Chapter Nine

The curve of the metal was perfect, despite the bellows not regulating heat properly. Cullen dunked the metal, shaped with an arc at only one end, into the large wooden tub of water. Two days was all he had to finish the sign for the Country Kitchen store belonging to Matthew and Sadie Miller, and for two days he couldn’t keep his mind on anything he should. Cullen was too old for daydreaming and too young to be letting his attentions wander about aimlessly. His neighbor was none of his concern, but she had seeped in and taken root, holding his thoughts hostage.

Despite the bellows smoke, a cool breeze carried with it a hint of some much-needed rain. Cullen inhaled the scent of a fast changing season. Pulling the metal out of the water, he heard a loud pop sound and quickly tossed the piece to the ground and moved back, avoiding any sprays of hot metal that might escape the core and onto him.

“Well, that’s a fine job, Cullen,” he bit back at the ruined mess sizzling in the dust and claimed himself no better suited than a mere amateur today.

If he had gotten his head into what he was doing instead of filling it with nonsense, he would have waited for the metal to have cooled properly before removing it from the quench. He shed the gloves and stepped outside for some air. November was placid compared to the long summer that seemed to run over fall with all four hooves, but at least the cooler temps offered some relief from the forge. The trees following along Crooked Creek and those forming the perfect mountain dome across the fields had resorted to a brown brittleness instead of being painted with the vibrant colors of autumn that the glorious Kentucky mountains generally offered this time of year. Leaves were easily ripped from the limbs and rained down as if nature only now realized she had skipped that part of the process. Everything was lifeless and thirsty for even a few drops of what the heavens held above him.

Nature was wicked like that, withholding its capabilities only to dump them over your head later. He peered up at the darkening sky—she was indeed going to be dumping buckets sooner rather than later. It was no secret that a dry season this prolonged would not only come to an end at some point but would overwhelm you when it did.

A banging sound bounced from one hillside to another. Peering up the hill, just as he did every night before he turned in after a long day, Cullen listened more closely for the source of the echo. Having heard the howls of coyotes the previous night, he took it upon himself to walk up the hill with his shotgun. There was no way Grace was going to endure another encounter like the one she had already.

He was careful to not alarm her with his presence; she was skittish enough and seemingly not so content in his company. Sneaking around, he felt like a watcher, an intruder, sitting on the bank overlooking the run-down cabin. But he had to be honest with himself—the blue-eyed beauty’s singing from inside the little cabin’s thin walls not only charmed whatever menacing wild things lurked around her, but him as well.

Out of nowhere, something crashed, its hard descent reverberating over the hill and lingering far into the valley. Without a second thought of his earlier reminder to keep his distance, Cullen hurried around the hill to investigate.

…

“Are you all right?” The voice came from behind her. Spinning around, hammer in hand, Grace found Cullen standing just ten feet away. His face poured with sweat and wore a panic she had seen once before in those large brown eyes. He was working to catch his breath, and failing at it rather badly, truth be told. His eyes darted from her to the porch, now with one less post holding up a slanted tin roof, then back to her again.

“Jah. I am fine.” She quipped, pretending that his being up here didn’t surprise her.

“But I heard…” Both hands on his knees, he was still fighting for air, the snug fit of his light blue shirt rising and falling at lightning pace. A chuckle welled up inside her, but she shoved it back into place. He was a sight, all worried and frantic looking. Which he had no cause to be, matter of fact.

“Well, I aim to finish what I started, so you might hear more,” she snapped confidently. Turning toward the porch again, she swung, and the hammer banged against the next stubborn post. Worse than not having a porch to sit on in a late-day sunset, was having one that might just fall on your head. “I almost fell last night. This porch is a death trap. I am tearing it down before it becomes the death of me,” she stated in a louder-than-usual voice.

And she would have already succeeded if he hadn’t shown up, distracting her like he was. He shouldn’t be here, especially not looking at her like she was off in the head, like he was right now. It took all afternoon loosening nails and nudging the porch, and she wanted to see it through. She swung again, not caring how ridiculous she might look at eight months pregnant swinging a hammer. This would give the rumor mill something more to talk about.

“What’s wrong with you?” he blurted out.

“Some might say plenty,” she said, then took another swing. A bigger hammer, that’s what she needed.

“And some might be right,” he shot back, straightened. “Not only should you not be doing this, but a storm looks to be coming in. You should go inside, let someone—” He hesitated, calculating his words. “Let someone bigger handle this.”

