12

“I thought I’d see if I could be of some help,” Grace said, nearing the makeshift sawhorse where Robert was bent over measuring the length of a piece of wood. He glanced up, pencil between his teeth, pausing as she approached. The blue color in his flannel shirt turned his steely eyes into a cool shade of blue.

He removed the pencil, lifted the board to feel its smooth edges where he’d sawed the length. “You might help by lifting the edge of that chicken wire I’ve already nailed while I push this board underneath.”

She moved quickly to assist him, while the chickens walked about picking at the ground and, occasionally, her boot tops. “I sure hope that coyote won’t come slinking around again.”

“Guess you aren’t good with a gun or you’d have put a bullet through him,” Robert said matter-of-factly.

Grace felt her face flush. “That’s not entirely true. I do know how to use a gun, but he was already nearing the woods by the time I ran outside.”

He moved to stand next to her, sliding the wood beneath the wire. “Let me get a couple nails to hold it in place. Then we can place the wire back across.”

Grace nodded, noting the outdoorsy smell of him and the very nearness of his shoulder close to hers. He’d rolled back his shirtsleeves, and she caught a glimpse of dark hair curling against tanned forearms.

He reached inside his shirt pocket for a nail and began hammering the wood in place. Once it was secure, he reached over to grasp the wire she was holding back. His fingers brushed the knuckles of her hand, and she felt something in the pit of her stomach. Grace glanced at him, and he stiffened, moving aside. “Sorry,” he muttered, then continued nailing the wire in place.

They worked in rhythm for a few minutes when she ventured another conversation. “Pop tells me you were married before.”

Robert quirked an eye at her. “I was.”

Seeing that he wasn’t about to say another word, Grace quietly said, “You didn’t tell us when you came for the job.”

“Would it have mattered?” He didn’t look at her when he spoke, just picked up another piece of wood to cut.

“Well, I guess not, but I thought it was curious. That’s all.”

“I’m not in the habit of sharing my personal affairs with my employer.” His jaw set like hard steel as he lifted the saw. “Can you hold that end while I saw this piece?” He motioned to the sawhorse.

She held the board steady as he sawed the wood. He was downright peculiar. “I know Pop told you that I’m a widow.”

“Yes, he did, and I’m sorry.” Robert sliced through the wood with a smooth, steady back-and-forth motion.

“I guess that makes us kindred spirits in a way. We’ve both been widowed.” She blew away a lock of hair that fell across her lip as she held on to the wood.

“I reckon. You can let go now. I can take care of the rest.” He paused, squinting at her in the sunlight.

“Why don’t you have supper with us? I have plenty.” Grace stood holding her breath while clasping her hands in front of her.

“Maybe another time.” He turned back to the henhouse and started nailing the board in place.

That was it? No excuse—just no? “And here I was hoping you’d show me how to make that special soufflé of yours,” she prodded.

“Not today, but thanks for the invite.” He turned to face her, gazing through cool, narrowed eyes.

Grace stood with her arms folded and said with a teasing grin, “I don’t believe you can really cook.” She saw his lips part with a half-smile at her teasing. Watch out—you may actually give me a heartwarming smile any minute. But he didn’t.

“You might be surprised at the many talents I have—”

“Such as?”

“Well, I don’t like to brag, but I can sew a straight line and once helped piece a quilt top—or part of it—with my grandmother. So don’t underestimate me.”

She laughed. “Then I suppose you like to keep your talents well hidden?”

He moved to lift another board in place, then said over his shoulder, “Maybe so. I share them only with special people.”

“Then I must be one, since you told me you’d whip up a soufflé one day.” She dropped her arms to her side.

He looked at her in surprise. “I did?”

“Not exactly, but you brought it up.”

He finally smiled enough that she could see that he had nice teeth. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Pop said I could be a nagger until I got what I wanted.”

“I agree. I meant to tell you to keep your eye on Bluebelle or put her in the barn at night.”

Conversation over. Just like that! He started nailing the last board as if she were already gone. Her disappointment stung and her throat tightened. “I will. Goodbye then.”

She whirled around and stepped away, somehow feeling foolish. If Pop hadn’t pushed me, I wouldn’t have asked at all—and I won’t again. She was irritated at herself. She didn’t want to seem like she was flirting with him. He seemed reserved around her but was talkative with her pop. Why?

Robert watched Grace walk back to the house, pausing to scoop up Bluebelle. There was no need for him to entertain the idea of getting to know her better. He didn’t trust women. All they seemed to want was a ring on their finger. Images of his first wife swam before him. He’d done that and wasn’t about to make that mistake again. But she sure was pleasant to look at, and if he didn’t know better, he’d say she was flirting with him. Well, looking didn’t cost a thing.

He finished up, knowing the chicken coop was secure. He needed to get all his tools put away and try to get back to the children to see how school had gone. At least they weren’t aimlessly looking for something to do while he was away at work. Kids could get into a heap of trouble with time on their hands—he should know.