“I’m sorry,” Bo said, but he was laughing. Hell, I couldn’t blame him. “I didn’t see that cow patty.” Like that makes it any better. He hopped off the lawnmower and motioned me across the field. “We can go hose you off.”
“Yeah.” I tossed my head back. “Something…”
I followed him toward the house, swearing beneath my breath. That had to be an omen, I thought. Shit’s always a bad omen.
Bo was still chuckling to himself when he ducked behind the azalea bushes to turn on the tap to the hose. Just as he emerged from the bushes with the hose aimed, John stepped out of the back door. “You boys need some…” John took one look at me before bending over in a laughing fit. “Well, son, you done gone and got yourself in a whole mess of dung, haven’t you?”
I wanted to groan, but I swallowed that urge back and smiled. “Yes, sir.”
“I was about to hose him off,” Bo said.
“That water’s too cold, plus won’t do much for that stench.” John’s nose wrinkled a little. “Why don’t you just come on in and wash up.”
“It’s fine,” I said, motioning for Bo to squirt me with the hose.
“Aw, fiddlesticks,” John said. “Come on, I’ll fetch you some clean clothes of mine.” He glanced at the field before checking his watch. “It’s already gone half eleven. Might as well just get cleaned up and go on home for the day.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely, besides, you don’t want that dung getting all over the seats in your truck.”
“Alright, I appreciate it sir.”
He clapped his hand over my shoulder before showing me up the back steps and straight into the kitchen. I always noticed the inside of people’s houses. I guess, maybe everybody does. But I always did because it usually made me realize just how poor I’d grown up. The inside of the kitchen was clean, with the aroma of freshly baked bread lingering in the air. On the counter was a tray of sandwiches. The Lord’s Prayer was hung by the breakfast table that had a vase of artificial daisies on it. Sounds like the American Dream, doesn’t it? A Southern-Baptist preacher and his lovely family...
“Bathroom’s up the stairs,” John said, pointing to a set of stairs peeking out from the hall. “Last door on your right. I’ll leave you some clothes outside the door.”
“Thanks.” I started toward the stairs.
“And help yourself to a sandwich after you get washed up.” John pointed at the tray before grabbing a sandwich and cramming most of it inside his mouth.
“Thanks,” I said again before climbing the steps. Nice people always made me feel uncomfortable. To this day I don’t know why, I guess I just always assumed their kindness was out of pity. And I hated for anyone to pity me.
An uneasy feeling wound through me when I shut the bathroom door and started to strip out of my jeans. There was something unsettling about being naked in a preacher’s house.
10
Hannah
The next morning, I woke up and left Meg basically dying in my bed while I ran the errands. When I came back from the store late that morning, the door to Daddy’s shop was opened, so I assumed he and Bo where out there with the “unfortunate soul.”
I put the milk and orange juice in the fridge, stuffed the bread inside the wooden bread box, then went straight to my room with some Tylenol and water for Meg.
The second the door creaked open, she groaned and rolled over. “This Pepto Bismol pink is making me more hungover.”
“No, that’s the vodka.”
“Ugh. Don’t even talk about vodka.”
“Here,” I said, handing her the Tylenol and water.
She propped herself up on her elbows. Last night’s makeup was smeared over her face like poorly applied war paint, and it looked like a few birds had made nests in her hair. “Wow,” I said, “you look lovely.”
She swallowed the medicine, glanced across at my dresser mirror, then glared at me. “Here I am dying in your bed and you look all chipper and”—she waved her hand around before rubbing at her eye—“not dead. And it feels like I have sandpaper in my eye.”
“It’s the fifteen coats of mascara and fibers you slept in last night.” I stepped into the hall. “I’ll grab you one of my makeup wipes.”
Just when I reached for the bathroom door, it pulled open. Steam billowed out, and I was suddenly staring at the defined chest of a man with nothing but a damp, white towel wrapped around his waist. “Well…damn,” he said.
