Imagine That (13 page)

“I am not pleased,” Aurora Johnston announced.

Emily glanced up from the stack of mail she'd been sorting. The huge stack of mail. Aurora Johnston received more catalogues than a shopaholic on a bender.

“You're not interested in owning authentic recreated weapons from the Civil War era?” Emily asked, holding up one of the thick tomes.

Aurora looked down her nose. “I'm not speaking of the mail.”

“All right, what's got you in a dither today? Come to think of it, how is today different from any other day?”

Aurora's nostrils flared, and Emily imagined smoke would come pouring out any minute. “Your insolence is not charming.”

“Neither is your temper.”

Aurora pursed her lips.

Emily's twitched, too. “I'm a verbal master, Aurora. You're not going to win a war of insults with me. Besides, I don't care if you like me.”

“I could fire you right now.”

“Yes, but I'd find something else.” She glanced at the next catalogue. A pristine, two-acre lot on the shores of some unidentified lake in Wichita. Emily couldn't see the old bitty living in Kansas.

Aurora snorted — or as close as someone of her standard of dignity came to snorting. “Outrageous.”

It was a pretty lake, though. Maybe she could go there when she left Covington Falls. “I think we've established I'm both insolent and outrageous,” Emily said. “Now, what is your complaint, my lady?”

“That tree branch is blocking my light, and I can't read.”

Pulling her attention away from the Wichita land deal, Emily studied the blank wall behind Aurora's chair. “What tree branch?”

“There,” she said, pointing toward the huge bay window across the room.

Emily twisted around and saw there was one limb in front of the window. “How can that block the light when you're sitting way over here?”

“Shadows. The afternoon sun creates shadows.”

“From across the parlor?” Emily asked in disbelief.

“I want the branch cut.”

Emily shrugged and returned to sorting. “Call a tree service.”

“I'm not paying a small fortune for one branch. I want you to do it.”

Her head jerked up. “Me? Cut a tree? Are you out of your mind?”

“One limb. You're young and capable. I feel quite sure you can accomplish the task.”

Mentally digging in her heels, Emily shot a scowl at the old bag. “No way.”

“I demand it.”

“Demand all you want. I'm not getting killed because of an imaginary shadow.”

“Do you think you can't handle the job?”

“Don't even go there,” Emily said, shaking a catalogue in the air. “I know what you're doing.”

Aurora smiled. “So, you do think you will fail.”

“I would not fail—” Emily slapped a hand to her forehead. “I must be out of my mind, too. I can't believe I'm considering playing lumberjack.”

“There's a handsaw in the shed out back.”

Oh, you
'
ve got to be kidding me.
“A handsaw?”

“I have an electric one if you prefer, but I wouldn't recommend it if you don't have experience.”

Emily pictured whirling metal slicing into her flesh and shuddered. “A hand saw, it is.”

Locating the saw took awhile as Aurora's tool shed hadn't been cleared out in a couple decades. Finally, Emily uncovered one hanging on a hook behind an old rake and a wicked looking hedger. Next, she located a stepladder and dragged both around to the front yard. Dropping the saw and ladder on the grass, she glared up at the offending branch. Not too high at least, and not as thick as she'd feared. She could cut through the limb… eventually.

Muttering epitaphs about the sanity of bad-tempered senior citizens, Emily set up the ladder, tucked the saw under one arm and climbed until she could reach the branch. Five minutes of furious cutting accomplished absolutely nothing. Not even a decent notch. She was too low and couldn't put much force behind the saw. To top it off, her shoulder muscle ached, and her hand had started to cramp.

“Save me from batty octogenarians,” she muttered, attacking the branch again.

The saw lodged in the wood. Frustrated, she tugged until the blasted thing came free.

Free and hurtling right toward her head.

“
Owwww!
”
She howled as the handle smashed into her temple.

The blow caused her to lose her balance. She made a desperate grab for the ladder and managed to right herself, but not before cutting her finger on the saw.

