Dandelions for Dinner (A Farm Fresh Romance Book 4) Read online

  Allison shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and watched Brent stride over. He uncovered a stack of plywood and pointed up at the roof. Curtis nodded.

  How could two guys manage this without help? She knew what she could do.

  * * *

  Brent couldn’t believe the gall of this woman. “No, you cannot work on the job site.”

  Her chin came up. “And exactly why not? You obviously need help. I may not have all the experience you guys have, but I can make things easier for you. I can fetch and carry, and whatever you need done. Like an apprentice.”

  “I don’t think so, ma’am.”

  She leaned closer, her eyes flashing fire from mere inches away. “Don’t call me ma’am.”

  Brent’s grandmother had drilled that kind of respect into him when he was a kid. Allison Hart seemed to take it as a personal affront. Just went to prove not all women thought the same, as if he hadn’t had enough life lessons on that one already. But he couldn’t back down… or away. He was the foreman here, regardless of what she thought. “I beg your pardon.” Never mind that his tonal inflection was the exact opposite of begging.

  “Give me one good reason I can’t help.”

  He could give her thirty without coming up for air. “Steel-toed boots.” He should make her wear them anytime she put that hard hat on.

  “Okay. I’ll go put them on.” She turned.

  No way. She had a pair? He might need a few more of his thirty reasons. “No sweaters with holes in them that can get caught on pegs. No hoods on jackets for the same reason.”

  Allison glanced back at him with a shrug. “You think I only have one change of clothes?”

  He could be pardoned for thinking that. She only wore black, as near as he could tell. It all looked the same to him.

  She marched back and plunked her hands on her hips. Not that she had any. “Why don’t you say what’s really on your mind? You don’t want me here because I’m a woman and you don’t think I can do the job.”

  Two could play this game. “I don’t want you here because you’re a woman and you have no experience. I’d rather watch for falling hammers than watch for someone who’s bound to get injured in the first hour.” He leaned closer. “I don’t have the time or the patience to teach an apprentice.”

  “You have the time,” Allison shot back. “But I totally believe you don’t have the patience.”

  What was that supposed to mean? Brent narrowed his gaze. “Thank you for that character assessment. Now, please leave the job site so Curtis and I can get back to work. I’d like to get your roof sheathed today before the weather turns.”

  Allison flicked a glance toward the structure not far behind him. No doubt Curtis was over there, all ears, laughing his fool head off. It better be silently. She looked back at Brent. “You think I’m useless.”

  He had no answer for that one, so he raised his eyebrows. Let her think what she wanted.

  She jabbed him in the chest with that pointy forefinger. “I’ll have you know I know how to swing a hammer. I’ll have you know I’m not afraid of heights. I’ll have you know that I have some muscles.”

  So he was supposed to challenge her to an arm wrestle so she could prove it? Oh, come on. “Time’s a wastin’, ma’am.” He couldn’t resist drawling out the title she hated. “How about you run back to the house and find something useful to do there?”

  “You think this is funny?” She poked him once more then shoved both hands in her pockets. Her eyes blazed, and her mouth tightened into a firm line.

  This wasn’t personal. He was a representative of Timber Framing Plus, in charge of erecting two buildings. He wasn’t here to prod this irritating woman into losing her temper, which was likely to happen any second now.

  “Look, Allison. I’m sorry. My remark was uncalled for.” How could he have let her get under his skin this much? “But the fact remains that I don’t need someone on the job so badly I’d risk a greenhorn on it.”

  “So if Noel came up the path and offered to help, you’d send him away, too?”

  Uh. Probably not. Today really would be easier with a third set of hands.

  Allison’s finger arrowed for his chest again, but he snatched it before it could make contact. He was already going to have a small round bruise on his sternum.

  “You’re sexist.”

  He grabbed both her wrists to keep from getting walloped. How could wrists that thin have any strength at all? “I have too much respect for women to deliberately put them in a place of danger.”

