Hollywood Dirt
Page 42

I shrugged. “And ruin your opportunity to help a damsel in distress?” I tilted back the bottle and finished it. “It’s a fairy tale concept. You should be familiar with it.”
“You’re hardly in distress.” He pointed to the Holdens’ house. “How far’s that? A hundred yards?”
I stared at his well-kept brows and wondered if he plucked them. “Did you have a reason to come here?”
“You’re not answering your cell. I’ve been trying to call for three hours.”
I tossed the bottle on the ground, next to a discarded tool belt. “I don’t have a cell. That’s the house phone number. And I’ve been out here.”
“You don’t have a cell phone.” He said the words slowly, as if they might make more sense that way.
“Nope.” I didn’t feel the need to explain that I had no reason to be available or contacted twenty-four hours a day. Plus, I spent eighty percent of my time at home. Who would I chatter to while in line at the deli? Who would I need to call on my way home? It had also been the teensy matter of cost. I made five hundred bucks a month. A cell phone could have easily eaten up twenty percent of that. The home phone at our house was free, along with the internet, cable, and utilities, courtesy of the Holdens. No brainer.
“You need a cell phone. At least for the next four months. If you want to go back to your life of reclusion after that, be my guest.”
“Fine. When I get my check, I’ll get a cell phone.”
He eyed my clothes, then nodded to his passenger seat. “Hop in. We can go get one right now. I’ll pay for it.”
I shook my head. “I’ve got one more post to put in. I can’t leave this fence half fixed. The horses’ll get out.”
For the first time, he seemed to notice my surroundings, the hole digger leaning against the fence rail, the two-by-fours one rail down, the nail gun on the grass. “You’re putting in this fence? Isn’t there someone…?”
If he said more qualified, I swore to myself that I would use that nail gun on his beautiful arm.
“… else who can do that?” He looked around, like there was a team of handymen hanging out behind us.
“The guys are off today,” I said tartly. “Why don’t you run along to the Gap and let me work?”
He stared at me for a beat, then burst out laughing. I stepped closer and glared, and let’s all pretend, for a moment, that my change in proximity had nothing to do with an increase of air conditioning access. “The Gap?” His laugh died down to a chuckle. “Summer, I stopped shopping at the Gap when I hit puberty.”
“Well, wherever you idiots shop.” I waved a hand in frustration and turned back to the broken fence. Last night we’d had a bad storm. It had washed out the ditch along this patch of fence line, and I’d woken to find the fence on its side. Thank God Hank had brought the horses in for the storm. Spots would have jumped the downed fence and teased half the horses in Thomas County before noon. I’d spent a day chasing her down with Hank before. It was a pain in the ass—excuse my language.
Cole surprised me by opening his door and stepping out, one tennis shoe hitting the dirt, then a second. He wore jeans that, I swear, if I squinted hard enough, had iron lines on them. “I’ll help,” he offered.
“Help me finish the fence?” Now I laughed. “Please, pretty boy. Get back in the truck before you get dirty.”
He didn’t like that. I could see it in the set of his face, the way his eyes changed. He turned away from me, walked to the back of the truck, and put down the tailgate. When he returned, his hands gripping either side of my hips, I jerked back. I pushed against his chest, preparing for another unwanted kiss, and squealed in surprise when instead he lifted me up, my hands suddenly holding on instead of pushing away, my struggle ending when he set me gently on the open tailgate. He leaned in, his hands moving from my waist to the truck, corralling me in, his mouth close to mine. “Stay,” he whispered, and there was a moment of eye contact before he pushed off, brushing off his hand on the back pockets of his jeans as he walked to the truck and turned it off. I heard the back door open and got my second surprise when he returned with the baby chick in his arms. “Hold him for me,” he said gruffly.
I took the chicken, which was really no longer a chick. It had grown in the last two weeks; it had long legs, big knees, and a comb that had become red and soft. The rooster peered up at me, then back at Cole, and shook out its feathers.
“Just set him on the tailgate and let him move around,” Cole instructed, turning back and examining my handiwork on the new sections.
I found my words and used them. “You brought the chicken? With you?”
“I thought you might want to see him,” he called out, pushing on the top of a new section, as if to test its strength.
“It’s a split-rail fence,” I called out. “You have the line posts and then—”
“I know how to build a fence,” he interrupted, turning to me.
“Really? What fence have you ever built?” I challenged.
“Ever seen Legends of Montana?” he asked. “I spent six months on the ranch there. Bought the damn thing when I was done with it. I can build a fence, Summer.” He stared me down, and I shrugged. It was a good answer.
“Then build the fence.” I gently set the rooster next to me and tucked my hands underneath my thighs, swinging my feet out a little to get some space. The bird promptly put one gentle foot on my bare thigh and hopped up. Cole smiled at the bird, glared at me, and reached down, grabbing the pole diggers and walking to the last crooked pole. He tossed down the diggers and grabbed the pole, working it back and forth a little in the dirt before pulling up on it.