Sally: Autumn Storms (F&L Story #4)

Sally: Part 3

Part 3

Sally watched as Wilson rose smoothly to his feet, his muscles and limbs flowing together in naturally lithe motions to make the simple movement look like a feat of pure beauty. He sure was a pleasure to look at, that was an honest to God fact. As his long, square-tipped fingers twisted and manipulated the lug nuts, she babbled, keeping half her gaze on the grace of those fingers, and the other half staring off into nothing, hoping to stem the blood that rushed to her cheeks.

Lordy, she’d been without a man for too long, if changing a tire got her all hot and bothered. He lowered the jack and stored the tools in the box in her truck bed. Sally’s eyes drifted downward, appreciating his snug britches in a way only a female could. She was so lost in her examination that she missed what he said. She blinked up at him, saw the shrewd knowing in his gaze and looked away.

“I’m sorry. What was that?” she asked, moving around the front of her Dodge to climb into the driver’s seat. She was too old to be staring at a man's butt. And he caught her doing it!

She needed some time to get her head on straight, away from him. The quick drive back to the house wouldn’t give her that, but she’d take what she could get. He walked around the tailgate, opposite to her, and casually folded his arms across his chest, seeming to brace himself for a blow to his gut. “I’ve been to prison.”

Clouds of dust and dirt billowed up as her feet came to a standstill. Did he just say what she thought he said?

“I thought you should know,” he said facing her. “You’ll have to call my parole officer tonight…if you still hire me.”

Her heart kicked up speed, but never one to shy away from anything – okay, except a sexy, younger man that changed a tire like he’d caress a woman’s body – she lifted her eyes to him. Studying his expression, her breath hitched up around her throat. Regret – pure and simple – radiated off him. And that wasn’t all. His whole body shifted anxiously, suffocating with humiliation and shame. He was a dangerous man, she already admitted as much, but not in the criminal sense. Something just didn’t fit.

“May I ask why?”

The waning sunlight filtered low through the tree branches surrounding her pumpkin patch, matched with a rumble of distant thunder. A streak honey-gold light hit him alongside the face, igniting the ruddy undertones of a blush to his cheeks. His eyes darted here and there, not fully meeting her gaze.

“I was convicted of negligent homicide,” he said softly. His hands – the same hands she’d been drooling over – fisted tightly.

“Are you guilty?”

After a long, loaded moment, he looked deeply into her eyes and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

That took guts, she thought, analyzing his expression. Most men she knew would have offered every excuse in the books as to why he didn’t do what he was convicted of. But Wilson only said, “Yes, ma’am,” and left it at that. The notion that he killed someone dropped him down in her regard, but with such a simple answer, he managed to earn a few extra redeeming points with her.

Negligent homicide. She knew a little about what that meant. Someone died because Wilson had been reckless or stupid. Not the same as if he pulled the trigger himself, but dead was dead. Accidents happened every day, yet accidents that could have been avoided defined negligence. Could she trust him, after all?

Uneasy with where her thoughts were going, she nodded and said, “We’ll talk about it up at the house.” She opened her truck door and got inside. Turning the ignition and letting the engine roar to life, she shifted the gear stick and drove out of the field, leaving him to either follow her or go back to where he came from.

He killed someone. So, why wasn’t she afraid of him? Must be a chemical imbalance in her system. An early sign of menopause? Not that she was old enough for that yet, but what else explained how she felt? She circled the questions in her mind as she bumped over the uneven ground, driving slow enough for Wilson to catch up quickly. If anyone else showed up on her property and admitted to murder – of any kind – she’d high-tail it to her gun cabinet and point a loaded shotgun at his chest. Yet, she still believed Wilson to be a man of honor and sincerity. He killed someone, and she nevertheless knew she would be safe around him. Trust might be a different kettle of fish.

Could she trust him?

“Yes,” she sighed angrily into her steering wheel, pounding on it with her palm. Not sure why she was angry about the whole mess. Something inside her told her that she could trust this man with her life. Ironic as that sounded.

She’d have to speak with his parole officer immediately. She wasn’t the only person on this farm during the day. Children and families came from all over the area for the pumpkins, and her chickens were part of the 4-H programs in nearby schools. Not to mention all the birthday parties her riding ponies rented out to. If she continued to let Wilson work for her, she’d need him to help her with all that. Was he allowed to be around children?

Dang it all to hell! He seemed so perfect for her. Whoa! She didn’t mean it that way. Wilson was perfect as a farm hand. Strong, hard-working, had no issues working under a woman…easy on the eyes.

“Stop that,” she scowled at herself, glaring through the windshield. A peek into her rear view mirror showed his blue GMC truck crawling behind her. She could see his fingers curled loosely around the top of the steering wheel, and she wondered what he was thinking about. Probably worried she’d call the police on him the second they arrived back at her house. Well, he could get that thought right out of his mind. There was a time and a reason to involve the police, but Sally liked to take care of her own problems. Unless he did something that threatened her safety, she was all for giving the man a second chance.

After all, how could someone that gorgeous be bad?