Was he growling at her? Grace shot him a glare. Who did this man think he was, ordering her around?

“I feel big enough today,” she quipped. “I’m plenty capable. And the day is still young,” Grace said exuberantly, ignoring his prodding for her to abandon the task at hand.

“This day feels old to me,” he shot back with an equal pluck, running his hands through his damp dark hair. She hadn’t meant to frighten him, but was rather flattered the longer he stood there gathering himself.

Grace sneaked a peek at his long frame, his befuddled expression, and a pair of dark eyes that looked as capable of reading one’s secrets as smothering out a flame. She pulled her gaze away and took another swing. Her arms were starting to feel like noodles, but quitting now would only make her look weak.

One side of the tin roof and worn rafters groaned, and Grace stepped back to watch all her labor finally pay off. It was good the handsome, nosy neighbor was here to see that she could handle herself, she thought. If he witnessed her independence firsthand, he would not be so quick to run up here every time the slightest noise penetrated the valley below. Time stilled, she took a breath, waiting for the death trap to tumble to the ground, but the porch only lowered with a slow-moving moan and rested again, mocking her.

Grace let out an unladylike sigh. Turning to Cullen, a smug look of amusement on his chiseled face, she hiked one brow. He must think himself some hero, always showing up when he thought he was needed. She didn’t need a hero—she needed bigger muscles.

Cullen’s rich molasses hair was matted to his head, a ring embedded where his hat normally sat. Those lips that seemed to want to say something stayed tightly together, forming a line between them. He was strong. Blacksmith strong. Half-raised sleeves couldn’t hide the bulk produced by his trade. The day he’d barged into her home, she hadn’t noticed a lot about Cullen Graber, but his willingness to talk about her living arrangements with her aenti while she stood there, invisible, still left her with mixed feelings. Now she was noticing a lot more about him, and for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why.

Hadn’t she learned her lesson already? A handsome man hanging about was the last thing she needed in her life.

In three strides, he was beside her. The same teasing grin draped his lips as it had at the bishop’s home when he called her “little Grace.” “My turn.” Cullen reached out, gesturing toward the hammer gripped in her smaller hand.

“I can fix this,” he said with confidence. His voice was deep, gritty, like that of an older, much wiser man. Which he wasn’t—old, that was. Cullen carefully removed the hammer from her hand as she stood, disoriented for the moment. Why was she being awkward? And why did she let him have her only hammer?

A play of amusement danced on his lips as he strolled past her. Grace inhaled the scent of smoke and iron and man and found the combination pleasing to the senses. Jared often smelled freshly bathed, often perfumed, nothing like a working man at all. Was she comparing him? Her conscience reared up and gave her another mental slap. What was wrong with her?

“I don’t need help.” She quickly added. Paying no mind to her, he walked away, hammer in hand, but his low chuckle lingered. Didn’t he have his own work to tend to? Daed would call him idle-brained, leaving one chore, unfinished, to tend to another. Grace was still undecided.

“Stolze,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“I am not prideful, and that is my hammer!” Grace yelled after him. Truth be told, Grace had found it in the old outhouse, but still—it wasn’t his. “And I am plenty capable of destroying things myself.” Like her life, she bit back.

“Is it common for a woman to pack a hammer when she moves to a whole other state?”

She didn’t have to see his expression to know that strong brow over his left eye was raised.

“How would I know what is common?” She growled inwardly and gave her best Rachel Yoder eye roll. In front of the stubborn post, Cullen squared, planting two big feet firmly apart. He lifted the puny hammer as if it was more than just a mere stick and took one hard swing. In a loud smack of metal on wood, the post surrendered. Everything swayed right and came crashing to the ground in a glorious second.

He grinned, and Grace found herself grinning, too.

When he crossed two large arms over his broad chest, wearing that king-of-the-mountain smile, she dropped her grin and swallowed whatever the thing was stuck in her throat. Despite that handsome grin, she wanted to argue that she could have accomplished getting it to fall herself. But who was she kidding? She couldn’t dispute his presence any longer.

The man had perks, useful ones. Maybe she couldn’t count on his help all the time, but for today, whatever he offered she would accept. If she could endure judgmental glares, she could manage Cullen Graber’s astute smirks.

They weren’t so bad after all.

