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He didn’t answer. Instead, he went to work, laying out spindles and comparing them to a printed pattern nearby. He was trying to freeze her out, but that wouldn’t work. She stayed right where she was, waiting.
He wasn’t the awkward, angry boy she remembered. Well, maybe the angry part was still there. But there was nothing at all boyish about him. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had more of a brooding presence than he’d had as an angsty teenager. But then again, their high school days were almost twenty years ago. A weight settled on her shoulders. Twenty years. And what did she have to show for it, other than a son, a small apartment and a pile of college debt? Meanwhile, Zayne was building wooden lace for a living.
He looked up and caught her staring. He propped his hip against the bench and folded his arms on his chest. “If you think you can just annoy me into changing my mind, you can forget it. You may be used to getting your way all the time, but that won’t happen with me.”
Tani was right—the brooding presence thing was really working for Zayne. An energy radiated from him that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. It was like being outside as an electrical storm approached, when the air crackled with electricity. His face had the same sharp angles as always, but with a few scars mixed in, and a shadow of dark stubble along his jaw. His bright blue eyes had always been a contrast with his black hair and heavy brows. As a boy, those eyes had often danced with laughter. She didn’t see laughter there now. And he had a serious limp. She had seen him rubbing his left thigh earlier, and he moved with a slight limp. That had to be from the car accident she’d heard about. The one that left another man dead.
He’d gone back to working on the fretwork in front of him. She felt a touch of wonder that the ultimate bad boy was now an artist. An artist with a stubborn set to his jaw as he tried again to ignore her. But she was Andrea Wentworth, and she wasn’t going down without a fight.
“There has to besomeway we can come to an agreement on this issue. The committee paid for the maze, and we’re going to have to recoup that money from you if...”
“Are you threatening me?” He straightened, looking more amused than offended. “Of all the tactics you could have tried, trust me, that’s the worst. Your agreement was with Cliff. If you want to go after an eighty-five-year-old man in a nursing home for your money, have at it, but it won’t make you or your precious committee look very good.”
Andrea heard several things in those few sentences. He was right about going after Cliff. That was a losing proposition in every way. But more importantly, he’d made it sound like there mightbe a tactic thatcouldwork. She was just going to have to figure out what it was.
Hudson was sitting in an office chair in the corner, spinning himself around in circles. The chair was near a small table...or was that supposed to be a desk? Hard to tell, since it was buried in papers. There was a flat screen and—she looked underneath the desk—yup, it was a computer. Dusty and ancient, at least in computer years. At the corner of the desk, there was a chunk of carved wood that looked like a broken piece of gingerbread trim from some house. There was a giant nail or spike sticking straight up and impaled on that nail were pages of paper. She looked closer—orders? Invoices? Some had folded corners. A few had notes written on them in bold, but illegible, handwriting. She reached out to hold the corner of the one on top to read it better.
“Leave that alone! I have a system.” Zayne barked so sharply she jumped. She turned, leaving her hand right on that piece of paper in defiance. Her eyebrow rose.
“You call this asystem?”
He gestured toward the antique spike holding at least twenty papers. “The orders are on there in order, oldest on top, so I can take one look and see how much work I have on tap. If a corner is folded up, that means I’ve started it. If a corner is folded down, I don’t have a deposit yet, which means it moves farther down the pile. It’s a system.”
This was just the opening Andrea needed. She didnotneed to take on extra work right now, but if she could barter services for the corn maze...
“Does your computer not work?”
“It works.” He sounded defensive. “I have a website. People send me orders.” Zayne’s feet shuffled uncomfortably. “I print them. That’s all I need it for.”
“But how do you keep track of your income and expenses?”
Without making eye contact, he nodded in the general direction of a rusted file cabinet. She pulled open a drawer, which immediately twisted and groaned under the weight of papers stacked inside. Not in folders. Not organized in any apparent way. Just...stacked. Her mouth fell open, but at least she’d discovered what he needed.
“I can fix this,” she declared.
“The drawer?”
“What’sinsidethe drawer.” She pulled out a pile of wrinkled papers with holes stabbed through the middle of them. “I can organize all of this into an actual accounting system for you.”
“So now you think I’m going tohireyou?” Zayne rested his hands on the workbench, making the muscles in his biceps bunch under his T-shirt. Andrea swallowed hard. He was definitely nota boy anymore.
“I’ll do it for free.” His eyes widened at that. She had his interest, so she rushed on. “Inexchangefor you cleaning up the corn maze and allowing us to use it.” He started to shake his head, but she couldn’t give up now. She was too close to victory—she could sense it. “Just for this year! We’ll find another farm, but it’s too late now.” His mouth opened, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak. “I know you don’t care about the festival, or me, but think of the business owners and vineyards that would be impacted. Isn’t your brother a winemaker?”
She knew he was—Luke Rutledge ran the Falls Legend Winery. He’d married the owner’s niece, Whitney, and they were now raising their family on the award-winning vineyard. She had no idea how close the brothers were, though.
The whole Rutledge family was a lesson in dysfunction, thanks to their parents. Their father had died in prison and their mother had died from alcoholism years ago. The four children had been dirt-poor and teased for it in school. Her face heated. No one had any idea back then that she and Zayne had been friends. He and she would meet at the old willow tree halfway between their homes and talk for hours. But in their senior year, she’d been one of the kids laughing—or at least standing by and watching. It was clear that he hadn’t forgotten.
“Zayne, I know how much I hurt you back in our senior year. Let me make it up to you.”
He chuckled, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “The past can’t be changed. Don’t make this about that. You just want your damn maze.”
“Okay. I’ll make up for my bad behavior some other way. Thisisabout the maze.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, sensing victory. “I’ll barter the new bookkeeping system for the use of the maze.”
He didn’t turn her down, but he didn’t look excited, either.
“Spreadsheets and fancy software programs are just gibberish to me.” His voice hardened. “And I’m not ready to promise anything yet. I’llconsiderthe maze.”
“I’m not an idiot, Zayne. I’m not going to do all this work without some kind of agreement on the maze.”
