Page 63 of A Hard Habit to Break

The hens searched the grass for worms and grubs while Ricky patrolled in a diagonal line, daring any fool or fowl to approach. Rachel shook her head at the rooster’s antics. She hoped Noah had Ricky’s coordinates and steered clear. Then she wouldn’t have to question returning to his arms. “You’re a terrible flirt, Noah Calvary.”

“Not true. I’m a great flirt. The best.” He winked.

“Those eyes are going to get you in trouble,” she called, opening the screened door.

“I only have eyes for you, Six.”

With a grin, Noah tore his shirt off and pulled his gloves on. He moved with purpose, lifting long pieces of treated lumber from the truck bed. Watching him move, effortless in his masculine grace, she saw the boy she once loved—kind, committed, eager to help—albeit for a people-pleasingthat-a-boy. Never one to shy away from a hard day of work, even after fighting a fire for a good part of Saturday, he was here, on time, for her family. Could she fault him for wanting to see others win, be happy, and get rewarded in the process?

Gosh, he looked Easter candy delicious, shiny, and sculpted. And as she lived and breathed, Rachel wanted to unwrap every stitch of denim and leather covering his tanned muscles, and lick, and nibble—

“Rachel, how’s the project coming along?” one of the older ladies said, extending pillowy arms for a hug.

Rachel startled. Being caught with her thoughts on tangled sheets, not oblique angles, had her body primed to react. Darn,Noah and dem jeans. She reached for the porch’s support beam to steady her runaway pulse.

“I scared you.” The would-be greeter, who looked vaguely familiar, gave a sharp inhale. “You about jumped out of your boots. You okay?” the woman asked, genuine concern in her tone.

“Whew, yes,” Rachel screeched, her volume momentarily drawing attention from the assembling work crew. Rachel bent, embracing the woman who’d been a friend of her mother’s. Mrs. Tiajuana Dawn. “I have lots of ideas… especially since the fire. I’d love to talk them out with you and some of the other ladies… while you’re here,” she added for good measure, forcing herself not to look at Noah, hoisting the solid beams on broad shoulders as rivulets of sweat trickled down sinewy muscles.

“Indeed. Your mother would be so proud to see you, her fearless little Rachel, back in Service.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“She loved this town, and it loved her back.” She smiled and touched Rachel’s cheek. “You’re so much like her when she was a girl—before the cancer. Always looking for an opportunity to help somebody; daring, adventurous, giving… answering the call of love when she met Matthew,” Mrs. Tiajuana said. “And you’ve been blessed with a divine Calvary specimen to stand by your side, too.” She winked.

Rachel rocked back on her heels, mortified. “Ah—aw.”

“Close your mouth, dear. This is Service. We show other women folk when our men are off the market. He’s watching you. I best be going to help Bethany organize the donations before the church ladies come for pickup. But remember, show Noah how to win your heart,” she whispered before flouncing off, a PG-13 fairy godmother ready to ambush another romantically awkward Cinderella.

The screen door at her back slammed, the sound jostling her frayed nerves. Her dad materialized, dressed in a crispgreen T-shirt and blue jeans, his face clean-shaven, his silver-waved mane flowing over his shoulders. Though her dad had retired from supplying local restaurants with fresh produce and vegetables, he still rose early to tend the horses, the chicken coop, and, of course, the three goats, as they needed camera-ready coats at all times.

“Here’s your gloves,” he said, placing them in her hand. Then he stared at the bodies in motion. “Who’s watching, RJ?”

“No one,” Rachel sighed. She peered around his shoulder, expecting to see Bethany. “Where’s your other half?”

Her dad smiled. “Ah.” He blushed, his lips parting into the goofiest grin. “She’s sleepin’ in.”

Then he proceeded to hitch up the waistband of his pants. Oh, dear angels above. Did she wake up in aBlack Mirrorepisode? Her Dad was having s-e-x. Nope, she couldn’t say the word, not even in her mind.

“Dad you’ve got to stop. Seriously, I’m going to need therapy.”

To her horror, he pulled her in for a hug and whispered, “One day, when you’re ready… I’ll tell ya’ how you got here.”

“Not funny, Dad. Childhood trauma doesn’t end at eighteen. No more innuendoes.” She preferred the illusion that her dad was asexual, like an amoeba or a sea cucumber. Scratch that. Cucumber metaphors were off-limits. “Kids can’t know this stuff.”

“It’s my job to teach you.”

“Not that.” She pushed his shoulder in jest.

“Okay. Okay.” He paused a second, his playful stance straightening. “I appreciate you asking after my Bethany. She mentioned y’all had a good talk the other night…” Her dad stopped short of asking the question. Instead, he left the rest hanging, hopeful she’d pick up the unfinished business and tie off any loose ends.

“Girl talk.” She shrugged. “I needed to think through some things.” Mainly whether it was safe to go to Noah, touch every inch of him with her hands until she was satisfied he was healthy and whole. Turns out, it was a good move. The best.

“Bethany’s a good woman. Fast to listen, slow to judge.”

“Yeah,” Rachel swallowed, “I—ah. I made progress on the redevelopment project. You know… added the disaster preparedness concepts, made a few schematics.”

Her father pulled her in for another hug. “Thanks, kiddo.”