Without being asked, Cullen began pulling boards apart and stacking them in a pile a good twenty feet from the sinner’s shack. Why he insisted on being here, she hadn’t a clue. Biting her tongue, so as not to anger him into stopping, she went to the mess, picked up a splintered and broken board, and carried it to the pile.

“You know if Aenti Tess sees ya helping me, she will make a fuss.” His laugh was infectious, but she refused to let it rattle more than just a few hairs on the back of her neck. “What I mean to say is danke, but I do not think it would be proper for you to be here. I wouldn’t want someone to get the wrong idea.”

“To help another as Gott instructs?” Cullen said. “Do not be concerned for my reputation,” he chuckled. She tugged on a sheet of rusted metal, forming her own pile of debris that wouldn’t burn.

“I didn’t mean—” Why was she making such a mess of words?

Cullen paused, shook his head. “I know what you meant. Tess and my mutter were freinden. She would have my skin if I didn’t offer help.” He floated her a friendly smile. That made her relax just a little more. Back home if a boy helped you, gave you flirty grins, he was interested in you. Cullen was just being friendly. A good neighbor.

Cullen lifted a section of porch that would have taken her hours to dismantle and, with a grunt, added it to the growing pile. The way his body strained and twisted sent another surge of heat over her. The man was strong. When she caught herself staring at him for a third time, Grace figured it had to be those pregnancy hormones she read about. They were certainly messing with her thoughts. She should read over that chapter in the pregnancy book again to be sure.

She straightened her kapp and did an awkward knee bend to retrieve another splintered board. Bending over so frequent already had her back aching, but she didn’t dare stop.

Within an hour, they had the whole porch detached from the shack and discarded into two massive piles. It would have taken her days to complete this chore alone in her condition.

“We can burn this later. It won’t be long before those clouds make good on their teasing,” Cullen warned. Grace followed his gaze, peering upward at a dreary array of blue hues. No clouds of cotton dipping into the treetops. A snap of the laundry hanging broke her stare and she realized Cullen was studying her, not the pending weather he had been talking about. She felt her face flush just hoping he wasn’t thinking of her laundry, too.

“I’m grateful for your help today,” she quickly admitted.

“I was happy to lend it. I would be grateful if you wouldn’t try your hand at building a new porch.”

“That’s not for you to concern yourself with,” she said calmly. “I know I am the rumor of the community, why I’m here, and so on. I am thankful for the eggs, the help, and even for you rushing up here when you thought the roof fell on my head,” she grinned, then collected herself quickly. It was just hard to get the picture of him rushing up here out of her head. “You should tend to your work, and let me tend to mine.” Surely he could see how helping her might come across as wrong in the eyes of his community. Grace was only thinking about his reputation, after all. A man like this one didn’t deserve such idle talk. And what if he had a girlfriend? Gossip had a way of turning a simple gesture into suspicion. Grace didn’t want that on her conscience.

“I have no doubts you can handle this, but you shouldn’t have to.” Did he really believe that? Daed insisted she should have to face life alone, considering she alone made the choices she had. Did Cullen truly see past her sin?

“And even a smithy can drive a nail and dig a couple post holes.”

Tugging the end of his shirt, he found a clean spot and raised it, wiping the sweat from his face. Now why did he have to do that? Her breath held as his middle, firm and toned, was exposed. She turned away quickly, shamed to have seen, and did all she could to will her breaths into a steady rhythm again. She was glad his focus was on the shack and not on her for the moment.

“There is much to do here before the weather moves in. I will have the lumber to replace the porch come end of week.”

Grace turned to face him again, but his gaze was set on the naked house. “I cannot pay for such a luxury,” she reminded him. Large stones and wooden blocks that had supported the porch foundation were scattered where the structure had once stood. Cullen handled a few until he found whatever it was he was looking for. He was ignoring her. “Did you not hear me, Cullen Graber?”

Was that a growl? Was he bear or man? She tapped her foot repeatedly on the dusty earth.

“Such a man,” she muttered under her breath.

Bending and stretching, he began stacking the stones next to one another, and she realized he was making her a safe way to enter the sinner’s shack. Grace hadn’t thought about how she would get back inside. Her crossed arms lowered, as did her temper. She watched as he put one stone into place, then removed it for another. When he was satisfied with the placement of the stones, Cullen climbed the wide steps, bouncing and rocking his weight to see them secure. He was pleased with himself, and it was written all over his face.

He was even better-looking with a genuine smile of accomplishment instead of a teasing smirk.

