Page 12 of Lonesome Man
He pressed a kiss to the side of my throat, and I lay there cocooned in his strong arms. The sounds of his breathing as it evened out and the crackle of the fire, along with the heat of his body soaking through me, had my eyes growing heavy. I tried to fight it, but I was so comfy. Tucker had worn me out.
So I let my eyes slide closed, warm and safe in his arms.
Chapter Six
Tucker
Ruth jumped up on the tractor beside me, again like she’d done it before.
“So how many cows do you have?” she asked as I started the engine and headed across the field.
“Enough that I won’t go hungry, but not so many that it takes up all my time.”
She grinned at me. “Sounds sensible.”
“I can be sensible,” I said, glancing at her gorgeous mouth. Yesterday I’d promised to show her around—hard to do that when we were playing, because my wife would already know everything about the property—so no black clothes this morning. Although I’d come prepared.
So far I’d taken her out to meet the chickens and let them out of their coop, though a few of the less brave ones had stepped out, seen the light dusting of snow, and headed straight back inside.
I glanced at Ruth again, and my lips twitched. She was fucking adorable in one of my woolen hats. It was too big for her and so were the mittens I’d dug out. They’d been mine when I was a kid, but they were still too big for those petite little hands of hers.
“So what do you do to make a buck?” she asked. “Or are you one of those reclusive millionaires who abandons the real world and hides away in a remote location?”
I chuckled. “Not a millionaire, sadly. I do a lot of carpentry. I make things and sell them to stores in the city.”
“What kind of things?”
“I can show you my workshop when we get back if you like?”
Her smile widened. “I’d love that.”
I stopped at the gate, and before I could open my door, Ruth had jumped down and run over to open the gate. She stood waiting for me to drive through, shut it after us, then climbed back up. The cows followed as I drove out to the middle of the field. I expected Ruth to be scared, cows were large animals, but she got down when I did, climbed onto the trailer with me, and as soon as I cut through the baling twine, she grabbed a few slices of hay and tossed it out, helping me like a pro.
“You’ve done this before,” I said.
Her head spun to me, and there was a cute-as-fuck blush to her cheeks. “Well, yeah, I grew up on a farm.”
My brows shot up. “You did? Where?”
She bit her lip and glanced away, grabbing more hay. “Colorado.”
“Really?” That was seriously weird.
“Yep.”
I’m not sure why I was surprised, probably because Ruth’s story was so similar to Libby’s. Libs had lived on a farm in Colorado, before she’d run off to California. Both women had left farms to pursue acting careers, but then I guess that was the same story for a lot of folks. Leaving a small town or whatever and heading to the city to try to make it big. “Damn,” I said. “I could’ve had you out here working sooner.”
Her laugher sent tingles dancing over my scalp and across my shoulders. I fucking loved this woman’s laugh. It was sweet, musical, something else she had in common with my Libby. I’d worked so hard to get her to laugh during our weekly radio calls. I’d wanted to make her happy, and yeah, I’d wanted to feel those tingles I thought only she could give me. Apparently, I was wrong.
By the time we finished feeding the animals and I showed her a few of my favorite spots around the property, it was late afternoon. I parked the tractor and Ruth jumped down. I glanced at my bag where my black beanie was tucked inside. The plan was to switch it out sometime during the day, but I was enjoying getting to know Ruth.
Jumping down from the tractor as well, I took her hand and led her into my workshop. The scent of cedar washed over us when we walked in. I flicked on the lights, and they blinked above us several times before lighting up the large space. In the middle of the room was a huge table where my finished items were being prepared to send out. The amount of orders I’d been getting was the reason I had Ruth here for only two weeks and not a month, something I was already regretting. The first load of finished pieces would go with Cash at the end of Ruth’s stay, when he flew in to pick her up.
I watched as she took in the workshop, raised her eyes to the mezzanine above us, then rushed to the table, picking up one of my cedar bowls. She spun back to me, brows raised. “This is…this is stunning, Tuck.”
Each one was unique, designed around the individual piece of wood, following its own distinct shape, accentuating its knots and dips and ridges. It was a labor of love, and I charged well for the time I put into each peace. “Thanks, baby,” I said, the endearment slipping out easily.
She didn’t seem to mind or even notice as she walked around the table checking everything out. Honestly, it was starting to get hard to separate Ruth from the character she played for me.
