Page 69 of The Aster Valley Collection, Vol. 1

“It’s the least I can do for helping you yesterday and having my bike crushed by your assailant.”

His mouth closed with a click. “That’s sarcasm.”

“Indeed.”

“Never mind, then. I don’t need your help.” He sniffed and turned around, accidentally knocking his knee into the wheelbarrow and yelping.

Christ, the man was adorable. I wanted to swallow him whole.

I moved over and crouched down to inspect Truman’s hurt knee, trying my best to ignore the curved definition of his thighs and calves.

There wasn’t any blood, simply a smudge of dirt right below his kneecap.

I brushed it off with my thumb and noticed movement under his threadbare fly.

Bright blue briefs peeked out from the holes in the fabric and tested every ounce of my self-control.

I glanced up at him and saw two red spots on his cheeks. His eyelashes fluttered as he looked everywhere but at me. Fuck, but he was delicious.

“I’m fine,” he said in a breathy voice. “Fine.”

I stood up slowly, staying close to his body so there was only an inch or two between us. The sound of his sucked-in breath hit me in the gut.

“You sure?” I asked in a low voice.

“Do—” Truman’s voice broke, so he started again. The apples of his cheeks deepened as he carefully stepped away from me. “Do you need something?”

I nodded. “I want to talk to you about what happened yesterday.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” He turned back to his planting, busying himself with whatever was close to hand. He was clearly trying to avoid looking at me, but I decided to allow it if it meant he’d relax and speak more freely. “What do you want to know?”

“Why Patrick Stanner is harassing you.”

He froze for a split second before shrugging. “He’s just a jerk like that.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think he’s a jerk? I can assure you, the man has a reputation for being unhappy and causing problems.”

I looked at his narrow shoulders and noticed the small swell of biceps and forearms as he used a long-handled fork tool to loosen the soil in an unplanted area. From the smell of the contents of the wheelbarrow, I guessed he was adding a fertilizer mixture to the soil.

I guessed Truman was stronger than his smaller size would indicate. If he did all of this planting and farming himself, he must have plenty of endurance and muscle mass.

“Are you even listening to me right now?” he asked.

I blinked up at his face which was pinched in frustration. “You said he was unhappy and a jerk.”

He nodded and turned back to his tilling. “Exactly.”

“So, if I had been the one planting nasturtiums, he would have harassed me?” I watched for his reaction and wasn’t disappointed. His lips pursed in frustration.

“Obviously not.”

“Why not? If it’s just because the guy is a jerk, he would have done it to anyone, right?”

“No, not right. He wouldn’t pick on someone so… so…” Despite his better judgment, Truman’s eyes traveled up and down my body.

“So Texan?” I drawled, stepping closer. “So… blond?”

His nostrils flared. “So…” His hand flapped up and down, gesturing to me. “Big and strong. There, I said it. Are you proud of yourself? Geez.”

I enjoyed antagonizing him for some reason, but I suddenly realized I was being as obnoxious as Patrick Stanner. I didn’t want to annoy him when he already had bigger men treating him with disrespect.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to tease you,” I said softly.

Truman’s eyes widened. He looked surprised by the apology. “It’s fine. I don’t see why you care. You don’t live here. It’s not your concern.”

And that was true. But I could see something in his eyes that told me this was a bigger problem than he was letting on, and after what Mikey and Tiller had told me about the cause of the ski resort shutting down, I suddenly wanted to know how this guy was able to stand living in a town that held so many bad memories and grudges.

If Truman was regularly harassed by people in this town, why didn’t he have friends protecting him? Mikey had never met a cause he didn’t like, so why hadn’t he taken it on himself to help Truman?

Was it possible he didn’t realize what was going on?

“I’d like to fix your gate.” The words didn’t surprise me as much as they should have. I didn’t do well with extra time on my hands, and the projects over at Rockley Lodge could keep. I didn’t have much time in town, but what I did have could be put to good use here at the farm.

Not because I had an inexplicable desire to spend more time with Truman, but because I was never really good at sitting still, and working outside in such a beautiful location would be a great way to pass the time until my bike was ready.

My traitorous brain tried reminding me working on the Rockley Chalets would accomplish the same thing, but I squashed those thoughts down before they could take root.

Truman turned to face me again, and this time he leaned the tool against the wheelbarrow and put his hands on his hips. “That’s not necessary. I was going to agree anyway.”

Now I was confused. “Agree with what?”

“To file a witness report for the bike crash.”

This seemed like a sudden about-face. But why? If Patrick bullied Truman regularly, why would Truman agree to bear witness against him?

“Thanks, but I don’t need you to do that,” I said before thinking it through. Surely my insurance company would need a police report, but I wasn’t sure they’d need proof of fault in order to cover the damages.

“Why not?” He looked at me with suspicion in his eyes.

“There was another witness,” I said stupidly. Why? Why was I making shit up? Why not just say I had plenty of money and didn’t need to bother with insurance?

Truman’s forehead crinkled in confusion. “Who?”

“Frank.” I wanted to slap myself on the forehead. What the fuck was I doing?

“Frank Young from the real estate office? Or Frank Mosley who works at the nursing home?”

Shit. I remembered there was a real estate office next to the diner. Maybe I could find someone in there who’d cover for me if push came to shove.

“First one. Anyway, see? It’s fine. I don’t need you. It’s all settled.”

“Oh no! No, no, no,” Truman groaned. “If Frank Young saw me planting flowers out on the highway, I’m done for. He’s going to ban me from county council meetings forever. This is awful.”

He stumbled to a nearby bench and sat down, burying his face in his hands. I stared at him. Guilt churned in my gut.

“Maybe… maybe it was the other one. I don’t remember. Young… Mosley… who can tell the difference really?”

I shifted from foot to foot.

Truman threw back his head and wailed. “That’s even worse! Frank Mosley is legally blind. Everyone in town knows it. His eyewitness account will be tossed out the minute he submits it.”

What the actual fuck was happening right now?

I threw up my arms in defeat. “What do you want me to say? It’s taken care of. That’s all that matters. You don’t need to worry about it.”

Truman dropped his emotional act and stood up, pointing a finger at my chest and then striding close enough to actually poke it.

“I want you to stop lying. Neither of those Franks exist. I don’t know what Mikey told you, but I don’t need you feeling sorry for me or trying to protect me out of some sense of?—”

I couldn’t stand it anymore. His feisty response lit a fire in my belly. I lurched forward and grabbed his face before leaning in to taste that sassy mouth.