Free Mr. February by Ann Roth Page B

of freshly cut wood.
    Abruptly, the noise cut off. Zach called out words Rafe couldn’t make out, and a loud crash shattered the brief silence and shook the ground. Moments later, Rafe found Zach and JR standing near the fifteen-foot ginkgo they’d felled. Both men wore safety glasses and heavy gloves. Zach, shorter and stockier than JR and a good thirty years older, pointed the chainsaw at the prone tree and said something, his ponytailed hair swishing across his back.
    “How’s it going?” Rafe called out, handing each man a pop.
    “Not bad.” Zach opened his drink. “Thanks, man.”
    “Yeah, thanks.” JR mopped the sweat from his face with the hem of his T-shirt then touched the icy can to his forehead. “This is hard work.”
    “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Zach drawled. “We’re only halfway through the first day.”
    In contrast to JR, the older man had barely broken a sweat. Rafe figured the kid could benefit from using some of the mental tools his father had taught him. “Okay if I borrow JR for a minute?” he asked.
    “No problem.” Zach drained his pop and then crumpled the empty can in his hand. “Toss this for me, JR. I’m going to start cutting up that gingko.”
    After JR deposited the can in a trash bag, Rafe gestured at a relatively level patch of grass. “Let’s sit.” He waited until they were both on the ground before he spoke again. “You doing okay?”
    “Yeah.” Wearing a suspicious frown, JR eyed him. “Why?”
    “No reason.”
    “Did Jill ask you to check on me?” JR tipped up his head back and guzzled the stuff.
    Rafe hadn’t seen or spoken to her in days—for all the good that did. He thought about her constantly. Being with her, talking and teasing each other, fooling around… She drove him nuts.
    “No,” he said gruffly. “But you do seem tired. I know a trick or two that can help. Have you heard of mindful observation?”
    “Mindful what?”
    The chainsaw roared into action, and Rafe had to raise his voice over the noise. “Observation. It’s a technique my father taught me. When the going gets tough and you want to quit—”
    “Who said anything about quitting?”
    Talk about a hair-trigger defensive attitude. “I’m trying to tell you about the power of mindful observation. I use it whenever I want to quit before I should. Say I’m running and my legs are killing me and my brain is screaming at me to forget running and walk instead. The first thing I do is notice those feelings. Then I focus on something else—my heartbeat, my breathing, the rhythm of my footsteps. When done right, I can push through the pain and stop thinking about giving up.”
    JR listened intently. “Does that really work?”
    “Now it does, but it took practice a lot to get here. If you want to try the technique, I’ll give you some pointers.”
    The kid glanced at the ground. “Maybe later.”
    He wasn’t interested. Having been there himself, Rafe understood. “Say the word, and we’ll practice. Anytime.”
    JR shrugged and finished his drink. He needed to go help Zach, but, first, Rafe needed information.
    “Did Chelsea get the job she applied for?” he asked.
    “We don’t think so. It’s been a week, and she hasn’t heard anything.”
    “That’s too bad,” Rafe said, knowing Jillian wanted them both working and in their own place.
    “Chelsea’s going to help Jill at the art fair next month. She’ll earn a little money. My sister’s been working like a crazed woman. She says she needs to make even more pottery, but she already has too many pieces to fit in her car. She had to ask a friend to drive her and her stuff to the Medford Fairgrounds in his pickup.”
    At the thought of some guy interested enough in Jillian to drive her a hundred eighty miles round-trip, Rafe’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t want to get involved with her himself, but he didn’t want anyone else to, either. Go figure.
    He schooled his expression into indifference. “Which friend