Page 37 of Sometimes You Stay

He was quite capable of paying for whatever she wanted to purchase at the clothing store his mom had always liked best.

They parted ways at the front door. He found a chair and tried not to stare at her as she wove between racks, pulling out a shirt here and a pair of jeans there. She was efficient and decisive, and then she disappeared into a room in the back and came out with an armful that she thumped down next to the register.

He waited for the clerk to ring up the items, paying close attention to the cars driving in and out of the parking lotuntil the clothes were all bagged up. He swiped his card and felt a little like a knight slaying the dragon.

Cretia offered a soft “Thank you” as he helped her into his restored army-green Ford pickup. Originally his grandpa’s, it was more than sixty years old but drove like a dream after a few thousand dollars and a few months of work. Any sign of rust and wear had been repaired, and the outside shone in the sun. His gut clenched when Cretia’s eyes lit with surprise as she settled into the smooth fabric of the seat, taking in the shining chrome and old-school buttons on the dash.

“Nice. Did you do this?” she asked.

He had to bite back a satisfied grin and only nodded in response.

She hadn’t argued with him again the whole drive back. They’d chatted about her favorite places to travel and why she loved her unconventional career. “According to you,” she’d said.

“She’s a better conversationalist than you, Roberta,” he said to the cow as he brushed a black spot on her side. The old girl lowed softly. “Prettier too.” Roberta stepped away and swung a clearly offended look his way. “Sorry, the truth hurts.”

“What truth would that be?”

He whipped around to find the woman he’d been thinking about standing in the doorway, the sun turning her into mostly a silhouette.

“Um, that she’s ... that ... she’s put on a few pounds since she got here.”

“Roberta?” Turning toward the cow but keeping plenty of distance, Cretia said, “Don’t let him say that about you. You’re gorgeous.”

Roberta did not appear inclined to buy the compliment from her nemesis. She wandered off through the open gate and disappeared into the pasture beyond the barn.

“To what do I owe this visit?” Finn finally asked, his gaze only then able to focus on Cretia. His jaw dropped. Her new jeans ended several inches above her ankles, but unlike the loose pair she’d been wearing since their first meeting, these hugged her waist and hips and legs in all the right places. Her new shirt—a shade darker than the island’s red-dirt roads—made her skin glow and her long hair shine. Even the black slip-on sneakers accentuated her complexion.

“I had to take my new clothes for a test run.”

“Mission accomplished,” he said. His words were a little too breathy beneath his pounding heart. Quickly clearing his throat, he motioned around the barn. “But if you hang out here, I’m liable to put you to work.”

“Good. That’s why I’m here. I heard there’s a whelping bed you could use a hand with. And I owe you mine.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Only ... what’s a whelping bed?”

With a snort, his focus returned, and he motioned for her to follow him to the small birthing room opposite the tack room he’d filled with the appliances to prepare the goat bottles. “My dad built these rooms to give our dogs a bit of privacy to labor. And to protect the pups.”

Cretia stopped a few steps behind him. “Is giving birth dangerous? For the dogs, I mean?”

“Not usually. But sometimes they give birth to more than ten puppies, and it’s easy for a little one to end up between the mom and the side of the box. They can suffocate. We put in a railing to make sure they’re protected.”

“Okay. Well, then put me to work.”

He gave her another once-over. “You sure you want to get your new clothes dirty?”

“I think they’re more your clothes than mine at the moment. But since they’re probably not going to fit you and I’ve got to wear something...”

Fair point. He grabbed the broom from its spot tucked beside the kennel fence and held it out to her. “Will you sweep out the room? Check for any spiderwebs in the corners and ceilings too.”

He half expected her to balk at the mention of clashing with barn pests, but she didn’t. She simply took the broom—her fingers brushing his for a split second, like an infusion of caffeine—and set to work gathering up old hay and plenty of dirt. The cap sleeves of her shirt showed off the length of her arms, gentle muscles rolling with each push and pull of the broom.

Suddenly she stopped and looked up at him as though asking if he needed something. He froze for a split second, then whipped around and marched toward where he’d stored the stack of boards after the Fab Four arrived. She didn’t say anything, but he thought he heard a low giggle mingling with the scrape of the bristles against the ground.

He carried the walls of the box—almost two meters long and half as wide—two at a time and stacked them just inside the door. Each time he came within a few feet of her, he could smell the soap she’d used. Or maybe the shampoo in all that rich hair. She’d pulled it back into a ponytail, and with each swing of her head, it danced.

He needed to focus on Bella and her pups, not the pretty stranger who had waltzed into his life.

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