No One But You (Silver Springs #2)(16)

She watched as he opened a loaf of bread. “I heated up some leftovers when I changed out of my uniform. Why? You haven’t eaten?”

“Not lunch.”

He was surprised when she took the package of ham he’d just picked up and started to shoo him out of the kitchen. “I’ll make you something and bring it out.”

She didn’t seem to expect a lot of hand-holding. He liked that about her. “Are you sure you don’t have any questions or...need some direction?”

“I’ve cleaned plenty of kitchens,” she said with a wry smile.

“Right. Thanks.” Dawson breathed a sigh of relief as he left the house. He hadn’t had a lot to go on when he hired her, but he was beginning to think he’d found the right person.

*

After Sadie made Dawson a sandwich, she cut up carrots and celery and added them to his plate along with a small puddle of ranch dressing. Then she carried it all out along with a thermos of coffee. The farm was nearly a hundred acres, big enough that it took her several minutes to find him, but she eventually spotted a lone man weeding and trimming artichoke plants in the far quadrant and figured that had to be him.

He removed the ball cap he was wearing and wiped away the sweat on his forehead as she approached. Maybe he was a murderer, but no one could say he wasn’t a hard worker, she thought. A glance at the field revealed that he’d done a lot to clean it up—a Herculean task for only one man. “Thanks,” he said simply.

“Happy to help. Will this be enough, or—”

“Plenty. I can’t overeat. Too much food will bog me down.”

“I’m getting the impression you need to eat more than you have been. How else will you keep up your strength?”

He was so intent on the sandwich, he didn’t look up. “Anger and determination make for pretty good fuel.”

“Even that can’t carry you forever.”

He met her gaze. “No.”

“So it’s a good thing I’m here.”

He said nothing, just took another bite of his sandwich.

“Do you intend to run this farm by yourself?” she asked.

“This year,” he replied when he’d swallowed. “Until I start making a profit, I don’t have much choice.”

“Once I get the house cleaned, I can help.”

“Outside?” This time he spoke as he chewed. “You’d be willing to do that?”

“Until your sister arrives, and I need to keep an eye on her, why not?”

“With all the hoops I have to jump through, there might be a few days where that’s a possibility,” he admitted.

“I don’t have your strength, but I’ll do what I can.” She lifted the thermos. “This is coffee, by the way. I figured you’d have water—”

“Yeah. I’ve got a jug over there.” He jerked his chin to indicate the edge of the field. “But—” he took the thermos “—where’d you get this? I don’t remember seeing one at the house. I looked.”

Sort of proud that she’d anticipated his need, she smiled. It was a small thing, of course, but she liked feeling successful at her job, especially because it was only the first day—typically the toughest. “I brought it from home. I didn’t know what you had and what you might need, so I put a few things in the car, in case.”

“What else did you bring?”

“Some spices and utensils. And a knife. I’m picky about my knives. They have to be really sharp.” He made her so nervous she’d spoken without thinking. Only after those words were out of her mouth did she realize she was talking about an item that could be used as a murder weapon to a man accused of killing his parents.

He paused with a carrot stick halfway to his mouth, as if he could guess her thoughts, but he let it go. “I see. That was thoughtful of you.”

She tried not to notice the way his T-shirt clung to his muscular torso. He looked good enough to be featured on one of those man-candy calendars, she thought. Sly had a nice body, too. He spent a lot of time in the gym to make sure of it. But he didn’t have the face that Dawson did. His skin was too pockmarked, his features too angular and harsh. The pull of attraction was something she hadn’t felt for anyone in a long time. Feeling it now proved a little disconcerting, considering what Dawson had supposedly done.

Embarrassed by her own reaction to him, she gestured to the field surrounding them, hoping to direct his attention elsewhere before he could recognize the romantic interest. “You’re getting a lot done.”

“You’d think it would go faster.”

“How long have you been at it?”

Yanking on the bill of his cap, he settled it back on his head. “Since the day I got home, nearly two weeks ago.”

That explained the sun-kissed color of his skin. “Then I’m especially impressed. You’ve made a lot of progress for such a short time.”

He squinted at the ground he’d covered. “Doesn’t feel like it. Not with so much yet to do.”

“You had breakfast, I hope.”

Her comment drew his attention back to her. “I had a bowl of oatmeal.”

“When?”

“Six or so.”

She frowned at him. “That’s too far to go between meals, especially when you’re working this hard.”