Page 16 of A Hard Habit to Break

She climbed into her truck, the engine roaring to life. As she maneuvered around the goats and the other truck, Noah caught her gaze in the rearview mirror… challenging, unreadable, and achingly familiar.

Matt appeared at his side. “That went well,” he observed dryly.

Noah snorted. “About as well as a bonfire in a trailer park.”

“You know,” his longtime neighbor said thoughtfully, watching Rachel’s truck disappear down the road, “for someone who claims to be over her, you sure got worked up awful fast.”

“Did not,” Noah began, then stopped himself. “The committee doesn’t need outside interference.”

“Mm-hmm.” Matt clapped him on the back. “Maybe not. But you need someone on your side.” Noah knew it was another dig at Pete. But Noah understood his friend better than anyone. Pete had his back. “See you at the meeting with Rachel.”

“She said she wasn’t coming.”

Matt smiled. “She will. That girl never could resist a challenge. Especially one from you.”

As Noah watched Matthew gather his protest goats, he wondered if Matt was right. The Rachel he’d known had never backed down from a fight. But the woman who’d just driven away wasn’t the girl who’d left him standing in the rain on graduation night.

She was something else entirely. Poised, confident, and still capable of setting his blood on fire with a single look. And that made her far more dangerous than he wanted to admit.

Noah climbed back into his truck, wincing at the claw marks on his pants. One thing was certain, Rachel Johnson was back in Service, and nothing about the next two weeks would be simple.

And why did that make him smile?

CHAPTER FOUR

RACHEL TOSSED HERTumi computer bag onto the double bed that had been hers since tenth grade. The quilt, her mother’s double wedding ring pattern in faded greens and creams, was freshly laundered, the smell of mountain spring detergent rising from the cotton as she sat on the edge of the mattress. Same bed. Same room. Same view of the plunge pool through the east-facing window. And yet, nothing felt the same.

Noah had grown another two inches over the six feet she remembered. Mink brown hair with silken waves, enough to cause any woman motion sickness. Eyes that gleamed with the brilliance of rare color-changing gems—green, gray, hazel. She never knew what she’d see with each glance, but she watched and waited for the storm, knowing whatever color, she’d be swept away, tossed and tumbled, a loose fixture banging into buried emotions, hidden feelings. The truth—she should hatehis guts for depriving her of years of peace… and possibly pleasure, judging by that hot-guy body.

“FriendFriend, are we really not going to talk about Noah being your kitty baby daddy?”

“Nothin’ to tell. He had her delivered during my last visit. The whole kitten-with-a-bow thing.” A flashback to promises between two six-year-old kids hit her heart with a two-by-four beam. She changed the subject. “I know my dad offered you the loft apartment. Are you sure you’ll be comfortable out there?” Rachel called through the open door of her childhood bedroom.

“Aw, he’s a romantic. Love it,” Benji replied. “And yes, to your question. That barn apartment is fi-ya,” he purred, appearing in her doorway with an expression of pure delight. “A renovated hayloft with exposed beams, a clawfoot tub, and a view of actual mountains. I feel like I’m in an HGTV special on rural retreats. I’ll stay if you give me more juicy details about ClamClam’s long lost zaddy,” he sang. Benji had many talents; he was a brilliant electrical engineer, a great listener, and the best kind of friend—unconditional.

Rachel chuckled. “Hmm, it’s a short walk to your new accommodations.”

“And to mind my business,” Benji finished for her.

“That, too.” Rachel had years of practice walling off her feelings about Noah. Seeing him today had confirmed one thing: She needed to maintain a safe physical and emotional distance from the man. Talking would deposit her in a hazardous construction zone without protection. For now, she’d avoid feelings and contain her emotions. “And sorry I didn’t think to offer it first. Dad’s right. You’ll have more space to yourself than in the guest bedroom.”

He held ClamClam and looked between Rachel and the tabby with a pointed stare.

“Mmm, and it had nothing to do with keeping your chronic platonic work husband away from his baby girl,” Benji teased, lowering ClamClam to the hardwood before leaning against the doorframe. “I counted three doubtful looks and one ‘have you touched my daughter’ shoulder clasp? Real talk, your father thinks we’re buttering each other’s buns.”

“First of all, never have I ever. And second, only buns on my dad’s mind… are Bethany’s,” Rachel tossed out, though she couldn’t deny the observation that her father kept a close eye. She supposed as a single dad to a girl who loved to roam their mountain town, he had a lot of training watching over her. “He’s protective. Always has been.” Except he’d trusted her with Noah. She thought her dad still wanted to see the two of them together. Rachel knew better. “If I let him, Bethany and I would have a protection detail.” Losing a wife had something to do with her dad holding on regardless of distance or the disagreements. He’d stood his ground when she left home. She could leave Service. Leave Noah. But she’d never be rid of her old man.

“Speaking of which”—Benji lowered his voice conspiratorially—“I got the full tour of your barn apartment from Bethany. She’s absolutely smitten with your father. It’s disgustingly adorable.”

Rachel smiled, surprised by the genuine warmth she felt. “He’s easy to love. Always has been, but I’ve never seen him like this. Even on the phone these past few months, he’s different. Lighter.”

“And the house? I can’t help but notice the subtle blend of modern and vintage for a tasteful transformation.”

The old tin roof had received a contemporary standing seam metal upgrade. Weathered Falu red paint that’d had her hesitant to invite other kids over in middle school now lay hidden behind a cool white exterior with stained oak trim. All that remained true to her fading memory were the large red doubledoors. The front porch, now framed in rectangular flower boxes bursting with white-trailing lobelias intermixed with yellow, red, and gold zinnias, the inside of the home, which had remained unchanged in her mind, had rearranged itself.

Gone was the shabby, gold and forest green microfiber couch butted up against the wall. The scarred table with her initials carved in front of her self-assigned spot at the dinner table vanished. In its place, a fresh-cut bouquet of peonies and lilies atop a tastefully decorated extended oak table with eight ecru and bone place-settings. The entire room was painted an airy white with rustic, elegant light fixtures. A distressed wood-framed bevel mirror hung above the fireplace mantel, adding a spaciousness that the room had lacked when it had been her home.

Rachel had expected everything to appear smaller, yet somehow, she was the one who felt outdated in her father’s renovated life.