  She wrenched her hands away and pulled back a step. “That’s a load of…”

  “Don’t prove you’re not a lady after all,” Brent warned. “Look, I’m not trying to pick on you or start a fight. In fact, sometime I’d love to have a real conversation with you, one where we talk and maybe laugh. Where we’re not trying to tear each other’s heads off.”

  Allison opened her mouth, but he gave her a warning glare and she shut back up.

  “But you’re pushing me—” He almost said ma’am again. No point in setting a match to dry tinder. “Allison. Ms. Hart.” Yes, the distance was still a good thing.

  She smirked.

  He’d like to wipe that look off her face. Why was it all or nothing with this one? Why had Patrick sent him here, to Galena Landing? Why couldn’t Brent have gotten the contract for the tourist lodge just over Christmas Pass?

  “I’m in charge of this build. There’s nothing in our contract that says I have to hire the client if we’re short-handed.”

  “Is there anything that says you can’t?” She lifted her eyebrows. “Besides, I’m not asking to be put on payroll. I just want to help and believe I’m capable of it.”

  Brent threw both hands in the air. “Fine. Have it your way. Work clothes. Boots. Hair done so it won’t get in the way. Gloves.”

  “You’re not wearing gloves.”

  “Wouldn’t want you to break your nails.”

  “I don’t know why I even want to work with you.”

  He didn’t know, either. But maybe he’d pushed her hard enough she’d leave and not come back. Was that what he wanted? Yes. Most definitely yes.

  “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.” She flounced down the path.

  Or maybe he’d get the chance to find out if they could converse without flames. That would be okay, too.

  Chapter 7

  No way was she going to give any sign how exhausted she was. Brent was taking her at her word that she could handle anything he and Curtis could.

  Well, she’d been wrong. She might jog five miles a day and work out on her home gym three times a week — when she could get it set up again — but that didn’t give her the strength of a guy who’d done manual labor for a living for years.

  Wrong, but not about to mention it.

  She crouched on the scaffold at the roof’s edge, the lanyard on her harness clipped to the safety line, and reached down to grab the next four-by-eight sheet of plywood Curtis lifted to her and Brent. Her hand slipped and the sheet hung at an angle for an instant before she could grasp it again. Good thing Curtis hadn’t let go yet.

  “You don’t have to do this, Allison.”

  Yes, she did. No looking at Brent as he hoisted more than half the weight. If there was sympathy in his eyes, she didn’t want to see it. Ditto for laughter. Or for I-told-you-so.

  She gritted her teeth. “I’ve got it.”

  He grunted.

  She’d ignore that.

  “Grab the chalk and let’s snap a line. You can start attaching the sheets. Ever used an air nailer?”

  “No. But I’m sure I can handle it.”

  “Show me. Be real careful where you point it. I’ve seen guys shoot themselves through the leg with it.”

  A monster tool appeared in her line of sight. She couldn’t help it. Her mouth dropped open. She couldn’t lift that thing. Her jaw tensed as she raised her gaze. To his T-shirt, stretched across his muscled chest. To his chin.
To his dark eyes and the eyebrows raised above them.

  She thrust out her hands to accept the tool. It was as heavy as it looked, but she managed to keep from sagging to her knees. “I’m not familiar with this model.”

  His mouth twitched. “It’s not your average household tool.”

  Brent didn’t need to add that it was meant for men with bulging biceps. Like his. Not that she’d noticed.

  “Here, let me show you.” He retrieved the tool and knelt on a piece of plywood.

  Allison resisted the urge to rub her arms at the sudden relief. Instead, she crouched beside him as he sent nail after nail piercing through the plywood and into the rafters.

  He made it look so effortless.

  She should take the nailer from him and finish the sheet. She should. But she watched instead. Watched his muscles barely twitch as he hoisted the tool and added a new strip of nails to the intake. Watched as he glanced her way, expressionless, and resumed the task.

  Brent could be chiding her right now. He could be making fun of her or ordering her off the roof. He wasn’t doing either.

