Bowing her head, she dragged the toe of one shoe across the wood planks of the porch floor. “Something like that.” Then she looked up at me. Took a breath. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I was—I mean, I got—I couldn’t—” She sighed, briefly closing her eyes. “I have no excuse. Will you accept my apology?”
She was prettier without makeup, I decided. And the way she wore her hair off her face emphasized the wideness of her eyes, the angle of her cheekbones, the arch of her brows. Her lips didn’t need all that glossy crap, either. They were a perfect rosy pink, and I wondered if they’d feel as soft as they looked.
Fuck. I hadn’t kissed anyone in three years.
Clearing my throat, I took a step back. “Yeah. It’s fine.” Now get out of here.
She didn’t move. “So you’re not going to fire me?”
“I never hired you.”
“I know. But I really want this job. I think I can help, Jack. I know I can.”
“Suit yourself.” My name on her lips was trouble. Needing some distance from her, I started walking toward the dock to get my shoes and socks, but she followed me. God, she was a pest. It reminded me of the way Steph used to tag along after the boys when we were kids, wanting to get in our games.
“Are you going to be like this the entire time I’m here?” she asked.
“Like what?”
“Moody and uncooperative?”
“Probably.”
“Why? Do you hate me that much?”
“I don’t hate anybody. I just don’t see why we should pay some city girl who’s never set foot on a farm to advise us.” We reached the dock, and I leaned down to get my stuff.
“I’m not even asking to be paid, so piss off!” she shouted, her voice carrying on the water.
I straightened. “Oh, you’re working for free?”
“Yes!”
“Then you’re an idiot. Or so rich you don’t need the money.”
“I’m not an idiot,” she said through clenched teeth.
“So you’re rich, then.” I don’t know why I was being such an asshole. But for some reason, I did not want to let her see another side of me, or see another side to her. “I should have guessed.”
She crossed her arms. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you look like you’ve led a charmed life. Like you’ve had everything you’ve ever wanted handed to you. Like you’ve never gotten your hands dirty.”
“So get them dirty.”
I almost fell off the dock. “What?”
“Get them dirty. Teach me about working this farm. I want to learn.”
Was she serious? The last thing I needed was to drag her ass around all day, explaining things. Or stare at her ass all day, imagining things. But one glance at her defiant face and I shook my head. “Why do I feel like if I say no, you’ll just keep bothering me?”
She smiled and clasped her hands behind her back, rocking forward on her toes. “Because I will. I don’t like being told no.”
“Of course you don’t.” Jesus, she was trouble. A bad apple—smooth and shiny on the outside, spoiled rotten on the inside. But for no good reason, I found myself giving in. “Fine. Go change your clothes.”
She grinned. “Where should I meet you? It will take me about a half hour to run home, change, and get back here.”
“No idea where I’ll be then. You’ll have to find me.”
“Fair enough.” She glanced over her shoulder at the trees. “What’s the quickest route back? Through there?”
“No. Take the path toward the house to get back to the highway.”
She turned in a circle. “Which way is the house? I’m not very good with directions.”
“Jesus. It’s that way.” Jabbing a thumb into the air over one shoulder, I decided I’d better get her going the right way or I’d be waiting around for her forever. “You can cut through the cabin. Come on.”
We walked back to the cabin and she followed me from the kitchen into the front room. “Hey, I like your place. It’s cozy. And so clean.”
“Thanks.”
The cat jumped down from the front windowsill and crossed in front of us, checking out the situation.
Margot knelt down to pet her. “How sweet. What’s her name?”
I grimaced. “Bridget Jones.”
She burst out laughing. “You have a cat named Bridget Jones?”
“Yeah. What’s so funny about it?” I snapped.
“I don’t know. Take it easy. You just seem more like a dog person, I guess.”
“I am,” I admitted, some of the tension leaving my voice. “The cat was my wife’s.” I opened the front door, hoping Margot would take the hint, but not surprised when she didn’t.
“Have you always lived here?”
“Since I got out of the Army.”
“When was that?”
“Six years ago.”
She nodded, rose to her feet, and glanced around the room. Her eyes lingered on the framed wedding photos hanging on the wall. “Oh, how beautiful. Can I look at them?”