Next Door Daddy by Debra Clopton Page B

man on a mission. He’d been in her shed and knew where the assortment of garden tools was.
    When he returned, he went to work beside her, shoveling and spreading the dirt. “So, what do you have planned for out here?”
    Polly paused to shove hair out of her face with the back of her hand. The wayward strand immediately fell exactly where it had been tickling her damp cheek. It was nearing six o’clock, so it wasn’t as hot as it had been, but she knew her face was probably pink from exertion beneath the dusting of grime. Ignoring her vanity, she met his gaze. “Well, for this year, something as maintenance free as I can get it.” She told him what she had planned and mentioned all the ladies coming out next week.
    â€œNow, that should be interesting,” he said as he handed her his shovel. He grabbed the handles of the empty wheelbarrow and headed toward the dirt pile across the driveway.
    â€œThey’re really a lively lot,” she said.
    That got her an amused glance. “Now, that’s an understatement.” They both grinned at the truth of his comment. “But they’ve done wonders for Mule Hollow with all their wacky matchmaking schemes, town festivals and theater productions. No telling what they’re going to come up with next. I’d believe anything, though, because I never thought I’d see the day that a bunch of cowpokes would stand up on a stage and sing.”
    â€œHave they tried fixing you up yet?” She watched his expression carefully. She wondered if he suspected that they were trying to now. She also was wondering why on earth she’d brought this up when she was already uncomfortable enough.
    His lips flattened and his knuckles whitened on the handles of the wheelbarrow. “I’d think they’d have to be pretty desperate to set their sights on me. Pollyanna—”
    â€œYou can call me Polly. It’s a lot shorter.” Why had she said that?
    They’d reached the dirt and he’d parked the wheelbarrow now. He took his shovel and settled thoughtful eyes on her. Her heart skidded at the intensity. “I like Pollyanna,” he said gently. “It suits you.”
    Polly’s nerves frazzled further and the laugh that escaped her rode on the wings of attraction. The very idea took the wind from her. “And how’s that?” she managed to say, trying to hide her discomfort.
    â€œYou make people smile.”
    His comment totally took her by surprise. Especially since his expression had changed in an instant and was far from smiling. It made her think he’d just as soon she dropped off the face of the earth when he turned away and plunged his shovel into the dirt with all the force of sledgehammer.
    â€œYou don’t have to act so happy about that,” she said. He slid his gaze toward her as he dumped the dirt into the wheelbarrow.
    â€œI bet before your husband died, you really made people smile.”
    â€œIf you’re asking if I was different before Marc died, the answer is yes.” She studied Nate’s profile.
    â€œSo was I.”
    There it was again. The connection. Polly looked away and started working. He did, too. They were two people trying to find their way. Her chest felt tight with emotion.
    â€œDid you get angry?” he asked after a minute.
    â€œHonestly, no. At least not in the sense you’re asking. Everyone told me I should expect it, that I would and that it was a normal progression toward healing. But I didn’t.” The tightness in her chest had eased some. She paused, suddenly wanting to talk. She turned back to face him, glancing at Gil. “There were times when I could feel anger trying to build up inside me. But when that started I reminded myself again of how blessed I’d been and still was to have loved Marc at all.”
    Nate held her gaze as he handed her back the shovel. It did things to her insides. Polly took a deep breath