a chisel to create a space for the hinge, she decided that a crash course in meditation might be her best and only option.
Today, she’d swapped her contacts for her glasses because they doubled as eye protection, and she concentrated on preparing the next door for hanging. She quickly found a sort of peace in the rhythm of moving the block plane back and forth while keeping a close eye on her pencil markings.
When she was growing up, she’d spent a lot of time with her dad in his workshop over the long Montana winters, and he’d taught her all sorts of things to do with wood and tools. She’d treasured the one-on-one time with him, not realizing until much later exactly how much useful stuff she’d learned along the way and how self-sufficient it had made her. Back in Philadelphia, she’d rarely had to call the super for anything.
Setting the plane aside, she sanded down the edges before lifting the door off the sawhorse to check it against the doorway. She was about to place it on the wedges when Boy stirred again. A second later, the sound of the front door being slammed shut by the wind made the house tremble. Footsteps immediately followed.
“Yes! Doors.” Josh’s unmistakably deep voice rolled into the room, filled with delight.
Shit.
Her mouth dried as her heart leaped into her throat and she gripped the door tightly. What was he doing here at this time of day? It was barely three o’clock and by rights he should be at the clinic, knee-deep in patients and dealing with the health care needs of Bear Paw.
“Hello?”
She heard him come closer and hoped he was in one of his aloof moods. A standoffish, superior Josh was much easier to resist than the Josh who had a twinkle in those gunmetal eyes and a dancing dimple in his chin. She told herself sternly none of it mattered because they both had their roles to play. She was the landlord, he was the tenant and she had a door to hang. A door that right now made a handy barrier between them but whose weight was making her arms burn.
She glanced down and saw his fashionable black suede shoes complete with a film of Montana dust appear in her line of vision. She adjusted her hands on the door and sucked in a calm breath so when she spoke she wouldn’t sound breathy. “Hi, Josh.”
“Katrina?” His surprise bounced around the room. “You’re fitting the doors? I thought you’d get a handyman to do it.”
“Why pay someone when I know how,” she said as her now burning arms gave out. She half lowered, half dropped the door onto the wedges. The impact knocked them over and the door followed.
Josh yelped in pain as the wood hit his foot.
“Oh God. Sorry.” She hastily adjusted her grip on the door. She was about to lift it when his hands closed over the top of hers, trapping them in place on the door. Traitorous warmth stole through her, turning her legs to molasses.
Suddenly, the door rose, and with it, she was being turned as Josh directed the play. His hands and his strength forced her to just follow. The next minute the door was leaning against the wall and she was caught between the two.
His hands fell away and her legs firmed up. When she ducked out from behind the door, Josh was rubbing his foot against the back of his calf.
She couldn’t believe she’d inadvertently hurt him again, and she immediately went into fix-it mode. “Take off your shoe and I’ll get you some ice to slow any bruising.”
One brow rose sharply. “And risk you causing me more damage? I don’t think so.”
“The ice will help. You know it will.” His grumpy tone steadied all tingles and shimmers, and she walked to the kitchen and pulled open the freezer. As he’d been in town a week and a half, she’d expected it to be full of food, but the only contents were a can of orange juice concentrate, a loaf of bread and, fortunately, a full ice cube container.
She dumped the contents into a cloth and returned to the living room to find Josh sitting on the sofa
Today, she’d swapped her contacts for her glasses because they doubled as eye protection, and she concentrated on preparing the next door for hanging. She quickly found a sort of peace in the rhythm of moving the block plane back and forth while keeping a close eye on her pencil markings.
When she was growing up, she’d spent a lot of time with her dad in his workshop over the long Montana winters, and he’d taught her all sorts of things to do with wood and tools. She’d treasured the one-on-one time with him, not realizing until much later exactly how much useful stuff she’d learned along the way and how self-sufficient it had made her. Back in Philadelphia, she’d rarely had to call the super for anything.
Setting the plane aside, she sanded down the edges before lifting the door off the sawhorse to check it against the doorway. She was about to place it on the wedges when Boy stirred again. A second later, the sound of the front door being slammed shut by the wind made the house tremble. Footsteps immediately followed.
“Yes! Doors.” Josh’s unmistakably deep voice rolled into the room, filled with delight.
Shit.
Her mouth dried as her heart leaped into her throat and she gripped the door tightly. What was he doing here at this time of day? It was barely three o’clock and by rights he should be at the clinic, knee-deep in patients and dealing with the health care needs of Bear Paw.
“Hello?”
She heard him come closer and hoped he was in one of his aloof moods. A standoffish, superior Josh was much easier to resist than the Josh who had a twinkle in those gunmetal eyes and a dancing dimple in his chin. She told herself sternly none of it mattered because they both had their roles to play. She was the landlord, he was the tenant and she had a door to hang. A door that right now made a handy barrier between them but whose weight was making her arms burn.
She glanced down and saw his fashionable black suede shoes complete with a film of Montana dust appear in her line of vision. She adjusted her hands on the door and sucked in a calm breath so when she spoke she wouldn’t sound breathy. “Hi, Josh.”
“Katrina?” His surprise bounced around the room. “You’re fitting the doors? I thought you’d get a handyman to do it.”
“Why pay someone when I know how,” she said as her now burning arms gave out. She half lowered, half dropped the door onto the wedges. The impact knocked them over and the door followed.
Josh yelped in pain as the wood hit his foot.
“Oh God. Sorry.” She hastily adjusted her grip on the door. She was about to lift it when his hands closed over the top of hers, trapping them in place on the door. Traitorous warmth stole through her, turning her legs to molasses.
Suddenly, the door rose, and with it, she was being turned as Josh directed the play. His hands and his strength forced her to just follow. The next minute the door was leaning against the wall and she was caught between the two.
His hands fell away and her legs firmed up. When she ducked out from behind the door, Josh was rubbing his foot against the back of his calf.
She couldn’t believe she’d inadvertently hurt him again, and she immediately went into fix-it mode. “Take off your shoe and I’ll get you some ice to slow any bruising.”
One brow rose sharply. “And risk you causing me more damage? I don’t think so.”
“The ice will help. You know it will.” His grumpy tone steadied all tingles and shimmers, and she walked to the kitchen and pulled open the freezer. As he’d been in town a week and a half, she’d expected it to be full of food, but the only contents were a can of orange juice concentrate, a loaf of bread and, fortunately, a full ice cube container.
She dumped the contents into a cloth and returned to the living room to find Josh sitting on the sofa
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