Want to finish my sleeve. Thinking a wolf and a bear. Some trees in the foreground. And maybe some ferns.
He hit send before he could second-guess himself.
The walk to the community garden plot only took a minute, and with every step, his anticipation built. He told himself it was about the work. About getting his hands dirty and doing something productive.
But when he saw Fern kneeling in the dirt, her sky-blue shirt riding up to expose a strip of smooth skin at her lower back, he knew he was lying to himself.
The heavy work was taking place today. One of the guys manned the skid steer, stripping the turf off the plot and pushing it to the side. Another guy shoveled it into a wheelbarrow to cart away.
And a third veteran was chatting with Fern. He said something that made her laugh.
Crew set off at a fast clip.
“Morning,” he called, his voice a low bellow as he closed the distance. “Thought you could use a hand.”
She smiled at the vet and broke away. When she approached Crew, her cheeks flushed. “I’m glad to see you here.”
He stepped closer, close enough to catch the scent of her—something floral and earthy that made his mouth water. “I’m glad to see you.”
She shifted her feet in the freshly turned dirt. “Thank you for being there for me…after what happened.”
“Did you see the truck again?”
She shook her head. “No sign of it, and nothing on the security cameras either.” She blew out a breath as if releasing the tension of the event. “I’m so humbled that you and the others are helping me. I haven’t had friends in a long time.”
He inched closer, unable to stop himself. “I’m here for you, Fern.”
Even though she ducked her head, he still caught her smile, and pleasure spread through his whole body at the sweetness of it. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and he tracked the movement, fascinated by the way the sun caught the copper in her darker auburn waves.
Standing there with the morning sun on his face and the most beautiful woman inches from him sent a surge through his chest. After how long it’d been, it wasn’t exactly familiar.
Also not unfamiliar for what it was.
Happiness.
She swallowed hard, and he watched the movement of her throat, imagining his mouth there. Tasting her pulse. Making her gasp his name the way she had when he’d kissed her.
“Crew…”
“We should get to work.” He took a deliberate step back before he did something stupid like kissing her again in broad daylight where anyone could see. “Show me what needs doing.”
She nodded. He followed her to the pile of dirt that had been moved. She picked up the shovel. He took it from her, their fingers brushing, and electricity sparked between them.
This woman was going to wreck him.
And he was going to let her.
* * * * *
The low drone of the skid steer’s engine filled the air, drowning out the sounds of the Black Heart Ranch. Sod tore loose in long, satisfying strips as Colt Malone, one of the brothers she just met, worked the equipment with practiced ease.
Everywhere Fern looked, something was in motion.
She moved between clusters of veterans, the work flowing around her in an organized rhythm that surprised her. Pope had appointed himself the muscle and cleanup, hauling rolled sod and clearing debris from Colt’s passes.
A tall, muscled guy wearing a worn LA Dodgers ball cap didn’t talk much, but he followed close behind with the tape measure, resetting stakes when they shifted. Ahead of the machine, string stretched tight between wooden stakes aspathways took shape—order emerging where grass had been moments before.
Fern checked a curve, tugged the string taut, then stepped back to judge the line. That was when she glanced up—and her focus slipped.
