“Born and raised there, and I’ve worked outside of Missoula since I was eighteen.”
“And you are now…how many years old?” she asked, her pencil poised.
“How old are you?” he countered.
“That would be a touché if I cared about aging and wanted to lie about it. I’m thirty four years young and enjoying every year of life that ages my face.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Thirty-eight.”
“What?” Lies. “You look twenty-five. Where are your eye wrinkles?” She leaned forward and studied his face. “Where are your smile lines?”
“I don’t smile.”
She scribbled a big check mark. “Fantastic, another thing you have in common with my family.”
“Why do you hate your family so much?” he asked.
The question caught her off guard. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you talked about them in the ad, and now you’ve talked about them in this interview. It’s clear you don’t like them, so go. This is your shot. Tell a stranger what the real problem is with your family.”
She sat there shocked for a few moments before she could force the words out. “I don’t fit in.”
His eyes softened and his eyebrows relaxed, and he lowered his gaze to the oatmeal still sitting in splatters on the floor. “Put together a list of the shit you want me to do with you, and I’ll pick it up after work.”
“But…I haven’t hired you yet.”
“I saw your list of ‘other options,’” he said, twitching his chin to the paper she was writing on. “I’m your best bet.” He stood and ducked his way out of her house.
“Wait!” she called after him.
He stopped in front of a black work truck that was all splattered with mud.
“The first holiday party is tonight,” she told him.
He chewed his lip and stared out over the parking lot to the pottery building she worked in. “What time?”
“Seven pm.”
“And the attire?” he asked.
“What you’re wearing is sexy.”
He cocked an eyebrow and looked down at himself. “This will be covered in dirt by seven.”
“Oh. Well, something similar.”
“Great. Can you text me a list of wines your mom likes? I’ll pick up a bottle on the way to pick you up.”
“I don’t have your number.”
“Yeah, you do. I texted you earlier, but you didn’t respond. Save it when you check the text.” He turned and opened his truck door.
“Oh, Kieran!”
“Yes?” he gritted out, plastering an empty smile on his face as he turned back to her.
“Today is a special day.”
“Why is that?”
“I have a day off from my job, and I’m a stage five clinger. It’s actually one of the hundred reasons I’m single. Or was until we made a deal. I’m not single for the next week, so don’t worry, I won’t hit on other boys.”
“Fantastic.”
“It’s bring your pretend-girlfriend to work day!” she exclaimed with a bright smile.
He was really good at narrowing his eyes. Looked sexy and angry all at once.
“You want to come to work with me?”
“Yep! Your second job—me—starts now. We can get to know each other when you have lunch breaks and stuff. And I can entertain myself! I’ll bring my laptop.”
“You. A Wilson. Wearing your tie-dye pajamas. You want to come to work with me?” Why was he smiling?
“Yyyeeeeees,” she drawled out uncertainly with the distinct feeling she might regret this.
He mirrored her bright smile. “You have two minutes to get ready. Dress warm.”
Chapter Three
“Fa-fa-fa-fa-fa,” she shivered, trying to compliment Kieran. “F-f-fa-fa-fa…fantastic driving.”
Kieran snorted. At the very least, this next week would be amusing. She bobbled this way and that on the seat cushion behind him in the tractor as they hit the dirt road that would lead them to the sawmill. He was dragging a trailer with a dozen Douglas Fir trees piled on top.
The tractor had an enclosed cab, so they were protected from the wind, but she was still shivering her ass off. That was her own fault. The woman had worn her same tie-dye tight pants, or leggings, or whatever they were called, and her same giant T-shirt. Over that, she wore a pink sweatshirt with a thin winter jacket that was made more for fashion and less for function. No beanie, no mittens, just her hand in a frozen claw around the damn cup of disgusting peppermint coffee he’d bought her this morning. It was probably frozen by now. Oh, nope. Some spilled onto the levers he was reaching for.
“Why did you bring that damn coffee?”
“I didn’t want to be ru-ru-ru-ru—”
“Rude? Why would I think you’re rude? The whole damn tractor smells like peppermint now.”
“Chri-chri-chris…Christmas. It smells like Christmas in here. And we-we-we’re getting Christmas tre-tre-tre-treees. We are festive as fu-fu-fu-fu—”
“Festive as fuck right now?”
Her hand went more tightly around his waist. “Yep.”
Okay. He felt a little bad for dragging her out here. He didn’t know why he’d done it. Probably because her dad was Kieran’s boss and a consistent asshole when he graced the sawmill with his presence. It felt a little bit like revenge to drag Bert Wilson’s daughter out here in the cold to experience a workday with him.
But over the last few hours, the amusement had faded. Why? Because Leslie wasn’t complaining. Instead, she had tried to help. Every time he’d cut down a tree and loaded it up, she’d asked questions and even helped steady the top ones as he roped them down. Her hands were all cut up and covered in sap, yet still…no complaints. She was freezing cold and had to be miserable, but she hadn’t snapped at him or complained about there being no heat in the tractor. She’d just toughed it out.
“There’s a spot in the office you can warm up while I unload these,” he said. “I’ll get us lunch. It’s about at break time anyway.”
“Really?”
“Really what?” he yelled over his shoulder so her puny human ears could hear him over the noise of the engine.
“Really, you’ll buy me lunch?”
“It’s two-dollar burritos from a food truck up the road, not a ribeye.”
“They will be my favorite burritos of all time.”
He tossed a glance back at her. Poor thing’s skin was white as the snow outside. When she tried to smile, her face didn’t move much. Steel blue eyes, black curls still piled on top of her head, delicate, dark eyebrows, and a face that told him every feeling she had as she felt it. This girl didn’t even know what a poker face was. He had no idea what her figure looked like under all those baggy clothes, but her face was pretty. She wasn’t even wearing any makeup. Definitely weird, but nice to look at.
With a sigh that froze the air in front of his face, Kieran stopped the tractor and pulled off his jacket.
“What are you doing? You’ll be cold!”