“Is it dangerous to dig?” she whispered.
“Yeah.”
“Is that why you got in that fight last night?” she asked.
When Gentry released her and eased back a couple paces, she could see it in his eyes. The shut-down was here. “I’ve said way too much. More than I’m allowed. More than is safe. Come on,” he said low, offering his hand.
Her palm tingled from being suddenly detached from his warm chest, but he was offering her what he could. He had to shut down on her for whatever reason, but he was still allowing her touch, which after that intimate moment of sharing, she really needed.
So she smiled sadly and slid her palm against his, stooped to pick up her glove, then shoved it in her back pocket with the paintbrush.
They’d gone from laughter with the snowball fight, to molten lust, to having a huge, illuminating experience in the matter of half an hour. And truth be told, Blaire was stunned with the amount of emotion this man brought out in her. She felt alive again. She wasn’t just some ghost walking through her life waiting on the next day that would be the exact same as the one before.
For the first time, she dreaded going back to her life. It would mean back to the monotony, back to avoiding Matt in their hometown, back to trying to get on her feet. While here, she already felt upright.
But worst of all, in six tiny days, she would have to say goodbye to the man who was breathing life into her again.
Chapter Ten
The door creaked loudly as Gentry shoved it open. There was a pile of debris on the other side, keeping it from sliding easily, but he placed his thick-soled boot in front of it and made room for Blaire to go in.
“What’s that smell?” she asked, covering her nose.
“Raccoon.”
“Living?”
“Not anymore.”
Geez, she didn’t even want to know. It was so dark she could only make out the shadows of overturned tables and chairs.
When Gentry stepped out of the way of the door, it slammed closed, startling her. “Follow me,” he said.
Blaire held her hands out, searching for him or a wall or a freaking walking stick, anything. “Wait, I can’t see to follow you.”
In no time flat, Gentry had pulled her onto his back like a little monkey, and she giggled at how helpless she must seem because, apparently, Gentry had impeccable night vision. He didn’t bump a single piece of furniture on his way to the back of the bar.
He settled her on a chair that made her sneeze with the amount of dust, and then one at a time, he lit four old-fashioned lanterns on the bar top. “I’ll get the power turned back on to this place tomorrow. Someone cut the lines.”
What the hell was going on in this town? And what was Gentry’s father involved in before he died that got him targeted like this?
The lanterns made a world of difference once Gentry and Blaire righted tables and settled the lights on them throughout the room.
Blaire stood in the middle of the cluttered area, and her heart ached for Gentry all over again. He wore a business, get-crap-done face as he upended chairs and stacked them against the side wall, but he’d said this place meant something to him, and there was no way seeing an old haunt torn up like this didn’t hurt.
Determined, she gave a silent promise that he wouldn’t have to clean this place up alone. For the next six days, she would help. Something deep down inside told her Gentry needed this place to be okay again for his father’s memory.
Blaire checked her phone, which thankfully got a signal in here, and turned on her favorite playlist. And while the music was going, she and Gentry went to work. There were clean rags and cleaning solution in a case behind the bar, so she scrubbed the layers of dust off the bar and disinfected everything behind it until her arms shook. There wasn’t a single bottle of liquor left in the cabinets that lined the wall behind the counter, but on the floor were piles and piles of glass. Someone must’ve been sending a mighty big message to break all this expensive liquor instead of stealing it. She swept the shards into a big orange bucket, and then went to sweeping the rest of the bar as well, which took long enough that Gentry had patched and painted a shredded wall by the time she was done.
He'd apparently picked up supplies, because the area near a small stage was stacked with sheetrock, nails, tools, paint, drop clothes, caulk guns, and more cleaners. There was even a sander for the wood floors as though he meant to re-stain them, and when she looked at the wooden boards closer, she could see why. Someone had broken out a few of the windows, and the weather had gotten to the floors. Pity, because they were probably originals.
“I don’t know if they can be saved, but I don’t really have the money to replace them right now,” Gentry said, as if he could read her mind.
“Well, they already look a little better now that they’re clean,” she said hopefully.
“You know that little cabin beside yours?”
“The dilapidated one?” she said, pulling the paintbrush from her back pocket. It was getting really late, and she was tired, but she wouldn’t stop until he did. Gentry needed this.
“Yeah, that’s my favorite cabin on the property.”
Blaire scrunched up her nose. “Really?”
“My dad never got around to rehabbing it, so it got rented the least during the busy season. So me and my brothers would hang out there sometimes. It was like our clubhouse.”
“How many brothers do you have?”
“Two.”
Blaire frowned. “Did they come to your dad’s funeral?” AKA—why the heck weren’t they here helping fix up his father’s place?