Page 7 of Oops I Fell For The Rancher Next Door

Aweek in and the man has fixed fourteen fence posts.

I know because I've been watching from the kitchen window while pretending to unpack boxes. The electricity came back Thursday. The water pressure improved after I replaced the faucet aerator. And Cade Holloway has shown up every afternoon around two, parked at the fence line, unloaded tools, and worked until the light gave out.

He doesn't knock. Doesn't ask. Just appears on my south border with wire cutters and post-hole diggers.

Today I crack. Not because I want to, but because it's fifty degrees, sunny, and he's been out there for three hours without water.

The sandwiches are stupid. Turkey on wheat with mustard because that's what I have. Wrapped in paper towels. A bottle of water from the case I hauled up from the hardware store, where a woman named Mabel told me the full history of Bear Creek Valley while ringing up my generator parts.

He's crouched at the corner post when I walk down. Hat pushed back, sweat on his neck despite the cool air.

"Brought you lunch." I hold out the sandwich. "Don't make it weird."

He pulls off his gloves. Takes it. Opens the paper towel and takes a bite. "Good mustard."

"It's yellow mustard from a squeeze bottle."

"Didn't say it was fancy."

I sit on the grass a few feet away. The wind moves through the aspens. A hawk circles over the meadow. He eats the sandwich in six bites, drinks half the water in one pull.

"You're good at this," I hear myself say.

"At what?"

"Quiet. Most people can't handle it."

He turns the water bottle in his hands. "Most people talk to fill space. I'd rather leave the space alone."

"My ex talked constantly." The words fall out before I can catch them.

Cade doesn't react. Doesn't lean in, doesn't ask questions, doesn't get that hungry look people get when they smell someone else's damage. He just waits.

"He had an opinion about everything," I continue, because apparently the door is open now. "What I wore. How I loaded the dishwasher. Whether my voice was too loud when I laughed." My fingers pull at the grass. "After a while you stop laughing. Then you stop talking."

Silence from Cade. But he's listening. His whole body angled toward me without moving.

"Sorry. You didn't ask for that."

"Don't apologize for telling the truth."

My throat tightens. Six words, no cushion.

"The fence looks good," I manage.

"Two more sections on the south side." He stands. Reaches a hand down.

I take it.

His palm is rough. Warm. He pulls me to my feet and the momentum carries me a half step too close. Our boots almost touching. His hand still holding mine.

Up close, he smells like grass. His jaw is tight. Those brown eyes drop to my mouth for one second.

My whole body goes hot.

He lets go. Steps back. Picks up the wire cutters. "Corner brace needs resetting before I can run the wire." His voice has a roughness at the edges that wasn't there before.

I walk back to the cabin on unreliable legs. My palm still warm from his grip.