Opening the front door, he paused, looked back to her, and frowned. Shrugging, she said nothing. He opened and shut the front door, examining its capability. Was he considering the door his next charitable project? Was that what she was, some project? A charitable thing that would bring him favor in the eyes of the bishop or some doe-eyed girl?

“I appreciate your help today, but you don’t need to worry about that door. You have work to tend to and, to be honest, we don’t even know each other—”

When their gazes locked again, Grace could see him wrestling for a comment. He was a thinker, someone who didn’t act spontaneously, but rather considered his words, his actions, carefully. Faith would call him boring, but Grace rather liked to know a man who considered his actions before testing them. If only she had been more inclined to such habits, she would be home right now arguing with Faith about what was boring and what wasn’t.

Cullen walked to her and offered a hand. “I am Cullen Graber, your neighbor. It is nice to meet you, Grace Miller from Indiana.” Why was she smiling? “I live alone. My parents are no longer with us and I never had siblings. I am the only blacksmith in two counties. I have many friends and family members here and I can even introduce you to them if you would like.” His smooth, dark eyes grew more serious. “But your condition will not allow my conscience to rest if I were to let you tackle such work alone. We all help one another here, as community should.” She was realizing that fact the longer she lived in Walnut Ridge. “My mutter would be ashamed if I didn’t offer.” And her mutter would be ashamed if she accepted his kindness. “And that door is just another reason I worry about you up here alone.”

Grace hated that she made him worry. She was not his concern, but it was clear he was determined to help despite her trying to urge him not to. Letting out one long, exasperated breath, Grace surrendered and shook his hand. She couldn’t ignore the shiver that ran up her arm, down her back, and refused to stop until reaching her toes. Cullen was nice-looking, kind-hearted, and any girl would have the same tingling reaction, she told herself. She needed help before winter came, and another friend while she counted the days before she could return home would make the days go smoother. After being raised in such a large family, it couldn’t be ignored how quickly loneliness got to her. Yes, they would be friends.

Grace took a deep breath. “Hello, Cullen, I’m Grace. I have four sisters, no bruders, and will soon be a mutter. I will accept your help on one condition.” Looking down at her, Cullen tilted his head, waiting. Grace realized they were still holding hands and pulled away quickly. “You let me cook for you, for all your help. I heard Elli and Betty Schwartz make mention of bringing you food on occasion, and that way I will also be doing something for them for all the kindness they have shown me.” Any man living alone would agree to such an offer.

“Agreed.” The singular word came out in a rush. He studied her, looking as if something else wanted to come out, but his lips stayed closed. She didn’t urge his thoughts into the open. She couldn’t let him get the wrong impression of her, as he most probably already did. She needed help to ready for winter and there was no way she was ruining that. And there was no way she would let anything lure her astray ever again, even tall, dark, and handsome neighbors.

“I will return to burn this mess. Until then.” He nodded and walked over the hill. Looking down into the hand that had fit into his so easily, Grace ignored the warmth that still remained there.

Cullen was help. His hand in hers was a partnership, nothing more.

…

Cullen treaded down the hill, replaying the whole afternoon he had spent with Grace Miller. When he’d heard the crash and went running, he was revisited by that same sickening feeling in his gut that he felt when he and Elli reached the cabin, fearing that Grace had been hurt. It was normal to care for the well-being of a neighbor, wasn’t it? Maybe he was being selfish. He couldn’t help Marty, a fact that took him years to accept, but Grace, he could.

He shouldn’t have smiled, teased her as he had, but when she stood there with that little hammer in her hand looking so confident she could destroy a whole house, he couldn’t help it. He imagined she tackled everything in front of her that way. It was kitten cute. Kitten cute? He shook his mother’s words free from his thoughts. Men didn’t talk or even think like that.

“What are you thinking Cullen?” he chided his thoughts. “She’s carrying another man’s child. She isn’t even staying here after…” He picked up his pace, his footfalls landing harder on the ground. “She is outspoken, stubborn, and…” And what? Beautiful. She was beautiful.

And not just beautiful but strong and determined and, at times, when she let her guard down, nice to talk to in a snappy, sarcastic kind of way. She was getting under his skin. Had he been too quick to agree to help her? What would others think?

Suddenly, his own words came back to hit him like a hammer. God said, “do not pass a man in need,” but what did He say if it was a woman? Not to mention a pretty one?