“You’ll feel it tomorrow.”
She laughs.
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a guarantee.”
She shakes her head, smiling. I turn toward my truck before I do something else that makes this more complicated than itneeds to be. Because it already is more than it should be. And I know exactly how this goes when I don’t stop it early.
Chapter 7
Rainey
Everything hurts. Not in a tragic, dramatic, call-for-help kind of way. More like every muscle in my body has decided to file a formal complaint. I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at my hands. They look fine. Deceptively fine. But when I flex my fingers, a dull ache runs up my arms like a reminder that yesterday, I apparently tried to become a pioneer woman without proper training.
“Okay,” I mutter. “We’re not doing that again.”
Because the soil is different now. That’s the part I can’t stop thinking about. Yesterday, it fought me. Today, it will be different since Troy used the tiller on it. I push myself up off the bed and immediately regret every life decision that led to this moment.
“Oh my God,” I groan, shuffling toward the bathroom. “Why do my shoulders hurt? I didn’t even know I had muscles there.”
The shower is the best idea I’ve had all morning. Hot water hits my skin and I nearly melt into the tile.
“Okay,” I sigh. “This I can work with.”
I tilt my head back, letting the heat soak in, and for a few blissful seconds, I don’t think about the cabin, the gutters, the money I’ve already spent, or the long list of things that still need fixing. Instead, I think about my future garden. Somehow, that doesn’t feel overwhelming anymore. It feels possible.
I drag my hands through my hair, working shampoo in slowly. And then, because my brain clearly hates me, it shifts to him … Troy. Why wouldn’t the large, quiet, extremely capable mountain man insert himself into my thoughts while I’m standing naked in a shower?
I close my eyes. Big mistake. Now I can see it clearly. The way he moved. Everything seems easy for him and controlled. It’s like nothing he ever touches fights back for long. I remember the feel of him standing behind me, adjusting my grip on the shovel. His hand over mine. His chest brushing my back. I inhale sharply and open my eyes.
“Okay. Nope. We’re not doing that either.”
I reach for the conditioner like it might anchor me back to reality.
“He is just helping you,” I say out loud.
A very normal, very rational statement.
“Because you clearly need help.”
Also true.
“And not because he’s…”
I trail off. Because he is. Everything about him has my brain spinning. The beard. The tattoos. The way he doesn’t talk unless he has something worth saying. The way he looks at things … like he’s already figured them out and is just waiting to see if you will too.
I rinse my hair quickly, like that will somehow rinse the thoughts with it. But, it doesn’t work.
I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around myself, catching my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed from the heat.
“Get it together,” I tell myself. “You moved here for a fresh start, not to immediately lose your mind over the first attractive man who knows how to operate heavy equipment.”
But he does know how to operate that thing. I groan and drag a hand down my face. This is ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. And yet, I can’t stop thinking about the way the soil changed under that machine. The way something that felt impossible two days ago suddenly feels manageable.
I pull on a loose T-shirt and a pair of soft shorts, then step outside barefoot, careful on the porch steps.
The air is cool this morning. But it carries that fresh, clean spring feel. I walk to the edge of the yard and look out over the tilled section. It’s not perfect. Still uneven. Still a lot of work ahead. But it’s softer. I step down into it, pressing my foot lightly into the dirt. It gives easily. A small, unexpected smile spreads across my face.
