Free Brush of Shade by Jan Harman Page A

a couple
rides in your truck and now you’re an expert on me,” I retorted, my voice cool
and strong. I kept walking, forcing him to step to the side.
    “A show of real
temper, finally. That’s an improvement over the tears and self-pity.”
    I stared at the
ground, breathing hard, determined not to cry. “You’re mean. Go home.”
    I expected
another insightful reply. When he remained silent, I looked up through my
lashes. The spot where he’d been standing was empty. I swung my head about. I
was alone. I stared up the drive, listening for the sound of an engine
starting. I waited ten minutes, unwilling to admit to my hope that he’d
suddenly reappear. I had no idea what I’d say if he did.

Chapter
4
     
    As it turned
out, I had an excellent excuse to avoid the football game. Our long awaited
moving truck arrived around mid-morning. I called Trent’s house and left a
message. Twenty minutes later, in the middle of maneuvering a box of my aunt’s
private papers into her closet, I heard tires roll to a stop on the gravel
drive. By the time I got to the window, Shade was assisting an older gentleman
out of a black sedan parked behind his dusty, green pick-up truck. Swell, like
today wasn’t hard enough, now I could look forward to more of Shade’s insights.
It would serve him right if I ignored him. Hard to do when your pulse sets out
to betray.
    Halfway down the
hall, I recalled the streak of dust from my chin to my right ear. I pulled up a
corner of my T-shirt and rubbed. Voices floated up the stairs, heading in the
direction of the kitchen. Aunt Claire had probably offered to make tea,
obligating me to speak with our guest. I collided with something solid at the
top of the landing and bounced back a step.
    “We don’t have
time for a trip to the emergency room today,” an amused voice drawled. “Heads up.” Shade picked me up and whisked me to the side.
    Two burly movers
angling my aunt’s king-sized, four-poster bed up the stairs and around the
corner squashed us against the far wall. One of the posts dug into Shade’s
back; he grunted.  
    “Sorry, folks,
we didn’t think anyone was up here. We could try backing up,” one of the movers
said.
    I squeezed into
the corner, trying to take up as little space as possible. “There’s room,” I
said, not sure how I felt about being this close to Shade or the sudden
decrease of oxygen. The movers twisted the frame further onto its side. Shade’s
lips pinched together. “Move.”
    Crystal-blue
eyes tightened and dropped to mine. I nodded and he slid forward another two
inches, flattening my back into the corner. With his forearms braced on the
wall on either side of my head, he curled his long muscular frame around my
body.
    “Am I hurting
you?” he demanded.
    My damp palms
gripped my thighs and I could barely speak. “I’m a little squished.”
    Biceps bulged. Wood
squeaked.
    “No, stop!”
    Muscles relaxed,
but he didn’t relinquish the room he’d made for us. Heat from his body seeped
into mine. The confined space filled with the scent of the forest, fresh and
earthy with a hint of pine. Lungs expanded deeper with each breath. Knots
loosened and muscles unclenched, freed from months of fears that crowded into
every minute.
    Men and bed
cleared the landing. Footsteps faded, leaving behind an awkward silence. Shade
pushed off the wall and asked, “Are you doing ok? It wasn’t too claustrophobic
for you?”
    “How did you
know?” I asked, not minding that he’d figured out this truth.
    “Pinned inside a car in the dark for hours. It wasn’t a
stretch to think you’d find tight places . . . uncomfortable.”
    “I’m fine,
really.” It was then that I realized my earbuds had
fallen out of my ears. No music. No voice. No tension eating at my stomach. So
this is what normal felt like. I’d forgotten. “What are you doing here?” I asked, trying for casual interest, knowing cruel reality
would crash over me any moment, knowing I’d have