“Next weekend Paige Richardson is throw a party at the Double R to celebrate her barn raising,” Keaton said, his fingers trailing a soothing path up and down Lark’s back.
“Hmmm.” Mesmerized by Keaton’s caress, she had little more to offer.
For the last three months there’d been a lot of opportunities for the townsfolk to pitch in and help each other out. She knew the co-owners of R&N Builders, Aaron Nichols and his business partner, Colby Richardson, brother of Paige’s deceased husband, had assisted Keaton with some aspects of rebuilding the Holt ranch house and outlying buildings. But with the high amount of devastation suffered throughout the town, the professional builders were spread thin.
So anyone with a free day or afternoon and a willingness to wield a hammer or a saw could easily find a project to work on. Lark knew Keaton had hosted a party at his place the weekend the town gathered to help with the roofing of the ranch house and his main barn.
“I think we should go together,” Keaton continued. “And bring Grace.”
Lark’s contentment vanished as anxiety flared. “Sure.”
“You don’t sound convinced it’s a good idea.”
“I thought we were going to keep our situation as quiet as possible.”
“We’re co-caretaking Grace,” he reminded her. “We were seen having dinner together at Claire’s. I’m living with you. You don’t think that speculation about us has circled town three times already?”
“You’re right.” But as long as she didn’t have to confront a bunch of knowing smiles, she could at least pretend that no one would run to her parents with the news that she’d invited the family enemy to live with her.
Keaton kissed her shoulder. “You know I’m here for you, right?”
Lark knew his promise wasn’t given lightly. Even though his parents hadn’t treated her with the same disdain shown by Tyrone and Vera, Lark had gotten the distinct impression that they were hoping nothing was going on between her and Keaton. They didn’t want to lose another son to a Taylor girl. With the feud between the families, it would be just a matter of time before conflict arose again, and that would mean trouble for everyone involved.
“What’s bothering you?” Keaton asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’ve sighed four times in the last two minutes.”
“I’m really relaxed.”
“They weren’t sighs of contentment. You’re worrying about something.”
“I was just thinking your parents wouldn’t be overly pleased to learn we’ve taken playing house—literally.”
“You’re wrong. They like you.”
“Sure, as the woman who’s taking care of their granddaughter. Not as the woman in their son’s bed.”
“Technically their son is in your bed.”
She made a sour face at him. “It’s not like you to take things so lightly.” And then it occurred to her that she had no idea if that was true. How much did she really know about the man sprawled naked beneath her?
“Uh-oh. What now?”
“I’m just realizing how little I know about you.”
“You know more than most.”
“I do?” She considered what she’d learned in the last ten days.
“Why do I keep to myself?”
“Your ranch keeps you busy. You like your own company. I’ve heard you make polite conversation if you have to, but I think you prefer more straightforward discussions.”
“I dislike pretending to feel something I don’t, and often that rubs people the wrong way.”
People like her father, Lark realized. Tyrone Taylor never appreciated when the reality of a situation conflicted with his version of the truth.
“We’ve got that in common,” Lark admitted, thinking back to those awful days after Skye ran off with Jake. “Sometimes I miss social cues, and that gets me into trouble. Luckily most people take me at face value, but once in a while, I encounter someone who takes offense at my cluelessness.” Like Marsha at work, who needed the entire world to revolve around her. “Sometimes it’s just easier being alone.”
“You’ve felt like that for a long time. I remember as a kid you were always in your own world, either reading or standing around with a grumpy look on your face. What were you thinking about?”
“Usually stuff I’d been reading about earlier or how long before I could escape whatever I’d been dragged to.”
He laughed. “Did that happen a lot?”
“Less as I got older. Most of the time when I was a kid, my parents forgot I existed. The older I grew, the more invisible I became.”