The Bride Wore Blue Jeans Page 9

  This was going well, Alison thought. Lily was going to be happy. But for the sake of the situation, she knew she had to at least make a stab at some kind of protest. “I thought you were helping Lily with the wedding arrangements.”

  Kevin looked at Alison. “Does she want me to?” They both knew the answer to that.

  “Well, no,” Alison admitted, “But—”

  “That’s what I thought.” He rested his case. “That’s why I volunteered to do a few things around June’s place while I’m here. There’s no excuse for her living under conditions like that. Besides, when winter hits, she’s liable to freeze to death.”

  Alison and Luc exchanged looks. Neither one was about to tell him that they had already made plans with the others to hold what was tantamount to a house-raising for June once the wedding was a thing of the past. This was far better.

  “Very observant of you to notice,” Alison murmured. “But then, nothing ever did get by you.” She looked toward the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

  She didn’t think June could have had much in the way of food, even taking Kevin’s gift for preparation into account. He couldn’t have exactly performed the miracle of the loaves and fishes.

  “No,” he demurred. “But what I am is tired,” he admitted. “I think I’ll turn in early. Good night.” He nodded toward Luc and paused to kiss Alison before heading up the stairs.

  “Sweet dreams,” Alison called out after him.

  He didn’t have to turn around to look at her. He could hear the grin in her voice.

  Chapter Eight

  June stood back a few feet from the front porch and took a long, scrutinizing look at the farmhouse. Kevin had been coming over every day since they’d struck the bargain, applying himself to patching the roof, replacing shingles where they were needed, replacing complete boards where weather and time had eaten through. The sound of hammering and sawing had been a steady companion now for almost two weeks.

  He might need to be kept occupied, but she was certainly the one who’d benefited from his labor.

  He was painting the outside of the house now and she had to admit she hardly recognized the old building. Kevin looked so intent, she thought as she approached him. And so utterly masculine. There were splotches of paint on him here and there, and some smeared across his chest, laid bare again in deference to the humid weather.

  Her fingers itched to rub the paint away from his chest. June pushed her hands deeper into her pockets.

  He could feel her watching him. Had felt it for a while now. “Approve?”

  Yes! Her eyes lingered on him, on the hard muscles that moved with grace as he transformed dark wood into light, then reluctantly shifted to the building itself again.

  “It looks like a completely different house.” There was deep admiration in her voice.

  Kevin went to dip his brush in again and saw that there was almost nothing left. If he wanted to finish this side before evening, he was going to need to get more paint from town.

  He set the paintbrush down and stepped back. So close to his work, all he could see at his present vantage point was a blizzard of white. Because the house could easily be lost in one of the famous snowstorms that hit the area, he’d painted the wood around the windows and the shutters in a brilliant shade of royal blue.

  “It’s just a matter of putting in a few new boards and giving the place several good coats of paint.”

  It was decidedly more than that, she thought, looking over his work. It was love, love of a job well-done and she could see it in every stroke, in every new nail he’d driven in.

  He was a man, she thought, who didn’t do things by half measures. A man who believed in sticking to something until it was finished. A man who gave of himself.

  Abruptly June reined herself in before she could get too carried away. Her mother had probably felt the same way about her father. According to her grandmother, Wayne Yearling had had a golden tongue and could have charmed birds right out of their trees even with a cat strolling nearby. She’d heard her father had promised her mother the moon. Utterly enamored, Rose Hatcher had broken her engagement to the man she was about to marry and had run off with Wayne, only to return nine months later with a newborn in her arms and an unemployed husband at her side. Ursula had taken them in, then signed the papers to the deed that gave them title to the farm. A farm that her father had failed to make thrive.

  Kevin’s not promising you the moon, she told herself. He’s just being helpful.

  There was no comparison between Kevin and her father. Besides, Kevin was adding color to her house, not her life, she insisted silently. He wasn’t turning her head with compliments or empty words. If she felt special around him, well, it was nothing that he had set out to do, nothing he’d calculated on. After all, he had no way of knowing just how sexy he looked with white paint sprinkled along the dark hairs of his chest.

  She was getting carried away again, June admonished herself. She nodded at his latest handiwork. “You really don’t have to do this, you know.”

  He didn’t see it that way. He needed to keep busy. “Might as well do something productive while I’m here. Lily made it clear in no uncertain terms that she was going to handle her own wedding arrangements. Something about serving my head on a platter if I got in the way had been bandied about.” He grinned. His sister was a despot when it came to planning parties. Even the tea parties she’d held as a child had been carefully orchestrated. That should have been his first clue that he had not so benevolent a dictator on his hands. “I’m not even sure if Max is allowed to give her any input.”

  “I can’t see Max hanging around, waiting to be ‘allowed’ to do anything.” If Max was on the sidelines, it was because he wanted to be there. “My brother’s quiet, but he’s not the kind of man who lets himself be steamrolled over.” June tilted her head to the side, as if seeing him for the first time. Or at least exploring a new notion for the first time. “You kind of remind me of him. Except that you’re a lot handier than Max ever was.” Max didn’t know his way around cars beyond the basics and, as far as carpentry went, she wouldn’t have wanted to live in a house that he had single-handedly restored.

