‘Ifyouhad done whatIhad said, then we wouldn’t be in this mess.’
Nate sighed and looked around the cramped cupboard for a solution. ‘Is there another one?’
‘No,’ she sighed. ‘Give it to me, perhaps we can put it back together.’
Between them, they managed to balance the spindles back in their holes. It was rickety, but it would pass muster. If people were careful with it.
‘Come on guys, it’s on the table,’ Rebecca called.
Laurel assessed their work.
‘It’ll hold until I find some wood glue after lunch,’ she said as he reached to pick it up. ‘Just be careful with it.’
Nate glared at her. He wasn’t an idiot, and it wasn’t like he didn’t know what to do with a wooden chair that could fall apart at any minute.
‘What?’ he said, as Laurel’s lips pressed together, mirth crinkling her eyes.
‘You look like you’re carrying a baby duck,’ she said, letting that smile split her face. Nate watched the pulse jump against her neck for two heartbeats.
‘Well, I happen to think baby ducks are cute and deserve a lot of gentle carrying,’ he said flippantly, leading her back into the heart of the family. He glanced over his shoulder to check that Laurel was following and caught her assessing his arse.
Nate raised an amused eyebrow at her, and she scowled back.
Laurel
Rebecca had outdone herself. Really, the lamb was one of the best, the roast potatoes were crispy and fluffy, the carrots and parsnips just the right side of honey glazed. Nate had seconds. Not just a bit extra, but actually two dinners. How in the name of all that was holy did he keep himself looking like that if he could eat two dinners without batting an eyelid? When he had pressed up against her to rescue the box from on top of the chair, she felt every inch of him.
Every. Single. Inch.
Her mouth had run dry. It had been a while since she had been that close to a man, and certainly a man with a body like that.
The plates had been cleared, the kids sent to play outside, disappointed because Nate had remained at the table. Robin had moaned at the rice pudding but helped himself to an extra-large second serving.
Laurel sat on the broken chair, not leaning back, not daring to put any weight against the precariously balanced wood. Nate laid his arm behind her, holding the chair in place. She got why, and it was a sound decision to ensure that the chair didn’t explode. But he was close, and he smelled so good, and if she did happen to lean any further back, then his skin would be on hers. Again. And she did not need her traitorous body to react as it had in the cupboard again, certainly not in front of her family.
Laurel kept her elbows on the table.
‘Rebecca.’ Dad leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his belly. ‘That was so good. Nearly as good as Helena’s.’ He tilted his wine glass towards her in celebration.
‘Thanks, Bill.’ Rebecca smiled, settling into Jack’s side.
‘So, Nate, tell us about what you’ve found in our field,’ Bill said, turning shrewd eyes on their guest.
‘Actually,’ Laurel said, placing a hand on his thigh to stop him from talking.
Oh god, why had she done that? Because it was so tempting to run her palm up and down the length of his leg, his very warm, very muscular leg. This was definitely not the right place, or time, or pretty much anything. Suggestive amusement flitted across Nate’s face when she glanced at him to see if he, what? Noticed? Minded? Thought it was really, very weird? Or all of the above. Laurel snatched her hand back and cleared her throat. ‘Before Nate gets into that, I’ve got something I want to discuss.’
Robin groaned.
‘We’re having a nice dinner, and you have to go and ruin it every time,’ he grumbled.
Laurel shot him a look but carried on regardless.
‘I want to discuss what could happen if the dig team find what I hope they will find.’
Jack’s shoulders visibly sagged, and Dad sighed softly. ‘Okay, Laurel, what scheme have you got this time?’
She bristled at that, because her ‘schemes’ were what had saved this place. When she’d come back from university, Fletcher’s Farm wasn’t even covering costs. It was a dying farm, and her ‘schemes’ had turned it around. Sometimes she really wished her family would just see how hard she worked. Just because it wasn’t physical work, she wasn’t up at the crack of dawn milking, and wasn’t checking the sheep on the common every day, didn’t mean that what she was doing wasn’t work. Because it was. Damned hard work. Laurel pushed that well-worn argument way down into her stomach.
