Chapter 9

Basically, if you can pull off a beard, you can pull off my underwear.

-Fact of Life

Kennedy

“Cock sucker,” I grumbled, bending down to pick up the nail.

I heard a snort, but when I looked at the man at my side, he looked no different than he usually did. Stoic and blank.

I went back to the nail I’d just picked back up off the ground, placed the U-shaped piece of shit back across the wire that was strung tight across the four-by-four post we’d sunk into the ground, and bit my lip.

Very carefully, I aimed the hammer in my hand against the nail head. Once I thought it was in well enough, I pulled back and hit it a little harder, only for it to go flying again.

“Goddamn you, you little piece of shit,” I growled.

That’s when the big man at the other end of the fence—the same man who’d started directly next to me going the opposite way as me—started to laugh.

“How do you do this?” I groaned. “I don’t understand!”

He shook his head. “One of the nail ends is a little longer than the other. Get that side in a little first, and then give it a good whack.”

I glared at the offending nail that was winking in the sunlight from its position deep in the grass and grumbled something unintelligible. “Whatever.”

Bending down, I picked it up again, and then adjusted my bra where I was storing the other nails—the ones I hadn’t had use for yet since I hadn’t even gotten a single one of the fuckers in.

“Like this,” he said, suddenly beside me.

I blinked at his abrupt nearness, but dutifully watched him do the nailing, putting in four in the blink of an eye.

“Maybe I’ll just be your nail holder,” I offered, staring at his muscular forearms.

He started to chuckle. “I guess that’s okay. I need another one.”

So we worked in companionable silence, him pounding nails and me pulling them out of my shirt and handing them to him.

We did that for a while, then we stretched more fence.

Fence I hadn’t been aware needed to be stretched when I’d done this myself.

Then again, I’d just used chicken wire and staples which, apparently, wasn’t how it was supposed to be done. Surprise, surprise.

It was while we worked on one of the last posts that it happened. The one single thing that changed my life.

“Here, hold this,” he said, handing me the piece of the fence. “Pull up while I nail it.”

I did as asked, trying not to press my breasts against him as I did.

My forearms were shaking with the abuse I was putting them through, and I was fairly sure that I was the picture of sweaty, unattractive female.

Yet, I kept going, because this man was doing me a favor, and no matter how bad my forearms hurt and my hands screamed, I was going to work until I could no longer stay on my feet.

“Do you have a nail?”

I looked at my hands that were holding my fence up, and then down to his knee that was holding it down below, and then shook my head. “Not in my hand.”

His eyes went down to my shirt where it was bulging unnaturally with nails and then bit his lip.

“Just do it,” I gasped. “My arms are about to give out.”

He reached forward and took the first nail that was on top, barely even touching any of my skin.

It was just a brush—a barely-there, brief little graze—of his thumb against the inside of my left breast. But it was the best touch I’d ever felt in my life.

I would remember it for the rest of my years.

I’d also remember the look in his eyes at the moment his fingers skimmed across my flesh.

I chose to be a good girl, though, and instead of letting out the involuntary moan creeping up my throat, I buried it.

Turning away from his eyes which stayed glued to mine, I bit my lip and stared straight ahead.

It took him another couple of moments to do his thing, and by the time he was done nailing in all five nails, I was on fire.

Not literally, but my arms were screaming, and I was fairly sure I’d need a new pair of panties.

Being this near to him was hell on my nerves.

He was literally setting me on fire and he hadn’t even done anything but run the pad of one thumb against the side of one of my boobs.

An innocent touch, yet it was enough to tell me two things.

One, I was a hoochie. Anything would be better than nothing.

And two, I was falling for this big, silent man who had done nothing but talk to me for a few short minutes each time I’d seen him.

But, as they say, actions spoke louder than words.

He’d helped carry heavy bags to my truck. He’d buried my chickens. He’d built me a freakin’ fence.

So, no, I didn’t think that this big man was as bad as everyone in town was making him out to be. I knew for a fact that he was kind, caring and a whole lot of awesome.

I just had to prove that to him.

Oh, and figure out how the hell to make him fall madly in love with me, because I was well on my way to going down hard for him.

***

Four hours later, I was sweaty, tired and on the verge of tears.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” I asked hopefully.

“Can’t,” he answered. “Gotta take the truck to the lot and drop off my load.”

I nodded, wiping my hand off on my pants.

Then, I held it out to him.

“Thank you for your help,” I whispered. “I really appreciate it.”

He looked at my hand for so long that I wasn’t sure that he was going to take it.

But he did, and when he did, his hand engulfed my much smaller one.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered. “You made me a grand today by allowing me to help with your fence.”

“What?” I asked, startled.

He gestured to the driveway where his truck still had the one he’d picked up earlier hitched up in the air with the towing rig. “A grand on that one.”

I blinked, then turned to survey the truck.

“I think I’m in the wrong business.”

He grunted. “This business isn’t for women. No offense,” I snorted at his words. “But you’d be eaten alive.”

I shrugged, not knowing what he meant, but deciding that I’d get him to tell me all about his job.

“You want to have lunch tomorrow?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Got to work tomorrow.”

“Dinner?”

He stared at me, watched my eyes, and then seemed to come to a decision.

“Look…,” he growled. “I’ve been to jail. Being seen with me is like signing your own death warrant in this town. If you like delivering your eggs to the Mercantile and making money, you’ll forget you even know me in public.”

Then he was gone, leaving me with my heart somewhere around my knees.

But I made a promise to myself.

The next time I saw him, I would go out of my way to let everyone in the entire town know exactly what I thought about the man.