  She felt as big as one of the nails, but each of those had a specific purpose. She didn’t. Not on the roof, anyway.

  “Want a go at it?” His dark eyes met hers.

  Why couldn’t he let some attitude show so she could lash out at him? He’d asked a perfectly reasonable question, all things considered.

  Allison looked past Brent’s shoulder, but his gaze pulled her back magnetically. She clenched her jaw. “I don’t think I’m strong enough.”

  Acknowledgment flickered briefly in his eyes. Maybe even respect she’d admitted it. He nodded slightly. “Okay.” He tugged another sheet of plywood into place and checked its alignment before hefting that nailer.

  That was it?

  She didn’t want him to be a nice guy. There were so few of them around. What were the odds of meeting one in the very place Claire, Jo, and Sierra insisted they loved men who were worth it?

  Brent made short work of attaching the next sheet of plywood before reaching down for the next one Curtis offered. Allison didn’t lean over to help. Brent didn’t ask.

  She unbuckled her harness. “If there’s nothing useful I can do, I’ll get out of your way.”

  “Be careful on the ladder.”

  Was that the same thing as “Don’t let the door slam your backside as you go out?” But his gaze held nothing of that. It held nothing at all, actually.

  “I will. Let me know if there’s something I can do.” She edged her way to the ladder, past Brent. He smelled clean, like wood shavings and musk.

  This was ridiculous. He couldn’t possibly be a good guy.

  Allison’s feet found the ladder and she made her way down, mindful of the heavy boots that made her footing awkward.

  Curtis shot a smirk at her.

  Definitely not one of the good guys.

  “Curtis,” Brent said from up on the roof.

  Both Curtis and Allison looked up. Brent shook his head at his worker, and Curtis shrugged, not looking Allison’s way again.

  What was that about? A warning to treat her with respect?

  Man, she didn’t really deserve that after the scene she’d made earlier. Sure, she was still the client. They still worked for her. But she’d made some stupid demands.

  She trudged over to the edge of the trees and sat down, her back against a trunk, then removed her hard hat. She undid the clip that kept her French braid spiraled against her skull and let the plait hang down the front. Best to keep her hair contained anyway, just in case Brent found something else for her to do.

  Curtis hoisted another plywood to the roof and Brent easily swung it into place.

  Like he needed her for anything.

  * * *

  Brent kept a peripheral eye on Allison. Had he been too hard on her? Could he have handled the situation a different way? He couldn’t think how and get the job done she’d hired him to do.

  “Time for coffee!” hollered Curtis.

  A guy didn’t need a timepiece with Curtis around.

  “Go ahead,” called Brent. “I’ll be down in a minute.” Just needed to attach the last row.

  He descended the ladder a few minutes later and rolled his eyes. Curtis sat across the clearing from Allison, sipping coffee from his thermos with a bag of chips in his hand. Way to speak with each other, people.

  Brent knew which side his bread was buttered on. He snagged his lunch box and strode over to Allison. “Hi.” He settled onto the dirt beside her.

  “Hey.” Her glance caught him then ricocheted off.

  He tilted his lunch box her way. “Want a turnover?”

  “No.” She stared past him for a few seconds. “Thank you, anyway.”

  “They’re pretty good.” Brent pulled one out of its wrapper and took a bite. “Glad I discovered that bakery on the side street. Much better food than from the display case in the gas station.”

  Her lip curled just a little and her gaze snapped to his.

  Brent grinned. “Really. Galena Landing isn’t a hospitable place for folks like me who don’t have a place to cook.”

  “You can cook?”

  Aha. She used words after all. “Sure, sort of. Can’t you?”

  Allison hesitated, and she glanced away. “I’m not the best at it.”

  Now why didn’t that surprise him? Little Miss I’m-as-good-as-a-guy. “I got tired of eating out.”

  She shifted on the hard ground.

  Must be tough with so little padding. Brent could feel every pebble he sat on. “Maybe sometime I’ll cook dinner for you.”

  Her eyes grew wide.

