Clayton, despite his mountain man good looks, was inserting himself directly into the middle of my job, and I didn’t appreciate it one bit.
“Fine,” I said tightly. “But you stay out of my way during the assessments.”
“Wouldn’t dream of getting in your way, ma’am.” His tone was mild, but I caught the glint in his eye that suggested he absolutelywoulddream of it.
Then he said, “But the roads are muddy, so we should take my truck. That way I won’t need to save you later on today when you get stuck in the mud.”
There was a certain logic to that.
Which was how I ended up pressed thigh-to-thigh with Clayton Armstrong in the cab of his pickup truck, bouncing along muddy mountain roads while his two dogs claimed the window seat like they owned it.
“Scoot over,” I’d said when I first tried to climb, but Nuts and Bolts had just stared at me with their big brown eyes, completely unmoved.
“They like the window,” Clayton had said, as if that explained everything. “You’ll have to sit in the middle.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I asked, dropping my professionalism for a moment. But the man had me so flustered it was hard to stay in control.
“Talk to the dogs, not me. They make the rules.”
I’d sighed.
The middle. Where the bench seat meant there was nowhere for my leg to go except pressed against his, our bodies swaying together with every bump and turn in the road.
He’d motioned for me to get in on the driver’s side, so I did. Then I’d slid into the middle, trapped between a surly mountain man and two drooling mutts who were hogging the window seat.
Neither of us mentioned itorshifted away. Not that there was far for either of us to go.
And now, here we were, stuck together again.
I couldn’t seem to get away from this man, and the way my pulse was fluttering in my throat, I knew I didn’twantto get away.
I stared out the windshield and tried to focus on the job ahead, but my mind kept wandering into dangerous territory.
How could I want a man like him?
He was everything I’d worked so hard to get away from.
A good old boy content with small-town life, doing nothing with his ambitions except fixing other people’s houses and renting out spare rooms for cash.
But then a sharp, unwelcome thought intruded into my mind.
If my life was so good, why didn’t I feel more satisfied?
I spent ninety percent of my existence in hotel rooms. I lived out of a suitcase, my entire world contained in matching luggage sets and color-coded folders.
Sure, there was a studio apartment waiting for me in Tucson, and a handful of friends I saw once or twice a month when I was actually in town. But was that really better than what Clayton had?
I thought about his house, small and shabby and patched together from salvaged materials. It should have felt like a dump. Instead, it felt like ahome…warm and lived-in in a way my sterile apartment never could.
And he had friends… and family.
A whole life here on this mountain. I’d overheard him chatting with his mom this morning, just like he’d done yesterday morning. In contrast, I hadn’t called my parents in over a month. I mentally added it to my to-do list.
I’d left my hometown in such a hurry that I’d never looked back to see what Ishouldmiss.
I could be a better daughter. I could visit more often. I could call.
Make an effort.
