As she stood debating whether or not to confront them now, the three women wandered off toward the barn, murmuring complaints about work they needed to do, and the opportunity to immediately deal with their attitude went with them.
It’s not as if I don’t know where to find them, Monica thought as she went to her desk. Postponing the task for later, she made a quick note in her log to speak with Rosa about their guards and the overheard conversation. If she had any chance to alter their perceptions, while giving the men here a safe home, she would need help. She couldn’t be everywhere at once, and Rosa would have some motherly insight on how to deal with the young women.
She might also know what Monica should do about the unexpected and troublesome attraction she felt for Jake Nichols.
5
The river water cooled Jake’s overheated skin as he knelt on the bank and held his head beneath the fast-moving, gurgling surface. He sat up and sucked in a lungful of air, allowing the cold flood of water to run down his neck and into his shirt. His close-cropped, sandy-brown hair held little back, and rivulets dripped from the dark-golden goatee adorning his chin and upper lip. He pushed back and sat on the heels of his cowboy boots, his eyes closed as he turned his face to the warmth of the low-riding sun.
It was the end of May, and Jake’s fortune had changed drastically. In the last four weeks, he had gained back the weight he’d lost in Darla’s dungeon and recovered from most of the abuse he had suffered at her hands. The memories were still there, and he still harbored suspicion for any woman who approached him. But things were looking up.
On his fourth day after starting work for Monica, she had passed him as he ate dinner in the temporary dining room, and she stopped to ask how he was fairing. He had interacted with her on a couple of occasions before, when she helped with work on the house’s construction, and her straightforwardness always threw him. That night, still adapting to the free environment of her home, he had endured her very direct gaze and told her he was doing fine.
“Anything you need?” she had asked, her hand resting on his shoulder. “I mean for the house or yourself?”
He inhaled sharply at her touch. His muscles tightened, but he refrained from pulling away from her.
“Ah…no, not right now,” he fumbled, far too aware of her hand on him, not because of the drug, but because she was beautiful and a stranger to him. He didn’t know what to expect, and despite her kind behavior and all the positive accounts he’d received about her, anticipation of the unknown kept him on edge.
“Good.” She smiled at him, and his heart stuttered. “If you do, please let Rosa know right away.”
Right. Rosa, he thought, disappointment swirling in his chest, though the emotion confused him.
Looking up at Monica, he nodded in response. Her gaze dropped to the table. Uncertainty flashed in her eyes, but disappeared just as quickly. She smiled at him again and then patted his shoulder amicably.
“Enjoy your dinner,” she said before walking away.
He released the breath he’d been holding and turned back to the table. His fork, held tines-up in his white-knuckled fist, caught his eye. He groaned and then glanced at the others sitting around him, but no one paid him any mind. He loosened his death grip on the utensil and went back to his meal.
Whenever he thought back on that incident—and other similar ones since—his clumsy communication made him feel awkward and idiotic. There was no reason for it, but he couldn’t make it stop. Luckily, he didn’t have to interact with Monica much. His dealings were mostly with Rosa, which was fine with him since he didn’t seem to have trouble speaking to her. A few times, he noticed Miss Avery watching their work and wondered if she would call him out on the modifications he’d made to her home’s building plan. But aside from a wave or smiling hello, she hadn’t approached him again in the three weeks since their last short conversation, and Rosa had made no comment about the revisions either.
He took their lack of criticism as a good sign.
Now, sitting on his heels by the river, he ran his hands over his face and sluiced the remaining water from his head. Kneeling on the thin, sandy bank within sight of Monica’s new house, he dropped his hands into his lap, and sighed.
Another, slightly more exaggerated version of Jake’s sigh rang out a few feet away, and Jake glanced toward the sound. He found a little boy of about nine, his normally wavy brown hair slicked to his head and his shirt soaking wet, mimicking Jake’s every movement. He chuckled softly. The kid had been following him around for almost two weeks now, watching him closely, curious to learn more about ranch life, and asking questions about everything they did. At first, Jake was worried the kid would get hurt, but surprisingly, he did as he was told, stayed out of the way, and was a good helper.
The boy’s name was Trevor, and he had decided Jake was his new best friend. That wouldn’t have been so bad, except that Trevor also had a younger sister who wanted to do everything her brother did. She didn’t always listen, and she asked twice as many questions.
Another sigh followed Trevor’s, and Jake leaned back over his heels to see the boy’s sister, Kara, kneeling beside her brother. Her long ash-blonde curls hung in a messy mop around her face and dripped river water onto her oversized, dirty blue T-shirt. She’d clearly been mimicking Jake’s movements as well.
“You two get a lot of work done today?” Jake asked with a smile.
“Yep,” Trevor replied. “Shawn told us we could help the guys dig the new duck system for the cows.”
Jake
