The Engagement Arrangement (Boots and Bouquets #2) - Jaci Burton Page 0,2
for disaster.
There. Fantasy effectively ended.
It was never going to happen.
CHAPTER
• • • • • •
two
FINN SLUNG HIS hammer into his tool belt and stepped away from the building he was putting an addition on, removing his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow. He unscrewed the lid from his jug and swallowed several gulps of water.
August in Oklahoma sucked. It was hot as fuck this morning, the sun beat down on him and there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. And it wasn’t even eight a.m. yet. He’d deliberately started early so he could beat the heat. Hell of a lot of good that had done him. Today was going to be brutal.
It was days like this that made him miss the small town in Ireland where he’d grown up. He missed the clouds and the chill and the salty air of the sea. At times it felt like it was only yesterday that he’d walked along the coast, looking out every day at the amazing power of all that water crashing against the shore or taking a boat out to do some fishing with his da.
Other times it felt like a lifetime ago.
Damnú aír. He raked his fingers through his hair. No point in thinking of what had been. He was damn lucky to be here, grateful to the Bellinis for a home of his own and a roof over his head. He’d had no one back then after Ma had died. Now he had a family.
He went to the barn to grab some supplies for his project. He had to pass the main house, and while walking by he heard singing. Following the sound, he saw Brenna on her hands and knees, working in the dirt at the side of the house.
He cocked his head to the side and smiled, admiring the view. She was dressed in shorts and a cropped top, her smooth skin glistening with sweat as she used a trowel to dig out vegetables from the garden she tended.
Damn but she was beautiful, even sweaty and slinging dirt. Her hair was swirled up in a bun on top of her head, small curling red tendrils escaping and teasing her neck. All he could think about was how much he wanted to press his mouth to her nape.
Among other parts of her.
She shook the dirt off the potatoes and tossed them into a bin, then inched over to pull some peppers.
“Garden looks good, eh?” he asked.
She jumped back and straightened, shooting a pissed-off look in his direction. “Jesus, Finn. You could have made some noise to let me know you were there.”
“Just did.” He moved in closer, then crouched down to her level. “What’re you harvesting this mornin’?”
“Potatoes. Carrots. Peppers. Onions.”
“Need some help?”
She frowned. “Don’t you have a job to do?”
“Yeah. Don’t you?”
She lifted her chin. “I’ll get to it. You should go do your job.”
“Was on my way to do that and I heard you singing. You have a beautiful voice, Brenna.”
“Uh-huh.”
She stared at him, giving him her classic Brenna glare as if that would somehow scare him off. He’d never once been scared of her, so that never worked. “Do you need some help or should I just watch you?”
“What are you? Some kind of stalker?”
He laughed and got down on his knees beside her, taking the trowel from her hands. “I can’t rightly be a stalker since I live here, can I?”
“I . . .” She kept glowering at him while he harvested the vegetables. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” he asked as he plopped the vegetables in the bin. “Help you? Kneel this close to you? Exist?”
“All of those things.”
He laughed. “Trying to be rid of me, álainn?”
“Don’t do that, either.”
“What? Talk to you?”
“No. Talk to me in Gaelic. It’s . . . it’s . . .”
He arched a brow, waiting for her answer.
“Just . . . stop it.”
She had a smudge of dirt on her face. He wiped his hand on his jeans, then swept his thumb over her cheek. “You had some dirt there.”
She didn’t pull away, just kept staring at him with those amazing eyes and dark lashes that always made his pulse kick up.
“Thanks.”
He got up and grabbed the bin, then held out his hand for her. She looked at his hand for a few seconds, then let him haul her to her feet.
He handed her the bin.
“Thank you for the help. Not that I needed it.”
“No, you didn’t. You don’t need anyone, Brenna. But you might