A lump grew in his throat, and he wasn’t sure why. “I’m going to shower.” Desperate to escape her, he stalked to his bedroom, locked himself inside.
His bathroom smelled of disinfectant and gleamed like a diamond, and all he could do was curse. Damn that girl. She’d cleaned it, even though he’d forbidden it. Did I honestly expect anything less?
He showered quickly, toweled off and dressed. He moved toward the door, only to realize he wasn’t quite ready to face Brook Lynn. The urge to touch her still plagued him—and it was stronger than before. He wanted to shake her...then make everything better with his mouth.
Sick to his stomach, he sat down and wrote out a very long, very detailed list. Then, and only then, his mind centered on her upcoming chores, did he return to the kitchen; he placed the list, a wad of cash and a key on the counter.
Brook Lynn looked at everything, looked at him and arched a brow in question.
“Your chores for tomorrow,” he said, gazing past her. The ache in his chest bloomed with renewed force. “Also money to pay for the supplies, and a way into the house. I’ll be gone. Personal business.”
“Well, I am your personal assistant. Right?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I have to go.”
“Go?” she echoed. “Now?”
This minute. This second. “I...I’m sorry.” He strode out of the kitchen...out of the house, not turning back.
*
SHOCK HELD BROOK LYNN immobile. He’d left. He’d really left. Without telling her about his plans for the evening. Without tasting the food she’d slaved over. Without commenting on all her hard work.
Uncle Kurt had taught her a lot of things she would be better off not knowing, but there was one fact he’d unwittingly driven home. When actions contradicted words, actions won. Every time.
I love you, girls, Uncle Kurt had said. But leaving them destitute wasn’t an act of love.
Just now, Jase’s actions had said plenty. She wasn’t important to him. Her efforts weren’t important. But okay. All right. She wasn’t here for back pats and flattery. Show me the money. She had worked for grumpy, gruff Mr. Calbert, and she could work for—gorgeous—gruff Jase. Probably. Maybe.
At first, she’d hardly gotten anything done. She’d been too busy peeking out the windows, savoring the sight of him and his mighty hammer, trying to avoid his notice whenever he’d glanced her way. But then she’d somehow found the strength to force him out of her mind and buckle down. She’d cleaned as if the Lord Himself planned to come for a visit, no speck of dust left behind. And, surprise surprise, she’d enjoyed every moment of it, knowing she was making Jase’s life just a little bit better, the way he was making hers better. So of course, she’d started thinking about him again...about his strength, his tattoos and his hands...all the naughty things he could do with them.
Then she’d walked past his bedroom and remembered finding her sister in bed with him.
Anger and indignation had hit Brook Lynn, and part of her had even yearned to quit. If only giving up were in her nature. The other part of her had demanded she take a stand and let Jase know she was no pushover. He’d tried to baby her, which was why she’d disobeyed his orders. She’d expected a thank-you afterward, maybe even an admission that he’d been wrong. Hello, backfire.
She put the casserole in the fridge without baking it and left a note on the counter with heating instructions. She bagged the rolls, leaving an air pocket to prevent condensation, and finally read over his list—nearly fainting.
Clean the entire house. Even the rooms you cleaned today. All except for the game room, which you are to avoid. Did you get that, Miss Lynn? AVOID.
Grocery shop. At least two carts’ worth.
Bake three cakes—one for every owner of the home. There WILL be a taste test.
Wash the windows. Even the hard-to-reach ones.
Wash and fold the laundry.