Bounty (Colorado Mountain 7)

Then I moved out of the door, shut it and made my way to the sidewalk.

I didn’t watch her pull out and drive away but I saw her go as I made my way back to my truck.

I threw my plastic bag in and then wondered how to kill more time while Deke blew insulation into the walls of my house.

I got in my truck and wondered why I wondered how to kill time.

There were two always ready answers, just one that required the right time of the day.

That being booze.

The other was food.

So I got right back out of my truck and headed to the diner.

* * * * *

It was dark by the time I got home since I moved from food to booze and spent the afternoon and early evening shooting the breeze in Bubba’s with Jim-Billy, meeting Izzy, another bartender, and the female-mullet-haired Twyla—who did make Krys look like a friendly Girl Scout selling cookies—and eventually talking Jim-Billy into going to dinner at the Italian place with me (my treat, which meant talking him into it took two seconds).

The afternoon and dinner with Jim-Billy was awesome. He was a hoot, a sweet-as-heck guy, and I learned quickly why everyone looked at him and talked about him with such affection.

Now, I was home and I couldn’t see much because I didn’t have any light in the main space because I had no working outlets in there.

What I had was moonlight dimmed by tall pine.

And warmth.

I could see the creamy white foam in the walls.

And as I carefully made my way to the thermostat (that still had plastic wrapped around it), once I smoothed it over the screen, I saw Deke left my furnace set at seventy degrees so I’d come home to a warm, snug house.

I was grateful for thermostats and a new deck and creamy foam in my walls.

I was grateful for Jim-Billy.

I was grateful for fate setting my feet on that sidewalk so I could be there for a woman I barely knew, but she was a woman that needed me.

I was just grateful that the life I’d been born into already giving me so much, continued to offer me bounty.

I went back to my bedroom with my Twang magazines, my Baby Ruth bite-sized and jumped on top of the bed in my cozy, snug, gorgeous four-poster so I could munch chocolate and read an article that sang the praises of my bestest bestie.

Bounty.

Chapter Four

Prime Rib Sandwich

Justice

Upon Deke’s banging the next morning, I threw open the door, and in lieu of a greeting, I jerked a pointed finger to my nose and demanded, “See this?”

His gaze narrowed and he clipped in return, “Got eyes, don’t I?”

“Well, thanks to you,” I turned my finger and jabbed it his way, “it’s still where it’s supposed to be and didn’t freeze off last night.” I gave him a big grin I didn’t even know I had in me to give that early in the morning and cried, “I love insulation!”

For a second, he stared at me, blank.

Then something lit in his hazel eyes I knew I could bask in its warmth for eternity (so I pretended I didn’t see it, though did this poorly, but just enough to fight my desire to lean in, say, with my mouth touching his, to see it in close proximity).

And he gave me more.

“You’re a little crazy, gypsy.”

He said it like he thought it wasn’t a bad thing, a lovely nuance coating the rumble in his voice that I also could bask in for eternity.

I pretended I didn’t hear that as well, moved back, allowing him entry, and kept moving toward the hall to the garage, doing this speaking. “Coffee’s on, I’ll bring yours out.”

“Jus,” he called, and I stopped walking and turned back to him. “Max says you want the deck finished?”

“Yeah, do you mind?” I asked. “It’s looking awesome. I’m not going to be hanging in the utility room so it’ll be nice to have another change of space to hang.”

He nodded. “I’ll get on that.”

“Appreciated, Deke.”

He moved toward the glass door set in the wall of glass that led now, thanks to Deke, to the back deck.

I went to the garage to get him coffee.

* * * * *

An hour and a half later, showered, dressed and ready to hit town, this being finding somewhere with Wi-Fi so I could deal with emails coming in (specifically the ones from my interior designer), I opened the door to the back deck.

And Deke.

I again admired the herringbone way the boards were set in, making it just that much more interesting, and I did this so as not to admire the man working on the railing.

I didn’t have to call to him. The minute I opened the door, he’d stopped what he was doing to look at me.

“Hey,” I greeted, stepping out.

He jerked up his chin.

“Going into town,” I told him, stopping a few feet outside the door. “Need anything?”

“Nope,” he answered.

This made me curious.

“Do you bring lunch in your truck or something?” I asked.

“Yep,” he answered.

Wow. Deke packed a lunch.

Now I was surprised and curious.

“Water?” I went on.

“Yep,” he repeated.

“Cold water?” I pushed.

“Cold enough.”

Yeesh. He didn’t need to bring water.

I crossed my arms on my chest. “Dude, you can help yourself to the water in the fridge.”

“I’m good, Jus.”

“What’s for lunch today?” I asked.

“Bologna.”

“Yum,” I said.

He stared.

Then he asked, “You like bologna?”

“Well, cold, I can take it or leave it. Fry that up until it’s just a bit burnt with a slap of American cheese and put it on toast with loads of yellow mustard, dee-lish.”