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7
Bree
So, today was a surprise. I mean, talk about doing a complete 180!
When I arrived at Ben’s, my stomach was doing somersaults at the thought of coming face-to-face with Jackson. After a while, I concluded that he was not home, given that I had not laid eyes on him all morning. Feeling somewhat more relaxed, I focused on my chores. There’s always lots to do in Ben’s huge house, not to mention the garden. And when it’s time for me to leave, I often feel that I have hardly accomplished anything.
It’s not my place to say, but I really hope that when Ben’s leg gets better, he takes on a housekeeper full-time. I would accept the offer, I think. I enjoy my work here. I have already made the house ten times tidier than when I arrived with my exceptional organizational skills. It’s now also got that special, woman’s touch. When I first came here, I immediately made note of the overwhelming influence of testosterone. No plants, no flowers, no style.
The day was a scorcher, and even in the shade, the heat was nearly unbearable. While pottering around the garden, I nipped into the house a few times to enjoy a little bit of aircon. The house is cool and refreshing and I know Ben doesn’t mind.
“Hey, Bree,” Ben called to me through the open kitchen window just before lunch. He couldn’t see me, but he had likely heard me moving about. He was on the porch in his usual spot. A table stood beside him supporting a cold drink and a book. I’ve carefully observed Ben’s morning routine, swapping between reading the book and admiring the wonderful view that surrounds his home. He seems to have become more accepting of his circumstances. Maybe a bit of rest will do him a world of good.
“Yeah?” I replied, taking the dishes out of the dishwasher, one at a time.
“There’s some homemade lemonade in the fridge…”
Ooh, yum. I could definitely do with some of that.
“Will you take a jug and a glass down to the barn for Jackson?” Ben continued. “I’m sure he’s melting in there right now.”
At that, I froze immediately. It wasn’t because of the aircon either. It’s not that good.
Damn it!
I had been certain the caveman wasn’t home today. It hadn’t occurred to me that he would be in the one place he was supposed to be. The very reason he was here was to help his father with the business, or so Ben had told me.
Of course, he was in the darn barn.
“Sure,” I replied, after the longest pause in history. “Do you want anything?” I had added absently.
“No. No. I think I’m all good here.”
“OK.”
The ice tinkled against the jug as I walked carefully to the barn, gripping the round plastic tray. The pattern on the tray was full of big blooming red flowers, and it made me wonder who had bought it. None of the men in this family, I would imagine.
Jackson had his back to me when I reached the wide doorway. The barn doors had been tied back, but with the humid heat and no air circulation, it likely didn’t provide much relief.
My stomach started with the somersaults again. Only they were far bigger this time. In fact, these felt like quadruple backflips that the gymnasts perform in the Olympics. The ones from earlier seemed like simple cartwheels by comparison. I had considered placing the tray on one of the immaculately spotless workbenches before running away, but I had immediately reminded myself that I had done nothing wrong. It wasn’t me who was acting like an ice-cold breeze.
And yet, I had to grab his attention somehow. I didn’t want to call his name. It felt foreign. It wasn’t like we knew each other, Jackson had made certain of that. As I considered my options, I couldn’t help watching the way he moved in the butt-hugging denim shorts that showed off his rather humongous thigh muscles.
Make up your mind, will you? Either hate his guts, or drool over him, but choose.
Of course, I don’t really hate his guts. I just have a strong dislike for the man.
I cleared my throat. More because I was worried, he’d feel my intense gaze at his backside and turn swiftly to catch me looking. Not the greatest scenario.
He had turned in my direction, and I was half-expecting a scowl after my biting remark, followed by my swift departure last night. But his expression caught me completely off guard. In fact, everything that happened for the following ten minutes was utterly confusing. It was like I was having a conversation with a completely different man. A man I had clearly not yet met.
By the time I left the barn, the somersaults were gone. Not that my stomach was entirely settled. It was back to that twisting sensation I felt the first time I smelled him. If Jackson Scott’s intention was to confuse me, he was succeeding lavishly. I don’t understand the change; but then, nor do I really care. I hate confrontation, and more than that, I hate tension and discomfort. Maybe, just maybe, these next few weeks are not going to be so dreadful after all.
The bed is so warm and comfortable, it’s tempting to stay in it for another hour. But today is Sunday. My only day off. There are still boxes to unpack and chores to do about the cottage. Not to mention, the one thing I have been putting off since I bought the washers.
Fixing the faucet.
Maybe Mr. Shilliday’s lack of confidence in me had rubbed off. Before going into his store, I had been fully committed to fixing the constant dripping from the faucet at the kitchen sink. His dubious expression comes back to haunt me even now. Am I biting off more than I can chew?
