Roots and Wings (City Limits #1)(10)

“It’s not much. I just know from experience how time gets away from you when you’re working hard and you probably don’t have much here. By the way, the store downtown is open on Sundays but only until about five. I wouldn’t want you to starve.”

“Well, it’s really nice of you. I think it’s going to take me a little while to learn all of the business’ hours around here. In Cleveland, I could get food around the clock. I suppose I took that for granted.”

Why someone would chose to move here—the actual Middle of Nowhere—was f*cking nuts.

“Cleveland is where you’re from then? That’s a big move all by yourself.” Then I immediately regretted saying it, remembering what BethAnne had said about his girlfriend or whatever.

His eyebrows shot up and he nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah, it is. That wasn’t exactly the plan, but it’ll be okay.”

The twinkle I’d seen dimmed and knowing it had been my fault—at least today—I felt bad. How could anyone leave a man like this? He had to have some crazy flaw that I hadn’t come across yet. Or maybe she was plain stupid.

Sometimes, people are just dumb, and she was president of the Idiot Club.

Before I knew it, I said, “Well, I don’t have much going on. I can run my groceries home and come back.”

“You’d do that?” He looked as if no one had ever offered to help him with anything. Ever.

What the hell was going on up in Cleveland?

“Sure. What do you need help with?” Expecting him to turn down my offer, and half hoping he would, I emptied the rest of the bag and wadded it up, not knowing what to do with it.

“Here,” he said and took it from me. “Normally, I’d say not to worry about it, but I only have a week to get this place…” He looked around and I followed his gaze throughout the kitchen and into the front room. “It’s not that it isn’t livable or anything. I’m sure there’s far worse. I just had plans for paint and sanding the floors. I have carpet people coming Tuesday, and our new appliances and a lot of our—my—furniture coming at the end of the week. I want to stain these cabinets before the new countertops come in. And, you know, just give the place a good scrub.”

He stuffed the empty sacks into a trash bag hanging on a door leading out to the back deck. “I start working in the office with Dr. Carver next Monday. If I can get some of that done, I’ll be happy for now.” He leaned against the counter and ran both of his hands over his head. It was clear he was a little overwhelmed.

However, he was right. It was an old house, but it was built well and it wouldn’t take much more than what he’d mentioned to get it looking great.

“Well, put me to work then. Come grab this water out of my truck, we’re gonna need it. And I’ll run home really fast and come right back.”

There was something about him that caught my interest. The way he talked to me was different than the other people I knew. Maybe I wanted to get to know him more because he didn’t know me. There was something kind of refreshing about learning about someone new, and I enjoyed that I kind of had a clean slate when it came to his knowledge of me.

He seemed easygoing enough, and an attractive man around my age moving to town was just about the most excitement I was going to get anytime soon.

Besides, as soon as anyone else in town noticed him, he wouldn’t need me bringing him groceries.

New, cute doctors don’t socialize with the town Mutt. That was purely a guess, though. We hadn’t had a new doctor … ever really.

“Are you sure? You really don’t have to. Hell, you don’t even know me.”

“Well, I guess we’ll get that sorted out today then, won’t we?” I offered him a friendly smile and he followed me outside, lifting the case of water out of the back.

It only took about two minutes to get to my house from his, and it didn’t take me any time to throw my hair up in a ponytail, grab my toolbox—yes, I have my own and it’s not pink—and I was driving back down the road.

Back to Vaughn’s.

I tucked my phone in one of my back pockets, got my gloves out of the toolbox, and stuffed them in the other. As I walked back in the front door to find out where he wanted me to start, he appeared at the top of the old staircase.

“Do you really want me to call you Mutt?”

Thanks, Grandpa.

I took a deep breath and sucked it up like I always did. “Might as well. Everyone else does. Mutt O’Fallon at your assistance,” I said as I made myself at home walking through his house.

“O’Fallon.” I heard him say a few times on his way to the kitchen, like he was trying that on for size. “I like O’Fallon better.”

“Suit yourself. Where do I start? The day’s getting shorter by the minute.”

At that he hopped to, and headed for the back of the house.

“I was sorting the paint we bought—I bought—on the back patio. Like to paint?” he asked, looking hopeful. The way he kept correcting himself spoke a lot about what had happened.

It wasn’t my business, though. I was just there to help.

“Sure.”

“Good. I’ve already got the laundry room taped and trimmed.”

I followed him into the laundry room off the kitchen and saw that he had, in fact, taped around all of the doorways and windows. He’d removed all of the cover plates from the outlets and he’d even moved the machines to the backyard. That must have been a chore by himself.