Chapter Twelve
Clara lugged an awkward box down from the attic. Thankfully, these were narrow stairs, rather than a ladder leading to and from the cavernous storage space. She’d have broken her neck if she had to carry boxes down a ladder.
She was three steps down the hall toward the guest rooms, when Zane emerged from his suite. “Can I help you with that?” He held out his arms to take the box.
“I’m good, but thanks.” Stubborn pride kept her from accepting assistance. She had gone through two dozen boxes and sorted out the items she’d stored in the attic during her cleaning phase. She’d narrowed it down to six boxes for the common area tree. The rest would come later. This was her first trip. Excitement zipped through her thinking about decorating for the holidays.
“I’m good with hauling a few boxes. I hate to see anyone carting stuff around without pitching in to help. It’s a curse. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve helped friends move because I can’t say no.” He chuckled and eased the box from her arms. “Are there many more?”
“Five more. That’s the most awkward one. Thanks. I’ve got the rest.”
“Or not,” he countered, taking the box. “I’ll run this down and come back up to help. I need a break from writing anyway.”
“Writing? Want to talk about your project?” He had said he was working on a personal project, was it a book?
“Back in a flash.” He jogged down the hall, obviously avoiding her question. It would be cool to write a book. But that was for smarter, more creative people. Music was her thing, not writing. She was still standing and thinking about his project and her own lack of creativity when Zane came back.
“Good, you waited for me. Lead me to your boxes. I’m excited to start decorating.”
His smile warmed her deep inside and erased her insecurity over not being creative. She pushed the self-doubt away. She was done being a slave to the insecurities she’d battled since failing to live up to her father’s expectations when her grades dropped after her mother’s death. From there to teenage angst over zits and weight. Her choice of career. Nothing had ever measured up for her father and in the end, she’d absorbed his criticisms and taken them as gospel truth. It wasn’t until she moved out that her roommates taught her that she had value as she was. Recovery from years of verbal abuse was a long-term project.
Since moving to Coyote Creek and diving into renovations, she’d realized she could do almost anything. Reading self-help books was aiding in herrecoverytoo. She was proudly independent of input from others, but maybe accepting help wasn’t such a bad idea.
“This way. The boxes are in the attic.” She skipped up the stairs, trying not to think about Zane following behind with his face at butt level.Did he like her butt? Did she want him to like it?She giggled at the silly thoughts.
“What’s funny?”
“Nothing.” Heat rose in her face as she hurried to the pile of boxes she’d set aside. “I’m just excited about Christmas decorating. I’ve never had total freedom to decorate an entire house. Having this huge place to fill with Christmas cheer is a childhood dream come true.”
He tipped his head and looked at her, as if considering something serious. “I love how your enthusiasm brightens your entire face.” He was right beside her, close enough that if she leaned left a little, she’d brush her shoulder against his. She stiffened her spine, holding herself in place.
“Anyway, these are the boxes.” She pointed to a pile in front of her.
Zane looked around the attic. “This place is huge and so organized. I was expecting a jumble of random stuff.”
“It’s clean now. When I moved in, I decided I needed a place to store items I wanted to keep. I went back and forth between cleaning downstairs and up here. I had a contractor build the shelving for me. I’m not much good with a hammer, though I am getting better.”
“You cleaned and renovated the entire house, that must have improved your skills.”
She smiled at his praise. She was proud of her accomplishments. The man was good for her soul. And completely dangerous to her heart. “I learned a lot. I hired professionals when I was out of my depth. But yes, I did most of it myself. I worked off some extra weight too. I’m in much better shape now.” She grabbed a box and fled the attic before she revealed even more. She didn’t want to become attached to Zane Ryder. He was a guest; he wasn’t hanging around. But if a local guy like Zane were to fall into her lap, she’d be interested.
She hurried down the stairs, trying to escape her attraction.He’s not for you, Clara.
She set her box on the coffee table; Zane set two alongside it. “Thanks.” The single word didn’t convey the depth of her gratitude. It was a simple undertaking, but he pitched in so willingly, unlike her father.All right already. Stop with the daddy issues!Haven’t you had enough of men controlling your thoughts? Zane is nothing like your father. He doesn’t act like him. He doesn’t look like him. He’s helpful and respectful. He’s a good guy. And, unlike your father, he might be worth marrying. Too bad he’s from the city.
“You’re welcome. I can manage the other two if you want to start unpacking. Then, we can get that tree into a stand. We’ll need a handsaw to trim the end, so it absorbs water properly.” Zane straightened the boxes, aligning them precisely side by side on the table.
“Right. I’ll find a saw. I have tools in the back. Can you shut off the light and close the attic door for me? Please, and thank you.”
“On it, boss.” He winked and turned away, leaving her staring at his back.
Unbidden, her gaze dropped lower. She felt like a pervert, she didn’t usually stare at backsides, butdang, he had a nice derriere. She hadn’t been interested in a man in way longer than she could remember. For certain she’d never looked at her last boyfriend’s butt and drooled.
When Zane was out of sight, she turned her attention to the decorations. Did a fresh tree need to rest before decorating? A quick web search suggested waiting a couple hours, four seemed average, other sites even recommended overnight. She’d wait a few hours. All night? Not happening.She was ready and raring to go.
“Have you considered a living tree?” Zane strode into the room, boxes in hand. “I mean for next year, since you already have this one.”
“I was thinking I’d put one in the library. I can pick one out at Patterson’s Tree Farm, where I ordered this one. I like the idea of being able to plant it in the yard next year. They come planted in a refundable, decorative pot.”
