Page 41 of Buried Roots

“You can’t get these stitches wet for forty-eight hours, and you’ve gotta take it easy.”

“Okay.” Ugh. I don’t have time to take it easy. “I’ll just do things one-armed.”

“We’ll see about that.”

As he wraps me up, his gentle touch sends tingles buzzing through my skin. How can I not be hot for a guy who so carefully and expertly bandages my wounds? But I can’t allow myself to feel the things that I feel for him. When he finishes, I say, “Thanks, Owen. Really.”

“No problem.”

I stand, feeling dizzy, and I stumble. Owen rushes to my side, putting his arms around me. “Careful. You’re pale—you need to lie down for a bit, doctor’s order. I bet you haven’t eaten yet today. I’ll get you some juice to get your blood sugar back up.”

“Thanks.” I’m not really in a place to argue. I didn’t eat breakfast, he’s right about that. And I’m used to small injuries, but I haven’t needed stitches for a long time. I guess it hit me harder than I expected.

Juice in one hand and holding me up in the other, Owen walks me to my room. Once I’m seated on the bed, he slides off my boots.

After I drink the orange juice he brought me, I try to take off my clothes, but can’t do it one handed. Finally, I ask, “Can you help me get these off? They’re filthy.” I’m torn about asking him to do that, but I don’t trust anyone else.

“Of course.” He gently slips off my shirt, and those rough hands leave tingles in their wake. He respectfully turns his head as he slides my jeans off, leaving me in my bra and panties.

I catch him sneaking a peek, and as much as I want him to see all of me, I climb into bed and pull up the covers. “Thanks for your help.”

He fluffs my pillow, leaning into my ear and whispering, “I’m here if you need anything. Anything at all.”

His breath sends electricity straight down my spine, but I turn my head. “Owen, please. Don’t say those things to me.”

He leans back. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be insensitive.”

“No, no. It’s not that.” I touch his arm, sighing. “Have a seat. Please?”

He flashes a puzzled expression when he sits. “Sure. What’s going on?”

I swallow hard—I can’t keep doing this to him. It’s not fair. Finally, I say, “I didn’t know about Dakota.”

He groans before blowing out a long breath of air, like a tire going flat. “Dakota. We were a thing for a lot of years, but that was eons ago. And we’ve both changed.”

“But I could see it in her eyes at Kayla’s reception. She still loves you.”

His pleading eyes meet mine. “But I don’t love Dakota. I mean, I do as a person, but not inthatway anymore.”

Something in my heart flutters, but still—I don’t want to be the reason he can’t explore things with her and see if they get that spark back. I stare at the beige wall, trying to tune out the booming thuds echoing from below. “With her, you get a lifetime. With me, you get six weeks.”

“Give me the six weeks.” His words tear the breath away from my chest, and my pulse kicks up as I lean into him. He takes my good hand in his and strokes it, something so simple yet intimate. And maybe that’s just because it’s Owen doing it.

He’s trying to make me cave, and it’s working. When I turn, we’re nose to nose, and I feel his breath on my cheek when he utters, “I can’t stop thinking about you. Tell me you don’t feel the same.”

I do—this is unlike anything I ever had before. Owen runs a finger down my face as he ever so patiently waits for an answer. I meet his pleading eyes, and I want more than anything to tell him that yes, I want that too. But I also think I might want forever with him, which is ludicrous. I hardly know him. That’s just our magnetic attraction clouding my judgment.

I glance out the window to break the spell, and there is Dakota—in the pasture with Sir Fig A Lot. She milks the goats first thing in the morning and at suppertime. That means that now, she must be swinging by on her lunch break to make sure they’re fed, which is so thoughtful. She knew we were kicking off construction today, so she’s doing what she can to help.

Her gesture twists the pitchfork into my gut, and it reminds me of how much this farm means to her—how much Violet Moon is a part of her.

And it’s not a part of me. I simply can’t do this with Owen—not just for Dakota, but for myself, too. I’m starting to have real feelings for him, which means I’m going to be crushed when I leave. My voice turns croaky when I say, “If I can’t play for keeps, I don’t want to play. I’m sorry.”

He sighs, defeated. “All right. But I’m going to stay close by so I can monitor you.”

15

Twisted Tree

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