Wouldn’t kill her. There was a sense of relief knowing it wasn’t poisonous, but Sophia’s skin still crawled at the thought of the hairy eight-legged monster getting anywhere near her. She hated spiders. Hated them! The look of them. The thought of their legs on her skin. And the one at the base of the shed was the biggest she’d ever seen.
Tomas went forward and merely touched the spider with the end of his brush. The contact made it scuttle away to parts unknown. He picked up the paint can. Half the contents were on the grass, and wide white splashes went up the side of the shed, spatters on the glass of the window. He sighed, the sound impatient and aggravated.
He patiently took his brush and, with no concern for spiders whatsoever, moved it back and forth over the wall to blend in the spilled paint.
It made Sophia feel completely and utterly foolish. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I have a thing about spi
ders.” A huge thing. She knew she looked silly and the words to exonerate herself sat on her tongue. But she could not tell him why. It was too personal. Too hurtful.
“Maybe you’d like to work on the other side,” he suggested. “I can finish here.”
She would be a wreck trying to paint and watch for spiders at the same time. Maybe she looked like a diva, but even the thought of one crawling up her leg made her weak. Spiders and dark places were the two things she simply could not handle. “Will you check it for spiders first?”
He had to think her the most vapid female on the planet. But she could never tell him the real reason why she was afraid. The hours spent in the cellar had shaped her more than she could express. There’d been spiders there, too. Just small ones, but they’d crawled over her arms and she’d brushed them away, unable to see them. She’d held on to her tears that day until one had crept through her hair. It had completely undone her.
This was bad enough. She didn’t need to let Tomas see any more of her faults.
Tomas accommodated her indulgence and checked the wall, foundation and grass surrounding the area. “Satisfied?”
“Yes, thank you.” Sophia was embarrassed now. No wonder Tomas looked at her as though she was more trouble than she was worth. She dipped her brush and continued where Tomas had left off, determined to overcome the panic that still threaded through her veins. Not that she didn’t watch. She did. Her eyes were peeled for any sign of foreign creatures. But if another spider came by, she would not scream or throw her paint can. She would shoo it away, just as Tomas had done.
The sun climbed higher in the sky and the air held a touch of humidity. Sweat formed on Sophia’s brow as they worked on into the morning. She was beginning to appreciate all that went into a place like this. It wasn’t just meals and fresh linen and saddling a horse or two. It was upkeep, making sure things were well-kept and neat. The plain shed was starting to look quite nice, matching all the other buildings with their fresh white paint, and there was a sense of pride in knowing it was partly to do with her efforts. There was pleasure to be found in the simplicity of the task. It was just painting, with no other purpose to serve, no ulterior motives or strategies. The sound of the bristles on the wood. The whisper of the breeze in the pampas grass, the mellow heat of the late summer sun.
She sneaked glances around the side of the building at Tomas. He had mentioned that Carlos had taught him the ways of the gaucho, but he had said nothing about himself, about where he came from. He could dress in work clothes but there was something about him, a bearing, perhaps, that made her think he wasn’t from here. That perhaps he was better educated than he first appeared.
It was nearly noon when they finished the first coat, and Tomas poured what was left in their paint cans into the bucket, sealing the lid for another day and a second coat. “It’s going to look good,” he said, tapping the lid in place. He picked up the bucket and she watched the muscles in his arm flex as he carried it to the barn. She followed him, carrying the brushes, feeling indignation begin to burn. That was it? She’d worked her tail off all morning, and his only praise was It’s going to look good? She sniffed. Perhaps what Tomas needed was a lesson in positive reinforcement. Or just being plain old nice!
She trailed behind him as they entered the barn. It was as neat as everything else on the estancia. The concrete floor was cool, the rooms and stalls sturdy and clean, the scents those of horses, fresh hay and aging wood. Tomas took the brushes from her and put them in a large sink. He started the water and began washing them out.
“You were a big help this morning.”
Finally, some praise.
“Except when I threw paint everywhere.”
“It is probably a good thing you didn’t see him jump,” Tomas commented.
She paled. “Jump?”
“Si. Wolf spiders—they don’t really spin webs. They jump, and they’re fast on the ground. Usually we don’t come across them in the daytime. He scooted away, but when they jump…”
“Do we have to talk about this?”
“I find it very interesting.”
He scrubbed at the brushes with a renewed energy. What he enjoyed was teasing her, she realized. There really was no need. She was already feeling quite foolish. She had no business being here. It was not her scene. The inside of her thumb was already blistered from holding the paint brush all morning.
Face it, Soph, she thought. He was right. You’re pampered and spoiled.
She wished Tomas didn’t see her flaws. The problem wasn’t with the estancia or Tomas. It was her. She was the one lacking. She didn’t want to be spoiled. What she wanted was validation. And somehow she wanted it from Tomas. She got the feeling that if she could earn his respect, she could earn just about anyone’s.
Tomas finished with the brushes and laid them to dry. He was enjoying teasing her too much, and it unsettled him. It felt strange, like putting on old clothes that were the right size but somehow didn’t fit just right anymore. He had left that teasing part of himself behind long ago. It disturbed him to realize it was harder and harder to remember those days. But seeing Sophia’s huge eyes as he spoke of the spider, and then the adorable determined set she got to her chin when she was mad…
He should not be reacting this way. And it wasn’t as if he was going to catch a break. Until Maria and Carlos came back, Sophia was his responsibility. Even his subconscious knew it. The bread making was not an attempt at being a good host. It was simply the result of waking far too early and needing to be busy to keep from thinking about her.
Which reminded him that it had been hours since they’d eaten.
“Come on,” he said, leading the way out of the barn. “Let’s get some lunch.” Surely a meal was a good, safe activity. If he couldn’t escape her, keeping occupied was the next best thing. And he was starving.