  “I remind everyone of their big brother,” Kevin told her.

  “I didn’t mean that.” June looked at him pointedly. “I don’t think of you as a big brother.”

  His eyes held hers. Desire raised its head. “You should.”

  There were only inches between them. She wanted there to be less. “Why?”

  He took the first step. And it was to back away. The moment evaporated. “Because otherwise you’ve got a half-naked man running around your property with a paintbrush. People’ll talk.”

  She laughed shortly. “People around here always talk. It’s their biggest hobby. Cable finally came in a couple of years ago, but it’s not all that reliable and besides—” she gestured around “—this is the longest running story in the area.”

  He thought she meant the farm. Which brought the circle back to her. “You?”

  She shook her head. “The town.” She thought about what people had said about her when she was younger. “I’m just the no-account’s youngest daughter.” Some hadn’t known what to make of her when she grew older and preferred motor oil to perfume. “The odd one who liked to tinker with engines instead of men.” She shrugged. “It’s a lot safer that way. For the most part, you can figure your way around an engine.” Humor curved her mouth, but only partially so as she looked at him. “Men now are a whole different story.”

  He combed the flecks of paint off his chest with his fingers, aware that she was watching his every move. In a moment of truth, he admitted something he didn’t generally talk about. “Funny, I always felt that way about women. Lot more mysteries there than what it take to make an engine purr.”

  His choice of words caught her attention. “You’ve tried your hand at making women purr?”

  He’d only meant it as an expression. “Not me. Until
he got married, that was always Jimmy’s department. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  She didn’t know whether he was being coy, or completely unaware of the effect he had on women. On her. “Seems to me, kissing would be a good place for you to start. The way you kiss, you could knock the socks off a barefoot woman.”

  “Really?” He looked at her quizzically.

  “Really,” she affirmed.

  “I had no idea that you were that experienced.”

  She shrugged loftily. “I’ve had my share.” It was a lie, but not one she’d admit readily. “Besides, you don’t have to live in a major city to know a skyscraper when you come across one.”

  He was flattered despite himself and laughed. “You’re something else again, June.”

  “Am I?” She was playing with fire and she knew it, but she couldn’t seem to shake herself loose of the heat that was taking hold of her. Drawing her in. “Just what else would you say I was?”

  A temptress. A temptress in blue jeans. He tore himself away from the thought and the pervading feeling it generated.

  “Well, under those baggy overalls and that shapeless work shirt, and that smudge on your nose—” he paused to wipe it away with his thumb “—is a beautiful woman just waiting to happen.”

  Because there were still traces of the smudge left, he wiped at it again, more slowly this time, and succeeded in arousing himself even more.

  He could feel his heart beating harder, far harder than when he’d been on the roof, in danger of sliding off and splitting his head open. There the danger had been one-sided. Here it came at him from many fronts.

  She cocked her head, her eyes never leaving his mouth. “Maybe I’ve already happened,” she said softly.

  “Maybe,” he agreed, just before he brought his lips down to hers.

  And very nearly sealed both their fates.

  Like the numbers on the Richter scale, which increased by a thousandfold with each numeric elevation, each kiss seemed to be a thousandfold more potent, more powerful than its predecessor. He felt as if his very world was being rocked.

  And in a way it was, because he began entertaining thoughts on a regular basis that would have had no place in his life a few months ago.

  That shouldn’t have a place in his life now, not when it came to June.

  With a few more years between them, she could have easily been his daughter. He wasn’t supposed to be having sexual thoughts about someone like that. What the hell was wrong with him?

  Putting his hands on her shoulders, Kevin physically moved her back away from him. Surprised entered her face as her eyes slowly focused on him. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  June sighed, not wanting to let go of the moment. Feeling it slip away nonetheless. “Kevin, can’t you just do something without debating it? It happened, so it was supposed to happen. And I’m not sorry it did.” She looked down at the paint can by his feet. “Is that your last one?”

  “What?”

  She grinned. “I meant paint can, not kiss.” She jerked her thumb in the direction of her vehicle. “Because I can run into town and get more. Paint,” she clarified.

  He’d already decided to go into town. And now the need was more urgent than before. He needed to put space between them. A whole lot of space. “I’ll get the paint. I could use a break right now.”

  “From the work, or from something else?” She looked at him knowingly. For a brave man, he certainly didn’t act it all the time.

  His expression was the soul of innocence. “You’re the one who told me not to overcomplicate things, remember?” Kevin picked up his shirt from the railing he’d painted two days ago. Despite the humidity that hung oppressively all around them, the railing had eventually dried.

  She knew she shouldn’t stare at him like that, but she couldn’t help herself. He was one magnificent specimen of manhood. “If you go to the emporium without your shirt on, I guarantee you that Mrs. Kellogg will sell you the paint at cost. Maybe even make you a present of it.”

