Page 51 of Chasing Home

“I’ll be here every night fixing up this house of yours until I deem it safe enough and bringing you food at lunch. I’ve got a list of things a mile long that I want to show you and teach you out at the ranch, but only if you say yes. I won’t keep pushin’ if you don’t feel what I do. You’ve got my word.”

“I . . .” My throat is so thick I can’t even swallow properly. Heat engulfs my cheeks. “I can’t tell you no. That night was a lot for me too. There’s something here, I know that. But I’m not staying in Cherry Peak. I can’t make you any promises. I’m here for Wanda and Lee.”

I clench my teeth and look at the street over Johnny’s shoulder, not wanting to see the disappointment on his face as my words settle between us.

My muscles tighten when he softly curls his finger beneath my chin and turns my head, forcing me to meet his stare. His smile is unexpected and confusing.

“Why are you smiling?” I ask.

“Everyone thinks Cherry Peak is a blip on the map for them, but oftentimes, it’s never that. I’m more than ready to prove that to you, darlin’,” he answers.

“And if you can’t? You’ll hate me for leaving.” And I’ll hate myself just as much for hurting him.

He strokes his finger over the ridge of my jaw before swooping it up my cheek. “I don’t think it’ll be possible to hate you. But if I have to watch you leave, then at least I’ll be able to know that I had my time with you.”

“I’m kind of a bitch, in case you haven’t noticed.”

The sentence escapes me too quickly to stop it. Fuck, my cheeks burn now. I shut my eyes, attempting to pretend I didn’t just say that.

Johnny’s quiet laugh has me peeking them open again. His forehead falls to mine, and my lips tug at the corners.

“You’re not a bitch, Rory. I’ve never thought that.”

“If we do this,” I start, feeling something warm start to build in my chest. “Would you help me contact Wanda? Not as a quid pro quo or anything, but . . . I can do it on my own—it would just be nice to have someone?—”

“Name anything you need, and I’m here to help you get it. You’ve got my word,” he says instantly.

I release a breath. “Okay.”

“We can start tomorrow. Tonight, I have you to myself, and I plan on taking advantage of that.”

“What did you have in mind?” I ask tentatively, my eyes dropping to his mouth on instinct.

God, since when am I so horny?

His answer isn’t the one I expected. “Have you ever used a crowbar before?”

17

JOHNNY

I’ve never been afraid of hard work.

As the only man in a house full of women, I’ve always taken my responsibilities seriously. My moms aren’t old-fashioned in the sense of having separate tasks for both me and my sisters—quite the opposite, really—but I took it upon myself to carry that weight.

If the lawn needed mowing? I was out doing it. My sister had a boy over? I was the one standing in her bedroom doorway with my arms crossed and my glare fixed on the douche. Late-night pickups, telling off bullies, watching tutorials on how to fix leaky pipes so we didn’t have to spend money on plumbers. I’ve made myself learn skills that I knew would be beneficial in the future.

Like when I meet the woman I decide to marry. Which isn’t me saying I’m ready to propose to Aurora right now or anything. God, my moms would kick my ass for even considering that already, but the fact still stands. I want to be able to say that I know how to take care of a woman and be someone that she can depend on when that time comes.

That’s what has me pushing my ass so hard to do as much as I can for Rory while I’m here, sweaty and desperate to impress her. The sun isn’t glaring in my eyes anymore, which means I’m running out of time. Every nervous glance Rory shoots at the neighbouring houses has me speeding up, desperate to get as much done as I can before being forced to stop.

Maybe I should be slowing down and dragging this out. If this place wasn’t such a death trap, I probably would, as selfish as that is. But I’m confident that I’ll be able to capture her attention in other ways once I’m finished with this project.

“Give me just a couple more minutes to get this all cleaned off your yard, and then I’ll go,” I say once she’s tossed another chunk of rotten wood onto the pile.

Blowing a piece of hair out of her face, she sets her hands on her waist and stretches her back before looking across the yard at me. Her lips are just the slightest bit downturned, but it’s enough to have me speaking again.

“I don’t want to keep your neighbours up.”

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