Free Along the Broken Road by Heather Burch Page B

calmed his nerves.
    “Before she passed, my wife used to say, ‘I don’t need you to fix it; just let me talk about it.’ ”
    Ian’s chair stopped abruptly. “What’s that mean?”
    “Means shut up.”
    He nodded, wished there was a manual, planted those words deep into his psyche. “Shut up, got it.”
    Gruber pointed a long, slender finger at him. “But you better talk when they need you to or they say—” and for the next few words, the edges of his mouth went down and his voice went up, “—we never communicate.”
    Ian drew a deep breath. “Should I be taking notes?”
    “Nah. It’s simple. Shut up and talk. And while you’re thinking about all that, you could go work on the fence line.” Gruber closed one eye and pinned him with the other. “It’s real important to Charlee to get that fence line complete before her brother moves onto the property next door.”
    “Charlee seems like she loves her brothers. Putting up a fence suggests they don’t get along. What’s your take?”
    “They all get along fine.” Gruber drained his coffee cup and sat it on the porch floor where a water ring waited for it. “Just doesn’t want them in her business. Doesn’t want people dictating what she does. That’s her business, not theirs, and I agree with her. Both her parents are gone and she doesn’t need someone trying to take their place.”
    Oh boy.
    “About that fence . . .”

    Charlee spent the day in town to avoid Ian. It wasn’t him particularly; it was just the whole thing. He made her miss her brothers. And worry about them even more. Really, more worry was the last thing she needed. But when she looked in his eyes, saw the pain he was trying to leave behind, saw the fight and the battle that still plagued him, well, her nurturing gene kicked into high gear. After leaving town, she drove home and found Ian at dinner with the rest of the clan.
    “I hadn’t expected you to work on the fence today,” she said, stepping up to the table where he sat chatting with the sisters and King Edward.
    Mr. Gruber was just dishing plates when she arrived. He motioned her with a spatula dripping with cheese. “Sit. I don’t want it to get cold.”
    Ian grinned up at her. “Bossy, isn’t he?”
    “Mmm. You have no idea.” She spun and moved to the empty table while Gruber placed a generous helping of lasagna on Ian’s plate. “Thank you, sir.”
    He picked up the fork and was just getting ready to take a bite when Gruber barked, “Now get outta my seat, Lunch Box, or you’ll be eating that through a feeding tube.”
    Charlee rolled her eyes. Ian hustled out of the seat and moved to her table, plate in hand, fork perched on the edge. “May I?”
    Her hands covered her face. “I’m so sorry about this.” She leaned in. “They’re hopeless busybodies.”
    From above her, Ian winked. He really was a lovely specimen to look at, with his easy smile and toned body. She’d spotted him earlier through the tree line as he worked. He’d been bare from the waist up, his jeans worn and snug on muscled legs, his tool belt hanging carelessly and at just the right angle to draw a girl’s attention. Whew. It was hot out tonight.
    “You want me to turn on the fans?”
    Oh, dear Lord! She hadn’t said that out loud, had she? “What?”
    “You’re holding your hair up.”
    Oh. She was. She’d scooped the mass into one fist and held it off her neck. Ian’s gaze drifted down from her eyes to her throat and all that exposed skin of her neck. He licked his lips and something in her stomach thudded.
    “No.” She dropped the mass and hoped it would cover her. Stupid idiot of a guy made her feel naked. “I’m not hot.”
    A twinkle, a blink. Ian sat down and she was pretty sure she’d heard him mumble, “That’s highly debatable.”
    Gruber paused at their table and filled her plate. Here they were again, alone and having dinner. This could so quickly turn into a disaster. Best to stick to business.