  He slipped on the shirt and began rebuttoning it. “And why would she do that?”

  “Have you seen Mr. Kellogg?”

  He laughed, tucking his shirt in. “You really are good for a man’s ego.”

  “I don’t say that to every man,” she informed him. I don’t say that to any man. Only you.

  He wanted to kiss her again before he left. But if he did, he knew he wasn’t going to leave. Not for a very long time.

  So, in self-preservation, Kevin merely nodded at her and walked to Alison’s Jeep. “I’ll be back in a little while,” he promised.

  She pressed her lips together. Maybe he was right, maybe they needed some space, some perspective. Every time she was around him, she lost it.

  “I might not be here when you get back.” June pointed toward the horizon, to where the property continued. “I’ve got some work waiting for me in the south field.”

  “I could do that when I come back.”

  She shook her head. “You’re doing too much as it is. I don’t want to be accused of wearing you out before the wedding.”

  “You’ve got a point.” He turned the key in the ignition. Lily’s wedding was a little more than a week away. His ticket home was for the day after that.

  Time was growing shorter.

  The thought filled him with a melancholy that he ordinarily associated with moving through life without his siblings. Which only proved to him that at bottom he viewed June in the same light as he did Alison, Lily and Jimmy. Just another sibling.

  And then he shook his head as he turned the Jeep toward Hades. Funny the lies people told themselves just to continue.

  There were times when she liked to come to the grave site by herself and just talk things out with her mother. That there was no audible response never troubled her too much. If she was very quiet, she could feel the response in her heart.

  This was one of those times.

  She bit her lip, debating. She really did have work to do. Hay didn’t take care of itself.

  The debate was short-lived.

  On impulse, June abandoned her work and stopped to pick a handful of wildflowers that seemed to have grown expressly for the purpose of decorating her mother’s grave. They were wild roses. Her mother had always loved wild roses.

  It was what her father had called her. Wild Rose.

  June placed the freshly plucked bouquet on the seat beside her and drove toward the town’s small cemetery. She needed to be near her mother. To share a moment in time the way she hadn’t been able to in life.

  The cemetery contained the remains of all the past citizens of Hades who had come here in search of something, or to flee something. The former had been the case for the two oldest bodies buried on the hill, that of two miners. They had been the original founders of the small town, one of whom had given the town its name in a fit of despair and desperation. He’d thought of it as hell, but society being what it had been in those days, he’d called it by the only acceptable label that could have been given then: Hades. It had stuck and aroused a kind of dry humor when referred to in the dead of bone-chilling winter.

  She’d always been amused by that story, June thought as she approached the small wrought-iron-gated area.

  Her smile faded a little as she saw that she wasn’t going to be alone here, the way she’d hoped. There was someone else there at the cemetery already. His back to her, he stood over a grave.

  She didn’t recognize the coat.

  The town’s population was still small enough for her to be able to recognize not only all the inhabitants of Hades, but also the clothing they wore.

  Maybe Mr. Kellogg was carrying a new line of winter apparel at the emporium. The coat looked too warm for this time of year.

  She stopped the car and took measure of the person she deemed a stranger.

  The man was tall, with flowing iron-gray hair. Though he was broad shouldered, his shoulders seemed to be slumped, as if life had beat
en him down year by year, inch by inch.

  A relative? A curious stranger absorbing the names of past citizens for some unknown reason of his own? They had a few tourists here in the summer, but this wasn’t exactly a tourist draw.

  Taking her key from the ignition, June got out of the vehicle.

  Strangers were supposed to invite caution, but she had never been the cautious type. Especially since, she realized, the man stood over the very grave she wanted to put her flowers on.

  What was he doing here?

  There were flowers on the grave already. Fresh ones. The wilt of even a day’s separation from the soil hadn’t begun to penetrate the blooms. Had Max or April had the same inclination today? Neither one had mentioned intending to come here.

  Maybe her grandmother had passed by. She tried to remember if today had some sort of significance. And then she remembered.

  It was her mother’s wedding anniversary.

  She stared at the stranger’s back. Had he put the flowers there?

  Why?

  The word echoed in her head as her stomach tightened instinctively in anticipation. A strange numbness descended over her.

  She strode forward. “That’s my mother’s grave,” she announced crisply. The man’s head jerked up in response, as if he hadn’t heard her approach. “What are you doing here?”

  His hands were working the rim of a shapeless tan hat, a fedora that had seen better decades. “Saying I’m sorry,” he replied quietly, addressing his words to the body beneath the soil.

  June could feel her spine stiffening. “Why would you be sorry? You didn’t know her.” There was a stillness in the air, not even the sound of an insect whizzing by. Nothing. Only the words hung there between them. “Did you?”

  “Yes. For a little while.” Each word was slowly measured out, like precious drops of water in the desert. “She was my wife.”

  June raised her chin, anger and defiance warring within her for control even as her voice remained steely. “That’s not possible. She was only married once. And he’s dead.”