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Frowning, I disregard the comment about the seed. No way I can get that shit off the ground.
I’m more than a little curious what he’s doing. Is he… bringing me something to drink? A chair to sit in while I disassemble the salt licks?
It comes as no shock when he unfolds the chair with a snap of his arm and plops down in it. He sets the cooler next to him, pulls out a beer, and twists off the top.
He hoists the bottle in mock salute. “Cheers. I thought I’d provide encouragement and direction.”
I roll my eyes and give him my back. I start at the trees closest to me, meticulously untwisting the wire hangers I created. I’d never let him know, but each of these feeders was lovingly painted by me, Ann Marie, Hayley, and Erica yesterday. They answered my call for help, and we drank wine and laughed as we decorated them. My friends stayed well past midnight to help me plant all this stuff on Coen’s property. It took us a good hour to set it all up, and I’ve already been here for over two trying to take it all down by myself.
I try to work as efficiently as I can, but I’m all too aware of Coen sitting and watching. It’s one thing to have a physically intimidating man who I’ve already had a few nasty run-ins with staring at me, but it’s another knowing he’s a hot, successful professional hockey player.
Yeah… I’d looked him up after leaving Masha’s. Sat right in my car and googled Coen Highsmith and learned a lot in a very short time. I don’t know sports, but from what little I gathered, he was a big deal to the Titans’ hockey team, their highest scorer,and he wasn’t on the plane when it went down. His career had tanked this year—I’m assuming fallout from the tragedy—but he’s been in some trouble. I’ve known him to be nothing but a jerk, and apparently, that’s how he was when he was on the team following the crash. Why he’s here in Coudersport is a mystery, but it’s kind of weird knowing someone who’s famous but not really knowing a lot aboutwhyhe’s famous.
“The deck looks decent,” he says, and I jolt again, lost in my thoughts. “Of course, all those rodents will probably come back looking for food, so you might have to return and clean up more of their mess tomorrow.”
I growl, glaring at him over my shoulder. “I’m not coming back. You only get me today to clean up.”
“You left some holes in the ground from the stakes. You’ll need to fill those in.”
I grit my teeth. It’s true… as I pulled some of those stakes, they brought up chunks of earth, too. The holes could be hazardous.
“Fine,” I say as pleasantly as I can while I unhook another bird feeder. “I’ll have to get some soil.”
I move over to the next one, standing on my tiptoes to reach the wire. This one was clearly hung by Erica, who is five foot eleven. She obviously never figured my little five-one self would be the one taking them down.
With a huff, I remove and gently place it on the ground. It’s going to take me forever to move all these to my car, but maybe he has a wheelbarrow I can borrow.
The next bird feeder is higher, and no matter how hard I strain to reach the wire, I can’t get close enough to untwist the hook.
Sighing, I turn to Coen. “Could you help me with this?”
Damn… no one should look that good. Long legs sprawled and slightly spread apart. His T-shirt leaves nothing to theimagination as far as how physically fit he is. He’s not wearing the hat or glasses he had on at Masha’s, and his hair is messy.
Coen pushes out of the chair, leaving his bottle behind in an armrest cup holder. He moves to my side and looks at the feeder. “Can’t reach it?”
“You know I can’t. You just watched me struggle.”
Coen looks down the line of trees. “And you have several others that are a little too high for you as well.”
“Looks like. Will you get them down, and then I can work on those holes in the ground?”
He rubs his chin thoughtfully, then bends to look down at me with a taunting smile. “No. I don’t think I will. I do have a ladder in the shed, if you want to get it.”
I’m incensed that he’d be so damn petty. “Oh my God… why are you such an ass?”
He shrugs. “I’m told I’m pretty good at it.”
“You’re a fucking professional,” I snap, and then point a shaking finger at him. “I read about you, you know. You’re not a nice man.”
“Why did you have to read something about me to come to that conclusion?” he taunts. “You couldn’t have figured that out on your own?”
“Then why in the hell did you bother saving me from Cici’s torture?” I yell.
That seems to stun him. “You should have stood up to them.”
I wave my hand impatiently. “I’ve stood up to them my whole life. It doesn’t do any good. She would have given up, eventually.”
“The fact you let them talk to you that way and do nothing to defend yourself is only going to keep them coming after you.”
