The Apple Tree (Sunday Morning, #2) (28)

“Okay, buddy. They’re on the deck. Do you need help?”

“No.” He ran toward the house.

I shot a dozen or so arrows before my hands and fingers hurt.

“Let’s not overdo it.” He winked, taking it from me as I shook out my hands and massaged them.

“Can you hit the target every time?” I asked.

He attached his quiver and shot six arrows in a matter of seconds—all within fractions of an inch from each other.

“I guess you can,” I murmured.

His grin doubled as if he were trying to impress me rather than the other way around. Then, we retrieved the arrows together.

“Josh hasn’t made it back, which means he's using the flower beds as a play zone. I’d better get back.”

I nodded, following him into the barn.

“Does your dad hunt?” I asked.

He returned the bows and arrows to the cabinet. “Yes. My mom said they wouldn't still be married if he didn’t take hunting trips.”

I laughed.

“Do you eat what you kill?”

“Yes, most of the time.”

“So you’ve eaten bear meat?”

He locked the cabinet and turned. “No. I don’t hunt bears.”

I tucked my thumbs in my front pockets and rocked back and forth on my heels. “Thanks for showing me how to shoot today.”

Kyle eyed me, and I felt his gaze as tangible as if his hands were on my body. And I couldn’t help but wonder if I was delusional. Did he look at me like a child? It didn’t feel like that.

“Who set you up with an attorney from another town?”

I stopped my rocking.

“Or did you lie because you didn’t want to watch Josh?”

I shook my head. “I like Josh.”

“That’s not what I asked. You can like Josh and not want to watch him.”

“Speaking of watching Josh, we should get back to the house.” I turned.

“I can pay you and teach you how to do things. I feel like I’m taking advantage of you,” he said.

“It’s not that.” I walked around the boat toward the front barn door.

“Then what is it?”

I stopped, closing my eyes. “I told you I had a date last night because you were having dinner with Denise.”

“That makes no sense. Is it because she’s not on your list of approved dates for me?”

I was delusional. He didn’t think of me as anything beyond the girl next door and maybe a friend. “No.” I shook my head without turning toward him. “She’s not on my list of approved dates for you. But you don’t need my approval. And I don’t know why I lied. I thought … well, I don’t know. Just never mind.”

“What did you think?”

I rubbed my eyes. “Let’s not talk about it because it’s embarrassing, and I don’t want things to be weird between us.”

He stepped in front of me, blocking the door and forcing me to look at him in the dim light from the hanging bulb above us.

I rolled my eyes, feeling flushed from my face to my toes. “For a moment when we were on the dock the other night, I thought you were looking at me like …” I laughed a little, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt.

“Like what?”

“Like you liked me.” I pushed him out of the way and marched out the door to distance myself from his scrutinizing gaze that embarrassed me.

“I do like you.” He followed me.

“You don’t get it.” I lengthened my strides.

“I do get it.”

When I no longer heard his boots scuffing through the dirt behind me, I stopped and glanced over my shoulder.

“I do get it,” he repeated, scraping his teeth along his lower lip several times. “And it’s fun. Liking you is fun. Everything about you is fun and refreshing. Eve, women like you”—he smirked—“not that there’s anyone else like you, bring men like me to our knees. But,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “I have grown-up responsibilities, including a child. So my fun needs to be safer than liking my brother’s best friend’s eighteen-year-old daughter.”

His words shot through my veins, and I felt powerful. “I can bring you to your knees?” My smile lost all control.

He veered off toward the house. “Let’s not find out. I’ll see you at church tomorrow, where getting on my knees is pleasing to God … and Pastor Jacobson.”

Not find out? Was he crazy? Oh, we were going to find out.





CHAPTER ELEVEN





POISON, “TALK DIRTY TO ME”





Eve

“What if he’s messing with you? Being nice so you don’t feel embarrassed?” Erin asked as we sat across from each other at McDonald’s. She twisted her lips. “But then again, he adjusted your bra strap at the lake. That’s weird if he’s not attracted to you. Or maybe it was a fatherly thing.” Erin shook her head. “He’s totally messing with you, Eve. Don’t you dare give him more. You’ll feel like a fool. You need to date someone else for real, not some made-up guy. And make it a little more believable than an attorney.”

I chewed on the end of my straw while processing her advice. It’s not that I didn’t see it that way, too, but there were so many looks and tiny moments that felt real.