Free Allie's Moon by Alexis Harrington

waited for a response, but only a
noisy crow perched on a nearby fence post answered her.
    She tried again, this time with more emphasis
in her voice. “Mr. Hicks, lollygagging is not a virtue. The spring
rains won’t really end until after June, so you must take advantage
of every sunny day that we have now. Please make yourself decent
and come out here so I can cut your hair. I have my own work to
do.”
    Still she got no answer. She took one step
forward.
    “ Mr. Hicks! If you don’t answer me
now—”
    “ Ma’am?”
    Althea jumped and whirled to face Jeff Hicks
as he rounded the back corner of the barn. He carried his wrung-out
shirt in one hand and his towel in the other. His long, wet hair
streamed down his bare chest. Although his thinness threw his ribs
into moderate relief, they were crisscrossed with lean, hard muscle
that extended into the waistband of his jeans. His shaggy beard
also sparkled with water droplets and made him look not simply
disreputable now, but downright dangerous.
    And, to Althea’s horror, utterly
fascinating.
    “ I-I’m sorry, I thought you were
still—” She gestured at the lean-to. “I thought you were in
there.”
    “ No, ma’am. I was washing at the
trough.”
    Her eyes followed the trail of another
rivulet that snaked over his collarbone and into the hair that
spanned his chest. “Yes, I see—well, I came out to cut your hair
and bring you some clothes and things.” She indicated the
basket.
    He nodded. “I’ll get that stool.”
    Following, Althea watched him stride across
the yard to get the stool from the back porch. His legs were long
and slim, and his shoulders were broader than she’d realized. He
set the stool next to the tree stump that had served as his dinner
table the evening before. When he sat down with his back to her,
she stepped closer and considered the bare breadth of his
shoulders.
    “ I brought a shirt that might fit you,”
she said, thinking her voice sounded high and very young. “You
should probably put it on now.”
    He turned his head and said over his
shoulder, “I’ll wait until you’re done. If I put it on before you
cut my hair, it’ll just itch all day.”
    “ Oh, yes, of course,” she stumbled,
feeling timid. Taking up the comb, her hand remained suspended just
above his head. He smelled clean, like the soap she’d given him,
but like a man, too. She knew she should work the tangles out of
his hair soon; the morning sun was warm and it was already
beginning to dry, turning a rich sandy color.
    Do it—just do it and get this over with. She
sank the comb’s teeth into the damp strands at the back of his
head.
    “ Were you comfortable in the lean-to
last night?” she asked, desperate to fill the awkward
silence.
    “ Yes, ma’am,” Jeff lied. He’d barely
slept at all, and this morning his muscles ached in places that
he’d forgotten existed. But he’d gladly give up another night’s
sleep if it meant he could sit here again tomorrow and feel her
fiddling with his hair. She worked out the tangles carefully, not
pulling or ripping at them as he was inclined to do. The delicious
sensation of the comb scraping lightly over his scalp raised
goosebumps all over him. He glanced down at the hair on his arms
standing on end. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had
touched him.
    “ Fine. As soon as you finish the roof
and shore up the trellis, I’ll need you to start plowing the
garden. I’m very late getting it planted this year. I hope you know
something about plowing and planting.” She talked on about what
needed fixing, patching, painting.
    “ Hmm, yes, ma’am.” With her fingers
playing in his hair, it was the only response he could make. His
eyes crossed slightly as he relaxed, and he heard the blades of the
scissors snipping here and there. It was followed by more combing.
Hair scraps tumbled down his upper arms to be carried away on the
wind. This wasn’t like having the barber cut his hair. That