with her mind all mixed with Christopher’s scent and Christopher shirtless. Since when did a guy’s sweat smell fascinating? He had a gorgeous back. And the way his jeans fit…

“Coffee?”

“What?”

“Did you want some coffee?”

“Umm, sure, thanks.” Maybe caffeine wasn’t a very good idea, the way her pulse was skittering around and her face was glowing.

He paused and cocked a questioning brow, studying her. “You feeling all right? You look a little flushed.”

Caught. She dragged in a shaky breath, and fanned a hand at her face. “Oh, I’m fine. I was just rushing around too much at home to get ready to come over here.”

“If you had something to do at home, you should have taken your time. Not like we’re punching a time clock here.” He fixed two coffees.

Shaky laughter bubbled up. “True. Just, I know how much you want to get everything done before you leave. The urgency rubbed off, I suppose.”

He set both coffee mugs on the table and pulled up a seat opposite her. “Well, relax a little and enjoy your coffee.”

She took a sip, so distracted by the view of his strong shoulders and nicely muscular chest, the mouthful of coffee could have been water for all she could taste. “Ah, so what have you worked on since I saw you yesterday?”

“Mostly junking the broken crap. Trying to get as much out of the house as possible before I have to leave. After you headed home last night, I got through sorting out the drawers in the dining room. No photos. Mostly trash, but some nice things as well.”

“Oh, that’s good.” She managed to focus on the rest of their conversation enough to join in intelligently until they finished the coffee. Christopher headed out to the carriage house and Margie headed to the living room.

Except for a short lunch break, the mowing racket went on and on, sometimes near, sometimes distant, punctuated by the occasional snarling chainsaw or zipping buzz of a weedwhacker.

Then, silence.

“Hey, Margie!” Christopher shouted up the stairs. “They’re done. Come on out and take a look.”

She found him on the back porch, still bare-chested, sweaty and dirt-smudged, standing hands on hips, and looking pleased as punch. He turned and grinned. “What do you think?”

What did she think? Going by her flush and crazy pitter-pattering pulse, she had it bad for him. But, right, yard. She dragged her attention onto the landscape. The change was astounding. “It looks amazing. What a difference.”

No longer one broad brush-choked wilderness, the clean-cut stretches highlighted the pond, summerhouse, an old, sagging stretch of wire-fenced garden, other yard structures and bits of split-rail fencing, a field, and the distant orchard. The barn and carriage house looked oddly naked without their encroaching vines.

“They did a great job. Still needs a ton of work to really make it nice, but now at least a buyer can see there’s a yard to work with and some nice potential for landscaping.”

Her phone rang in on the kitchen table. “Just a second.”

Oh, good. Debi, not Joe checking up on her.

Debi launched in breathlessly. “Hi! Baxter got called in to work an overnight, and I know you’ve been busy, and I’ve been on my feet all day, so how about instead of going out like we originally planned last week, we order a pizza and watch a DVD at my place tonight?”

Oops. Her usual Friday night get-together with Debi and Baxter had completely slipped her mind. Christopher and she hadn’t made plans yet, but…

“Just a sec, Debi.” She put her finger over the phone. “Christopher? I completely forgot today was Friday, and I’d made plans with Debi last week for this evening...”

“Hey, no problem. Go have fun. You deserve a break. I have two proposals I need to draft. I really appreciate all your help and your company, but don’t go dropping everything for me. I’ll grab some take-out and hit the computer. I need to dig in and focus on my work before I get completely backlogged.”

“You sure? I feel bad. You only have two more nights here. Debi and I can always get together next week...”
When you’re gone.
That dismal thought hurt.

“Don’t. Enjoy your girls’ night.”

“Okay.” She returned to Debi. “Sounds good. See you at six then?”

“Perfect! Got to run. See ya.” Debi ended the call, leaving Margie staring at her phone.

Maybe she did need this evening’s space between them to get her mind clear about what was developing between them and what she wanted. Feeling was easy around Christopher, thinking clearly, much less so.

They returned to the never-ending cleaning and, all too fast, the afternoon flew by and the time arrived for Margie to leave.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I’ll bring the donuts.”

His light goodbye kiss just left her wanting more as she headed home to wash up and change, and he preoccupied her mind on the drive to Debi and Baxter’s new apartment in Collingswood.

Debi set up the snacks on the balcony table.

Margie handed over Debi’s drink and sipped at her own. “How’s the apartment working out for you two? Looks like you’re all settled in nicely.” Margie liked the comfortable layout of the two-bedroom unit, and the green space surrounding the buildings gave the development a relaxing park-like feel. The curtains she and Debi had shopped for hung fluffed and fresh at the windows. Books filled shelves and pictures added colorful life to the beige walls. Wedding and honeymoon photos stood lovingly displayed. A bitter tang of sorrow and jealousy washed through her for a moment before happiness for her friends won.

“We emptied the last box on Wednesday. We are both officially completely out of our parent’s places and I love it. I know I was doubtful at first. I thought an apartment would be too much like the dorms again, but this place is really nice. We did the right thing waiting for the unit we wanted, instead of rushing and settling for less just to get a place before the wedding.”