Chapter 14
October
Saratoga Springs
Grace putthe last of her new batch of soap in the cupboard, where it would cure for the next six weeks. It was quitting time. Her assistant had left an hour ago, but she’d wanted to get a bit more work done while Frank was busy outside.
She tidied up, then went to the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge.
He was at the back of her property chopping wood. He’d been doing it daily since he arrived, and at this rate, she’d have enough split logs for the next three winters. He’d even dragged her, albeit willingly, to the home improvement store yesterday so he could get a better ax. Something about a man needing a proper tool to get the job done right.
When she found him, she watched him work, because he didn’t look up.
He was a machine.
“I have beer,” she finally said.
He split one more log. “Excellent.”
“I’m worried about you.”
He set the ax down slowly and hung his head. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said softly. “You can tell me what’s wrong. I won’t be upset. Is this too much? Too fast?”
He lifted his head again, his mouth hanging open. “Shit. No, Grace. God, that’s not it at all. I’m sorry because I wasn’t clear enough that I’m just fine. I’m happy. I’ve thrown myself into splitting all your logs because it feels good. That’s all.”
Relief coursed through her. “Oh. Oh! That’s great!”
He smiled gently. “You were worried about me.” A statement. A soft, happy statement.
“I was. I am.”
“I worry about you too, but I wasn’t sure that was allowed.”
She laughed. “What do you worry about?”
“You not having enough logs split for the winter, for example.”
“I’m probably good now. And I can always order a cord of wood if I haven’t—”
“Why would you do that when I could—”
“Because—”
They stopped at the same time and just looked at each other. Then Frank sat on the stump, his ax clattering to the side. “Come here, woman.”
She laughed as he tugged her into his lap. She handed him his beer and they clinked bottle necks together.
“I want to get your firewood ready,” he said gruffly. “I want to be around a lot this winter, and I’m a weak California boy, so we’re going to need a lot of fires to get me through, you hear me?”
“I hear you,” she whispered. “I like the sound of that.”
“Do you? Good. Sometimes I’m not sure.”
She sipped her beer. “I’m sorry.”
He kissed her. He tasted like beer, and she liked that a lot.