  Brent could’ve smacked himself up the side of the head. That was way outside the bounds of foreman and client. Whatever possessed him to let those words escape? To have even thought them in the first place?

  “Easy to say. You have no kitchen.”

  “That’s true.” He munched a bit more of the cherry turnover, watching her. But the idea had caught hold. “I’m sure you do. Maybe I could use yours.” In for a twig, in for a kingpin.

  Sheesh. Who let his mouth go for a hike without his brain along?

  “You’re serious.”

  Brent tossed the rest of the pastry into his mouth, buying himself a few more seconds to respond. “Why not? When’s a good time?”

  Allison’s gaze seemed focused on his mouth. His gut tightened. How had he gone from thinking about cooking dinner to thinking about kissing? But it was Allison who started doing the looking, not him.

  “You’ve got some crumbs on your lip.”

  A flush started at his neck and worked its way up. His mouth wasn’t the only part of him heading its own direction. Apparently his mind had found the same trail. Brent swiped his face with the back of his hand. “That get it?”

  “No.” She reached over and brushed his lower lip.

  Brent caught his breath. Maybe all of him was on the same path after all, but it wasn’t one he should be going down.

  “There. Got it.” Her gaze met his, no hardness in it. Instead, something akin to vulnerability shone from her eyes for one brief instant before she looked away.

  There was a real person behind the barriers Allison Hart had erected. And that person was awakening the real person inside Brent.

  Against his will, he reminded himself. Now that he was aware, he could turn himself in a different direction. Get himself right out of that forest. No paths at all.

  * * *

  “What’ve we got to make muffins with?” Allison knew she’d find Claire in the kitchen, and she was right.

  Claire sat perched on one of the tall stools at the peninsula, flipping through a well-used recipe book. She glanced up. “Muffins? We’ve got all the basics, for sure. What kind are you hungry for?”

  “It’s not for me.” Allison thrust her thumb in the direction of the work site. “Do you know what those guys are eating? Junk.”

  “I imagine they are.” Cl
aire rested her chin on her hand. “Pumpkin raisin muffins. Or apple raisin. Well, raisins in anything, really, thanks to all those boxes of grapes we got last fall and dried in the sunroom.”

  Right. Of course they didn’t just run to the store and buy raisins. We don’t, Allison corrected herself. She really needed to get thinking like one of the group. Acquaint herself with their food supplies. Well, baking muffins so Brent — so those guys — had something decent to eat was a good start.

  “Pumpkin sounds good.” Allison reached for her laptop where it lay closed on the counter. “What’s a good recipe site?”

  Claire quirked a grin. “Not sure. Most of mine are written down. Haven’t you noticed the antique library file box?” She rounded the peninsula.

  Allison tagged behind. “Can’t say I really did.” But it was pretty obvious on the counter in the corner, now that Claire pointed it out. Allison had apparently been avoiding spending time in the kitchen. That was about to end. This thing wasn’t about Brent. It was about her need to settle into her new home.

  Yeah, she could convince herself, given a bit of time.

  Claire opened one of the little drawers. “Muffins…” She flipped through a bunch of 3x5 cards.

  Allison eyed the bank of drawers. Three across, four down. How many cards could a thing like that hold? “You really have this many recipes suitable for cooking locally? Sustainably?”

  “Lots of these aren’t. These contain ideas, notes, and recipes we’ve adapted.” Claire swiped a hand down one column, landing on the open drawer at the bottom. “The next set is for food that’s close. The last one, we either haven’t gone through or they’re old family recipes we can’t bear to get rid of.” She chuckled and glanced at Allison. “Who knows when pineapple upside down cake might become a locally-grown possibility?”

  Had to be a joke, so Allison grinned back.

  “See, then they’re divided by meal or food types, so if I’m looking for soups or… or muffins—” she tapped the open drawer “—it’s easy to find the right collection. You’re welcome to add your recipes. I’m always looking for new ideas. So long as you don’t mind me tweaking them. I’m a perpetual tweaker.”