of
them. If you make noise, bang some pots or something, it scares them right
off.”
A bear big enough to maul her with one paw was
afraid of a pot lid? It didn’t seem right, but Chris had done this many times,
so she chose to trust him. She nodded. “Okay. How can I help you?”
He handed her three poles to assemble. “Just finish
this.”
While she sprung the poles into place, Chris laid
out a tarp, arranging it just so, then laid the flattened tent on top of it.
“Okay. Let me see those poles.”
Rebecca mostly watched as Chris assembled the tent.
She held things steady as he secured the tent to the poles and then handed him
stakes as he pounded them into the ground.
“Rebecca, can you hang onto these poles while I tie
this?” Chris was holding up the two main poles where they crisscrossed over the
tent.
She stepped in front of him onto the tarp, where
their toes poked beneath the edge of the tent. Chris had about six inches on
her, so when he handed off the poles, she had to stand on her tiptoes to keep
hold of them. His body heat warmed her as he reached above her and laced the
thin fabric ties. He smelled woodsy and fresh, not at all sweaty like she
expected, given that he had just staked a half dozen guy-wires.
She felt rather than saw that the poles were fixed
and rocked back onto her heels. When she turned, her face was nearly up against
Chris’s chest. She looked up, and he looked down as his hands dropped to her
sides. His gaze lowered to her lips, and she remembered their two kisses the
night of Alan and Jamie’s wedding. She wouldn’t mind reliving those moments.
“Thanks. It’s nice to have help with this kind of
stuff for a change.” Then he took a step back, allowing her to move away from
the tent.
Chris eyed the mostly gray sky that threatened to
empty itself on them. “Let’s see if we can get this canopy over the eating
area, too.” He grabbed a canvas sack and walked toward the picnic table.
They repeated the process with the poles and had
the canopy up but not staked when the heavens opened in a downpour. They
scrambled underneath the cover, but the rain and the accompanying wind caused
it to wobble. Rebecca grabbed a pole to steady it. The tree leaves repeatedly
sagged with the weight of the heavy drops and then popped back up. The smell of
the fresh rain rejuvenated her, making her smile.
“I’m going to have to finish this.” Chris snatched
the remaining stakes from her hand, grabbed the mallet, and ducked out into the
rain. He had one corner secured before he set down the stakes and mallet,
whipped off his shirt in one motion, and tossed it to her under the canopy.
It made sense. Why get his shirt soaking wet? This
way he could dry his back and chest with a towel and have something warm and
semi-dry to put on. She just wasn’t prepared for it.
She realized then how little time she had spent in
the company of men other than her father and brother-in-law. Chris didn’t bear
the six-pack abs of a ripped body builder, the kind that graced the covers of
romance novels, but he was masculine, muscled, and she couldn’t pull her gaze
from him as he worked. He didn’t work out at a gym as far as she knew; he
lived—biked, hiked, helped care for his parents’ yard, and played flag football
and whatever other sport was in season with Alan and some other guys. Had she
been caught looking, she would have been embarrassed but not guilty. He was
almost an innocent curiosity to her, albeit a very attractive one.
In a few minutes, he had finished and darted back
under the cover saying something to her.
She blinked and forced herself out of her reverie.
“What?”
“The towel?”
“Oh, here.” She handed him the towel and forced her
attention elsewhere as he dried his hair and arms. “It’s not a very big towel.”
“No, but it does the job.” He ran it over his hair
one last time and shrugged. “And at least it’s warm out.”
Rebecca smiled. Yes, her cheeks did
them. If you make noise, bang some pots or something, it scares them right
off.”
A bear big enough to maul her with one paw was
afraid of a pot lid? It didn’t seem right, but Chris had done this many times,
so she chose to trust him. She nodded. “Okay. How can I help you?”
He handed her three poles to assemble. “Just finish
this.”
While she sprung the poles into place, Chris laid
out a tarp, arranging it just so, then laid the flattened tent on top of it.
“Okay. Let me see those poles.”
Rebecca mostly watched as Chris assembled the tent.
She held things steady as he secured the tent to the poles and then handed him
stakes as he pounded them into the ground.
“Rebecca, can you hang onto these poles while I tie
this?” Chris was holding up the two main poles where they crisscrossed over the
tent.
She stepped in front of him onto the tarp, where
their toes poked beneath the edge of the tent. Chris had about six inches on
her, so when he handed off the poles, she had to stand on her tiptoes to keep
hold of them. His body heat warmed her as he reached above her and laced the
thin fabric ties. He smelled woodsy and fresh, not at all sweaty like she
expected, given that he had just staked a half dozen guy-wires.
She felt rather than saw that the poles were fixed
and rocked back onto her heels. When she turned, her face was nearly up against
Chris’s chest. She looked up, and he looked down as his hands dropped to her
sides. His gaze lowered to her lips, and she remembered their two kisses the
night of Alan and Jamie’s wedding. She wouldn’t mind reliving those moments.
“Thanks. It’s nice to have help with this kind of
stuff for a change.” Then he took a step back, allowing her to move away from
the tent.
Chris eyed the mostly gray sky that threatened to
empty itself on them. “Let’s see if we can get this canopy over the eating
area, too.” He grabbed a canvas sack and walked toward the picnic table.
They repeated the process with the poles and had
the canopy up but not staked when the heavens opened in a downpour. They
scrambled underneath the cover, but the rain and the accompanying wind caused
it to wobble. Rebecca grabbed a pole to steady it. The tree leaves repeatedly
sagged with the weight of the heavy drops and then popped back up. The smell of
the fresh rain rejuvenated her, making her smile.
“I’m going to have to finish this.” Chris snatched
the remaining stakes from her hand, grabbed the mallet, and ducked out into the
rain. He had one corner secured before he set down the stakes and mallet,
whipped off his shirt in one motion, and tossed it to her under the canopy.
It made sense. Why get his shirt soaking wet? This
way he could dry his back and chest with a towel and have something warm and
semi-dry to put on. She just wasn’t prepared for it.
She realized then how little time she had spent in
the company of men other than her father and brother-in-law. Chris didn’t bear
the six-pack abs of a ripped body builder, the kind that graced the covers of
romance novels, but he was masculine, muscled, and she couldn’t pull her gaze
from him as he worked. He didn’t work out at a gym as far as she knew; he
lived—biked, hiked, helped care for his parents’ yard, and played flag football
and whatever other sport was in season with Alan and some other guys. Had she
been caught looking, she would have been embarrassed but not guilty. He was
almost an innocent curiosity to her, albeit a very attractive one.
In a few minutes, he had finished and darted back
under the cover saying something to her.
She blinked and forced herself out of her reverie.
“What?”
“The towel?”
“Oh, here.” She handed him the towel and forced her
attention elsewhere as he dried his hair and arms. “It’s not a very big towel.”
“No, but it does the job.” He ran it over his hair
one last time and shrugged. “And at least it’s warm out.”
Rebecca smiled. Yes, her cheeks did
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