as he’d quit. He’d never accepted responsibility for anything.
A responsible man in her life other than her father…quite a novelty indeed.
By the time Tyler returned in his truck, Jayne had pulled on a pair of work gloves and walked out to meet him. He glanced at her as he slid his hands into his own pair of well-worn gloves. “I can handle this.”
“I can help.”
Instead of arguing, he shrugged and picked up one end of the nearest rug. She bent, too, with a quiet intake of breath as the movement pulled the bruised skin on her back, and gathered the other end in her hands. Immediately moisture soaked through her cotton gloves. “Eww, it’s wet.”
The snowmelt had turned the dirt that permeated the fibers into mud, as well as given life to a smell words couldn’t do justice to. It was enough to make her shudder all over.
They heaved the rug into the bed of the truck, then picked up the others. As soon as the last rug left her hands, Jayne stripped off the gloves. She was tempted to toss them into the truck bed, too, but why waste them? They could go into the laundry with all the filthy towels and cloths she’d used in cleaning.
Tyler held his gloves in one hand. “I’ll be back in a few hours—”
“Could we go with you?”
The question surprised her as much as him. There was still plenty for her to do here. Laundry, last night’s dinner dishes, a little research for the next scene she would be writing.
“I’d like to see where the dump is,” she went on when he didn’t speak. “My furniture’s arriving next week, and I’ll be getting rid of some of Edna’s stuff. That way I’ll know where to take it.”
He still didn’t say anything.
“I can pay for the stuff for the steps, too. And I’d like to get some paint samples. I really want to paint the house, both inside and out. I’m guessing they sell paint there, too. I mean, what’s the use of lumber without paint to put on it? Well, that’s a dumb question. We’re living in a pile of lumber with very little paint. But anyway—”
He raised one hand, and she gratefully stopped talking. “Okay.” That was all he said, then he walked around the truck and climbed behind the wheel.
Jayne stood there a moment, surprised by his easy concession, before turning and hurrying into the house. Lucy was still in the bathroom, the water running in the sink, so she washed her hands at the kitchen sink, then went into her bedroom. “Luce! Hurry up in there! We’re going into town with Tyler!”
There was nothing she could do with her hair, but she did a quick makeup job—foundation, eye shadow, eyeliner and lipstick. She met Lucy in the hall outside the bathroom, her hair damp where she’d combed it down. Lucy puckered up for a kiss, and Jayne bent, but instead her daughter blew minty-fresh breath full-force in her face. “Better?”
“Much. Let’s go.”
Lucy raced across the yard while Jayne locked up. By the time she’d reached the truck, Lucy was already buckled into the center section of the bench seat and swinging her feet, chattering about her very first ever pickup ride.
Compulsively neat, responsible and endlessly patient. Jayne was learning more about her neighbor every day.
And appreciating it.
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