advantageous point, then braced her legs and rocked the root ball from side to side, “walking” it onto the canvas. As gently as possible she tipped the tree onto its side. She gathered up the corners closest to the root ball and bunched them together into a big wad. Then she took a step backward, using her body weight and her grip on the drop sheet to drag the tree across the lawn behind her.
By the time she got to the driveway her arms and thighs were burning. She put her chin down and kept hauling, making her slow way along the side of the house and onto the rear lawn. She stopped to peel off her sweater, wiped her hands down the sides of her jeans, then picked up the corners and put her back into round two, trying not to think of how much farther she had to go before she reached the new site she’d prepared.
“Are you all right there? You look like you could use a hand.”
Her head snapped around. Surprised, her grip on the drop sheet loosened as she hauled backward and she fell onto her ass with a painful thud—all while staring straight into the very blue eyes of Flynn Randall.
Her pride urged her to immediately scramble to her feet but her tailbone was vibrating with pain and it was all she could do not to groan out loud.
“Are you okay?” He strode to her side and held out his hand to help her up.
“Fortunately, the ground broke my fall.”
He smiled faintly at her attempt at bravado. She could feel embarrassed heat flooding into her face and she reached up to grab his hand, keen to not be on her ass at his feet for a second longer than she needed to be. His firm hand closed around hers, and she rose to her feet almost effortlessly.
He was a big man, but she was a big woman. Clearly, he was packing some serious muscle under his butter-soft leather jacket.
“That’s a lot of tree you’re hauling there.”
“It’s not as heavy as it looks,” she lied.
He lifted an eyebrow and she knew he wasn’t buying her claim. Her backside was still aching and she desperately wanted to rub it. Instead, she put on her professional hat. Not the easiest thing to do with mud splashed up the legs of her oldest jeans and her butt throbbing.
“If you give me a few minutes, I’ll clean up and grab the keys to Tea Cutter Cottage for you.”
“What about your tree?”
“It’s not going anywhere.”
“That was kind of my point.” He surveyed the yard. “Where are you taking it?”
“I’ve dug a new site at the bottom of the property.”
She didn’t go into detail—Flynn would hardly want to hear about her plans for a fruit orchard and a vegetable garden that would eventually feed not only her but her guests—if they chose—as well as her family.
“You’re going to kill yourself getting it down there.”
Her eyes widened as he started pulling his jacket off.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?”
“But—but you’ll get all dirty.”
Her gaze took in his expensive-looking brown leather boots, his designer jeans and the black sweater he was wearing.
“I don’t mind.” He threw his jacket onto the grass nearby, then tugged his sweater over his head and tossed it on top. He was wearing a dark gray T-shirt underneath. It looked as though it was made of silk, which probably meant it was.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t let you ruin your clothes.”
“A little dirt never hurt anyone.”
He examined the tree for a beat. “The drop sheet was a good idea.” He stooped and grabbed the wad of canvas she’d been dragging, separating the corners out and offering her one. “Shall we?”
“No. No way.”
“If you don’t help me out, I’ll have to try to equal your Herculean solo effort and risk embarrassing myself if I fall short.”
She stared at him, utterly thrown by his offer and his apparently genuine desire to help her out.
“Okay. If that’s the way it has to be,” he said with a shrug. He bunched the two corners together again and started to pull the tree forward.
“Stop,” Mel said, moving to block his path.
He grinned and offered her a corner of the drop sheet again. She took it with a frown, which only seemed to amuse him even more.
“Thank you.” It came out a little grudgingly and she cleared her throat. “I really appreciate your help.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
She darted him a skeptical look but he didn’t look as though he was merely obeying the dictates of some masculine code of honor. He looked thoroughly in his element, as though this really was his pleasure.
Which was just plain strange, given who he was.
“On the count of three?” he said.
She took up the slack on her corner, and on his signal began to heave on the drop sheet. The difference in effort required was profound and she almost fell on her backside again.
“You okay?”
“Yes. I wasn’t expecting it to be this much easier.”
“I have a feeling I should probably be insulted by that. Do I look that anemic?”
It took her a moment to realize he was joking. She smiled uncertainly. “You don’t look anemic at all.”
He didn’t say anything but he continued to seem quietly amused as they dragged the tree down the lawn, across the garden path, behind Tea Cutter Cottage and through a gap in the screening trees to the large clearing she’d chosen for her fledgling orchard. Although covered with patchy grass, it had never had a real purpose or design—until now.
She directed him toward the shovel she’d left sticking out of a mound of dirt to the left of the clearing. They came to a halt beside the hole she’d dug that morning.
“Thanks for that,” she said, already turning to lead him to the main house so she could get him settled in.
“How are you going to get it in the hole?”
She paused. “The same way I got it out.”
Which had been through sheer determination and not a little swearing. But he didn’t need to know that.
“Come on, let’s do this.” He knelt beside the tree and began untying the twine she’d used to keep the hessian covering in place.
She stared at his down-turned head, baffled by his determination to be helpful despite the obvious risk to his clothes and his complete
