Page 7 of Pining for You

“Brad Calhoun,” he said, giving my hand a light squeeze. I was about to judge there was nothing sexual about that contact, until he held my hand in his one extra beat. Enough to make me wonder if he was about to hit on me. Instead, he said, “I’m the lead arborist with Pine Ridge Prunery.”

Yeah, I was imagining things.

Typical.

Brad nodded to my chain saw. “You’ve got a great technique there. If you’re ever looking for a job as a groundsman, or want to train as an arborist, give me a call.”

Huh, now that was an opening line I hadn’t heard before. Then I realized he was serious and it wasn’t a line. I was about to blow him off with a “thanks but no thanks, it’s not for me” answer when I realized, considering I was going to be out of a job in less than a month, I really should consider the offer. If it was made seriously.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. “Thanks.”

Groundsmen and arborists made a lot more money than I did as a waitress, even on dull rainy days when the tourists got tired of being cooped up in their tent or trailers and decided to venture into town for a hot breakfast, cooked by someone else. But groundsmen have to work outside. In the worst weather conditions—snow, ice, humidity, and often in areas infested with mosquitoes and black flies.

My first reaction was the honest one, if not the sensible one. Not for me. I’d put in far too many hours sweating my ass off wielding machetes and chain saws, as I helped my grandfather maintain his fifty acres of pines and balsam firs. Grandpa Pogue ran a Christmas tree farm, and that, combined with Dad’s property management, meant holidays, summers and weekends, at least until I moved to southwestern Ontario, had been spent helping one or the other with various backbreaking tasks.

On the plus side, nobody in my family had any reservations about my competence in the traditionally male jobs. But it definitely led to my interest in getting a college degree for a career that could be done indoors.

Oblivious to my reservations, Marilyn start talking me up. Guess I shouldn’t have admitted to her that I was soon to be in need of a job. “Chloe’s been cutting the fallen branches so I can use it for firewood later. She has a lot of experience in outdoor work.”

“I’m not poaching your business if you’re worried about that.” Not that I cared if he saw it that way.

“I’m not worried about that at all,” he said, his voice casual. It was nice dealing with a guy unaffected by potential competition. Then again, he wasn’t the owner, so he might not see me as competition. His gaze flitted over the trees scattered along the boundaries of Marilyn’s yard. “I’m worried about the mountain ash."

"Me too," I found myself saying, as if I wanted him to know our similarities. "It was only a matter of time with all of the damage from the…"

"Borers," he finished for me.

Our gazes locked for a long moment, and something twisted in my stomach, not the anxiety twist of having said something awkward, but an excitement I hadn’t felt in too long a time.

"Do you two know each other?" Mrs. B asked. "Chloe moved back home last year to help out her parents and grandparents."

That absolutely wasn’t why, but I didn't want this guy knowing that my recently divorced self had lost everything, or why. At my age, I should be fully into some enriching career of my own, but after my ex had been arrested for fraud and possession of stolen property which everyone figured I was part of, I’d been fired. After that, every business I applied to did a background check and I got the thanks but not a snowballs chance in hell are we going to hire you email. So here I was, doing exactly what I’d vowed not to do nearly twenty years before.

"I’ve met her dad a few times, and of course my family’s bought trees from her family’s farm.” It was one of the last Christmas tree farms in the area, so that wasn’t surprising. “Did you go to Port Paxton High?"

My excitement sank when he rhymed off the year he’d graduated. A full nine years after I had.

"I did.” When I'd been a senior in high school, eager to escape small-town life and make my mark on the world, I'd barely paid attention to the boys my own age, much less the ones still in elementary school. “But we weren’t in the same classes. I can’t say I recognize you.”

"I looked a lot different then." He flashed me a smile that seemed authentic, not like one of my ex's patented trust-me grins. "Town's changed a lot, hasn't it?"

"Not enough," I said, then practically bit my tongue. The guy and Mrs. B were both happy here, clearly, and I was an asshole for ditching on something they loved.

Marilyn beamed at us both. "The place Chloe works just told her they’re closing down, so she’s looking for a job. She will definitely call you about your offer.”

Brad raised an eyebrow at me. “Sounds good.”

Damn it. It was one thing for her to pump me up and another for her to go out and share my business. That was the trouble with living in a small town. Despite Marilyn assuring me whatever I told her would been kept “in the bubble,” next thing you knew, she’d be telling him about my legal problems, my debts, and anything else I’d complained about during our coffee sessions.

I allowed myself a pained smile. “Well, that’s enough about me. There’s a lot to do after the storm.”

Mrs. B opened the patio door and let Henrietta back in the yard.

I pointed to the chicken coop that had taken on a decided lean, probably due to the winds, or after all the rain we’d had, the earth was so soggy, the supportive posts had sunk further into the ground on one side. "Looks like your chicken coop needs shoring up.”

"Oh dear me, it is leaning, isn’t it?” She turned to us, eyed us and a smile slowly grew, one that reminded me of the Grinch’s smile. I’d learned to be cautious when I saw that smile. “Perhaps you and Bradley can work on it together.”

“We could see what we can do to temporarily fix it, though I think it may need some serious repairs,” Brad said cautiously. “Once we’ve taken care of that tree of yours.”

---