She shook her head in an attempt to clear the thought. But she could still feel the heat on her cheeks from the erotic images. That eroticism where he was concerned still surprised her. It had never been that way for her even before Mick. “Can you pass the new locknut?”
Her cheeks fired even hotter at the unfortunate terminology, but thankfully he didn’t seem to notice. “The white plastic thing,” she clarified.
“I’m not a total idiot,” he said. “I know what a nut looks like. It screws on the bolt.”
She was clearly going off the deep end because everything was turning dirty in her mind. Instead she put an exaggerated impressed look on her face. “You’ll be fixing toilets around the compound before you know it.”
He shot her a look. “You know very well that I don’t live on a compound.”
“Anymore,” she qualified. He had a condo inHonolulu and a loft in DC. But to her knowledge he hadn’t sold the place where he’d grown up in upstate New York not far from the Rockefeller estate.
He shot her a glare. “It isn’t a compound.”
She gave him an exaggerated sigh. “Scott, anything that has a main house, a guesthouse, a gatehouse, a playhouse—with a bowling alley—and a boat shed is a compound.”
“I should never have told you about that.”
She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t tell me. I saw the pictures and pried it out of you.”
She regretted her words instantly. Their eyes held and she knew they were both thinking about other information she’d tried—with much less enthusiasm—to pry out of him.
She felt her chest pinch uncomfortably and wanted to say she was sorry. But she’d already said that. Instead she asked him for the bucket and went back to changing the valve.
Once the excess water had drained from the tank, she pulled out the old assembly and asked him to hand her the new unit, adjusting the height to fit the tank before putting it in. Less than five minutes later, the new valve was in place. She flushed the toilet, replaced the tank lid, and sat on the lowered seat. “Good as new,” she said with a smile. “Without the one-hundred-and-fifty-dollar repair bill.”
“A hundred and fifty? I’ve been ripped off. Last time I had to call in a plumber it was over three hundred bucks.”
“My father would have had a heart attack,” she said with a laugh.
But she quickly sobered. Her fatherhadhad a heart attack. The stress of losing the farm had been too much for him. Between that and the worsening diabetes, he could barely get up from his favorite recliner anymore.She was so worried about him. The news of her death would have been horrible for him. She’d give anything to hear his voice.
She sighed and started to get up.
But Scott stopped her.
• • •
The need to touch her had been instinctive. But the moment Scott’s hand closed around her wrist he knew it was a mistake. They were sitting too close and it would be too easy to pull her onto his lap and comfort her. Traitor or not, he couldn’t stand seeing her in pain.
Scott knew he should drop her wrist and let her go. It was getting late, and no matter how much he’d been putting it off, he needed to check in with Kate. He’d turned his phone back on a little while ago for the first time since yesterday when Natalie had insisted on calling the town manager—who she apparently worked for—to prevent her from showing up, and the message light was on. Colt had probably caught up with Travis by now so she might have news.
Scott stood from his seat on the edge of the tub. Having every intention of letting her go and walking away. Natalie’s emotional pain wasn’t his problem. He needed to keep a clear head and not cloud it up with sympathy.
But when it came to Natalie, knowing what to do and actually doing it were two different things—which was better than saying that he was an idiot.
She’d come to her feet as well, so all his plans to leave had done was to bring them closer together. His hand was still wrapped around her wrist, the soft beat of her pulse reverberating through him like a drum. There was something mesmerizing about it—almost primal in the connection. It had always been like that between them, even with something so small.
“You’re thinking about your father?” he said.
She nodded.
“You said he was in poor health?”
She nodded again. “He had a heart attack about seven years ago after he lost the farm and never really recovered. He also has ongoing complications from diabetes.” She looked up at him, tears heavy in her eyes. “I just wish I knew that he was okay. The news of my death would have been horrible for him—for all of them. But I feared that if I confided in them, Mick would find out. I thought it was the only way to keep them safe.”
She was obviously second-guessing herself and looking to him for reassurance.
“I would have done the same thing in your position.”
