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Nora’s eye tracked her and then widened in abject mortification when they landed on the counter where she’d sat. Where the print of her rear end was perfectly outlined in the flour.
Her gaze jerked over to Adam, and she tried to show him with her eyes what she’d just seen. He frowned slightly, obviously trying to figure out what she was telling him. She nodded her head over at the counter beside him as subtly as she could, and he finally looked over. His lips twitched, and he glanced up and winked at her.
“I don’t know what to say, Martha,” he said, grabbing a towel so he could start wiping up. “My humblest apologies.” Her butt print disappeared beneath his towel, and some of the tension in her shoulders relaxed. Then another thought occurred to her, and she reached behind her back and tried to wipe away whatever evidence might have remained there as unobtrusively as possible.
“I’ll get this all cleaned up,” Adam said, making his way over to Nora.
Martha just stared at him, and Adam sighed. “I’m fired, aren’t I?”
She snorted. “Yes. Yes, you are.”
Adam sighed again, but it really wasn’t a surprise. Martha probably would have fired him just from the state of her kitchenbeforeit almost burned down.
Adam sidled a little closer, and when no one was looking, he leaned down to whisper in Nora’s ear. “Totally worth it.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nora shoved another pile of papers out of the way and yanked open the last drawer in her father’s desk, even though she knew what she was looking for wasn’t there. A quick rummage proved her right. Her heart bottomed out as she reached beneath the desk to trigger the secret drawer. It popped out.
Empty. Somehow he’d found it.
She stood in the middle of her father’s office, hoping there was some other place she could look that she’d missed. But she’d already tried the bookshelf, even going so far as to shake out every one of their few books in case he’d tucked the papers between the pages. She’d searched his desk, under the rug, between the sofa cushions, and through every pile of paper she could find in the entire house.
Her small stash of emergency money was gone. And so was the deed to the property.
The money she could understand. Without that, her father couldn’t fund his booze-fueled excursions. But the deed? What did he plan on doing with that?
She didn’t really need that question answered. It was perfectly obvious what he’d do with it.
The only other possible explanation for the missing items was if someone else had taken them. Adam had been sleeping in her father’s office on the sofa the last several nights. So he’d certainly had opportunity. She just couldn’t imagine he’d do that to her. Not after…after what had happened between them in the kitchen.
But she couldn’t know that for sure. How well did she really know the man?
Before she could think better of it, she marched out to the barn where Adam had been rebuilding their small chicken coop. She stopped short at the sight of him, her mind emptying of everything but the mouthwateringly handsome man before her. Who had once again removed his shirt.
Why did men do that? It was an unseasonably warm day, granted. But women didn’t go around ripping off their clothes in an attempt to cool down. Not that she wouldn’t love to. But it just wasn’t done.
Then again, neither was a woman traipsing about town in men’s trousers, yet there she was. Perhaps she should give Adam a taste of his own medicine and whip off her own shirt in order to cool down. If nothing else, she would love to do it just to see how he’d react. And what he’d do next.
Her mind flooded with images of all the possibilities, and she gave her head a little shake, trying to clear it. She was there for a reason, and it wasn’t to seduce her pseudo-husband. She was there to interrogate him.
…
Adam hammered one last nail in and then stood back to examine his handiwork. It was…horrible. The angles were all crooked, the door hung slightly off its frame, and not one single line was straight. But it was standing. It would hold the chickens and keep out predators. And at the end of the day, that’s all they really needed. Being pretty was optional. It wasn’t like the chickens cared much as long as they were warm and fed.
“Adam?”
Nora’s voice—Nora’s angry voice—floated to him from outside, and he frowned.
“In here,” he called out.
She marched inside, her mouth already open to speak, but she stopped mid-stride when she saw the coop. Her mouth snapped shut again.
He frowned and turned to survey it again. “It’s not that bad, is it?”
She glanced at him, then back at the coop, then back at him, and he laughed. “All right, I know it is, but look.”
He took her hand and guided her over, opening the door of the enclosure so he could pull her inside. Which, admittedly, didn’t look any better than the outside. But still, he was proud of what he’d done. Mostly.
