Page 6 of Anything for You (Veterans of Silver Ridge #7)

CHAPTER SIX

Dove

T he ways I had been awkward so far in my tenant-landlord relationship were numbering in the dozens and I hadn’t even lived here for two weeks. I wondered what new embarrassment I might cause myself when he came into the house any minute now.

I scrubbed the sink in the bathroom and checked the shower. If the man was about to enter my bathroom, I wasn’t about to have toothpaste remnants or a tumbleweed of hair haunting the place. I’d done enough damage with my borderline drooling.

Though honestly, could I blame me? No. No, I could not.

The thing about Dorian Forrester was, he could be a little… off. Odd, at least. Mysterious and cagey and unknowable. That was how he’d seemed to me until I’d moved in .

He was this large, imposing figure with an unruly beard and eyes I’d figured out were a shockingly light brown.

And this afternoon, he’d gotten out of his truck in a pair of filthy jeans and muddy work boots that did remarkable things for him, no hat covering damp, wild hair, and he’d just… stood in the shade with his face to the sky.

Hat and keys in one hand, forearms bared under rolled-up sleeves, he’d just stood there. Breathing.

I couldn’t have said why it was compelling to see this large man take a moment for himself, but it had nicked open something in me I’d let grow hard. How often did I stop and take a breath? When was the last time I’d let myself pause, let alone be grateful and feel the breeze on my face?

And sure, maybe he was standing there cursing his enemies or manifesting billions, but my suspicion said that wasn’t the case.

I figured since I was witnessing the moment, I should break it before he heard me breathing heavily and weird as I took in his quiet reflection, so I asked if he was okay.

And then my brain short-circuited as I tried to say he looked hot, like temperature hot, because he turned toward me and mountain man beard be darned, he was so flippin’ hot.

Some of his dark hair had blown over his forehead, and I could actually see his mouth was opened softly with a hint of white teeth, and then—good with a side of ness, his plaid shirt was unbuttoned and a three-inch strip of his chest and abs were showing and yes.

I would raise my hand and admit it in the courts. I was temporarily mesmerized by the sight of golden skin and intriguing ridges and even a dusting of hair between his pecs.

I’m sorry, your honor! I didn’t fully realize how ridiculously hot my grizzly bear of a landlord is until he teased me with this pec and ab cleavage! I cannot be blamed for my ogling because it was due to his assault with a dead-sexy weapon!

Okay, so maybe I was being dramatic, but the utter vomitorium of word salad that spewed from my mouth in the seconds after my brain whited out from his magma-hot post-work appearance absolutely required an apology.

It did. And I still needed to apologize for making him leave last night.

Clearly, he’d found a way to handle the crowd or circumstances or whatever had been bothering him, and my approaching with abandon had ruined that.

When a curt double-knock came at my door, I gave myself one last look and flared my eyes, pointing my rubber-gloved finger at myself in the mirror. “Keep it together, Jensen.”

Tossing the gloves at the kitchen sink, I sucked in a calming breath and centered myself.

Ha, j/k, I danced around in a panic silent-screaming at myself to calm down, then swung open the door with a clownishly large smile.

“Hi. Thanks for coming. It’s just through here,” I said in a pitch I wasn’t certain my voice had ever reached. Vocal constriction due to nervous energy, coming in hot!

He waited, evidently willing to follow me into his own cabin as though he didn’t know the way. I pivoted on a heel, not ever quite letting my eyes reach his face since the whole voice and energy situation clearly indicated I’d have a blush to light a thousand fires on my hands.

I hovered at the doorway of the bathroom and flipped on the light, turning to face him. “So, the—oh! You trimmed your beard!”

His big hand reached up and scrubbed across the facial hair remaining. It was still a full beard covering his jaw and chin, but I could see the shape of things. And… yeah. He had a nice face.

As though I needed any more assistance noticing this man’s assets.

“Yeah. Gets hot this time of year and just hadn’t gotten around to it, but today was too much. Had to go.” He ran his hand over his head, which still had the longish strands with a slight wave and curl at the end.

Honestly, it was gorgeous hair. I couldn’t say whether I’d ever thought much about a man’s hair other than appreciating when it looked nice, maybe?

Or that time when Jamie Morris cut off all his hair and everyone on Earth mourned the passing of his man bun?

But otherwise, I’d never looked at a man’s hair and wanted to touch it.

Not like now…

“Well, looks nice. You have a nice face.”

His brows jumped up, then lowered. “Thank you?”

I giggled because nerves and also, was he confused? “Is that a question?”

He blinked, shaking his head. “No. It’s… no.”

Without any way to read his mind or expression or anything about him because I hardly knew the man, I let it go.

“Well, so, the shower…” I slipped past him, trying not to feel the sizzle from contact with his warm skin as our arms brushed. Pulling back the curtain of the tub, I flipped the water on. “Brace yourself.”

