the door. Squinting, she could just make out the shape of a man’s boot beneath the broken down wagon in front of the barn. She recognized that boot.
Steeling her spine, she charged into the downpour. She didn’t feel the wet nor the cold nor the drenching wind as she splashed across the back lawn, her skirts snapping. “Mr. Reed! What are you doing?”
“I thought that would be obvious.” He looked up over the top of the wagon bed and glared at her, as if he didn’t like her much. Rain dripped off his hat brim. “Get back inside.”
“I don’t take orders from you, sir.” Get back inside? That’s what he had to say for accosting her wagon? She gritted her teeth, holding back angry words. “Put down that hammer. The wagon isn’t part of our deal. I said you could take the tack, not the vehicles.”
“You think I’m stealing the wagon from you?” A muscle jumped along his strong jaw.
“That’s what it looks like to me.” Why else would he be fixing it? She swiped rainwater off her face, wishing a broom or a pitchfork was within easy reach. It had been like this since dear Clay had passed. “I thought you were better than this, but I was wrong. You’re just another man trying to take advantage of a woman.”
“Is that so?” He arched a brow. Anger marked his face, darkening his eyes and emphasizing the chiseled angles and planes. “You’re just another woman jumping to the wrong conclusion about me. There’s nothing new there.”
He stepped out from behind the wagon, and whatever she’d opened her mouth to say died on her tongue. Good God, he was remarkable. His wet shirt slicked against him, revealing a muscled, exquisite chest. She’d never seen such a sight. For a split second, her brain stalled as her eyes took in very ridge of muscle. Against her will, her fingers itched to touch him and see if he felt as hard as he looked.
“I’m fixing the wagon.
Fixing,
not stealing.” His deep voice rolled over her like thunder. “Most folks right about now would be saying thank you. But don’t worry about it. I don’t need thanks. I’m not fixing the wagon for you.”
She prickled, not liking the tone of his words. “What on earth do you mean by that?”
“It’s what Clay would want me to do.” Cords stood out in his neck as he studied her for a long, judgmental minute. He turned on his heels, splashed through a mud puddle and hunkered down behind the wagon. The hammering continued.
Now what did she do? The wind battered her, tangling her wet skirts. She hugged her shawl to her, remembering to keep her breasts well covered. As her anger wore off, her embarrassment returned. He clearly didn’t want her here, and after she’d practically shown him her nipples, she didn’t want to be here either. It would be easier to dash back to the house and stay there until he was gone.
But it wouldn’t be the right thing. She gulped in a bite of air, steeled her spine and wove around the deep puddles in the ground.
The instant she stepped around the wagon, her gaze zeroed in on him. He was crouched down, so his long, muscled legs looked longer and more muscled. Her throat went dry, and she felt a squeeze of sexual reaction deep in her pelvis. He set down his hammer and pulled out the broken wheel spoke. Lord, the man had huge hands.
It made her wonder what else he had that might be huge, too.
Claire!
Don’t think like that!
She blushed, scolding herself even as Joshua frowned at her.
“Didn’t I tell you to get back in the house?” He arched a brow, tossing the broken spoke aside. “It’s too cold out here for you. The storm’s gonna get worse before it gets better.”
“It just doesn’t seem right to leave you out here.” She bit her bottom lip, looking undecided. “If you’re determined to fix it, why don’t you come back tomorrow?”
“No.” He didn’t look at her as he scooped up a new spoke and the hammer from the sodden ground. “I work better alone. Or are you