“Just doing my job.” His voice was flat, controlled.
Right. His job. Because that’s all this was to him. Just a job. Just paying off whatever debt he owed Race.
I turned to look out the window, watching the Montana landscape roll past. Mountains in the distance, snow-capped and beautiful. The kind of view that usually made me feel peaceful.
Today it just made me feel restless. Restless and needy and far too aware of the man sitting inches away from me. Too aware of how easy it would be to reach over, to touch him, to ask for what I wanted instead of pretending I didn’t want it at all.
“A storm’s supposed to come in tomorrow,” I said, just to have something to say. “A big one. We’ll probably have to close the mill for a day or two if it’s as bad as they’re predicting.”
“Good thing we’re doing this delivery today, then.”
“Yeah.” I fiddled with the zipper on my coat. “Mr. Henderson would have understood if we’d had to delay, but he’s been a customer since before I was born. I like to give him special treatment when I can.”
Crew nodded but didn’t respond, and the silence stretched between us again. Thick and uncomfortable and full of everything we weren’t saying.
Mr. Henderson’s ranch looked like something out of a postcard—sprawling log buildings, split-rail fences, mountains rising in the background. The old man was waiting for us on the porch when we pulled up, his weathered face breaking into a huge grin.
“Charlie girl!” He pulled me into a bear hug the moment I was out of the truck. “About time you came to visit this old man.”
“Good to see you, Mr. H.” I hugged him back, genuine affection warming my chest. “I brought your oak paneling. Just like you ordered.”
“Perfect, perfect.” His eyes slid to Crew, who was already moving to the truck bed to start unloading. His muscles flexing as he lifted the heavy paneling, his coat pulling tight across his shoulders and back. I bit my lip, watching him. “And who’s this strapping young man? New boyfriend?”
My cheeks heated at the image it conjured—Crew as mine, Crew in my bed, Crew’s hands on my body. “He’s our newest employee. This is Crew. Crew, Mr. Henderson.”
“Hank.” The old man shook Crew’s hand. “Any friend of Charlie’s is welcome here. Come on, let’s get that wood unloaded. Then you’re both staying for lunch. Won’t take no for an answer.”
We spent the next hour unloading and inspecting the paneling. Mr. Henderson was meticulous, checking every piece, running his hands over the wood with the appreciation of someone who understood craftsmanship.
“Beautiful work,” he said, nodding approvingly. “You did good, Charlie girl. Real good.”
“Crew did most of it,” I admitted. “He’s got a gift for detail work.”
“That right?” Mr. Henderson studied Crew with new interest. “Where’d you learn woodworking?”
“My grandfather,” Crew said, his voice gruff. “Before I enlisted.”
“Military man. I like that.” Mr. Henderson clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, you’ve got talent. Charlie’s lucky to have you.”
I saw Crew’s jaw clench at that, but he just nodded.
“Now come on inside,” Mr. Henderson said. “Lunch is ready, and I want you to meet my grandson. He’s visiting from Bozeman.”
My stomach sank. I knew exactly what this was. Another attempt at matchmaking. Mr. Henderson had been trying to set me up with his grandson for two years now.
Sure enough, when we walked into the main house, a man in his early thirties stood up from the kitchen table. Tall, clean-cut, wearing designer jeans and a sweater that probably cost more than my truck payment.
“Charlotte!” He crossed the room with a smile that showed too many teeth. “It’s been too long.”
“Hi, Brantley.” I accepted his hug, very aware of Crew standing behind me, radiating tension. “This is Crew. He’s helping out at the mill.”
“Crew.” Brantley shook his hand, the gesture more challenge than greeting. “Interesting name.”
“It’s what I go by,” Crew said flatly. His voice was cold, dangerous, and I watched Brantley’s cocky smile falter slightly at whatever he saw in Crew’s eyes.
The lunch was painful. Brantley dominated the conversation, talking about his finance job in Bozeman, his new car, his condo with mountain views. He kept touching my arm, laughing too loud at his own jokes, making it very clear he was interested.
And Mr. Henderson was eating it up, shooting me encouraging looks every five minutes.
