I’ll have to call one of the plumbers Claire recommended as soon as possible. At least Daisy’s small garden seems to have survived the great flood, by the grace of God. I’m truly grateful, because I don’t know if I could bear her disappointment had I ruined her precious flower beds.
She’ll be even more dismayed if and when she finds out all the ways I’ve screwed things up with Claire, though.
What the heck am I even doing right now? Spending time with a woman I can’t have, throwing myself at temptation, deceiving myself and everyone around me … None of my actions have been in line with the life I’m striving for or the man I aim to be.
I let out a frustrated growl and reach for the string of rosary beads I keep in my pocket before turning to retrace my steps, but my mind continues to drift back to Claire as I recite the prayers that have become as natural as breathing for me. I’ve never felt any of thisbefore, the inability to stop thinking about her, even to the point of distraction, the compulsive need to get closer to her, the undeniable connection we share—it has to meansomething. I wish I understood whether I’m supposed to continue torturing myself and testing my restraint in the name of being a positive influence on Claire, or if I’m just fooling myself into thinking that.
The sight of her standing in the open doorway with a mug of coffee in her hand and her dogs playing at her feet squeezes the last of the oxygen from my lungs. I slow my pace as I reach her front yard, and the smirk she flashes me causes my heart to skyrocket. Who needs a cardio workout with a woman like this around?
“Good … morning,” I tell her when I stop to catch my breath.
“Morning,” she returns and brings her mug up for a sip. I force my eyes to skim her tattoo sleeve in lieu of a full-body scan, but it’s just as sexy as the rest of her.
“How are you today?” I ask with my hands on my hips.
“A little chilly. Seems my favorite hoodie’s gone missing overnight,” she muses, but she’s taking me in as if she likes what she sees.
“Too bad you don’t have a robe,” I reply, laughing when she clicks her tongue in annoyance. “I hope you don’t mind. Thought I’d go for a run this morning to check on Daisy’s house,” I add, gesturing over the hoodie.
“Don’t tell me you swiped my favorite pair of boxers, too,” she says, and my cheeks warm at the mention of my cheeky gesture of goodwill from our last sleepover.
I shake my head as I continue closing in the distance between us. “I wouldn’t dare, not when I know how much you love wearing them.”
She rolls her eyes playfully as she turns to go back into the house, and I follow her into the kitchen with the same enthusiasm as Oscar and Frankie looking for a scrap of bacon, though I tell myself it’s the coffee I’m after. Once I’ve helped myself to the same mug I used last time, the one with the outline of a lamb and a four-leaf clover, I take off the hoodie and setit on the counter.
“Camellia High FFA, Agricultural Education,” I read aloud as I study the logo.
“I don’t suppose you homeschooled babies were members of the Future Farmers of America,” she says, sitting with her mug.
“Not the LaFleur crew, anyway. We did join the 4-H Club, though.” That earns me a smile of approval. “In fact, my brother mentioned his kids were interested in showing livestock this year. I’m guessing that’s one of your specialties?”
“One of many,” she replies coyly. “What do they want to show?”
“Lambs.” I hold up the mug. “My parents were letting them pick from their spring flock, last I heard.”
She nods. “They’d probably have the best luck with a late winter or early spring lambing.”
I hum thoughtfully as I take a sip. “Were you a livestock show kid, too?”
“I was,” she says wistfully. “My mom would have preferred a debutante or a cheerleader, but she got an ag girl instead. Showing sheep and goats helped me pay my own way through college, though.”
“Wow, that’s impressive. Although, I shouldn’t be surprised at this point,” I say, sighing.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, though she seems amused.
I shrug. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
Her expression falls, and I could kick myself for being so insensitive again.
“I’m sorry,” I add softly.
She stands and moves to dump the rest of her coffee. “Speaking of FFA, I’ve got to get to work,” she announces. “Don’t forget your clean clothes in the laundry room. I’d ask if you needed anything else, but it seems you’re capable of fending for yourself.”
“Claire?” I call out.
She stops and lets out an exhale. “It’s too early in the morning for a heart-to-heart about my infertility issues, Rowan. In fact, I’d rather not talk about them at all.”
“I know. I … I just wanted to thank you again for your hospitality,” I fib.
