Page 51 of King of Obsession

I bristled at the implication that I couldn’t take care of myself. ‘I do just fine on my own,’ I murmured. ‘The neighbors look out for me.’

His gaze sharpened. ‘What neighbours?’

I sighed, leaning my hip against the counter. ‘The Hendersons, about a mile down the road. And old Mr. Jameson across the way. They keep an eye out, but most times, they mind their own business.’

He grunted, unsatisfied.

He stalked the living area, hands stuck in his pocket, rolling whatever was in his pants.

His restless energy filled the small kitchen, making me twitch.

I needed to find something for him to do before he drove us both crazy.

‘I’ve got some loose tiles on the roof that need nailing down,’ I murmured. ‘Think you can handle holding the toolbox for me?’

His eyes flashed at the challenge. ‘Lead the way.’

I did, first, to the shed, where I wordlessly pointed to the ladder.

He understood the assignment and lifted it onto his shoulders, his solemn expression unchanged despite his injury.

I reached for my toolkit, then stopped short as he extended a hand for it, too.

We locked eyes in a battle of wills until I gave in to his icy glare.

I handed it to him and marched outside.

The sun beat down on our backs as we placed the ladder along the roofline where I needed it.

I clambered up the rungs, hammer in hand.

He followed more with care, his movements stiff and careful. I pretended not to notice his grimace of pain as he settled himself on the roof beside me.

We worked, not speaking, for a while; the only sounds were the hammer’s steady thump and the birds’ distant trilling. Sweat trickled down my neck, plastering my hair to my skin.

At one point, he descended to the ground and disappeared into the cabin before returning.

Damn, he was athletic and freakin’ resilient.

Most men with the injury he had would be writhing in bed, yet here he was on a canopy, handing nails to me at the same time, keeping an eagle-eye view of our surroundings.

Granted, I was doing the hammering, and he was on light duty, but still, it gave me insight into his dogged spirit. This was a man who never yielded to anyone.

‘Here.’

A bottle of water appeared in my peripheral vision.

I took it with a grunt of thanks, chugging half of it in one go.

His eyes studied me, something unreadable in his eyes.

‘You know your way around a toolbox,’ he muttered.

I shrugged. ‘Had to learn. Repairmen charge an arm and a leg to come out here.’

‘I’ll help out while I’m here. Earn my keep.’

I squinted at him, trying to read his brooding energy. Was it a genuine offer or just a way to ease his boredom?

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