Every ounce of blood drained to my feet at the slight smirk that played at Noah’s lips. Our eyes locked and my heart hammered against my ribs because what in the hell was he doing in my house, naked?
“I…uh…” I swallowed. He subtly narrowed his eyes, probably stifling a laugh at how red my cheeks must have been. “Uh…” I watched the water trickling from his messy, damp hair. “Why are you—why are you in my house?” I blurted.
“Ah... I’m guessing John’s your dad?” he said.
“Yes, and”—I was still watching the droplets of water run down his face—“why are you in my house?” I repeated.
“I’m uh…” He tugged at the towel, I guess to keep it from slipping. God, please don’t let it slip. “Helping your dad out.”
He’s the troubled soul? Of course he is. Deep breath, Hannah. Deep, deep breath. I nodded. There was a moment of silence. A moment where we just looked at each other. I couldn’t help but think how bottomless his eyes seemed, like they were full of promises he’d never come through on—but the thought that he just may was almost enough. I’m pretty sure that’s why so many girls fell in love with him.
“And the towel?” I pointed.
“Well,” he finally said, “I thought it’d be rude to walk out of the bathroom naked.”
He bent down to pick up a pile of clothes set by the door, then held them up with a grin. His lips were all I could focus on, wondering if he threaded his fingers through your hair when he kissed you. “Yeah, but why are you—”
“Come on, country girl, don’t you know the potential hazards of working a farm?”
Like an idiot, I just stood there with my mouth hanging open.
“Your brother ran over a pile of cow shit. Splattered it all over me.”
“Oh, that’s lovely.”
“Yeah, real lovely.”
There was another awkward pause and he lifted a brow, thumbing inside the steam-filled bathroom. “Did you need something?”
“Huh? Oh... um... just...”
He pushed the door open all the way and stepped to the side. I quickly moved into the bathroom, snagged the pack of makeup wipes, and rushed back into the hallway, my cheeks heating.
“Well.” He braced both arms in the doorway and dropped his chin to his chest. Every muscle tensed and popped. The myriad of tattoos that stretched over his muscular arms were hard not to stare at. “It was nice to see you again, Hannah.” He dragged out my name like a note to a sad love song. My entire body tingled. I wanted to stand there and stare at him, touch him… What the crap is wrong with me?
“Yeah.” I swallowed. “You too.” When I turned around, the bathroom door clicked shut. The second I got back inside my room, I took a breath, wondering why in the world it had to be him that my daddy hired. Stuff like that never ended well. I felt about as ridiculous as Alice In Wonderland, just because a bottle’s not marked poison doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to drink it.
I tossed the makeup wipes at Meg and she lifted a curious brow. “Was that a guy in the hall?”
“Yep.”
“The new troubled soul?” She grinned as she pulled a wipe from the pouch and began scrubbing over her face.
“Yep... Noah Greyson.”
Her jaw hung open and she stopped wiping her makeup off, leaving her entire cheek pretty much black. “What?”
“The guy in the hall was Noah. In a towel.”
“Soooo...” she shrugged. “Is he moving in or something? Has your dad finally just lost it?”
“No.”
“Jesus, your dad has no idea what he’s just done.” She swiped the wipe over her face again before glancing down at it and wrinkling her nose. “He has just invited the devil into his home.”
“Oh, for the love... Meg, you are overreacting.”
“That’s your one-way ticket to hell. I’m telling you. He’s pretty, and a sweet talker, and he’ll make you weak, and then I’ll have to kill him, so I guess he’s really our one-way ticket to hell.”
“So now he’s the devil?” I asked. Any man who was going to lead all of mankind to hell was going to need a good smile and dimples…
“Maybe I’m giving him too much credit. Noah’s probably more like the Pied Piper of Panties.” She balled the face wipe in her fist, then tossed it to the floor. “God, it’s going to be Mr. Moses all over again.”
“What?” She’s lost her mind. Mr. Moses was the one-eyed Tabby we took in when I was a kid. He was vicious and basically had a vendetta against chipmunks.