“
S
ugar cookies!
”

“Emily, what are you doing?”

She twisted around in time to see Nate rushing across the lawn. He reached her in three seconds flat and steadied her against the ladder with a firm grip.

When she was no longer in danger of falling to the ground, he stepped back. He swiped a hand across his face and muttered a few curse words of his own. Then he held out a hand. “Give me the saw.”

“I was cutting a tree branch,” she said, wondering if he would explode with frustration.

Nate's lips pressed together into a tight, white line. “I don't care. Give it to me before you kill yourself.”

Like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, she handed over the weapon. “I hit my head, and my finger is bleeding.”

She held up the digit in question, saw the red ooze, and let out a whoosh of air as dizziness swashed over her in a sickening gush.

“I know.” Nate slipped an arm around her middle and lifted her off the ladder. “I saw you do it. Come on. I've got a first aid kit in my truck.”

Like he'd done on the side of the road the other day, he lowered the tailgate and set her on the truck bed. Leaving her to reflect on her own stupidity, he went in search of the kit under the seat. Another moment, and he was back.

He pulled out a dry ice pack, broke the seal, and then kneaded the bag until it was cold. “Put this on your head.”

Emily held the pack to her temple, watching as he extracted a medicated wipe to clean her finger.

She sucked in a breath at the sting.

“Sorry,” Nate muttered. He held her finger up, inspecting the cut. “Not too bad. You're lucky. You could have cut off a finger.”

“I would've needed a bit more strength to do that.”

He grabbed a tube of antibiotic cream and coated her finger. “What were thinking, trying to cut that branch anyway?”

His touch was gentle, even though she could feel the tension flowing through his body. Heat worked its way from her wrist up the length of her arm until every inch of skin tingled. Must be something in the antiseptic, she concluded. Emily refused to consider any other explanation for her body's reaction and instead concentrated on watching Nate as he doctored her various cuts and bruises.

“Wasn't my idea, believe me,” she said. “Aurora insisted the branch was blocking her sunlight and she couldn't read.”

“So she had you do it? Is she crazy?”

“Could be.”

“You should quit. No job is worth injuring yourself over.”

Emily shrugged, which made her head throb. She held back a wince, knowing any visible show of pain would set Nate off again. “She's harmless for the most part. More bark than bite.”

He jabbed at finger at her temple. “Harmless? Another couple inches and it would have been your eye.”

“She dared me.”

He snorted as he fished out a bandage and ripped off the paper. “Sounds like a good reason to put an eye out to me.”

“She said I was afraid I couldn't do it.”

“I can't believe you fell for that,” he said as he wrapped the bandage around her finger.

“Me either, and I knew what she was doing,” Emily said with a soft chuckle.

Nate relented enough to allow a small smile. “Let me see your head.”

She lowered the ice pack. He tilted her chin back and ran a gentle finger across her temple. No way could she ignore so much sensory overload. A shudder rippled down her spine. Had he noticed?

His shoulders seized up. Their eyes met, and the blaze in his gray pools seemed hot enough to singe.

“Why were you so angry at me the other day in
The Old Diner
?” she asked.

Wariness replaced heat, and he stepped back. “I wasn't angry. Just tired. I had a bad day and Mom's treatment—”

He'd acted like a horse's rear, and he wanted to blame his mother? No way. Her own temper sparked, and she chucked the ice pack at him.

Nate caught it. Barely. “What's wrong with you?”

“You were angry with me. Why? Was it because of Andrew Laughton?”

Clearing his throat, Nate contemplated a leaf on a low-hanging branch. “You looked like you were having a good time.”

“He's funny. It's no crime to laugh at a witty man's jokes.”

“You probably have a lot in common. I'm sure he's read all those classic books you're always talking about.”

Emily froze. Well, duh!

Jealous! He'd been jealous. Shoot her for not catching on, but how could she have known? He'd have to care to have such an emotion.