I pulled the knob to start the shower, and water sprayed everywhere. Instantly, he moved to shut the water off, his hand covering mine briefly before the flow halted and he removed it.

“Sorry about that. Shouldn’t take me long to fix it. Let me grab a few things and I’ll be back, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course. Thanks. Just come on back in whenever, no need to knock again.”

Aware enough to know I’d seem like a real creep if I hovered in the doorway and watched him work, I grabbed my e-reader and snuggled into the couch.

It was way too warm to have a fire, but I could see myself sitting here reading all evening come fall, and I couldn’t wait for future Dove to enjoy such a simple pleasure.

He knocked, but then the door swung open and he moved through the space on fairly light feet considering the heavy-looking work boots. These must’ve been a different set than he’d been wearing earlier because they looked nearly pristine whereas the others appeared to have been dipped in mud.

The water in the bathroom went on, then quickly back off. I’d have liked to see what he was doing to solve the problem, but maybe I could just ask. Eventually, I’d own a home again, and when that time came, it’d be good to know more about plumbing and such.

My childhood education focused on practical and “womanly” pursuits.

Plumbing wasn’t part of the course, nor was anything much outside of meal prep, child-rearing, and sewing.

There was a reason I would never enjoy cross-stitch or crocheting as an adult, though fortunately my interest in medicine had been allowed.

It’d been my loophole to escape the role of nanny or preschool teacher given to all the young women as though we all loved kids equally. Don’t get me wrong, I loved kids, but I didn’t want to spend all day every day with them. God bless the people who did, women and men… ’twasn’t me.

Still, there were times when I felt the reality of not knowing how to do things it felt like most people knew.

Not so much fixing a shower, but… other things, lock picking notwithstanding.

I hadn’t ever pumped gas when I moved in with Nan—hadn’t ever even seen someone do it.

And of course, there was a long list of other gaps I suspected most people simply didn’t have.

My palm rubbed circles on my sternum in an attempt to rid myself of the dull ache there.

Focus on the fireplace. Focus on the cozy couch and the giant, nice landlord fixing the problem instead of having to call someone and pay them to fix this.

Focus on knowing Nan is at Silverton Springs and this is better for her. For us.

I ran through the practice, working with every bit of me to find gratitude for the situation and not feel the gut-level sense of loss that followed me around lately.

Loss. Failure. Change.

Rude.

Honestly, just hard and rude and not thoughts I wanted to think about, so I shoved my face back into my book and tried to focus on the grumpy yet oh-so-lonely Duke begrudgingly falling for his new bride.

Try as I might, the tinkering sounds in the bathroom kept pulling my focus.

Probably time to switch genres again. I loved romance, but within that larger category, there were so many different subgenres to explore.

I followed where my whims took me and usually hung out in a given subgenre until I got tired of it.

Looked like the months-long reign of historicals was coming to an end.

What next?

Maybe something fantasy. Fairytale retellings, maybe? A Beauty and the Beast vibe could do it. Or, maybe something a little less expected, like a Little Red Riding Hood or a Goldilocks who stumbles into a house and sleeps in her future landlord’s bed?

Granted, thinking about my more than a little sexy landlord’s bed after encountering the creeping growth of a crush was far from wise. But also, I had been in his bed. I already had. Maybe not by invitation, but?—

“All set. Shouldn’t be an issue again.” Dorian caught my eye and tipped his chin down, not stopping until he reached the door and pulled it open, then exited.

Meanwhile, I tossed my book aside and scrambled off the couch, jogging after him in a completely normal way and not at all like I’d been thinking about his bed.

“That’s awesome, thank you.” Shuffling down the stairs, the ghost of Christmas idiocy came over me, and I swung my arm like I was doing an old-timey dance and asked, “What do I owe ya?” in a terrible Southern accent.

We will never know why. We must make peace with the things we cannot change.

He turned back from the truck, mercifully having missed my odd little jig to accompany the terrible accent, and shook his head. “No charge. It’s covered by your rent.”

Oh. Duh. Right. One of the bonuses of being a renter!

My hand jutted out. “Well, thank you. I appreciate it so much.”

His amber eyes shifted down, and after a second of hesitation, he took my hand.

My stomach flipped, then flipped again when he lifted our joined hands up and down. Instantly releasing me, he left me to contemplate life’s cruel reality of a hand now empty that’d once been held by his.

With one last little nod, he turned and trudged up the stairs. Curious little weirdo that I was, I watched him go.

Lucky I did, or I wouldn’t have caught the way he shook out the hand that’d shaken mine, then balled it into a fist before he disappeared inside.

My heart sank with a familiar embarrassment. With a hustle in my step, I jogged back inside and buried myself in my book and tried desperately to convince myself he’d made that fist because he’d enjoyed the contact and not because having me here and touching me had made his skin crawl.