“I’m fine,” she said over her shoulder, but there was a shake to her voice.
“You don’t have to prove anything, you know, especially not by working harder and not smarter.” An ironic thing to say, given that I was, in fact, trying to prove she couldn’t handle this place. I craved that gotcha moment where I could prove to myself and her I belonged here and she didn’t.
“I’m not an idiot, Grant, you’re putting me through my paces. Trying to freak out the city girl so she runs off and leaves you to your happy hermit life. But I’m not going to be run off so easily. This place was important to Uncle Walt, and so it’s important to me.” She punctuated her sentence by shoving her hand into the gutter again.
Chapter Nine
Kara
Stupid alpha male bullshit, I thought as I worked, clearing the gutter of a combination of needles, cones, dust, and who knew what else. It was disgusting, and a chore I had always hated. But clearly Grant wanted a dick-measuring contest, and I wasn’t about to back down.
A spot of bright blue caught my eye in a sea of green and brown. It looked like a feather. There was a good sign if I ever saw one. Bird feathers were supposed to be good luck. I reached for the feather and picked it up, realizing too late that it was attached to a bird’s wing, a very dead bird’s wing.
I flung it to the side, luckily avoiding it landing in our fresh stain. “Shit, shit, shit. I touched a dead bird. Oh my God, that is not a good luck sign.”
I descended the ladder too fast, kicking myself for not having put on the damn gloves. My boot slipped a few rungs from the bottom, and I braced to hit the ground. Instead of the hardwood of the deck slamming into me, I felt Grant’s strong hands wrap around my hips behind me.
“I got ya,” he said with a grunt as my weight hit him.
I let my heart rate calm for a moment before I looked over my shoulder. His chest was pressed firmly against my back, his hands still holding me tight. He smelled like hard work and man. “Are you freaked out from the fall or the bird?” he asked, his breath skating across my cheek.
I huffed a laugh. “Definitely the bird. I need to boil my hands.”
“Probably a good idea. Gloves would have been a better idea but—”
“Do not finish that sentence,” I snapped, but there was no bite to it. Not when it felt this good to be held against his hard body.
Tuck, who had been sleeping in the shade under a tree, wandered over to see what the fuss was about, and immediately descended on the bird carcass.
“Tuck, no,” Grant said, stepping away from me and toward the dog.
I immediately missed the heat and feel of him.
Quicker than I would’ve thought possible for an old dog, Tuck flopped down on what used to be a stellar jay and started rolling around on it.
Grant hung his head. “Add bathing Tuck to the chore list.”
I pushed my pride aside and let Grant finish cleaning the gutters—this time with gloves. Luckily, the roof didn’t need any major repairs, so after washing my hands a hundred times and a quick lunch, we moved on to chore number three.
We had to get it done quickly since we had a very smelly dog to contend with before the sun went down.
“Have you used an axe before?” Grant asked.
“Not competently. Uncle Walt only let me use the hatchet.”
He snorted. “Well, let’s change that.”
He held the axe out to me, and I took the rough handle.
“This thing is heavy,” I said, resting it against my shoulder.
He nodded. “The weight of the axe does the work.”
“Yeah, but I still have to heave it up first,” I grumbled.
Grant didn’t look sympathetic. “Feet shoulder-width apart. Remember, let the axe do the work. Don’t muscle it.”
I positioned myself the way he said and lifted the axe. It wobbled slightly. My circuit class at the gym didn’t exactly prepare me for trying not to cut my foot off.
