Page 4 of All Because I Found You

“Yes, it absolutely is.”

“Look, I felt like I was getting somewhere until I said your name, which means you probably remember me too, and I just want to say I am not that same fifteen-year-old girl who used to follow you in the hallways giggling.”

“I assure you, I have no idea who you are.”

“Oh.” Her head tilted, mouth curved downward. “Well, that’s kind of insulting.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, not exactly sure what to say but somehow feeling guilty.

“It’s fine. Whatever. You were you, and I was a teeny bopper freshman who thought I was much cooler than I actually was. That’s not the point.” She held her hands out and lowered them as if she was able to push down the rest of her thoughts. “The point is, I need your barn, and I’m not leaving until you give me permission to use it.”

“Then I hope you have a tent in that car of yours.”

“Do I look like the camping type? I have a bikini and beach chair.”

The image of her in a bikini had him shifting uncomfortably.

She didn’t notice. She was too busy talking. “Though, the sun is hitting this spot just right. I could set up shop here. I have a tablet with me, so I could get a heck of a lot of work done. That’s actually not a bad idea.” She pressed her plump lips together and swished her cheeks back and forth.

“You are not seriously…” He thrust his hand into his hair and instantly remembered why the strands were in his face. He wasn’t used to being around people, and the last thing he wanted was to scare her with his scars. “You cannot set up a beach chair on my property.”

“The thing is. I don’t feel like you’re the type who would call the cops on me, and with how desperate I am, I’m willing to take the chance.”

He inhaled deeply, trying to find a calm within himself. He was out of practice dealing with people other than Gene, especially pushy people who knew exactly what they wanted. This woman was a persistent pain in his ass, and he didn’t doubt that she’d set up camp right on his property. While she would be a nice view, he didn’t honestly think she’d stick around.

“Suit yourself,” he said and, without looking back, headed into the house and shut the door.

He went to the strawberries, needing to start another batch. Gene would be by later that night to pick up the batches for tomorrow. The jams were famous, and people would come from the west end of the island, even as far as New York City to stock up.

He settled into his usual rhythm, cutting, stirring, and jarring. Maybe he was crazy, but there was something about the process that made him feel like his mom was with him. Like she was watching over his shoulder to make sure he didn’t cook the strawberries for too long. There was a science to the process, she would say. And when he would ask what that process was, she’d simply tap her head and say that it was in there. She couldn’t explain it. It was more a feeling than science, like her own mother was guiding her. He understood it now. Except it wasn’t his grandma guiding him, or maybe she was too, but definitely Mom.

After so many years of not hearing her laugh or feeling her warm hugs, making jam was as close as he would get to either. He wiped his hands on a dishrag and poured the next batch of strawberries into the bucket to macerate.

He threw a load of laundry in the washer and hit up the bathroom. On his way from the bathroom, his eye caught movement outside. He froze, turning to look out the window. His eyes widened as he took in Raelyn lounging in a beach chair in nothing more than a navy blue string bikini. A tablet rested on her lap, and she talked on her phone, hand moving with each word.

Had she been here the whole time? Where the hell did she change? Had she been naked out there at some point? His body immediately reacted to the thought.

He shook his head, knocking that image right the hell out. She was clearly crazy and the last person he should be fantasizing about.

Ignoring her was best. Back in the kitchen, he picked up his bucket and nearly dropped it at the horrendous noise coming from outside.

His boots hit the old wood planks with loud thuds as he stomped over to the window and peered out. Raelyn had hung up the phone and was tapping her foot to the beat of her off key song.

“I know you’re iiiinnn there, and you can keep ignoring meeee, but I won't give up. Nope! Don't give up. Refuse to give up. Need to make this happen. So you can tune me out, but I can keep going and going and going and going with my sooooong that never ends. La la la. La! La! La! Never ends. Never ends. Oh! Let's start again! I know you’re iiiinnn there…”

He slammed his window shut, but he could still hear her loud and clear and completely off-key. Geez. She was lucky coyotes didn’t live in the area or they’d be rounding up their pack and coming to meet their new member.

There was no way she could keep that up for long. Even she’d have to get sick of her own voice after a while. So he ignored her and went to the kitchen.

“…you can tune me out, but—”

Ryder sighed and tilted his head back. “Lord, help me.”

“…going and going and going and going…”

His nails dug into the palms of his hand as he attempted to take a calming breath. He could call the cops, but she was right. He wasn’t the type to call the cops. Not only did they have more important things to be doing, especially after the recent hurricane, but the last thing he wanted was to draw any attention to himself.

He'd gone eleven years, living in this old farmhouse, just on the outskirts of town, avoiding everyone he once knew. There was a reason he stayed away and kept to himself. Calling the cops was the last thing he would ever do. Besides, it’s not like she was a threat. She was in a navy blue bikini, for heaven’s sake!

---