Twenty minutes later, she hauled the new boards she’d purchased the previous week out of the garage, setting up the tables so she could cut the new boards after she’d pulled up the old, worn out ones. She set up the handsaw and her goggles, pulled her hat down low over her hair, grabbed the crow bar and got to work. If she glanced over at her neighbor’s yard occasionally, well, that was just curiosity. Nothing else.
Using the crow bar, she pulled up one board after another, setting each of them beside the new boards. She’d just started on a particularly stubborn board when she felt a presence. Looking up, she found her neighbor, a tee shirt covering those amazing muscles now, coming towards her.
“Need some help?” he asked.
Carrie started to shake her head, wanting to tell him that she could handle it. But he walked over to the board and, with what looked like a flip of his thumb, had the stubborn board pulled up. With one gloved hand, he tossed the board onto the pile.
“Derick Matlock,” he said, pulling off his work glove and extending his hand to her.
“Jolene Smith,” she replied, telling him the name on the driver’s license she kept in her wallet. “I don’t…”
He didn’t even look at her as he pried up another board and tossed it onto the stack. “I know. You don’t need my help,” he interrupted, then went back to the porch and pried up the next rotted board. “I’ll just get these up for you. I’m bored and need the work out.”
Carrie watched as he used the crow bar with almost no effort, impressed by his strength. She really should tell him that she didn’t want his help but…she did. Which was stupid! Carrie knew that working by herself was safer.
But instead of telling him to leave her alone, she walked over to the saw and, picking up one of the boards, measured and cut it on the line she’d made. When that was done, she did the next and the next.
Derick…she really liked that name. It suited him. Once all of the old boards were pulled up, and done in a fraction of the time it would have taken her, he laid the newly cut boards in place. Grabbing her nail gun, he popped each of the boards into place.
The whole time, she watched the man, sneaking peeks at his flexing muscles and rugged, handsome features, amazed and more than slightly mesmerized by the rippling muscles on his back and arms. But whenever he looked over at her, she was quick to look down again, turning her attention to measuring and cutting the boards.
It took less than two hours to get the porch finished. She’d planned on it taking all day, with only a few hours of working inside while she worked on the stairs. So it was a shock to find it all finished so quickly.
“Thank you,” she told him, glancing up into his dark eyes before quickly looking away. “It’s much easier with two people working.”
“What color are you going to paint the house?” he asked.
Carrie looked up at the building and shrugged. “I haven’t thought about the exterior yet. That comes a bit later in the process for me.”
“Where did you live before here?”
Carrie looked away. That was a question she wasn’t going to answer. No way! “Um…well, thank you for your help, Derick. I really appreciate it.”
With that, she picked up the saw and…and it was taken out of her hands. “Where do you want this?” he asked.
It was really heavy, but she didn’t want his help. She could handle this work on her own. “I can put it away.”
He lifted it out of reach when she tried to take it from him. “I know that you can handle it. But it’s heavy and you’re tired. So, why don’t you just tell me where I should put it,” he paused, those firm lips quirking upwards slightly as if he were trying not to smile, “and don’t suggest up my ass. I doubt it would fit.”
Despite herself, she laughed outright. Especially since those words had been on the tip of her tongue. “Fine. In the garage please. That way I can lock my tools up at night.”
He walked over to the garage, placing it in the open space where she’d had it earlier. “How many houses have you flipped?”
Her heart thudded at that question. She glanced at him, startled that he was so perceptive. “Why do you think I flip houses?”
“Because you know enough about fixing up a house to save the exterior painting for last,” he replied. “Not many people do that. They want the curb appeal to happen fast and don’t like coming home to an ugly house.” He moved closer. “You’re skittish too. Which means you’re hiding from something.”
Carrie almost ran at his words. But she instead, she pulled herself up straighter, determined to face the truth. She was so sick of running. “I’m fine.” A lift of her chin reinforced her assertion.
“I can see that you’re very fine, Jolene. But I can help.”
Carrie crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m fine,” she told him again.
He sighed, looked over at her porch. “Right. You’re fine. So,” he paused, rubbing the back of his neck, “When you decide that you’re tired of being fine, let me know. I’m good at resolving problems.”
And with that, he walked back to his house.
Carrie watched him walk away, half of her admiring his tall, strong body. The other half craving the safety he offered.
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