set a new wooden post into the foot-deep hole, packed it tight with the displaced dirt, then turned to his happily married friend. “Let’s just say I don’t want to unwittingly repeat some other dude’s mistakes.”
“I wouldn’t, either, if I were you.” Gannon moved on down the line to the next post in need of replacement. Using a crowbar and shovel, he worked it out of the dirt. “Although I don’t know what precisely those missteps were.”
The way cleared, Clint used both hands to center a new wooden post squarely in the hole.
“Just that she dumped him?” Clint asked.
“Them,” Gannon corrected.
“There’s been more than one?” Clint blinked in surprise.
Gannon paused to wipe the sweat from his brow with one gloved hand. “Three or four, at least. But she dumped every one of them after one date.”
Not much of a chance to succeed or impress.
“Any idea why?”
Gannon cut a strip of barbed wire from another weak post. “That you would have to ask her. Maybe the next time you’re putting the moves on her, you could bring it up.” He dropped the wire into the bed of the pickup truck with the rest of the metal, then added with a smirk, “I heard about the condiments on the shirts. Smooth.”
Clint winced. Were he and Rose ever going to live that down? It seemed the twins had mentioned that incident to everyone in their preschool, who in turn had gone home and told their parents. Hence, a lot of the co-op moms had joked about it when they’d come out to work on the Double Creek blackberry patch harvest.
Muttering under his breath, Clint took a turn with the digger. “You think Rose is mad at me about that?”
“Only one way to find out,” Gannon drawled.
Clint nodded his understanding. “I’m going to have to ask her.”
Clint did not like being counted out before he’d even begun. He also didn’t like the way he had been wondering about Rose McCabe. The way she and her rambunctious trio of kids always seemed to be on his mind now.
And there was only one cure for that, he knew. Remove the aura of mystery. Bring her—and the sparks they always seemed to generate—squarely into reality.
So Saturday afternoon, when the day’s bounty was in, he drove the co-op truck to Rose Hill Farm, around to the loading dock in the back.
Rose walked out to greet him. Except for the fringe of bangs across her forehead, her hair was drawn up in a clip on the back of her head. She was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved co-op T-shirt with the sleeves pushed halfway up her forearms. Her soft lips were bare of lipstick, and the color of exertion stained her cheeks. Although there was still a lot of energy in her movements, she looked a little tired around the eyes.
And not at all pleased to see him.
“Where’s Swifty?” she bit out.
Wishing she weren’t so deliciously disheveled, Clint cut the motor and hopped down from the cab. “He had a barbecue to go to this evening. I told him I’d do the honors.”
“You realize that means unloading the crates, too?”
Pushing aside the desire to kiss her, he opened the rear doors of the refrigerated truck. “Just show me where to put them.”
Wordlessly she turned on her heel, then stalked back into the barn, returning with a long wheeled cart similar to the luggage caddies used in hotels.
As eager to get business concluded as she was so he could take things to a more personal level, Clint worked silently at her side. Together they were able to stack nine crates on the six-foot stainless-steel tray, then move it through the open barn doors and into an adjacent refrigeration room that seemed to comprise most of the barn.
Inside was a bounty of other fresh-picked vegetables and fruits. Rose showed him where to stack the berries, then grabbed a second cart for herself. They shut the door and went back to the truck.
Unloading took half an hour of repeated trips back and forth. Finally they were finished. Clint helped her close up and lock the back of the truck, then followed her out of the refrigeration room to sign off on the day’s delivery invoices. As they moved through the high-ceilinged, cement-floored building, he shortened his stride to match hers.
“Where are your kids?” he asked, all too aware of how good she smelled. Like soap and the citrusy fragrance she favored.
“With my family.”
He tracked the loose strands of hair escaping from her clip and grazing the elegant nape of her neck.
Oblivious to the growing pressure at the front of his jeans, Rose led the way past the display area to a glass-walled office with her name on the door, then stepped inside.
Using the figures she’d typed into her phone, she sank down into the chair behind her desk and completed an invoice. Rising, she met his eyes and handed it to him to sign, too. Their hands brushed in the process. Once again he was surprised at how soft and feminine and delicate her skin felt.
She met his gaze with a rueful grin. “Saturday is always a tough day for me. A lot of co-op members come by to pick up their weekly orders.”
Clint checked the invoice over and then scribbled his name. She tore off his copy, handed his over and put the rest on the inbox on her desk. He folded his up and slid it into the chest pocket of his shirt. “But you’re done now.”
She nodded. “I close at four.”
Which had been nearly an hour ago. Hence the building appeared deserted except for the two of them. Not surprised she was the last on the scene and probably the first to arrive, too, Clint walked with her back out of her office, past a line of checkout registers.
Glad she seemed in no hurry to show him the door now that the work was done, he looked around in awe. “This is...”
“Not what you expected?” she interrupted with a triumphant smile.
“I was going to say very modern.” He gestured at the bank of computers and phones. “And a lot more high-tech than I would have imagined.”
She walked over to a small break area. Denim stretched over her very fine derriere as she bent to look inside the glass-front cooler. Pulling out two bottles of flavored water, she straightened and tossed him one.
Ignoring his immediate physical reaction to the succulent sight of her, he accepted the drink with a smile. “Thanks.” Resolved to think about something else, lest he be tempted to put the moves on her again, he inclined his head at the blackboard across one wall. It was filled with the names of local farms and the dates of the crops currently coming in. “Are these all your suppliers?”
Rose sank down into a swivel chair and propped her feet up on the seat of another. “Yep. Although there’s always room for more.”
He
