Catch Twenty-Two (Westover Prep 2)

And God do I want those things.

Even with her hair littered with bits of hay and the trails of sweat flowing from her temple.

Even with the dirt under her nails and a hint of sunburn on her cheeks.

“I need to make a trip into town,” I tell her as we make it back from the field late in the afternoon. “They’re open for another two hours, and it’ll help me in the morning.”

It’s the most I’ve said to her since she came out of the house earlier, even though our day wasn’t filled with awkward silence.

“I can help again tomorrow,” she offers, but I can tell from the way her eyes are darting away from mine that she doesn’t want to be caged in the truck with me again right now. It didn’t end so well last time, and I don’t blame her for the caution.

“Okay,” I tell her before turning away and walking to my truck.

I’m pulling open the driver’s side door when I hear her voice again.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No,” I answer immediately without looking back at her. “Thanks for your help today.”

I want her more now than I ever have in the past, and I know I wouldn’t be able to restrain myself. Not after she smashed so many of my preconceived notions to smithereens today. Not after watching her work all damn day without complaint. There isn’t a single part of me that could turn down the chance to touch her again.

Instead of backing away, I sit in my truck and watch her turn on the water hose, tilting her head to the side to take a drink. It’s something I’ve done at least a billion times but watching this girl drink from a hose is nothing short of spectacular.

After wetting her hand, she rubs at the base of her neck, and I know she has to be sore. Her offer to help may not be there in the morning when she wakes up with muscles stiffer than I imagine they’ve ever been.

“Not such a city girl anymore, are you?” I mutter as she turns off the hose and disappears inside the house, and for the first time since I dialed 911 to help my dad, my lips want to smile. I don’t quite manage it, but maybe tomorrow will be better.

I don’t waste any time at the feed store. I grab the things we’ll need for the next couple of days and place an order for the things they don’t keep in stock. Mr. Alfred tries to speak with me, but the second the discussion turns to my dad and how much he’ll be missed, I haul ass out of there. I can’t stand the thought of my dad being gone, but I’ll be damned if I stick around while people act like he’s already dead.

Leaving the feed in the bed of my truck, I drive home instead of going back to the barn. I kept a respectable distance between Frankie and me today, but I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep that up. I know it would be impossible if I laid eyes on her tonight after all the work has been done, and I have nothing to keep my hands busy.

At lunch, Mrs. Jacobson insisted I come to supper, and I told her no. My dad is coming home from the hospital tomorrow, and I need to make sure the house is ready for him.

It was a lie. There’s nothing that needs to be done at home, but I’m too raw to be around anyone.

“Except, Frankie,” I mutter.

I want to be around her. Hell, even when I’m spitting terrible things her way, I want to be around her.

After a quick shower, I re-dress and head over there, knowing I can’t stay away. It’ll just eat at me all damn night if I don’t.

They’re already sitting down to eat when I arrive, but Mrs. Jacobson just smiles at me when Frankie gets up to grab an extra plate from the cabinet.

“Thank you,” I whisper, unable to look up from the table in fear that the effects of her kindness will start rolling down my cheeks.

Supper is a quiet affair, filled periodically with small talk no one is really interested in. Mrs. Jacobson has to clear her throat multiple times, and I don’t have to look at her to know she’s doing her best to hold back her emotions. I’m grateful she doesn’t mention my dad, but that doesn’t keep her from lingering when I press my lips to her temple in thanks.

I don’t bolt the second supper is over like usual, and as if sensing I need some time alone with Frankie, Mrs. Jacobson makes herself scarce.

I help as best I can to clean up the kitchen, and I can tell that even though Frankie is shocked at my assistance, she doesn’t say anything.