“Is Andrew the reason you refused to help with the library auction?” she asked.

He massaged the back of his neck. “Not really.”

“Then why? What have you got against a building?”

“It's not the building. It's what's in it.”

“Books? Come on. I can understand thinking classic novels are boring, but what could you possibly have against books?”

“I'm dyslexic, okay!”

Her mouth dropped open. “Seriously? Dyslexic?”

Nate cursed, his cheeks tinged with pink. “Yeah.”

She swallowed her shock. “You can read though. I thought people with dyslexia could be taught how to rewire their brains or something.”

“I can read, but I have to concentrate.”

“Okay, but I still don't understand how that translates to hating books altogether.”

“Can we drop it?” He sighed and perched on the truck bed beside her. “I shouldn't have said anything.”

“No way. I want to know.”

“It took a long time for anyone to figure out what was wrong. I didn't tell anyone.”

“Why not?”

“Because I figured everyone saw words the same way I did. Only they were smart enough to figure it out. I thought I was stupid. So, I acted up. Made a nuisance of myself so I'd get thrown out of class. I wouldn't turn in homework. I did so well at being a bad kid they put me in special classes with the rest of the castoffs.”

“Someone must have realized at some point,” Emily said, horrified at the picture he was painting of a scared little boy thinking he was the only one who couldn't understand.

“A math teacher finally noticed I kept getting numbers backward. I never knew the numbers were wrong. I only knew letters didn't work.”

“You were tested then?”

“Sure. Eventually, I could manage to unscramble things, but I never got comfortable reading. It's why I flunked out of college. I couldn't keep up. Even now, if I'm tired or distracted, I get things mixed up. Like cookie recipes. I put too much salt in the batter that day I came in.”

“
I
could do that.” Emily's heart melted. “You didn't really think you were stupid?”

He gripped the edge of the truck. “For years, I thought my dad left because I couldn't read.”

“What?”

“My dad was smart. He read all those books you quote. He could add up figures in his head. I always imagined he couldn't stand having a dumb son.”

“You have to know he didn't leave because of you.”

The brief shrug of indifference did nothing to hide his pain. “Now, I do. Back then I didn't realize he was just a jerk.”

Emily thought she should be used to feeling shame over Nate. How many ways had she misjudged him? “I'm sorry.”

“What do you have to feel sorry about?”

“Because I was one of those people who—” She choked back tears.

He twisted toward her and brushed the moisture from her cheek. “You thought I was a lazy, shiftless underachiever who refused to grow up.”

“No wonder you didn't want to speak to me the other day. I'm a horrible person.”

“Em… shhh. Stop it.” He cradled her head. “I wanted you to think I was exactly that kind of guy.”

“Why?”

His head descended. “Because then this would be easier.”

She didn't have time to prepare for the onslaught of feeling as his lips met hers. The rush of heat mixed with chills. Even if she'd had time, she would've never been prepared for what it felt like to be kissed by Nate Cooper. Part thrill ride, part gentle homecoming.

The gentle part scared her, but not enough to stop.

Somehow they ended up stretched out in the truck bed. His hand ventured to her waist and had started drifting into interesting territory, when he let out a muffled oath and jumped to the ground. Emily leaned back on her elbows and watched him pace.

“Sorry, I got carried away,” he said.

“I wasn't exactly protesting.” She sat up and grabbed his hand, pulling until he unbalanced and had to put out his hands to brace himself.

“Emily, I can't.”

“Why?” Her eyes drifted lower. “Something not working right?”

Closing his eyes, he let out a soft groan. “Give me strength.”

“What?”

He opened his eyes again, searing her with his need and want. “Everything works just fine, thank you very much, but I won't make love to you.”

“Won't? What do you mean?”

He disentangled himself from her grasp. “It means I'll only sleep with the woman who's my wife.”

She stared in amazement. “Excuse me?”

“You heard right.”

“Did you make a vow of chastity or something?”