Mean Streak - Page 26

No one she knew did. They bought firewood from someone who delivered it to their house and stacked it, or they picked up a small bundle at the supermarket along with their bread and milk.

Satisfied that the new logs were catching, he returned to the table, picked up her sunglasses, and passed them to her. “Glue dried. I think it’ll hold.”

She tested the strength of the repair. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Your hands seem too large to work on something so small and delicate. I wouldn’t think you could be that dexterous.”

“I can be dexterous when dexterity is called for.”

She could tell he was amused by the unwitting setup she’d given him and self-satisfied with his suggestive comeback. Turning away from him, she slipped the glasses into the shirt pocket. He sat down at the table and resumed fiddling with the toaster, seeming to be perfectly content. She felt like her skin had shrunk.

“Doesn’t it drive you crazy?”

“What?”

“The silence. The loneliness.”

“I have music on my laptop.”

“Can we play some music?”

“Nice try, but no soap, Doc.”

She paced the width of the room and back. “Doesn’t the boredom drive you to distraction?”

“I’m never bored.”

“How could you not be? What do you do all day? That is, when you’re not repairing small appliances.”

She had meant the remark as a putdown, but he took no offense. “Projects.”

“Like what?”

“I’m building a shed for my pickup.”

“By yourself?”

“It’s not hard, but I’m particular, which makes it time-consuming. I had hoped to finish it before winter set in.” He glanced toward the window. “Didn’t quite make it.”

“What else?”

“I built the bookshelves.”

“That’s it? That’s all you do? Putter around here making home improvements?”

“I’ve hunted. Not much, though. I fish occasionally.”

“When you get tired of venison.”

“No, I don’t like fish, so I always throw my catches back. I hike. Gorgeous scenery up here. Sometimes I camp, but I prefer my bed to a sleeping bag on the ground.”

“So you’re not completely opposed to creature comfort.”

He gave a half grin. “No. I prefer my showers and my coffee hot.”

She looked around, trying to gauge the sparse square footage in which he lived. “I can’t imagine being cooped up in here with nothing to do.”

Tags: Sandra Brown Mystery
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