The giant man on the porch turns around and gives me his broad back. I stand there unsure what to do. I reach into my pocket and check the address again, thinking I got the wrong house number or something. Nope. This is the right place. I shove the piece of paper back into my pocket and sigh.
The old farmhouse is breathtaking. It’s clear that someone has taken care of it over the years and updated it as well. It’s a lot of house for one man, and that might be why I’m here. Maybe he needs to get it organized and cleaned out so he can start a family himself. Why else would he have a house like this?
I shift on my feet because he’s still not facing me. I take in his size again and realize just how big he is. I think he might be even bigger than my fiancé, which is saying a lot. I also didn't get a good look at his face with the sun shining into my eyes.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
He lifts his arm to take off his hat and then runs a hand through his dark hair. I watch his muscles flex at the action under his white shirt, and I make myself look away. God, was I checking him out? His thick thighs will forever be branded in my mind, letting me know I didn’t miss a thing.
“You’re not old.” His voice is low and rough as he slowly turns around to face me.
“Maybe in another thirty years,” I joke, but he doesn't laugh.
He takes a step closer, and I finally get to see his face. My stomach tightens as his dark green eyes meet mine. His face is square with a jaw made of stone, and his expression is stoic. He’s handsome in an intimidating way, but I don’t find that I’m at all afraid of him.
“You’re here to work.” I nod my head in agreement even though it’s not a question. “Stay away from my workers.”
“Okay.” Weird thing to say, but I guess I can do that.
“Get your shit. I’ll show you to your room.”
I walk over to my car to grab my purse out of the front seat, but as soon as I reach for the handle, a hand comes down on mine and stops me.
“You’re not leaving.” I drop my head back to look up at him, and he’s pissed. I think this might be his normal face though.
“I was getting my purse.” He smells like sunshine, and his dark green eyes could almost be black as they stare down at me. He lets go of the door handle and steps back. I reach in and grab my purse, and he holds out his hand.
“Keys.”
“You want my keys?” I’m learning quickly that Mr. Walker uses as few words as possible.
“What I said.”
“Why?”
His jaw flexes. I don’t think he’s used to being questioned. “I’ll move it to the barn.” He nods towards the giant red barn, and I can only guess he doesn't want my crappy car outside his pretty house. That shouldn't sting, but it does.
“I can move it.” He keeps his hand out and I finally give up and hand them over. I don’t really want to fight with my new boss on the first day.
He puts them into his pocket before going to the back of the car and grabbing my bag that he told me to get myself a moment ago. I keep quiet as I follow him inside and then gasp.
The house is breathtaking, or at least it would be if not for the mess. The inside has been updated like the outside, but that’s as far as the care has gone.
I stare at the beautiful kitchen that would be any cook’s dream, wondering where I’m going to start. No wonder he’s good with a live-in housekeeper. From the look of things, he needs someone to follow him around and pick up after him.
“Are you coming?”
I pull my eyes away from the pile of dishes in and around the sink to where Mr. Walker is standing at the bottom of the stairs.
“Sorry.” I follow him up as he pushes into one of the rooms and drops my bags on the floor.
“This is your room. I eat dinner at five. Don’t need it tonight. Settle in.” With that, he turns and leaves without a goodbye or anything.
I didn't know I’d be cooking too, not that it matters. I enjoy it, and I’ll need to make stuff for myself anyways. I peek my head out into the hallway and watch him enter another bedroom, which I’m guessing is his.
Quietly I shut my door and let out a breath. He’s intense. I put my hand to my chest, realizing my heart is pounding. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but that wasn't it.
I spend the next hour unpacking my bags and hanging my clothes up. There isn't much to the room with only a small twin-size bed, a dresser, and one nightstand, where I place the stack of books I brought with me, along with my Kindle.
Remembering that I forgot to text my sister, I let her know that I made it safely and I’m about to go have a look around. I slide the phone into my back pocket and realize it’s going to take some time to get used to having a cell phone.
I pause at the door, wondering if I’m going to run into Mr. Walker. I’m still unsteady about our first meeting because I almost think he doesn't like me. I have no idea what I could have done already to make my new boss mad, but I guess there’s really only one way to find out.
When I hit the bottom stairs, I pause when I see Mr. Walker standing there eating a sandwich over the sink. The man really is living the bachelor life.
“Would you like me to make you something else?” I tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear and he grunts a “no” before polishing off his sandwich and reaching for another he made. “Did I do something to make you mad?”
“I don’t talk much.” He shrugs one of his big shoulders and then picks up a glass of milk and chugs the whole thing.
“Okay, but it still feels like you’re angry with me. I don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot if I’m going to be staying here.”
“We don’t need to be on any foot. You stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours.” He puts the cup in the sink, and I look down at my hands, feeling uncomfortable as the silence stretches. “Your name.”
“What about it?”
“You’re not a Dorothy.”
I let out a small laugh and he stares at my mouth. “Well, that’s my name.”
“Dorothy is an old woman's name.”
Is that the problem? I remember his comment outside about me not being old. He must have thought I was going to be an older woman, but I don’t see how that matters. I still know how to cook and clean.
“Well, it was my grandmother’s name.” He stares at me. “Most everyone calls me Dotty, so if you’d prefer, you can call me that,” I offer, and he grunts. I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t laugh because the grunting is getting ridiculous.
“I have shit to check on.” He pulls his keys out of his pocket. “Call me Clay.”
As he walks past me, he stops abruptly. I glance over at him to see he’s starting at the ring on my finger.
“You’re married?” His question sounds more like an accusation.
“Engaged.”
“Engaged,” he repeats, and I nod. “He doesn't care that you’re staying with a man?”
“I just work here.” And I don’t see why he would care. My fiancé never gave me the time of day, so I still don’t understand why he insisted we get married.
He lets out a curse, looking madder by the second before he stomps out of the kitchen. A moment later I hear the front door slam. Well, if he wasn’t mad at me before, he is now.
Too bad I have no idea why.