“You thinkwe’re doing the right thing?” I ask Rowdy as Zach’s SUV disappears into the rainy darkness.
“I do.” Rowdy’s steady gaze locks with mine, and despite the awkward energy fizzing between us, his tone and confidence are enough to reassure me.
“I meant what I said. He’s welcome to help out here. I certainly could use a hand. But he needs more than a job.”
“I think Zach convinced him of that.”
“Do you want to come inside? I could make coffee, or tea? You probably missed dinner. I could fix you something.” I hate the edge of need in my voice, but I don’t know what to do with the questions running around in my brain, most of them about Colton. What’s going to happen to him next? What did he run from?
Colton’s visit and the obvious crisis he’s in stirred up something in me, and I’m not sure what to do about it. Though one thing is clear: I’m going to find a way to continue to help him, however I can.
“Tea sounds great, actually.” Rowdy follows me to my porch and up the wide steps.
I sneak a look at him, then wish I hadn’t because it makes me conflicted all over again.I’m a fun, emotionally stable, sex-positive woman with a clean bill of health and a zest for adventure and you’re really not going to ask me out?
Inside, the music I left on and the last of the fire I built earlier almost makes the place feel cozy, but it’s still lacking, though I try not to dwell on it. I expected to relish a quiet house with oodles of time for long walks and trail rides in search of inspo, then the freedom topaint whenever and for as long as I needed. But it’s not quite working out that way.
We both slip off our boots, then Rowdy hangs his cowboy hat and jacket on the coat rack. I lead him down the short hallway past the open concept living area with twin leather couches facing the river rock fireplace to the kitchen.
Rowdy gives my living room an appreciative scan, his hands tucked into his pockets.
“Do you take honey or sugar?” I flip on the electric kettle and take two tea bags of my favorite orange spice—the only herbal variety I have.
Rowdy joins me in the kitchen. In just his socks and without his hat, he looks a little less serious, but no less handsome. Especially with his thick salt-and-pepper hair, slightly mussed, like he ran his fingers through it on the way to my kitchen. I flex my fingers to stop my craving to do the same.
“Honey would be great.”
I pull the honey from the second shelf, then add the tea bags to two mugs.
“The place looks good,” he says while I pour the hot water into each mug. “I love how you’ve blown out the walls and added all these windows.”
“Thank you.” The work took nearly nine months to complete while I lived in a trailer, but experiencing the ever-changing sunlight that streaks into the house, from sunrise to sunset, has been worth the wait. Never in a million years did I think my art would make me wealthy enough to create something so beautiful and spacious. “My kids were convinced I was nuts.”
He squeezes a blob of honey into his tea, and I hand him a spoon to stir it in. Our fingertips touch for an instant, and that same uneasy energy gallops under my skin. “Why’d they think that?”
I give him a one-shoulder shrug. “It was a rundown farmhouse inthe middle of nowhere.” I set his spoon in the sink, then lean back against the counter, cradling my cup.
“You’re not in the middle of nowhere,” he says with a hint of teasing in his tone. “And the house just needed someone to care for it.”
“Lily thinks it’s a lot of house for one person.” I wince as soon as the words leave my lips, but I cover it with a sip of tea.Way to sound desperate.
“She’s the chef, right?” Rowdy blows across his tea, then takes a small sip. “In San Francisco. Your son’s the snowboarder.”
Well, damn. He remembered all that? “Yeah,” I manage. The first guy I dated after my divorce couldn’t even get my kids’ names straight.
“Have they visited since you fixed it up?”
I smile. “Both of them came for Christmas. We went skiing and baked cookies and played board games by the fire.” When they left, I cried for two days. Not that I’d want them to give up their dreams to keep me company, but I miss them hard. I miss their chaos, their messes, their dirty, balled up socks, their sleepy hugs. I think I miss being needed, though my divorce lawyer reassured me it would pass. But it’s been two years and if anything, the feeling has only strengthened. My mom keeps encouraging me to find outlets like volunteering, but so far I’ve only signed up with the community art center, and though I love teaching the lovely group of senior ladies who bring wine and cheese to each class, maybe I should try working with their afterschool kids program too. Not only because helping kids express themselves through art is fun and deeply meaningful, but their parents could be closer to my age.
Rowdy blows across his tea before taking another sip. “So you’re liking Finn River?”
“I love it.” It’s not a lie. It’s so stunningly beautiful here, and I love being smack-dab in the mountains. I just don’t love the solitude the way I expected to. I’m sure I’ll make friends eventually. “Once the twins were launched, I was ready for a change of scenery.”
He nods at the series of small paintings above the backsplash. “Are those yours?”
“Yep.” Even though I no longer have to hide my art in order to protect it, talking about it freely is a work progress.
He lifts his mug toward the big mountain landscape of the jagged Picket Range hanging on the wall opposite the dining table. “And that?”